Taking the Highway (Detroit Next Series) by M.H. Mead

Author:M.H. Mead [Mead, M.H.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 0983780129
Publisher: Ion Productions
Published: 2012-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

The sting had taken months to set up. The final preparations had taken weeks, and Andre had been hidden in this attic crawlspace for two hours. Unwilling to sit in a pile of toxic insulation, unable to fully stand without impaling himself on the exposed nails in the beams above, he had to crouch in the airless attic. His legs had gone beyond hurt, beyond cramping, to some sort of transcendent ache that had become a part of him, as if the pain would stay in his body for the rest of his life.

He tried to shake a knot out of his right leg as he half stood and checked the remote feed from the hidden camera. He’d set it up himself after the tech department had ignored all of his requests. He hadn’t figured out how to put a motion detector on the camera, and the view was neither wide nor clear, but the resolution was good enough. From up here, he could watch and record everything that happened at a small but very important slice of property across the street. His camera was focused on the most famous address in the oh-zone, the mansion that belonged to Sufek Reem.

While other houses in the area were mere carcasses, Reem had taken over a six-bedroom manor that was built in 1927 and lovingly restored it to its former glory. The leaded windows, the art deco stained glass, and the gas lights on each fence post were finer than the originals, paid for by the addictions of others.

And when the profits from glaze weren’t enough, Reem had branched out beyond drugs into prostitution, protection schemes and contract killing. He was responsible for eight murders that the public knew of, and probably more that they didn’t. He ruled the Chandler Park section of the zone like a medieval prince, collecting tithes from his peasants, passing out punishments and largesse in equal measure, living above the law because he was the law.

Andre pinched his nose to stifle a sneeze. His eyes watered from the effort and he turned his head to either side, wiping them on the shoulders of his shirt. He caught a tangy whiff of his own nervous sweat, then pulled his head away and inhaled a lungful of dusty air. He checked the camera again. The Vice squad should have been here by now, dragging Reem out of his house with overwhelming force.

Dead air across the street. He couldn’t even see Reem’s security guards. He risked looking away from the camera to check his latest messages. His datapad’s front page showed a stream of old text. Nothing new. Where the hell was Vice?

A crash above his head almost made him drop the pad. Another heavy thump, followed by scraping and under-the-breath swearing. At least two people stood on the roof above his head. The crumbling ruin across from Reem’s house had seemed like the ideal vantage point. But what was ideal for him was also ideal for the Vice squad. Andre turned to the camera and focused on the viewer.

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