Rivers of Orion by Dana Kelly (best detective novels of all time txt) 📗

Shona. “He hasn’t killed anyone yet!”

“I don’t think he’s a killer,” said April.

Malmoradan scoffed. “Five minutes ago, you said he was mundane!”

Casey sat back down. “Everyone take a deep breath. April’s got a point. The target hasn’t killed anyone, and we’re first on scene. That basically guarantees our claim.” Tapping the steering wheel, she glanced sidelong at her cousin. “If you’re right, and he’s actually unprecedented, I think I know how we can make this trip worth our time.”

◆◆◆

Orin’s heart thundered as the power began to fade. He came swiftly to his senses and plummeted, crashing on one of the hoagie stand’s benches amidst a cascade of debris. In a growing daze, he saw Torsha back away from him with a horrified look on her face.

Trembling, she breathed, “Stay away from me!”

Returning to the form of a four-legged clockwork spider, Nimbus said, “Orinoco Webb, I mean no offense, but I must refactor the parameters of our friendship.”

Awestruck, Mike only stared, wide-eyed.

Orin’s mouth worked silently as he tried to say anything.

Sirens grew louder, throbbing in time with his pulse. Orin’s body burned. Red and blue lights seeped over everything as he slipped off the bench and landed hard on his back. He fought to stay conscious.

Orin couldn’t understand what the ocelini police officer was saying.

Time plodded along as everything faded to white.

Chapter 6

Monday Blues

“The truth!” The ocelini detective’s face twisted, and he struck the table hard enough to startle Orin. He sported a mottled, earthy mane and egg-white fur. Dark tufts angled up along his forehead, giving him an owlish appearance.

“It is the truth!” Handcuffed and chained to the table, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, Orin shifted uncomfortably upon a hard, plastic chair. His eyes were bloodshot, and his muscles trembled from exhaustion. A thick, metal collar snugly enclosed his neck.

“You won’t talk? Fine.” The detective retrieved his phone. He swiped through several screens before setting it down. With forced calm, he turned it to face Orin. Two live video feeds displayed Torsha and Mike, each in their own cells, also dressed in prison jumpsuits. “But remember what’s at stake.”

Leaning back in his chair, Orin exhaled, exasperated. “You keep reminding me! What do you want me to say?”

“Your name, for starters.”

“Orin W—”

“Your real name!” barked the detective.

“It’s Orinoco… Everett… Webb!”

Leaning forward, the detective growled. “You’ll tell me your real name.” He collected his phone, reached past Orin, and adjusted a setting on the collar. “And who you work for, and why you’re here.”

“Oh my god,” said Orin. “Why do you keep doing that? Can you take this off, please?”

The detective sneered. “I bet you’d like that.” He smiled smugly. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. Is it supposed to?”

“All right, tough guy.” With cruelty in his eyes, he reached for the collar’s interface, but before he could adjust the settings further, someone pounded on the door.

It pushed open a crack, and someone on the other side growled, “Mazza, get over here now!”

The detective got to his feet and talked with the other person in hushed tones. His fury rekindled, and he argued quietly with whoever it was, until he grudgingly acquiesced. He pulled open the door, passed through, and slammed it behind him.

Orin closed his eyes. He searched his being for the cosmic energy he had felt coursing through him three days earlier. Suddenly, the scar on his abdomen twinged, and he winced. “That’s quite enough out of you,” he muttered.

“I understand it’s quite painful,” said Casey, pulling Orin from his thoughts. She wore black, tactical armor with the letters BICOM stenciled on the chest in bold white block letters. Arms crossed, she studied him.

He sighed. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m your ride.”

“I’m free to go?” he asked.

“Hardly. Local PD is transferring you into my custody,” said Casey.

“So, you’re a cop?” asked Orin.

“That’s right,” said Casey.

He glanced at her armor. “It looks like you’re with Binary Response Command. I thought you guys were supposed to take down hostile binaries, not harass the ones already in handcuffs.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you,” said Casey. “I saw what you did at Nostromo’s.”

“It was self-defense.”

“Looked a lot like reckless endangerment to me,” said Casey. “Not to mention assault with a deadly weapon.”

Orin rolled his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m dead serious, pal.” Casey stepped closer. “Time to go.”

Orin lunged, and she recoiled slightly.

“Don’t be an asshole,” she spat. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. We can do this easy, or we can do this hard.”

He swore under his breath. Straining against his own mind, he willed the energy to return. His whole body clenched.

“Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?” asked Casey.

At last, a trickle flowed through him. He tried to drag it into his mind’s eye, struggling to channel it. By sheer force of will, he pushed the energy into his hands, but it seared his nerves and joints. In agony, he yowled.

Casey chuckled. “Man, I love those things.”

He fixed her with fiery, bloodshot eyes. “What things?”

“Screamers,” she replied.

“What’s a screamer?”

She tapped her neck and nodded toward his collar. “You’re wearing one.”

“Why the hell is it called that?” asked Orin. “It doesn’t make any noise.”

“Oh, it’s not the collar that screams. It’s the binaries who wear them, like you screamed, just now.”

Orin scoffed. “I yelled. I didn’t scream, and that’s not why I did it.”

“Oh no? Well, maybe you should just take a moment to feel it, then. That aching fire in your spine is the neural counter-frequency hard at work. Think of it as equal parts mind cuffs and training whistle.”

“I don’t feel anything,” said Orin.

“You’re lying.” She walked around behind him to study the device. “Or maybe not. Wow, talk about amateur hour.”

“Who, me?”

“No, not you. Someone set this thing to eighty percent, which is more than enough pain to reduce anyone to a weeping pile of sprained joints and cracked ribs.” Humming to herself, Casey turned it down to fifty percent. She