Tales of the APD Part 3: One if by land, two if by Jackson Clone
Fucker was selling Alphas. Goddamn Alphas. I don’t care where you stand on the Jackson Clone issue, you don’t sell citizens.
I radio HQ, I’m taking this Grey down, I don’t care about promises.
Kitty picks up, “HQ, what’s the situation?”
”Hi Kitty, it’s a 13-6, some nasty piece of shit is selling Alphas. Jackson Clone workhouse in Kolingwood, you’ll notice it when you get there.”
”Ten four Abdi, we’re on our way.”
She hangs up and I walk back into the workhouse. The Jackson Clones look up at me from their sewing. These idiots aren’t Alphas, just regular Clones. Regular, stupid, impressionable, Clones.
There are benefits to living forever; downsides too but you try not to think about it. I’ve made a lot of friends in my time, and friends, whilst only ever temporary, are useful. I take out my phone and punch in a number.
”Hey, I need a favor.”
There is a crunch on the other line and then, “Howdy motherfucker! What can I do for you?”
”I need some clones to exit a building, and fast.”
”No worries hombre.”
I put my phone on loudspeaker and hold it to the sea of Jackson Clones, their idiot faces look up at me with half witted wonder.
A screaming, abusive, angry voice bullets out from my phone, “ALRIGHT FUCKNUCKLES! GET YOUR STINKING ASSES OUT ONTO THE STREET! DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING ASK YOU AGAIN.”
I hang up. Like magic the Jackson Clones rise from their seats and begin heading toward the door, I’m swept up in the ocean of sweaty clone and jostled onto the street. I casually step away and light up a cigarette. In the distance I can hear the sound of a police siren. This fucker’s going away for a long time, and I have lead in the case.
