Authors: Ross Harrison
Now what? The cops
wanted me. They’d think I’d broken out of custody. Who’d believe that Webster
had broken me out in order to beat me up and kill me? Webster wanted me too. He
wanted something
from
me. Something I didn’t have. I
didn’t even know what it was, except that the girl must have had it for Webster
to think I stole it. Then there was whoever carved up the girl. Would he be
looking for me too? He might have meant to get both of us. He might want to use
my breakout as an opportunity to silence me. Make sure I couldn’t convince the
cops there was someone else to look for.
I looked at the
lake. Maybe Little Dick hadn’t been the one. I couldn’t make sense of it. If
he’d cut up the girl, why would he be trying to get me to talk? Maybe he was
moving against his own father and whatever the girl had was a part of it. So he
had to make a show of my interrogation. Or maybe he had nothing to do with it.
Maybe he was standing outside the club because he was waiting for the signal to
break me out.
I didn’t have
enough information. But I did know that I didn’t even get it as bad as the
bouncer. If Little Dick had really wanted me to talk, he’d have done a better
job than that. Maybe they just hadn’t finished. Too many maybes.
The bouncer’s comm
rang. The tone was that of an ancient telephone. Like twenty small bells going
off in sequence. I froze. It would be Webster. I knew it. He’d be calling to
find out why his son wasn’t answering his own comm. To find out if I was dead
yet. And if I’d talked.
Just like the rain
earlier, and the blinking red light, the ringing brought back to my attention
the peacefulness around me. That in turn increased my dread and panic. The fear
that I wouldn’t make it through the day. At least two factions wanted me dead.
One legally.
The comm trilled
for the thirteenth time.
I could leave it
alone. Webster would try again a few times before sending someone to
investigate. He’d assume that his son and the bouncer were too busy making me
spill my guts. Figuratively first. Then literally. It would take his people a
little time to get here. If I sank the bouncer’s body, it could take them a
while to work out what happened. I could maybe get back to the city before
then. Of course, doing so gave rise to more problems. But they were the future
me’s problems.
I could answer it.
Webster would know right away that I was free. He’d guess his son was dead. He’d
send people after me. I’d be on foot. They’d be in a car. Maybe several cars. They’d
have guns full of bullets. I had sixteen plus one.
I answered it.
‘Why isn’t my son
answering his communicator?’ It was definitely Webster. He said ‘tor’ instead
of ‘ter’.
‘His comm’s a
little waterlogged,’ I said.
There was a pause.
‘Mr. Mason. Am I to
assume that my son is dead?’ He tried to say it as he would with anyone else,
but there was badly hidden tension in his voice.
‘It would be a safe
assumption.’
There was another
pause. I didn’t want to let him get to the threats. If I didn’t let him vent
his anger and grief, his coordination of the hunt for me might be impeded. Not
by much. But anything would help.
‘Little Dick wasn’t
tough enough or smart enough to deal with me,’ I said. I’d rile him up some
more. Of course, if he did ever get his hands on me, each word now would make
things worse then. ‘You should have left me in custody, Webster. You might
still have a son. You might have made it through the week. But you brought me
out here to die, Webster. And that makes me angry. Now I’m coming for you.’
I hung up. I wasn’t
going for him. I wasn’t a complete idiot. Wasn’t sure why I said it. It had
felt right.
I dropped the comm
into the lake. No point taking it with me. It would be tracked. Who would I
call anyway? The cops?
There was no need
to roll the bouncer into the lake now. Just as well. Doing so would have probably
put my back out.
The rain still fell
from the grey sky. I didn’t think it would ever stop again. Not in my lifetime.
It made the lake come to life in the dull haze. The area smelled rotten. I
decided it was time to leave. Thinking of rotten reminded me that Webster’s men
would arrive soon.
I looked around.
Where could I go? Harem was the only place for about a hundred miles. I wasn’t
about to try to walk to the next town. Which was mostly abandoned anyway.
Around the lake were a few metres of waist-high reeds, then mud. I couldn’t
hide there. At the end of the paved dock area stood a rotting wooden shelter. It
only had two walls and a roof. It wouldn’t shelter me from the rain, let alone
Webster’s goons.
I pulled my trousers
up as high as I could and held them there with one hand. I didn’t want them to
wear my thighs through to the bone. I started walking in the direction of
Harem. I ignored the muddy path I’d been brought down. Pushed through the reeds
instead. It was a mistake. Might as well have been a swamp. With each step, I
sank to my ankles. Didn’t make any difference to my comfort. My shoes were full
of water anyway. But it slowed me down.
A minute later, I
was through the reeds and into the mud. That was even slower. I had to ball up
my toes to stop my shoes being sucked off every time I lifted my feet. At this
rate, I’d be about twenty metres from the lake when Webster’s goons arrived.
At least it gave me
time to think. Think about what the hell was going on. I started with the girl.
There was no point thinking about suspects for her murder. Little Dick was the only
candidate besides me. Even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill someone Webster
clearly wanted alive. Unless he was making a move behind the old man’s back,
like I’d wondered. I’d have to find out more before I could pin it on someone.
The key was that
breast. She’d definitely had two of them when I left the apartment. When I got
back, one had been cut off. Why? I pictured her lying on my bed this morning.
Her chest was heaving. Shiny with sweat. Uneven. It was her left breast. It had
an implant. Or so I’d thought. But someone had cut that breast off. And it
wasn’t mutilation. They were looking for something. The same thing Webster
thought I’d taken. He’d hidden something
inside
a
living person.
But what the hell
could it be? While my mind mulled that question over, my eyes searched the grey
haze for the mountains I knew were somewhere on the horizon. Webster ran some
kind of mining operation there. Was it something to do with that? I couldn’t
see how. Not unless he was smuggling diamonds inside his own barmaid. And that
didn’t exactly make sense. Maybe if I knew what it was he was mining it would
give me a clue. Problem was, I suspected the mining was a front for something
else.
I couldn’t see the
mountains through the heavy rain. But I could see something else when I turned
back. A light. I dismissed the thought that it was Webster’s men. They’d be
coming from his place to the south, way below the city. Besides, it was a
single light and it didn’t seem to be moving. It was uphill a little way.
Towards Harem. Was there a cabin or something at the side of the road? I didn’t
remember there being one, but it had been a long time since I last came out
here. I wasn’t paying any more attention on the way this time than I was then.
By now, I’d made it
through the mud and onto the cracked black road. Webster’s men would find me a
lot more easily, but I wouldn’t get anywhere if I stayed in the mud. I’d
probably spot their headlights before they were close enough to see me. Unless
they were smart enough to leave them off. It was still only the afternoon. The
rainclouds darkened everything, but they could see well enough without lights.
I pushed my sodden
hair back for the hundredth time. It kept falling back down to my forehead and
channelling the rain straight into my eyes. Then I stopped. Something had
occurred to me. There was no uphill. The road back to Harem was flat. That
light was in the air. Too high to be on a cabin. Unless someone had built a
thirty-storey building in the time it took Little Dick to take me swimming,
this was an aircraft.
The rain drummed the
road. It slapped the mud on either side. Those were the only sounds. Now the
only smell was of wet asphalt.
Was it the cops? They
had a flyer. It only held together thanks to thick paint, but it could be that.
Harem was pretty big for a colony city. It would take them a lot longer than
this to put together a proper search. It didn’t make sense that they’d come out
here to look for me. There was nowhere to run out here. Nowhere to hide. Maybe
some smartass had said that’s just why they should look here. Because it would
be the last place I’d think they’d look.
It
was
the last place I thought they’d look. It was the last place I’d have willingly gone,
too. But it wasn’t them. I was sure. Again I wondered if it was Webster’s men.
I’d assumed they would come in a car or two. No reason they wouldn’t come in a
flyer. He’d surely own at least one.
It moved. Came towards
me. The dark shape around the light became solid. It was a pretty fancy looking
flyer. It wasn’t the cops. It wasn’t Webster. It was the UPSF. The hell were
they doing there?
‘This is the United
Planets Security Force,’ a voice boomed. ‘Remain where you are.’
No point trying to
outrun a flyer. I hadn’t expected the cops to call in the UPSF to find me.
Certainly not so soon. The agency had better things to do. Or so I’d thought.
How had they got there so quick? I didn’t know anything about hyperspace, but I
was sure it wasn’t
that
fast.
The flyer lowered
to the road a few metres away. Its thrusters sprayed heated water over me. Not
that I could get any more wet. As soon as the stubby landing feet touched the
road, the side door slid open and two men jumped out. They both wore impressive
armour emblazoned with ‘UPSF’ and pointed some pretty high tech weaponry at me.
Between the two, a
third man stepped out of the flyer. This one wore a suit. Wore it like he was
born in it. In his mouth was a thick cigar. It looked out of place. He seemed too
young to smoke something like that. Didn’t fit an agent either. Maybe he was
taking advantage of being so far away from his bosses on Orion. Felt like he
could quietly strike out at the strict regulations of his agency. Or maybe he
just liked big cigars that didn’t suit him. Either way, it was quickly extinguished
by the rain.
‘Jack Mason,’ he
said. He stepped towards me. The two agents kept pace behind.
‘Jack? I think I
saw him going that way.’ I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.
‘My name is Agent Nathaniel
DeMartino. I need you to come with me.’
‘Kind of you to
offer, but I like walking.’
DeMartino smiled a
humourless smile and turned aside to allow me a straight path to the flyer. No
point trying to outrun a flyer. No point trying to outrun a plasma rifle. Nothing
I could do but comply. At least Webster’s men wouldn’t get me now.
One of the armed
agents patted me down. Took the gun. Left the cigarettes. I stepped past
DeMartino and towards the shiny white flyer. There was a rubber loop just
inside the door. I pulled myself in. There was space for perhaps ten people inside.
The cockpit was separated by a solid wall.
‘Have a seat, Mr.
Mason,’ DeMartino said beside my ear.
I stepped to the
far side and sat in the middle of the five seats. The moulded plastic sank half
an inch under me. It was probably comfortable, but I was drenched through. No
level of comfort would override that feeling.
As soon as the two
armoured agents were onboard, the flyer jerked. I felt vertical acceleration in
my stomach. Through the closing door, the road disappeared into the wet grey. I’d
left the lighter behind.
DeMartino sat
opposite me. He watched me. Didn’t take his eyes off me for a second. I watched
him back. He must have been a junior agent. They wouldn’t have sent a senior
agent out to this rock just to look for me. He was too young, anyway. Late
twenties. His suit was too nice to be agency issue. And he was too comfortable
in it. He was from money. Maybe his family bought his way up the food chain.
The agency sent him out here to make him feel like a proper agent. I felt a lot
better about my odds. If I was left alone with him, that was. The other two
pairs of eyes locked on me belonged to experienced men. Men who could probably
put one of those plasma bolts through my eye from half a mile away.
‘You’re a long way
from the city, Mr. Mason,’ DeMartino said at last. ‘Let me guess: you thought
it was nice weather for a stroll?’
That was just what
I was about to say. Admittedly, my wit wasn’t what it could be, but I didn’t
like it being taken away from me like that.
‘I’m surprised that
you’re all alone. Did your friends have somewhere to be? Someone else to break
out of police custody?’
‘Is that what
friends do these days? Knock you unconscious, make you a fugitive, and then try
to drown you?’
‘I think that
depends on the level of alcohol involved. Sounds like an average stag night.’
He lit the cigar
again, with some trouble.
*
It wasn’t long before the flyer was
slowing to a stop. It lowered so slowly that I didn’t feel anything until it bumped
on the ground. The nerves came back. I needed a bathroom too.
The side door slid
open again to reveal a familiar scene. Three cops stood in a line from the big
metal door. The first of them was Holt. He was, unsurprisingly, smirking. I
pictured the man’s head bouncing off the table. The shard gun smashing into his
chest. The attached shock stick taking him down. I smirked too.
Lawrence was
nowhere in sight. I thought he’d be there to give me a warm welcome back.