Authors: Mick Farren
‘Hell, you ought to relax.’
‘My task allows me no space to relax.’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘There’s no hope for you, man.’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked confused.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand you. Hope can have no influence on probability.’
The airship drifted on down the street. The Minstrel Boy watched it go. Then he looked back at Ho.
”What’s the matter with you, Killer? Why do you keep looking up and down the street like you were lost?’
‘I was computing my next move until you began to talk about parties.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do not be sorry. All information is of value. Unfortunately parties are not particularly relevant.’
‘Was that a joke?’
‘What?’
‘Parties not being particularly relevant.’
‘I fail to understand.’
The Minstrel Boy waved his hand in despair.
‘Forget it. If you’re stuck for a next move, why don’t you pay me off?’
‘I may need you again.’
‘You may what?’
‘I may need you again.’
‘Shit! I got you to Litz. What more do you want? You don’t need me to help you knock the chick off.’
‘She might leave the city. I’d need you if that should happen.’
The Minstrel Boy began to get exasperated.
‘Okay, okay, if that happens, come and see me. Maybe we can make a deal. I might even take the job. In the meantime, pay me off. I want to have a little fun. I ain’t about to watch you hunt this chick all over town.’
Jeb Stuart Ho nodded thoughtfully.
‘How would you like to be paid?’
The Minstrel Boy grinned.
‘The way I figured it, you’ve got this credit card. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘It’s unlimited. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘All we have to do is go along to a bank and get them to issue me with a temporary card, so I can draw on your credit for a limited period, say a month. How does that suit you? That be okay?’
Jeb Stuart Ho made a slight bow.
‘If that’s what you want, I will do it.’
‘Great.’
‘There’s one thing, though.’
The Minstrel Boy looked suspicious.
‘What?’
‘Where do we find a bank?’
The Minstrel Boy laughed.
‘That’s no problem.’
He waved his hand down the street.
‘Walk in any direction. We’ll soon find one. They need a lot of banks in Litz.’
‘Are they open at night?’
The Minstrel Boy nodded.
‘Sure they’re open. They have to be. It’s always night here.’
They started walking. It only took them two blocks before they found one. The First Exploitive Bank of Litz squatted smugly between a mass sex operation and a torture parlour. Its solid granite facade contrasted sharply with the glass and neon of its immediate neighbours. It seemed like a haven of conservative responsibility. As they mounted the steps that led up to the huge brass doors. Jeb Stuart Ho looked questioningly at the Minstrel Boy.
‘Why do they need such places?’
‘Banks?’
‘Yes.’
‘It gives them something to do. Them that like it.’
‘Surely, in many places, Stuff credit is given free to all people?’
They like to do things the hard way here.’
‘It gives them power over their fellows.’
‘That’s the way they like it.’
‘It seems hardly fair.’
‘People who want things fair don’t come here.’
Jeb Stuart Ho thought about it. They reached the top of the steps. The door was flanked by a squad of bank security guards armed with machine pistols and fragmentation bombs. As they walked inside, one of the guards stepped back on to a concealed foot switch, and a cluster of cameras, set high in the lofty ceiling, tracked their progress across the spacious marble interior. They joined the line in front of one of the cashiers’ windows. The presence of the heavily armed Ho sent a ripple of alarm through the other customers. From various points around the bank, more armed guards watched him intently.
The line moved slowly towards the cashier’s window. Finally it was Jeb Stuart Ho’s turn. A thin-lipped, middle-aged man in a black jacket and stiff wing collar stared nervously at him from behind the armoured glass.
‘Can I help you?’
Jeb Stuart Ho smiled politely.
‘I’d like to arrange a movement of credit.’
He indicated the Minstrel Boy.
‘I’d Like my friend here to have a temporary credit card on my account.’
The clerk peered over the top of his rimless glasses.
‘That kind of transaction is somewhat irregular.’
‘Surely it is possible?’
‘You’ll have to wait.’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed. The clerk climbed from his stool, but then turned back to Jeb Stuart Ho.
‘I’ll need your card.’
Jeb Stuart Ho handed over the black-edged credit card. The clerk almost dropped it in fright, then collected himself and hurried away. Jeb Stuart Ho and the Minstrel Boy waited. They waited for five minutes. Jeb Stuart Ho closed his eyes. Five minutes became ten. The Minstrel Boy shifted from one foot to the other. After twelve minutes the clerk returned. He was accompanied by a more portly, more authoritarian version of himself. The portly one seemed determined not to be intimidated by the black-clad executive.
‘Is this your card, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you wish a temporary card issued to this … gentleman?’
He gestured towards the Minstrel Boy with a look of distaste. Jeb Stuart Ho nodded.
‘That is correct.’
‘You have to make a special appointment to transact that kind of business.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is the normal procedure.’
‘I see.’
There was a pause while the two men looked at each other. Finally the portly clerk gave in.
‘If you go along to the window marked Special Appointments, you can make the arrangements.’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed again. He and the Minstrel Boy moved along to the window marked Special Appointments. Behind it was a sour-faced woman with scraped-back grey hair. She wore a high-necked black dress with a cameo brooch at the throat. A pair of spectacles hung from her neck by a chain. She looked coldly at Jeb Stuart Ho.
‘Yes?’
Ho took a deep breath and repeated his request for the temporary card. The woman picked up his card and looked hard at it.
‘Wait a moment.’
She disappeared. They waited for another seven minutes. A grossly fat little man in a black jacket and striped trousers bustled up to them. He held Jeb Stuart Ho’s card in one hand, and thrust out the other in jovial greeting. Both hands were heavy with gold rings. He was sweating profusely despite the almost icy air conditioning. When he smiled he revealed a fortune in gold teeth.
‘Mr Ho, so sorry to keep you waiting.’
Jeb Stuart Ho ignored his hand.
‘It is Brother Ho.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My title is Brother. Brother Ho.’
The fat man laughed nervously.
‘I’m sorry, uh, Brother. I’ve never met one of you chaps before. I’m Axelrod. I’m the president of this bank. Perhaps you’d like to step into my office.’
‘Will we achieve what we came here for?’
Axelrod beamed.
‘Of course, old boy. Won’t take but a moment.’
Jeb Stuart Ho and the Minstrel Boy followed him towards an imposing mahogany door with a frosted glass panel that carried the word President in gold letters. Once inside, Axelrod took up his position behind a huge desk. It seemed to make him look bigger. He pushed a silver box towards Ho.
‘Cigar?’
‘No, thank you.’
The Minstrel Boy grinned.
‘I’ll take one.’
Axelrod waved towards the box with ill grace. The Minstrel Boy stuck a cigar in his mouth.
‘Match?’
Axelrod scowled and picked up a silver table lighter shaped like a vulture, and hastily lit the Minstrel Boy’s cigar. Then he turned back to Jeb Stuart Ho and beamed.
‘This won’t take but a moment.’
He dropped the card into a slot on the elaborate desk console, and punched a series of buttons with a flourish of starched shirt cuff. For two minutes they all watched the unit in silence, then it gave a beep, a light came on and two cards dropped, into a tray at the bottom. Axelrod picked up Jeb Stuart Ho’s card and handed it to him with a smile.
‘Your card, Brother Ho.’
He pushed the Minstrel Boy’s card across the desk to him.
‘And yours.’
‘Thanks.’
Jeb Stuart Ho stood up and bowed. Axelrod showed them out. Slowly they walked across the steps. On the pavement the Minstrel Boy hesitated.
‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I must complete my task.’
The Minstrel Boy looked round awkwardly.
‘Well, uh, I’m off to have me some fun. I guess I’ll see you around.’
‘How will I find you if I have need of you?’
‘The bank can trace me through the card.’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed.
‘I am grateful for your services.’
The Minstrel Boy winked.
‘Think nothing of it, Killer.’
He turned and sauntered off down the block. Jeb Stuart Ho watched him until he turned the corner. Then he started off in the opposite direction.
His intention was to follow the distinctive lights of the Orchid House. He was certain there would be a way he could get inside and complete his mission. He hadn’t walked more than a block and a half, however, when a huge ground car pulled up beside him. It was black with a broad yellow stripe down the side. Its roof was festooned with chrome speakers, aerials and spotlights. Below the stripe were the letters LDC, the Litz Department of Correction. One of the front windows slid down and a helmeted and visored head leaned out.
‘Hey you!’
Jeb Stuart Ho stopped and turned.
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, you. Come over here. We want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t have the time, I’m afraid.’
He started to walk on. There were muffled curses from inside the car. The nearside doors burst open, and four men boiled out. They wore black uniforms and pale blue helmets with dark visors. Their pants had a yellow stripe down the sides and were tucked into high black jackboots. Heavy recoilless pistols, nightsticks, gas and fragmentation bombs hung from their belts. On their helmets and shoulders were the insignia of the LDC.
The first one to reach Jeb Stuart Ho grabbed his arm, and tried to twist it up his back. Ho relaxed for an instant and then straightened his arm with a snap. The LDC man reeled with a scream.
‘He’s dislocated my goddamn shoulder.’
A second cop swung at Ho with a nightstick. His armoured forearm flashed up to meet it. The two met with a crack, and the stick shattered. The cop looked at the broken end in disbelief. He backed away a couple of paces. His two partners also stopped. The first one to attack Ho leaned against the wall groaning and clutching his shoulder. There was a moment of stillness. It seemed as though they were all waiting to see who would make the next move. Then the cop dropped the useless handle of the nightstick and reached for his gun. The gun cleared the holster, but before the cop could fire, Jeb Stuart Ho’s sword was in his hand. It flashed at inhuman speed and completely severed the cop’s right hand at the wrist. The gun, with the dead hand still clutching at it, fell to the pavement. The cop sank silently, staring at the bleeding stump with the blankness of total shock.
Things suddenly happened very fast. One cop leaped to help his companion. The other threw his nightstick at Ho’s head. Ho caught it with his left hand and whirled, looking for the next attack. A sleep gas grenade burst at his feet. Ho dropped the nightstick, and whipped his cloak up to his face. He emptied his lungs in a single high-pitched gasp and held his breath. His trained response was fast, but it didn’t beat the gas. It was already being absorbed through the pores of his skin. The street faded to black and white. It became two dimensional and began to recede. The focus failed, and it went out altogether.
When it came on again Jeb Stuart Ho was staring at a bright white light set in a smooth white ceiling. He carefully turned his head and the waist of a rumpled brown suit moved into the centre of his field of vision.
‘So you woke up?’
Jeb Stuart Ho focused his eyes.
‘What place is this?’
‘Department of Correction.’
The voice sounded as though it was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It was a voice that enjoyed its power.
‘May I sit up?’
‘If you do, I’ll blow you apart.’
‘May I turn my head?’
‘Sure. I don’t see how you can do any harm by that. Help yourself. Just don’t make any sudden moves. If you do, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked round. The room was completely bare except for the concrete slab on which he was lying, and a simple collapsible chair in which the man was sitting. The man wore a creased brown suit, a white shirt and a wide necktie with a painting of a bound and naked woman on it. The tie was loosened and the top of his shirt was undone. He was sweating slightly. The man was of medium height, thickset and overweight. His face had the coarse bulldog look of a determined and methodical bully. The chewed end of a cigar was clenched between his teeth. Across his knees he cradled a wide-barrelled riot gun. When he caught Jeb Stuart Ho looking at him, he smiled grimly and patted the gun.
‘I could cut you in half with this before you could reach me, however fast you are.’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked down at himself. He still had his one-piece black suit, but everything else had been taken away. He swung his gaze back to the man in the chair.
‘Do you know who I am?’
The man took the cigar out of his mouth.
‘A big league hit man.’
‘An executive of the brotherhood.’
The man’s lip curled.
‘Like I said, a big league hit man.’
‘The brotherhood would not view my detention by your people favourably. What is your name?’
‘I’m Bannion. Chief-Agent Bannion.’
‘My mission is of the utmost priority, Chief-Agent Bannion.’
‘You attacked four of my patrolmen.’
‘Quite the opposite. I was defending myself from their unprovoked attack.’