Finding Vengeance

by Dan Fairview

  Dan Fairview

  Copyright © 2018 by Dan Fairview

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Thank you. I would like to give you a free story.

  FREE SHORT STORY

  ESCAPE

  Dan Fairview is an author of Science Fiction and Fantasy.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Thanks for reading

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  1

  John Finder pulled a hunk of raw fish from the bucket and slapped it onto the cutting board. Gentle waves slapped the hull of the boat as gulls called to one another overhead like a crowd of excited men telling their buddies about free beer. Viata's second moon, Banta, made its way down as the sun peeked over the horizon. John paused for a moment to take it in. It promised to be a beautiful day, except for the lone dark cloud that loomed ominously behind him.

  Sunrise and sunset were his favorite time of day. There was something about beginnings and endings. The anticipation of things to come and the wonder of what's next had kept him moving forward ever since the death of his wife Melanie. Grief had threatened to capsize and drown him many times since then, but some days, he believed the worst was behind him. Today was one of those days.

  The boat rocked gently as John chunked up the fish to use as bait. The rhythm of his strokes added a counterpoint to the cry of the gulls. He tossed a few of the smaller chunks to the gulls who swooped gleefully to retrieve them, then hooked a large piece on the end of each of the two poles he had waiting. He scraped the mess that was left on the cutting board into a bucket. The odor of fish guts mingling with the smell of fuel filled John's nostrils. He dipped his hands into a bucket of seawater to rinse, then used his wrist to rub the itching scar on his nose. He was tempted to wipe his hands down the front of his charcoal gray Barnacle Bill tee shirt but didn’t. He pulled a rag from the back pocket of his brown cargo shorts and used that to dry his hands instead.

  “You about done there?” Kurt asked.

  “Just about,” John said. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

  The fighting chair protested and squeaked as Kurt rose and faced John. He rubbed his graying beard. “Anytime, son, anytime. It’s good to have the company.”

  Kurt wore rugged blue jeans with a white tee shirt, stained from rubbing his hands along the hem. The end of a red bandana poked out of his shirt pocket. He pulled it out to dab his forehead.

  John set their poles into holders and was about to say something when he was distracted by loud music carried across the water from an approaching boat. A blood-red speedboat dropped to an idle about eight hundred yards out.

  Kurt shuffled over next to John. “Would you just look at that! All this water and he has to stop here.”

  John grunted and shaded his eyes, trying to get a look at the person in the speedboat. John was facing the sun, so the glare made it impossible to see clearly. A muscular figure raised a long object, putting it to his shoulder.

  John ducked instinctively, pulling Kurt to the deck.

  “What the...” Kurt tried to say, but the fall knocked the wind from him.

  A projectile struck the boat, sending shards of wood and fiberglass spraying into the air.

  Whoever it is isn't much of a shot, John thought.

  An engine roared to life, and John jumped up as the boat raced away. He helped Kurt to his feet. Scarlet blood dripped from Kurt’s grizzled nose staining his shirt, and John rushed to the rear of the boat to grab a clean rag. When he came back, Kurt already had his bandana pressed to his nose and was calling the Shore Patrol on his comm unit. John wordlessly handed Kurt the rag, who nodded.

  When Kurt finished his call, he asked, “Why would that guy take a shot at us?”

  John's eyes drifted to the deck. “I'm afraid he was trying to kill me.”

  Kurt gave him a long look. “Why?”

  “It’s a long story. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in danger.”

  Kurt waved that away. “I didn't think that for a minute. You being an ex-detective, you’re probably used to being shot at, but it’s a new sensation to me.”

  They sat down on a bench seat, and Kurt checked to see if the bleeding had stopped. It had slowed.

  There was a long silence.

  “Sorry about the nose,” John finally said.

  “You probably saved my life. Whoever that was could’ve just as easily hit me.” Kurt leaned back against the seat and tilted his head back.

  John agonized silently over putting Kurt in danger. He had hoped to put the events of the last few months behind him, but had been a fool to think Dick Taylor would give up and leave him alone. He should have known better and not accepted Kurt's invitation. A knot formed in his gut.

  As they waited for Shore Patrol to arrive, the single storm cloud overhead rumbled and dumped marble-sized raindrops, soaking them.

  John waved as Kurt pulled away from the dock below Barnacle Bill's bar. The drone of his engine slowly faded as he headed out into the blue-green waters of the bay. John glanced toward his own boat at the end of the dock, where he had been living for the past couple of months. Everything seemed fine.

  The ride back had dried his clothes and it was lunchtime, so John climbed the path to the bar to get a bite to eat and say hello to his friends.

  Bill's place was John's favorite hangout. He loved the relaxed tiki bar atmosphere. He had stumbled on it by chance a few days after arriving on Viata and the staff had quickly adopted him. They were his second family, especially since he had sent his daughter, Clarissa, to stay with his sister on Earth.

  He picked his usual table next to the kitchen door and sat on a creaky wicker chair. From this position, he had a good view of the place and across the bay. The sound of customers’ conversations filled his ears like the buzzing of gnats.

  Sabrina, Bill's newest bartender, brought a bottle of cold water and set it down in front of him. She wiped moisture from her hand onto her shorts and unconsciously adjusted the knot she had tied her shirt into that exposed her navel. A sharp clatter of dishes caused her to flinch and turn in the direction of the kitchen. She turned back to John, smiling and shaking her head. The pencil holding up her brown hair threatened to slip free.

  “What can I get you?”

  “I'll need something stronger to drink,” he said, “and can you get me a bowl of clam chowder?”

  “Sure. Coming right up.”

  She came back with a shot of rum, and John enjoyed his chowder and considered what to do about his problem. He could pack up and go back to Earth, but that seemed cowardly. Besides, he liked it here. The heat suited him, and he had total freedom to live by his own rules here. No, he would stay and fight, and he was forming an idea of how to handle it.

  The owner, Bill, came over and pulled up a chair next to him. He was a large, virile man, a good six inches taller than John. He wore a crisp white apron over Bermuda shorts and a loud, floral button-up shirt. John had never been able to reconcile the man’s style with his personality.

  “I see you’re back early,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, we ran into some trouble. Somebody took a shot at me again.”

  “I thought the gu
y who was trying to kill you was arrested?”

  “He was, but Dick Taylor had paid him to do it. I guess he has hired someone else.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  John paused for a moment. “So much time had gone by, I thought Taylor had let it go.”

  Bill shook his head. “I'm afraid men like Taylor don't just live and let live. You'll have to do something about it sooner, rather than later.” Bill winked. “Like the situation with your lady friend.”

  “I haven't spoken to Katrina in a week. I think I might have scared her off.”

  “Wouldn't surprise me. Trouble follows you around.”

  John nodded in agreement and rubbed his dimpled chin. “You have a point.”

  “I was just kidding. She's probably been busy. You should give her a call.”

  “You're getting as bad as Kian. Don't you have customers to wait on or something?”

  Bill gave a big, hearty laugh and stood up. “Sometimes a woman just wants a little attention, son.” Then he turned serious. “I'm not kidding about Taylor. The only thing scum like him understands is force. Mark my words. In the end, you’ll have to kill him before he kills you.” Bill squeezed John’s shoulder and strode away. John wondered if he was right. If his plan worked, it wouldn't come to that.

  His thoughts drifted to Katrina. Bill did have a point. He was a trouble magnet. Katrina and her friend, Coles, had just barely escaped harm when his house had been blown up. He had the feeling that Katrina had been a lot more scared than she had let on, but Coles on the other hand had seemed to be in her element.

  John finished his meal and reluctantly started for his office. He decided to walk. He could use the exercise. He extended into long strides along the partly shaded, crushed-shell path that led up to raised walkways. Red and gold bromeliads decorated the verge on each side. He slowed as he approached the entry pad and hopped on. It lifted him onto the walkway and matched its speed. The pad fell away shortly after he stepped off, and John resumed his long strides down the walkway. It sped along the shoreline providing a spectacular view of the water beyond the trees. Along the way, he thought more about his plan for Taylor and decided to skip going to the office. He headed to the marina to have a chat with Coles instead.

  Coles's boat was tied up in her usual spot. He was in luck. John exited the walkway and weaved his way around the people clogging the docks with their comings and goings. He tripped over a coil of thick rope and nearly fell into the water until a sailor caught him. “Whoa there.” The sailor steadied John. “Are you okay?”

  John rubbed his bony knee and flexed it. “I’m all right, I should’ve paid better attention.” John moved on. Coles’s boat was just ahead, so he shaded his eyes to see if she was on board. She was sunning on the foredeck in a skimpy white bikini. John had to admit to himself that she was very well put together. When he called, she waved him aboard. They sat down at the rear of the boat on a bench seat. He found her level of nakedness very distracting.

  “Talked to Katrina lately?” she asked.

  John did his best to avert his eyes. “Not for a long while.”

  Coles chewed her bottom lip and nodded. There was a pause.

  “Staying out of trouble?” she finally continued.

  “Nope. In fact, I'm looking for some and thought you might want to help.”

  She arched an eyebrow, then stood up and pulled a shirt over her bikini. “Tell me more?”

  “Taylor sent someone else to kill me this morning. I figure it's only a matter of time before he tries again. So, I need to take Taylor out of the picture.”

  Coles shifted her slight frame; the seat covering creaked and protested as she did. “Murder?”

  “No. I want to set him up. Victoria and her deputies can take care of the rest.”

  She tilted her head. A strand of her yellow hair fell across her face, blocking her delicate features. She pushed it behind a small ear with her index finger. “How do I fit in?”

  “I want you to run another package for him.”

  Coles frowned. “You want to use me for bait.”

  “That's not how I would put it, but yeah.”

  She shook her head. “Look, I'm not proud of being Taylor's mule, but I need that money.”

  John nodded. “That's why I want to hire you instead of appealing to your civic duty.”

  She leaned back and crossed her slender legs underneath her. “Are you talking about me being a partner?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She shook her head. “If this goes wrong, Taylor will come after me.”

  John grinned and turned on the charm. “We'll just have to make sure nothing goes wrong, then. Are you in?”

  She stared at him intently for a moment. “I don't know. I’ve don’t have much confidence in our planetary security. I'll think about it and let you know. Now you better go in case Taylor is having me watched.”

  Coles stood up, winked and pointed toward the shore, shouting for him to get off her boat.

  John hoped she would decide to help. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. Would he be willing if he were in her shoes?

  2

  An idea took root in John’s head and kept him up most of the night. If he was going to live on this planet, he needed to contribute to its welfare. Removing Taylor from the picture would go a long way toward ridding Viata of its drug trade, but someone had to be supplying Taylor with his drugs. All he needed to do was find out who that was.

  He sat up. The sound of boats moving in and out of the bay told him he had laid there longer than he had intended. He rose and peeked out a window. The morning was clear and hot, and the water sparkled. The salty breeze tickled the scar on his nose. He scratched it with the back of his hand and yawned. The itching was a good thing. It meant it was healing. At least that was what his mother had always said, and he believed it.

  John pulled a clean pair of Bermuda shorts from a drawer underneath the bed and pulled them over his boxers. He then put on a loud floral button-up shirt out of the small closet. A floppy straw hat rounded out the disguise, and voila, he was a tourist. He spun to look in the mirror on the back of his door and paused. He looked like Bill.

  Bill must dress like this to encourage tourists to come into the bar.

  John shook his head, then turned and pulled a bag from the bottom of the closet that contained surveillance equipment. He retrieved a listening device that looked like a comm unit. After inserting an earpiece, he turned it on, and aimed it out the window to test it. Sounds of the waves mixed with voices. He focused the device to one voice in particular.

  “I told you to come on. We don't have all day,” a man said.

  John peered out the window. The man speaking was at least thirty yards down the dock. The range of the device went to five hundred yards through walls.

  Satisfied the unit still worked, he tucked it and the earpiece into his pocket. He retrieved his pistol from under the pillow and slid it into the holster at the small of his back. There were advantages to using an energy weapon, but there was something satisfying about the kick of a projectile weapon.

  John dug up a book and a map to use as cover and headed out. Taylor's warehouse was miles away, so he drove his roamer and enjoyed the breeze on his face as the sun ascended into the sky. Wind tickled his ears, and thoughts of Coles in her bikini drifted through his head. He shook that off, focusing on his surroundings. He didn't need that kind of distraction right now. Someone could be following him.

  He double-checked the rear view and was reasonably sure nobody was following.

  When he reached Taylor's dockside warehouse, he pulled his roamer up to a shaded picnic area alongside the water. It was within the working range of his listening device, but far enough away that he could blend in with the other people in the area.

  John remained in the roamer, put on his headset, and sat back like he was listening to music. It took him a few tries, but he finally got the unit tuned to where he could listen to what was going on
inside the warehouse. The sound was muffled, but he could understand two people speaking plain enough. The voices were drowned out occasionally by the sound of some sort of power tool—maybe a grinder.

  Finally, the tool stopped.

  “Didn't you say you had a meeting at noon, boss? You're gonna be late. You sure you don't want me and some of the boys to come with you?”

  John recognized the voice as Gibson, Taylor's muscle.

  “I can't show up with you bunch of goons. It would raise too much suspicion. Besides, I was told to arrive by ferry. I can just picture how that would look. Real discreet. Now quit nagging me, and let me get out the door.”

  John put the listening device away and pointed the roamer for the ferry at full throttle. He made it onto the ferry ahead of Taylor and watched him board. He stayed on the opposite side of the ferry, on a stairwell away from Taylor, for the ride to New Monte Carlo and hung way back when it was time to get off.

  John followed Taylor up the path and into the casino cluster, then through the outdoor kiosks and into the Star Watch Casino, where Taylor was met by security and led to an elevator. John found a slot machine and sat down. The longer he sat there, the more he felt as if he was being watched. Something was off, but he couldn’t place it. Security was thick—a lot thicker than necessary. The short hairs on the back off his neck tingled and it felt like all the cameras in the building were trained on him. When he noticed a security guard looking at him and talking on his comm unit, instinct told him it was time to leave.

  John rose from his machine and started for the door. He expected to be followed but wasn't. He exited the casino without any problem, and when he got farther away, he relaxed a bit.