by Vance Huxley
“What do we get?”
“A tenth of the take. We’ll back down the other market gangs far enough to give the Cutters a half, but that’s enough.”
Cutter frowned. “Why not take it all?”
“The spooks will pay attention, and then the Troopers will bust us. Half a market won’t make waves.” Hood scowled. “You keep your traps shut about us, especially round the Divas. That Slash would have caused you trouble in the end, messing with women who aren’t willing. Make your minds up.”
The two muttered together and agreed, pointing out they could get Divas anyway, willing ones. Then they sat shocked and silent as four grim looking men came in to collect Slash before escorting them to the skip to see the other five bodies and four more grim, competent looking men. Hood let the two remaining Cutters pick up their weapons but neither had any intention of flickin these men let alone trying anything serious.
‘Susanne’ left her job the next day, allegedly because her boyfriend didn’t want Slash round her. Magpie really did feel aggrieved, but only because Bobby wouldn’t let her top Slash. He didn’t want the Cutters to talk about a woman in the markets who could use a knife. Over the following ten days thirty Troopers made sure both the other gangs lost enough of their heavy muscle for Cutter and Carver to extend their control. When the Cutters had half of the market, they called a meeting with the other gangs and agreed a treaty. Bobby didn’t really want a piece of a market but now nobody wondered about hard looking men without visible means of support. Better yet, he took over a bigger house as his gang headquarters which gave the Troopers some breathing space.
Magpie retired the short skirt but to her disgust had to stay in women’s clothing, and undercover. There were three large markets on the complex dealing in home-made or black market products, and one had been near the scene of two bombs. Bobby thought it unlikely the bombers would blow up their own neighbourhood so she found a job on the third market, on a stall buying and selling second-hand clothing. Life settled down, once more becoming almost boring. Her ‘boyfriend’ escorted ‘Marge’ to work, because Bobby didn’t want any trouble this time.
* * *
Trouble came anyway but to the local Plebs, not Bobby. Another bomb exploded, with massive loss of life. Although the bomb seemed to be aimed at the Troopers, most of the casualties were Plebs. Bobby reported over the radio. “Not a whisper before now, no hint of an organisation or warning this might be coming. With luck this bomb will shake some information loose.”
“No hint? That’s tight security, yet the bombers the Troopers shot at the last one were average locals with no record. There must be a network.” Guns sounded frustrated.
“It’s early yet. We’ve got ears in a few places, and a safe base. Sooner or later something will slip. You were right about there being no revolutionary movement. Most of these Plebs just want the bombs to stop.” Bobby hoped something happened soon. The inaction had started to get to the Troopers again, enough so he’d let a few get into a scrap with members of another gang just to take off the edge. Only fists but it kept the other gangs wary, and reminded them the Cutters had some hard men. The Troopers had quietened down a bit but it wouldn’t last. “Are we being pushed?” Bobby meant the Duchess.
“No, not by the one who knows you’re there. That one seems more pissed about the deaths.”
“The cost, real estate and lost production?” The bomb had targeted a Trooper patrol outside a THULL company store but two work buses were caught in the blast as well as the Plebs in the store.
“No. Well yes, but the actual deaths.” Guns sounded harassed. “Really pissed. Get our friend a name.” Guns avoided any names in these contacts, as usual.
“We might now. Luck.”
“Make your own. Out.” Bobby sat for a while afterwards, thinking, but he couldn’t move without some hint. One name, one house.
* * *
Six days later after several false alarms, Bobby might have a name. “I’ve got a possible. He’s not been to work since the bomb.” Magpie gave Bobby the address where the man lived. “His new girlfriend hasn’t been seen around either. There’s half a dozen people who know him on the market, and they’re worried. Not that he had anything to do with the bomb, they’re worried he’s lost the plot over his new live-in. She’s a real sleek Diva, according to everyone who saw her.”
It all seemed a bit thin to Bobby, not exactly a lead unless Magpie had picked up more. “Is there any connection with the bomb at all, or any sign the Troopers or the spooks are looking?”
“Nobody is looking for him at home or in the market, or nobody has spotted anyone, and someone saw him alive just after the bomb. Street rumour reckons all the bombers were shot or died in the blast when the store guard spotted them.” Magpie shrugged. “This man drove into the right places to bring explosives out, but since he’s only a driver so did a lot of others. Someone else had to be involved in the actual theft, and that’s if the explosives were stolen. It’s an outside chance but all I’ve got.”
“If we weren’t desperate I’d probably ignore it. How are the Plebs taking the bombing? Is there any hint of this Worker’s Equality Movement?” The whole complex had been fly-posted with stickers claiming WEM responsibility.
“Not a hint, and not even any real sympathy. Most people are pissed off about the new restrictions and searches to get into any company store or work. It puts an hour a day on their shifts, an unpaid hour.” Magpie frowned. “It doesn’t make sense because a bomb like that would have taken out a Trooper armoured carrier, so why blow up the store to get six Troopers on foot?”
“Because killing the workers in the buses messes up production, closing the store makes life difficult for the local Plebs, and the restrictions make the workforce less cooperative. I told, you, its politics.” The looks around the table varied from disgusted to murderous. “Snook, you and Siflis are doing nothing useful so you’re on shifts for two days until we know there’s nobody watching the apartment. Then we go and visit our mystery man.” Bobby smiled. “I’ll be so very pissed if he’s lying exhausted in bed with his Diva.”
* * *
The man wasn’t in bed. His body had been diced, sliced and put in the freezer. From the state of the bathroom he’d been jointed in there, though the worst had been cleared up which explained the lack of stink to alert neighbours. “But no Diva.” Bobby frowned. “No prints or DNA either I’ll bet.”
“There’s a few women’s clothes, but second handers.” Sandman scowled. “Second handers? Maybe Magpie will recognise them?” He raised his eyes. “I’d pray but the ultimate CEO and his minions aren’t accepting my calls.”
“Strip the place of clothes, and every scrap of paper or any item that might have been bought in the last year. The Diva, whoever she is, didn’t do this for profit or she’d have taken the vid player and everything else not nailed down.” Bobby looked at the mess in the bathroom. “This looks like more than a lover’s tiff.”
* * *
To Bobby’s surprise Sandman’s call must have got through, and a minion angel or demon answered his plea in a roundabout way. Magpie showed them the marks that told the purchaser if the clothing had already been sold as used. Every second hand dealer used them, so they could tell how many times the clothes changed hands and reduce the price they offered. Magpie went on a very careful shopping spree for clothing, to find where the marks belonged.
Having half one market paying insurance helped because Troopers posing as Cutter heavies went around those stalls and asked which mark they used. The rest took ten days, and gave them two stalls where all the Diva’s clothes had been stocked at some time. Finding her only took another three days, because although she’d changed her hair this one turned out to be a truly sleek Diva and liked shopping. That might not be conclusive because she could be making her creds by high-class pooching.
Siflis sat back and sighed. “She’s at it again. We followed her and she’s moved in with another driver. The same setup
which is careless or she’s getting overconfident.”
Bobby frowned, still not totally convinced this had to do with bombs but it was all they had. “Are you sure she’s not just hot for drivers, or for carving drivers up?”
“Hah, yeah, right. You haven’t seen her. More than that, she spends too many creds on clothes, second hand but nearly new. Looks a million creds in them, and probably out of them considering the state of the driver though he’s still going to work. Work that takes him into the Trooper barracks.” Siflis looked over at Magpie. “If you weren’t so skinny you could steal all her gear afterwards.”
“Slim, not skinny.” Everyone including Magpie stared at Hood. “Just saying, right?” He shrugged. “That Slash liked Magpie well enough in a short skirt.”
“Maybe I should cut your tongue out?” Magpie glared. “Or you could just shut up about that skirt?” Hood held up both hands in apology.
“If we’ve dealt with Magpie’s love life, here we go again. Close surveillance, and at least we got lucky with the stalls because they’re on the same market so she doesn’t stray far. Siflis has vid of the Diva so all look at it, her face not the skirts.” Bobby sighed. “Then we hope she really is connected to the bombs, and someone contacts her in a way we can spot.”
* * *
Instead she contacted someone, by dead-letter placed in a ventilation grill in an alley. Maybe she’d got a little careless over time because Snook spotted the drop. Observing the grill wasn’t popular because the only way to keep a permanent watch meant crouching in a skip peering through a hole drilled in the side. Eventually a man picked up the letter and the Basteds had the next link. This one wasn’t high enough up to be the target, just a clerk in a company store. Finding his contact took more time as he also passed notes by dead-letter but in the changing rooms of a local baths. The third contact moved about all over the housing complex, some of them where a Trooper stood out even in civvies. Magpie left her job in the market to vary the type of watcher. This man picked up from at least two other drops but the followers couldn’t find out how he passed information on. After a month, Sparkler and Nerd fitted up a little bug, Magpie bumped and put it on him after a dead-letter pickup, and the next contact dropped into place.
He used a message board, posting a note. The message read like a secret boyfriend confirming he’d left a voicemail on a netcaff comp and giving a filename. Sparkler spent the creds to use the comp, and tried to hack the message while doing so. He couldn’t, not without being obvious because the coded file was protected by a voice password. Several Troopers became customers in the netcaff, sitting near enough to identify who used the comp. When the comp accepted the voice code and released the file, the bug left by Sparkler let them know.
The Basteds followed this contact, a woman, to the offices at the mine entrance. She worked there, rather than actually inside, but anyone passing through could take the message further. Since she wasn’t a dead-letter drop Bobby wondered if he’d got far enough up the tree. He hoped so because even Magpie couldn’t get into the offices or the mine without real ID that either the target or spooks could trace.
Bobby wondered if he should tell Guns they’d hit a dead end, or try to pick up another trail, but the bomber didn’t wait. “She’s on the move, the Diva!” Attic stopped, panting. “She just left with two suitcases and the driver is still in there. No sound of an argument, which makes no sense.”
Bobby had already started to move, calling for Sandman and Sudden. “Who’s following?”
“Snook, and the rest of Reaper’s squad. She’s moving fast.” Attic paled. “Can we stop the bomb?”
Bobby flinched. “We’ve no idea where it is.”
“General alert?” Magpie had barely said it when her face set. “The trail will go cold. A couple of convenient deaths up the chain and the trail is gone. We’re pooched.”
“But it’ll be the last. She’s running for her safe house.” Bobby tapped his wrist com to send the codes to all the followers. The travelling man would suddenly feel ill because his tail would stick a dart in him. He’d wake up someplace where they’d have checked him for poisons, bombs and tell-tales, and eventually he’d spill everything he knew. While the Troopers raced for their positions, Bobby contacted Guns.
“Have you got something?” Guns sounded harassed.
“It’s on. Another something.”
“Any idea what?” Guns’ tension sounded through the radio link
“No, but we’ve got movement and we’ll snatch a link. A voice-com link into the offices.” Bobby daren’t even say mine or bomb. “He’ll also arrive with three names and addresses, suppliers, enough to be a trail. Where do you want him?”
Guns sent the coded location. “Extraction?”
“Will be clean, with no trace of us by name.” Bobby smiled. “Two culprits if you need a red herring later?”
“Please.”
“Out.” Bobby headed for the door. “Sparkler, I want a door open.”
* * *
The Diva hadn’t put the driver in a freezer this time. He lay in the bed, eyes bulging and face black so nobody would be sampling the caff nearby. What Sparkler did instead, as soon as he got in the place, was disconnect a thin wire from the clock next to the bed. The bared ends of the wire rested in the pool by a spilled bottle of hooch. Nearly pure alcohol from the smell, and the five other bottles nearby would make sure this apartment burned well enough to melt the copper and destroy any evidence. Sparkler waved the wires at Bobby. “If she hadn’t given herself plenty of time to get clear, we would have been too late.”
“Can you make that look as if the fuse just failed, fastened badly or something like that?” Bobby smiled. “Or at least make sure you don’t leave prints. I reckon The Horseman will love this place since the second cup has lippy on it so the Diva didn’t wipe this place down.”
The Trooper frowned. “I thought we were giving her safe house to the spooks, once Reaper has followed her home?”
“Her controller might get to her first, or get her out. Once the spooks have DNA she’ll never hide, and somebody pays for her lifestyle so between the two the spooks have another trail.” Bobby waved to the two Troopers in civvies. “No boot prints please. We are gone.” He grinned. “Let’s go and disband the Cutters.”
By the time Cutter and Carver were laid wide-eyed, bound and gagged in the back of a van, none of Beebi’s Basteds were grinning or even smiling. “The basted, the basted, the basted.” Nobody minded Magpie’s chant or the way she hit the van seat every time. Not now they knew the next atrocity.
Six Trooper carbins on full automatic had opened up on a Trooper patrol squad at point blank range as they marched past the market. Six hundred heavy flechettes had slaughtered the four Troopers and torn a swathe out of the stalls and the packed crowds shopping among them. This time the slaughter did spark a protest from the Plebs, and the local Troopers were in no mood to be gentle. The attackers had allegedly suicided when Troopers moved in to take them, blowing up a quarter of an accommodation block with the residents and some attacking Troopers.
“There’s a lockdown, nobody in or out of the complex.” The Trooper listening to the radio looked round, pale-faced.
“Pull up.” Bobby opened his pack, throwing a bundle to Magpie. “New unit patches, be quick.” He ran back to the other three vans to pass them the new patches, tell them to bloody some bandages, and give new orders before running back to his van. “Drive for the nearest exit. Tell the gate guard we’ve got wounded and have snatched two suspects, live ones for The Horseman.” Bobby sighed. “If that doesn’t work, use blades and silenced weapons.”
Shocked faces looked back. “Kill the Troopers?”
“We are a black op, and someone in the Troopers will be dirty. Do you want the top basted to get away?” The faces hardened.
* * *
The faces were still hard fifteen miles down the road when the four vans pulled up at the rendezvous. Cutter, Carver and the snatche
d contact, still fast asleep, went into yet another unmarked van. Bobby looked around his van and called Guns. “Parcel delivered. Do you have a straight smash and grab, or better still smash and kill?”
“Why?”
“There are fourteen hundred dead or wounded Plebs behind us and the number is still rising. Stress relief. We had to let it happen.” Bobby couldn’t tell Guns the rest, that Beebi’s Basteds had been living in the complex too long. Some of them had remembered who they were, that they’d lived in places just like that. Then they’d had to drive away and let the Plebs, some of them probably people they’d met, be slaughtered.
Though maybe Guns understood. “Wait ten.”
Beebi’s Basteds arrived back a day late with six men missing and a dozen carrying minor wounds, but they’d lost their savage edge. Four of the missing men would come back with metal, and somehow the two dead were a blood payment for the casualties in THULL residential complex 83B. For once Beebi’s Basteds held no party.
Bobby talked to his squad, privately, and it didn’t sit right with any of them. They’d got closer than most to the Plebs in THULL 83B, with Magpie working right in among them. Magpie, Hood and Bobby were probably affected worse, though Siflis tended to bottle stuff up so it was hard to tell. While Bells wasn’t usually bothered about anyone outside the squad being hurt, this time even he was pissed off. Not exactly sorry for the dead, but he did wish they’d nabbed the basted who organised it and maybe sat him on a bomb with a long fuse and no way out. Magpie wanted to nail the basted to the floor so she could improve on her drug dealer carving.
* * *
For eight days the Basteds trained with a ferocity that sent them to their bunks knackered every night, and two off to hospital. There were also a good few minor injuries because of how hard they pushed, so Bobby wasn’t surprised by the summons. “Sir?”
