by Chris Sapp
“Grundy, it’s Magnus Slade, I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”
“Barely,” Larkin grunted.
“I understand that you recently tried to collar Izabel Ramsey out from Roe Driskell,” Magnus said.
“Yeah so. It ain’t illegal and I”ll continue to do it, until it is,” Larkin said.
“I don’t care about that. Just tell me what the hell happened?” Magnus said.
“Well, you see this bandage on my face. It’s not from a fucking shaving accident. The bitch stabbed me in the face with a damn pocket knife. While I was behind the wheel! I lost my ship and I damn near lost my arm.” Larkin held a heavily bandaged arm up.
“So you just quit?”
“Considering your bounty was only $10,000 lousy credits and my loss was a grand total of $36,000. Yeah, I quit.”
“She’s still alive,” Magnus said.
Larkin grunted with what seemed like genuine surprise. “That’s one lucky elf.”
“I need you to finish the job.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”
“Are your injuries so severe that they are forcing you into an early retirement?” demanded Magnus.
“Oh you’re funny! The elf’s not on the detox list anymore,” said Larkin, untangling his hair. “Which makes it illegal for me to continue to pursue her.” At least now he knew why Driskell hadn’t collared her. Damn the Fenixborn and his nobility.
“Then I’m hiring you to kill her. A private contract,” Magnus said.
“Not interested. She’s your problem. You deal with her.”
“Wait,” said Magnus, when Larkin started to terminate the call. This thing had gotten messy enough. Magnus really didn’t want to add another bounty hunter to the mix. But he didn’t have a voice. Driskell would never fulfill a death contract. He needed the elf girl dead. Larkin was the best choice. Unless he used Vi. He glanced over at her. She was still stroking her blades, pretending not to eavesdrop. No, he’d use Grundy.
“I’ll pay the $36,000.” He told Larkin. “Plus, I’ll buy you a new ship.”
“I get the ship upfront?”
“Wouldn’t do you much use, if you didn’t,” Magnus said.
He waited while the bounty hunter thought it over.
“Make it $60,000 and you got yourself a deal.”
Magnus did the math. $60,000, plus $30,000 for a ship was $90,000 credits. One dead elf and a happy Czar for less than $100,000 credits, not bad.
“Deal. The girl was last seen on Nos482. Your new ship will be delivered there tomorrow.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Larkin said.
“So will I.” Magnus terminated the call and the screen went back to regular broadcasting.
“Better, baby?” Vi asked, once again offering him a full view of her breasts.
“It god damned better be,” he said.
He strolled over to her. She set her knives down and began to stroke his front legs.
“I don’t know who this elf chick is. But I could waste her for free,” she said, smiling up at him. He smiled back and then he seized her by the throat. In one quick motion he heaved Vi off the floor and slammed her forcefully against the wall. She gasped when her head thudded against the wall. Her bare feet dangled two feet off the ground.
“When I want someone found or buried I use a bounty hunter,”he scolded. “And when I want someone imitated I use a kameleon. Do you understand?”
Her lips began to curl upward in a slow forming smile and by the time it was complete, Vi had morphed into the spitting image of Mariah Slade.
“Then use me,” Vi said in the voice of Magnus’s wife. Even though his hand was gripped around her throat, Vi was no longer suspended in the air. All four of her hooves were flat on the deck next to his own. Kariah hadn’t been wearing any clothing when Vi had captured her likeness, therefore she wasn’t wearing any now. His eyes devoured the sight of her bare breasts. They weren’t as perky as Vi’s previous pair. But they were much fuller and unlike the vampyr’s, this pair actually excited him. With his loins tingling, he buried his face in Vi’s version of Kariah’s breasts. She gasped and cooed and ran her fingers through his blond curly locks. Kariah had stopped reciprocating any affection during their love making long ago so this was as close to the real thing as he was going to get. Which, all things considering, was a lot closer to the real thing than most people got.
LARKIN
LARKIN GRUNDY HAD to admit it, the cruiser he found waiting for him at the port of Nos482 was a better class of vessel than the one he’d lost. Magnus Slade had come through. The cruiser was charcoal grey and the fresh wax job was superb. He could see his reflection in it…including the bandage that covered the hole that bitch elf had put in his face. God it itched. So did the burn on his arm but the oozing hole in his face was worse, much worse. But he didn’t scratch. He must not show weakness in front of the mobicams. It was important that his Larkinites knew that he was the same man despite his recent injuries.
The interior of the cruiser was as satisfactory as the exterior had led him to believe it would be. He found a spacious cargo hold equipped with cages for his captured strays, another feature his former cruiser lacked. Both the galley and the head were streamlined for maximum space. There was even a muscle stimulating bed in his sleeping quarters. All Zero G addicts suffered from severe muscle atrophy since they spent at least sixty percent of their time floating through the air. So, in order to combat this affliction they used beds that stimulated their muscles while they slept.
Larkin wasn’t surprised to find a message on the console when he floated into the cockpit. He settled into the pilot’s seat, enjoying the cool leather against his skin and pressed play on the controls. The message was from Slade, no surprise there either.
“As you can see Grundy,” said the image of Magnus on the recorder, “I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. I expect you to do the same and I expect you to update me at least once a day. I’ve attached a datapac detailing the elf’s actions on Nos482. Watch it and then go find her. Don’t fail me bounty hunter.” The image of Slade winked out. That was it, short and to the point. Larkin would rather get his prick sucked by a maggot eating ogre than have to check in once a day. But looking around at his new cruiser made the idea very tolerable.
LARKIN WATCHED THE datapac at least half a dozen times, before he noticed the most important of details in the background. He saw a figure that could only be Roe Driskell, slip inside the tour barge seconds after the elf runt stole a hoverbike. But what did Phaelan Lennox have to do with his target Izabel Ramsey? Why did Driskell appear to be helping her? And how the hell did the bastard survive? Driskell was a tough son of a bitch but three Chromeys should’ve been enough to reset his clock. The elf must interfered. That was the only explanation. She must’ve gone back for him after she ejected out of his ship. But why? Did she have feelings for him? Did Driskell have feelings for her? This whole situation was starting to remind Larkin of the Wren McCready fiasco. God help Driskell if he didn’t learn his lesson the first time. Driskell had also retrieved something out of the barge before the elf deliberately destroyed it, but Larkin didn’t have the slightest idea what it might be. But if Driskell thought it was important than he had better find out.
The destruction of Phaelan’s barge was an ongoing investigation so the charred remains were still lying in the middle of town square with an invisible forcefield blocking it off from the general public. So, if Larkin wanted to poke around in the ashes for clues he was going to have to talk to local police. Having tracked his fair share of stray vamps, he knew that the Police department was on the East end of “OldTown.” He found it humorous that the police department was sandwiched between two brothels; Twilight Ladies and Lost Girls. Given the sexual nature of vampyrs…prostitution was not only legal on Nos482 it was highly recommended.
As Larkin bounced off an unlit lamp post, he encountered a curvaceous blonde in a sheer gown.
“
I’ll get your gees off,” she offered.
“Unfortunately, I must decline, darling. Because like you I’m also workin’,” said Larkin, tapping the badge that was clipped to his belt with a long pointy finger.
“Catch you later then?” she smiled and her enlarged incisors caught the moonlight. They were as striking as her legs.
“Only if I fall,” he said, propelling himself off the lamp post and through the entrance of the police department. The mobicams whirled behind him. Vampyrs hated natural and artificial light equally so the inside of the police department was dark. He slipped on his night vision shades and a security clerk appeared out of the darkness. He was tall, balding, and a vampyr…naturally.
“Good evening sir, how may I assist you?”
“Larkin Grundy, bounty hunter,” he said handing his badge over for authentication. “I’m tracking the elf that destroyed Phaelan Lennox’s barge and I’d like to speak with whoever is in charge of that case.”
“That would be agent Barstow and I’m afraid she’s already left for the day.”
“Call her and while I’m waiting I want to see the rockstar’s body.”
“Why?”
“Cuz, sometimes the real dead can tell you more than the wannabe dead,” Larkin said, replacing the wad of chew behind his lower lip with a fresh one.
FOUR MINUTES LATER, they were in the morgue which was located in the basement of the police department. It was dank and very dark. Somewhere there was a steady drip of water bouncing off a metal pipe. Larkin wasn’t squeamish by any means but he hated dead bodies. It wasn’t the fact that he could smell as well as see their decay. Larkin hated dead bodies because they were so…still. G Heads were always in motion. Hell, their muscles were even stimulated while they slept. The idea of being so stationary sent shivers down his spine.
“Number four,” said the clerk directing Larkin to which door Phaelan Lennox’s body lay behind. Larkin pushed off the entrance corner and floated over to the large metal door with the roman numeral four engraved into it. Planting both feet on the wall, one on each side of the door, he grabbed the handle and leaned back. The door operated on a track that needed some serious maintenance judging by the groan it made when he opened it.
Larkin positioned himself in the air directly above the body as if the two men were facing one another. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for but he’d know if he found it. Larkin had seen the gruesome video of Phaelan blowing his brains out but seeing the damage up close and in person was a whole other level. The bullet had destroyed so much of his skull that the poor bastard’s head was cocked to the side because lying flat was no longer an option. His eyes were open and Larkin noticed that his left eye was barely sitting in the socket. Another side effect of putting a gun into your mouth.
“So what’s he telling you? That he’s really dead,” mocked the clerk from across the room. Larkin’s comment about the wannabe dead had really chilled his blood. But unfortunately the vamp was right. He wasn’t going to learn anything that he didn’t already know.
IT TOOK AGENT Barstow almost an hour to get down to the police department, so after examining Phaelan’s real dead body he decided to examine the wannabe dead body of the blonde whore that had offered to get his gees off. He’d had better lays but not many. The girl was good and she really screamed when he nailed her up against the ceiling. The mobicams recorded every orgasmic second. Sex and violence were the best ingredients for ratings.
Larkin was glad he crossed paths with her when he did. Because tonight’s pleasantries had only cost him $200 credits but she was young and in another year of so she’d be working for one of the Galactic Brothels and cost ten times that amount.
Agent Barstow wasn’t bad looking either. Her breasts were a little on the small side but her buttocks more than made up for it. It filled up her khaki slacks nicely. But Larkin had already satisfied that urge so he focused on the task at hand and let Barstow show him to the crime scene. One of the benefits of being addicted to Zero G chewing tobacco was that he could levitate inches above the crime scene and not disturb a thing. To her credit, Barstow waited patiently and silently. After half an hour of searching the ruined mess that used to be Phaelan Lennox’s barge, he was about to call it quits when he saw something.
When Phaelan had blown his brains out, it had left an impressive collage of cranial gore on the wall directly behind him. Larkin was looking at a piece of that wall now. Well, what was left of it. Most of it was charred but there was enough left for Larkin to realize what it was. But more importantly some of the gore was missing from the wall. As if something or someone had scraped it off. Larkin smiled. Now he knew what Driskell had received from the barge. But why would he need a blood sample? And was the elf’s destruction of the barge an attempt to hide the evidence?
IZABEL
THAT’S NOT FAIR, Fiske. Roe’s words kept repeating in Izabel’s mind like a song that gets stuck in your head. She was dying to know more about the mysterious Syren? Who was she? What was her name? But she didn’t dare ask. Roe had been in a sour mood since the kiss. In fact, he hadn’t said hardly anything at all. But, who could blame him? Just thinking about Fiske made her shutter all over.
Other than a brief discussion about what they were going to eat, followed by an even shorter exploration of Roe’s pantry, the meal had been consumed in silence.
“I’m sorry,” she said as they cleared the table of the dinner plates. His eyes fell on her and she immediately regretted breaking the silence.
“For what?”he asked, turning away again.
“For everything. For getting you involved. For costing you credits. And for the kiss…it looked…painful.”
He looked back at her and she was positive that he was about to jettison her into space on a one-way trip with no suit. But he didn’t.
“It wasn’t your fault and it gave us our proof,” he said. She sighed in relief.
Who was she? It was on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t do it. He’d tell her if he wanted her to know and clearly he didn’t.
“So, what’s our next move?” she asked instead.
“I had an idea while we were eating.” He crossed the galley to where his coat was hanging from a hook. Mental note, Roe’s thinking face looks a lot like his brooding face.
“If Griffon Andrews was a professional imitator then someone must’ve hired him to impersonate your old man,” he continued. “Which means there should be a credit trail.”
He retrieved his datapad from his coat pocket and returned to the table. Izabel joined him.
“Are you hacking into Griffon’s checking account?” she asked excitedly.
“No, I’m a bounty hunter. I have an access code.”
“You can access anyone’s checking account anytime you want?”
“Not exactly,” his claws continued to fly across the datapad, “I can only access the accounts that are currently on the detox list or have been on the list within the last year.”
“But if Griffon hasn’t been on the list then we’re back to square one?”
“You got it.”
Izabel crossed the fingers on both of her hands. There was silence except for the rhythmic clicking of keys.
“Found him.”
“Yes!”
She moved behind Roe, so she could see the datapad screen. Holy shit. Roe wasn’t joking. He was scrolling through Griffon’s personal checking account. It bothered her that they had so easily invaded someone else’s privacy. But then she remembered that he was dead and that he had died imitating her father. She leaned closer.
“We’re looking for a large deposit, right?” she asked.
“Right.”
Roe continued to scroll; lots of withdrawals, lots of deposits. But nothing out of the ordinary.
“Oh, Look! That must be where he bought the elf morphagens to imitate my daddy.”
“Right,” agreed Roe. “So, whoever hired him must’ve paid him around the same time.”
>
Roe scrolled further back. But there was nothing.
“Wait! What’s that?”she asked, pointing at a $200,000 credit deposit from some place called The Pearl.
“That’s not it. The Pearl…is a casino.”
Roe continued to scroll but there wasn’t anything. Roe stopped when he found the entry where Griffon had purchased his Frostfang morphagens.
“Damn. Back to square one,” Roe said, pushing himself away from the table.
No! They couldn’t be back to square one. This was a good plan. It had to pan out. Izabel sat down in front of the datapad and began her own search.
“If Griffon bought Frostfangs on the ninth and elf morphagens on the sixteenth then the deposit has to be somewhere in between.”
“But it’s not.” Roe said, lighting a Fenix Tail.
Roe was right. There was nothing. In fact the only deposit between the two dates was the $200,000 credits on the fifteenth and that was from a damn casino.
“Wait!”, she exclaimed. “Who says Griffon was hired legitimately? He wasn’t hired just to imitate someone. He was hired to fake a suicide, a public one.”
“So?” Roe asked taking a long drag.The galley was small and it didn’t take long for the acrid stench of Roe’s Fenix Tails to fill it up.
“So, maybe the $200,000 credits Griffon won at The Pearl was actually payment for imitating Phaelan.”
“You’re saying someone rigged the Casino?”
“Why not?” she asked, rising from the table.
“I know the owner. It would never happen.”
“Maybe the owner didn’t know about it.”
“How? It’s her casino!” Roe argued.
“Well, you wouldn’t have to rig the whole casino. Just a card game! Anyone can rig a card game.”
“Sounds thin,” he said, puffing on his smelly cigarette.
“You got a better idea?”
