Last Train To Nowhere

by K. C. Sivils

  Unwilling to agree with the pair’s logic, the Boss Man sat in silence, observing the pair. At best, they were low-level muscle. Still, it would pay to have some low level, inexpensive employees for the jobs that would require stints in jail. If he expected to expand his fledgling business empire, he would need some expendable, but loyal employees.

  “I appreciate your coming to see me.”

  The thugs glanced at each other, struggling to hide their hopefulness of future employment.

  “You took a chance coming here. That shows a bit of moxie, initiative. I’ll keep that in mind. I might need your services in the future.”

  Grinning, the thugs could no longer contain their excitement.

  "But let's get a couple of things straight right now. Cross me, and your frozen, mangled bodies will eventually be found in a waste disposal facility. Lie to me, and I'll kill you myself. Steal from me, or cheat me," the man paused for effect, “and it will be a slow, lingering death. Understand?”

  Grins gone, the thugs nodded in unison.

  “Now go. When I need you, I’ll let you know. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, the man reached out and turned on the light on his desk, illuminating his bearded, scarred face. He rubbed his temples with the fingers of both hands, mussing his well-groomed hair.

  “Getting a headache boss man,” the henchman sitting in the corner respectfully asked. “Want me to get you something?”

  “Yeah,” the boss answered. “Go find out what you can about this troublesome priest.”

  ---

  The single malt, from Earth no less, burned as it went down. Markeson stared at the painting on the wall of his apartment. Freshly showered, shaved and dressed for an evening out, he’d packed a bag. He wouldn’t be staying at home until his locks and security system got the upgrade he’d just purchased.

  So much for the two thousand credits.

  His mind flittered back and forth between the alluring redhead and the obvious dangers to himself and his various business ventures if he threw his lot in with the Colonel. Dangerous in more ways than one.

  But, Markeson smiled, what was life without a little excitement. The Colonel represented a challenge, and a challenge might be fun.

  Sullivan though would be a problem. A frown replaced Markeson's smile. No woman was worth losing what he had worked so hard to accumulate in his life. Markeson had meant it when he'd told the Colonel he respected Sullivan as a detective. Personal animosity aside, if he needed a crime solved, especially murder, Sullivan was the Inspector he’d want on the case.

  Setting the tumbler down, Markeson wondered if the redhead understood him when he said not to tangle with Sullivan. It had been close when Sullivan reversed the trap set for him and turned it around.

  The cost had been high, maybe too high. His smuggling connection, Spencer Deveraux had been caught in Sullivan's trap. Deveraux's silence had been guaranteed that night when he received help hanging himself in his holding cell. It had been necessary to sacrifice Sergeant Bland, a useful man in many ways. Markeson felt remorse about Bland's death, but it couldn't be helped. He handled it himself to make sure Bland died instantly and didn't suffer. It was the least he could do for his former friend and business associate.

  Sullivan had killed the Cowboy himself, solving the biggest problem of all. Long, the fool, had cracked. It would take a year to two to find and corrupt another official with the skill of Long and access to government funds.

  Standing to leave for the evening, Markeson decided to maintain his timetable, he had to consider the Colonel's venture. It would be fun he told himself. It had been awhile since he'd done any actual detective work and the challenge of putting the sultry redhead under thumb would be fun, making it even sweeter when he took her into his bed and then kicked her to the curb once their partnership no longer served his goals.

  Shutting the door behind him, Markeson secured it and walked to his prized Hovertron. He had some time to kill before dinner. Might as well check out a few things about Deveraux’s old smuggling ring.

  Within minutes he was comfortably cruising at 200 kph on the hoverway in his luxury Hovertron. His comm buzzed. A quick glance told him he didn't recognize the number, but he had a good idea who it was. Completing the link, he listened to the voice on the other end.

  “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I woke up with a pounding headache. It didn’t happen often these days, especially since I gave up the booze two years ago. A drummer was beating a blistering rhythm on my temples. After about two minutes I gave up, fell out of bed and stumbled into my kitchen. A glass of water and two painkillers later, my drummer began to lose some of his intensity.

  I read the label on the bottle of painkillers. It promised to eliminate any and all headaches in five minutes or less.

  The miracles of modern medicine.

  The thought of modern medicine made me open the refrigerator. Nothing was gone. I wasn’t surprised, but still, I’d hoped Sarah had visited during the night, if for no other reason to warm up for a few minutes.

  Fifteen minutes and a lot of hot water later, I felt almost human. I skipped shaving, used my ultrasonic brush to clean my teeth and gums and got dressed. After a quick glance around to make sure I didn't forget anything, I headed out for work for the day, securing my place when I left.

  Passing through the lobby, I waved at Molly, the grumpy landlord who managed the building. I'd been wearing her down, waving and smiling at her each time I saw the old grump. Not because I'm a warm, friendly kind of guy. I figured she was grumpy and ill-tempered because she was lonely. Besides, in my kind of work, it pays for the landlord to keep an eye out for me.

  Nearly thirty minutes later I arrived at Joe’s. Sometimes a walk in the cold air would help clear my head, let me think better. No such luck this morning.

  I sat down in my booth and nodded at Joe who was manning the checkout, taking payment from a customer. Alice came out of the kitchen a minute or so later, carrying two plates of food, wisps of white steam rising from the food before vanishing. She sat my food down and disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared.

  Still not fully alert, I just stared at my food, scrambled eggs, bacon, fried something or other, a substitute for potatoes grown on Beta Prime, and a plate of pancakes. As I sat and stared, a coke, syrup and butter substitute appeared. Two more plates with the same fare also arrived.

  I looked up to see the good Father. He prayed over our meal, not asking my permission as was his custom, and picked up the fork Alice had left with his food.

  “One of these days I’m going to object Father.”

  "And on that day I will ask for your forgiveness. Until then, you are going to just have to tolerate my praying for God's blessing of our meals, our friendship, and your safety. Which, by the way, includes young Detective Josephson and the lovely Sarah.”

  We ate in silence, which was typical of both of us in the morning. I'm not a morning person, and the good Father tends to be reflective early in the day. I guess he does a lot of praying he would just as soon not have me take notice of.

  I finished my pancakes and decided I didn’t need to eat the native food portion of my breakfast. Father Nathan was chewing a mouthful and looking out the window, watching the people walk past. I couldn’t help but notice the scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand. Mindful of my conversation with Ralph, I decided not to let it pass.

  “Hit someone?”

  "As a matter of fact, I did," he said sternly, his gaze snapping around to meet mine with an intensity I had not seen before from my religious friend.

  “I take it he looks worse than you do?”

  “They look worse. Two muggers thought I was an easy mark. They found out otherwise.”

  His attitude worried me a little bit.

  “That’s not like you Father. You tend to be more of a diplomat in these situations.”


  He frowned at me before looking back out the window. After a minute or so he took his right index finger and stuck it down inside his collar and ran it back and forth a few times, stretching the stiff collar as far as it would go. He looked back at me, still frowning.

  “You’re busy with a homicide. I understand. But I’m not making headway with my kids. This Boss Man of theirs has a psychological hold over them I can’t break. So I’m going to find the creep and break him.”

  He was angry, and I couldn't blame him. My job was to find guys like this and toss them in prison. His job was to take the place of this creep and steer the kids in the right direction. He couldn't do his job till I did mine.

  “Look, Father, the case I’m on is not just a homicide. It involves the military and some sensitive stuff. It’s got Sarah spooked, and the pup almost got shot again yesterday. There's going to be more bodies, soon, if I don't figure this thing out. When it's done, you can come with me, and we'll find this guy together."

  “Sully, I said I understood. You’re trying to catch a murderer. I’m trying to help my street kids…”

  I interrupted him by holding my hand up. “Look, Father, you’re the most sincere religious person I’ve met in my life. You actually do the things your religion says God expects people to do. But something tells me you weren’t always this way. Don’t do something stupid. You do that, then who will the kids have?”

  His face turned red at my words, and he did the thing with his collar again.

  “My past is not the point! The future of those kids is!”

  “Father,” I said, trying to stay calm, “I agree with you. They don’t need you in jail because you did something stupid and I don’t want to identify your dead body,” I snarled back.

  “Then help me find this piece of garbage!”

  Arguing with Father Nathan wasn’t going to change anything in his state of mind. He was going to look for this “Boss Man” until the guy was behind bars or dead. I didn't want him to wind up in jail, or worse yet, dead. Nobody in our part of town looked out for those kids or the homeless for that matter. Father Nathan did a lot of good and didn’t get much help outside of Ralph and Alice. Sometimes Joe. His parish dorm the street kids stayed in was Sarah’s other refuge from the cold.

  I looked at the fury in his eyes. The good Father had a past, and it tormented him. That much I was certain of. He talked about being forgiven and receiving grace from God all the time. He also liked to point out faith without works was empty.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but I knew he believed it.

  His faith was the driving motivation for everything he did. That, and I'm pretty sure, a need to feel like he's earned his redemption somehow, even though the good Father says it doesn't work that way.

  He’d been there for me, just like he was there for those kids.

  “Father, I can ask around at the precinct. Somebody will have something on this guy. I’ll even talk to Chief O’Brian and see what can be done.”

  "I would hope the Chief would take action," he spat out bitterly. "This quadrant of town, our neighborhood, in particular, doesn't get enough police protection. Eliminate this scum, and I can stop a lot of the petty crime. Tell him that. It would be a sound investment of limited police resources,” his words carrying a strong whiff of angry defiance.

  “Just promise me, you won’t go looking for this guy by yourself. Not until I’ve had a chance to check some things out and see what I can do on my end.”

  He glared back out the window and then closed his eyes. After a minute or so the angry red tone in his cheeks began to fade. I figured he was praying again. Fine by me if it calmed my friend down.

  “I won’t go looking for him. But if he comes looking for me, I’m not going to run away.”

  It was the best I was going to get out of him.

  “Fair enough.”

  We both sensed a presence standing next to our booth. I looked up to find Josephson standing there, a grim expression on his countenance.

  “There’s been another death. An accident at the main rail terminal at the spaceport.”

  “We’re on this SP case. Tell the Chief or Markeson to assign someone else.”

  “Sully,” he said with more confidence than I thought he had in him, “this is connected. I’m sure of it. The dead guy was the conductor on my train back to Capital City.”

  I looked at Father Nathan. He just nodded, telling me he had heard me. I was proud of the pup, but I wasn’t going to let him know that just yet.

  This wasn’t a coincidence.

  ---

  He scattered the old data disks of files around in the drawer, tossed in a pair of old tablets with dead batteries and shut the drawer of the filing cabinet and locked it. Bones turned the light off to the storage room and secured the door, changing the code to unlock it.

  It took him just minutes to file the false autopsy report for John Brown, the dead SP. He sent a copy to Major Kilgore and Inspector Sullivan. When he'd finished, he opened the bottom left drawer of his desk and pulled out an unopened bottle of Baltarian wine.

  Bones didn’t plan on getting drunk. He just needed a good pull to calm his nerves, maybe two or three good swigs from the bottle.

  Then he was going home and locking himself in his apartment to do something he hadn’t done since his days in the military. He was going to sleep in his chair with his phase pistol.

  Sullivan knew where he lived. Bones knew Sullivan wouldn't believe a word in the autopsy report. Bones just hoped he lived long enough to tell Sullivan what he'd found.

  ---

  Nothing Chief O'Brian did rarely bothered Markeson. To his surprise, the Chief's new desk chair, identical to his own, bothered him. O'Brian might be his boss, but Markeson believed himself to be the better cop, never mind he was bent, and O'Brian was mostly honest. His chair was a symbol to Markeson that he was better than O'Brian. It was a way to flaunt his superior status without the Chief being aware of it. Now the symbol of status no longer held its meaning for Markeson.

  And he didn’t like it one bit.

  His mind turned back to the morning. Waking up in a strange hotel room was not an unusual occurrence for Markeson. Waking up to a stunning beauty like the redheaded Colonel, well, even for him that was a bit strange. He smiled at the thought. O'Brian was married and not prone to letting his eyes wander.

  The Colonel excited him in ways he hadn't felt in a long time. She was dangerous, and they both knew it. The instant he was no longer of any use to her, his life would be in jeopardy.

  His plan was fairly simple in principle, even if the details had not been worked out. Markeson would betray the Colonel the first chance he got, just as soon as she’d paid him enough money and he’d learned enough about her operation. He smiled as leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk.

  He would kill her himself. It would be worth the risk just to see the look on her face before she died.

  ---

  Shivering from the cold, Sarah slipped into the mudroom of the parish dormitory. There was never any mud on Beta Prime, which made her wonder why the room bore the name. Carefully she stomped all the snow and ice off her boots. After removing her knives and hiding them in her boots and clothes, Sarah hung up her greatcoat. She stood still, running her petite fingers over the material of the right sleeve.

  It was the warmest item of clothing she’d ever had. Her search for Ellie, combined with the need to flee the hunters, had forced Sarah to travel from one world after another. Beta Prime was the first "ice planet" she'd lived on. It was not the first planet in her travels to have extreme cold.

  Sarah loved the coat. Not just because it was stylish and warm, though she did like the figure she cut in it when she looked at her reflection in shop windows. It was the only material thing of any value ever given to her. It was hers.

  Confusion mixed with a touch of fear passed through her mind, causing Sarah to drop the sleeve and step back. The idea she liked th
e great coat because Sullivan had given it to her was upsetting.

  Sully had told her it was an advance on her pay when he hired her. Now she wasn't so sure what to think. Sarah didn't know if she liked the idea or not.

  It had been over twenty-four hours since her last meal. Father Nathan let her eat whatever she could find in the parish kitchen so long as she cleaned up. Sarah decided she would eat, clean up and sleep in her hiding spot in the dormitory. Sully could do without her for the next twenty-four hours.

  Just to let him know she was mad at him, mad about the dead clone, the coat, everything. Then she would wait for him at Joe's. Alice would let her have something hot to drink, and if she were hungry she'd eat something with Sully and Father Nathan.

  It would be okay to go back to work then. Sully would know she had been mad at him. The next time she told him one of her horrible secrets, he would believe her.

  If she told him another one.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I checked my comm as I sat down for lunch at some classless dive near the precinct. No character to the place, not like Joe’s.

  Bones had sent me the autopsy report. I fished my tablet out of its pocket inside my greatcoat and transferred the file to it from my comm. It only took a few seconds to realize the report was a fraud.

  I tried to send a link to Bones. The crusty old coroner didn’t answer. That confirmed what I suspected. I’d find him later and get the exact details of what he’d found.

  Staring at the keypad on my comm wasn’t the same as sending a link. I just didn’t want to talk to Major Kilgore. Not because of what I had to tell him. I just didn’t want to talk to my old CO. I was still angry with him.

  Angry about the dead SP’s. Angry about my face, my eye, even my left hand. I was even more angry about the cover up and how I was drummed out of the Space Marines with a medical and he got his Captain’s bars.