by Al Ewing
Dredd drew his Lawgiver, aiming to knock out the back tyre and force the vehicle into a controlled skid—but the driver was panicking and the ambulance flipped over instead. Dredd noticed modifications on the underside as it turned—a jury-rigged nitrous-pyrothene booster. Which meant this had to be a getaway vehicle.
Of course, the trouble with those home-made boosters was volatility. They didn’t react well to heavy impacts—like, say, an ambulance turning over.
The vehicle went up like a Roman candle—the fire died down quickly after the initial flash, but not quickly enough for the driver. Her flesh was already charred black when Dredd finished her with a mercy shot to the head.
“I need someone to watch these fire doors—” Dredd called out to Friedricks, but she was barking orders to Morley and a couple of others, locking down a juve gang who’d breezed in from Graham Greene to have a little fun in the middle of the chaos. He was still on his own.
There was a clattering noise as the doors opened—the perp who’d run in earlier and a buddy, pushing a hover-stretcher loaded down with what looked at first like a dead fattie, until Dredd noticed the hand peeping out from under the sheet was made of some kind of latex. One of the perps went for his gun, screaming that it was a double-cross—why a double-cross? Dredd wondered, but filed that away for later—and without his hand steadying the overloaded stretcher, it tipped its contents onto the street.
As Dredd returned fire, blowing the gunman away before he could squeeze off his first shot, the fake body burst at the seams, ripping open and disgorging what looked like tens of millions of creds onto the slabwalk. Dredd couldn’t help but wonder where they’d got a bag like that—mostly because whoever made it was guilty of aiding and abetting under the current law. You don’t make a giant hollow fat man without asking what it’s for—not in this city.
The last of the thieves was familiar. The hair and eyes were a different colour—and he was missing a moustache—but the bone structure, and the grey-white stubble on the man’s chin, brought back memories. He’d only seen that face for a second, through a closing door, but... “I know you from somewhere, creep.” That jewellery store robbery in Barry Scott—the morons with the stuttergun. This was moron number three. “Raise ’em.”
Moron Three was frozen in place, eyes wide and glassy, mouth working like a fish. “You,” he mumbled, hands jerking spasmodically up towards his chest. “There are—”
Then a standard execution bullet slammed right through his head.
Dredd turned. Rico was standing there, his own Lawgiver smoking. “Helped you out again, Little Joe,” he grinned. Dredd had never much liked that grin. It seemed flippant.
“He was about to tell me something.” Dredd holstered his weapon, looking around at the rest of the riot. Things were mostly dying down, now—Friedricks showing her natural talent for controlling uncontrollable situations. A shame things hadn’t been in hand a little earlier—it might have turned out differently if he’d had some backup.
“He was about to shoot you in the face, Joe.” Rico prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot, and the jacket fell open, revealing the quick-draw holster Moron Three was wearing up near his chest. “Wear iron. That’s the rule with these people. If I hadn’t come along, who knows what he would have done?”
“Or said.” Dredd gave Rico a long, hard look. “You’re meant to be helping with the spectators, Rico. I could have handled this alone.”
“Can I help it if I care about my only brother? Come on, Little Joe, I just saved your life.” Rico slapped Dredd on the back and smirked. “Lighten up a little.”
“Request denied. I’ll be filling out an adverse report when I return to the Sector House.” Dredd looked down at the pile of creds at their feet. The wind was picking up—if they didn’t do something with it soon, it’d blow down the street and the riot would start all over again. “I’ll have some recommendations for the security team here, too. These punks nearly got away with a hundred-million creds—at least.”
Rico nodded. For a moment he almost looked wistful.
“Oh well,” he said, “Easy come, easy go.”
And he laughed.
About the Author
Al Ewing has been a Judge Dredd aficionado since the age of nine, and is best known in the UK for his work on Dredd in 2000 AD, where he also co-created Zombo and Damnation Station. In addition, Ewing has written various novels for Solaris and Abaddon Books, including The Fictional Man, Pax Omega and Gods of Manhattan, and is currently writing Mighty Avengers and Loki: Agent of Asgard for Marvel Comics.
THE MAKING OF THE LAWMAN...
Mega-City One, 2080. It is Joe Dredd's first year as a full-eagle Judge – he may have been created from the genes of Eustace Fargo, the ‘Father of Justice’, and thus part of an illustrious lineage, but right now Dredd is not long graduated from the Academy, and yet to establish himself as the metropolis’s toughest, greatest cop. His reputation will be moulded in the years ahead, but at the moment he’s a young lawman, fresh on the streets.
The brutal murder of a Justice Department-sanctioned spy sparks an investigation that will see Dredd trawl the criminal underworld in the hunt for the killer – and he will discover that all is not what it seems in the sector's murky black market. Something new has entered the system, and unless Dredd can stop it, chaos will be unleashed...
www.abaddonbooks.com
Mega-City One, 2080. It is Joe Dredd's first year as a full-eagle Judge. Though he was created from the genes of Eustace Fargo, the 'Father of Justice', Dredd is not long graduated from the Academy, and has yet to establish himself as the metropolis’s toughest, greatest Judge. His reputation will be moulded in the years ahead, but right now he’s a young lawman, fresh on the streets.
A savage killing spree results in the deaths of two highly-regarded Judges, and many consider Dredd to be responsible: a decision he made five years earlier - while he was still a cadet - has come back to haunt him.
With the Justice Department overwhelmed and the city at a standstill thanks to a chaotic and brutal cross-city motorbike race, Dredd must bring the killer to justice and clear his name...
www.abaddonbooks.com
