Time he didn’t have.
He prepared to use his fists against the creatures. Doubtful it would work, but resolved he would make them hurt before they took him down, Dean straightened his back and watched as the two crocosharks emerged from the water.
One of their heads exploded in a purple-red cloud of blood, bone, and gore. The other shrieked and descended under the surface immediately. The other crocoshark’s corpse floated on the water, headless. Dean watched it warily as he pushed his fingers back down into his shoe that was lodged between the rocks. Something hard and cartilaginous shifted in his foot, but he broke free with a gasp of pain and relief. With a stumble, he continued toward the shore, limping. He was within a yard of the Mason jar when dirt exploded near his feet. Another shot had been fired.
Two men plowed out of the shadows, one with a handgun and the other with a high-powered rifle. They were both roughly the same height and had face paint on to hide their likeness. “The mayor sends his highest regards, Slaughter Man,” said one of them.
Dean had to clear his hoarse voice. It didn’t work well though. He still sounded like he had a cheese grater lodged in his esophagus. “I thought the mayor didn’t want anything to do with my project.”
“That has changed,” said the other minion.
Dean watched as they picked up the Mason jar, examined it, and then after a moment exchanged a quiet spell of laughter between each other.
“The mayor gets off on crocoshark venom, I take it.”
A snort returned. Dean couldn’t be sure which spoke now, because of their identical garb, physique, voice, and gait, but it didn’t matter. He knew they shared the same sentiment. “Some of the wealthy human delegates love it, and that’s enough for us, Cowman.”
Dean had never been fond of being called Slaughter Man, but compared to Cowman, he decided he might have to rethink that.
“Now,” said the taller of the two. “Let’s go get you set up for some more crocoshark milking. We got a trunkload of jars for you to fill. You wouldn’t mind, right? After all, you’re an expert now. Ain’t that right, Luka?”
“Sure thing, Kalu,” the other replied.
“Luka and Kalu. How long did you guys sort that one out?” Dean asked.
He heard a gun cock. “You know, Fulsome, it’s easy enough to say one of the crocky-sharks chewed you into little pieces. The mayor ain’t no fan of Limbus, Incorporated, so we won’t have to explain much. Plus, neither one of us much cares to be out here with you for twelve hours. You drift?”
“No,” Dean said. “I don’t. Drift, float, or swim. You’re telling me that I’ve got to milk these things all night and fill up the mayor’s jars, but you don’t want to be out here. Why not just say you got the one jar and I escaped? That sounds like a happy plan to me.”
Luka chuckled. “Maybe, if those were the mayor’s jars. They ain’t. They’re mine and Kalu’s there. The mayor gets one for his delegates. He doesn’t need to know about the others.” He tucked his weapon in the back of his pants and turned around. “Now come on and help me unload the trunk.”
“If I help you guys, can I keep a single jar?” Dean asked morosely. “I will cooperate if you can promise me—”
Luka whipped back around. “You’re outta your damned mind, Cowman. You aren’t getting one drop of this venom. You’ll leave here with your balls hanging and your heart still beating. Be happy for that.”
As Luka turned back, he made a muffled sound of surprise. The glint of something in the torchlight poked through the small of his back. Dean struggled to see what it could be when, suddenly, the dull metallic shape jerked up all the way through Luka’s body, severing him with twine from the belly button through the skull. His top half split apart and hung open like a ghastly tree that had been chopped down its trunk. Blood vessels blew out squirts and mists and organs tumbled free. Jazon Meyers pulled free one of his machete hands that had punctured the left hip for leverage.
Kalu fired a shot. Dirt exploded near Dean’s left foot. He wasn’t sure what the man was aiming at, but he put his head down and ran for the cover of his car. Another shot rang out and the flash illuminated the dark scene for an instant. Dean saw Mr. Loveman slowly approaching the frantic man.
“—the shit are you?” he called out and fired again.
Mr. Loveman charged forward, caught the man’s wrist and wrenched it sideways. Kalu screamed. Loveman snatched the gun out of his enfeebled hand and shoved him against the car. With a fluid motion of his left arm, the robot pointed the gun into Kalu’s left eye.
“Wait!”
Mr. Loveman started firing. Each shot making his black star eyes flicker. He emptied all the ammunition in Kalu’s left eye and squeezed the trigger a few times after the bullets had run out. With a sickening gushy sound, he pulled the barrel of the gun out of the sizeable hole in the dead man’s head and let the body collapse to the ground.
Dean’s heart thundered as he watched the SL-SHR drop the gun unceremoniously and head over to the Mason jar. He picked it up, observed the contents, and moved his body around, almost in a slithering way, to face Dean. Behind him, Jazon was hacking Luka into smaller pieces.
“They are dead, Fulsome,” Mr. Loveman told him. “There is no need for hiding now.”
Dean stayed put. “What the hell are you two doing here? I thought you couldn’t help me.”
“Master knew the mayor sent people to follow you. They were tailing you earlier and figured out what you were doing out here.”
“Saving me isn’t your directive.”
“Without the venom, you would not have the access to the Moon City Killer. This is our directive,” whispered Mr. Loveman. He shuffled forward in his flip-flops, his realistic-looking toes covered in soft, gray moon dust.
Warily, Dean came out from behind the car. “How long have you been here?”
“The whole time.”
“You can help me with the mayor’s people, but can’t help me with the crocosharks?” he asked incredulously.
Mr. Loveman handed him the Mason jar, which thankfully had not shattered. “Neither of us could have helped you with that. We both love animals.”
Over his shoulder, Dean saw that Jazon Meyers had begun throwing bits of human parts into the swamp.
“I’ve got to get the hell out of here.” Dean shook his head, which felt about to explode, and went to the car.
“That’s one pretty dress Sandra’s wearing tonight,” Mr. Loveman said.
Dean looked at him but the robot’s back was already turned.
“Let us know when you have the surveillance feeds of the Moon City Killer,” he added.
“Sure,” Dean said, just to simply end his conversation with the creepy-ass thing. He opened up his car and plopped down in the driver’s seat. He turned on his phone and saw Sandra had sent him a photo of herself. She was going out with friends and was in a red cocktail dress. She looked absolutely amazing. So much, that Dean was speechless for a moment. It bothered him that the robot had had its oily, black star eyes on her before he’d even had the chance. But it didn’t ruin the love he felt for Sandra, it only showcased how impossibly far he was from her.
Dean resolved to be in a better mood. He’d lucked out back there. Now he had the venom for the Firecracker Lady and she would need to keep her bargain and give him access to that surveillance. He would, at last, see that bastard who had brought him to this godforsaken moon. Hopefully, Loveman and Jazon would make short work of him and then it was Golden Transport back to Sandra, back to Earth, and this would be the last time he’d ever leave the solar system again, without Sandra at least.
He sent Sandra a text telling her how very beautiful she was and to have a great time, but not too great of a time haha. Dean settled down on the couch in the apartment. He needed to relax a bit before returning to the Firecracker Lady. Although he wasn’t tired per se, his mind and body needed some cooling off.
Despite realizing this, he was restless. He thought about tidyi
ng up those documents and throwing them in the incinerator, but Butterball curled up in his lap and anchored him there. He knew he’d be sneezing like a sonofabitch before long, but he let the cat rest for the moment. He scrolled through the intergalactic news feeds on his phone and almost at once wished he hadn’t. The Grettish had posted an execution of a Zetú slave. A gathering of other slaves. His friend Finny-Min stood with his son, Dean, amongst the other horrified Zetús. The eyes of his friend expressed more than words ever could have, but had there been a translation, it might have been will that happened happen to my boy next, or to me?
“Shit… they’re there.” Dean buried his face in his hands and tried to squeeze away all the disturbing images flooding into his mind. “Finny-min and his boy. There’s nothing I can do. God help me.”
Chapter 17
The Firecracker Lady had a new outfit on—well, it wasn’t so much an outfit but a bikini and hula skirt. Studying the Mason jar on her desk, she lit up a cigar with a match and puffed on it vigorously.
“I thought you didn’t put poisons into your body,” he said.
“I choose what I deem poison, Fulsome.”
Dean stood there, feeling the eyes of the Grettish Friars on him, unsure if they’d go for the “I just came through the transport” bit again when deciding to split him in half with their galaxy glass scimitars. The image of Jazon Meyers with galaxy glass machetes flickered through his mind and he shivered.
“Takes a big pair to get a hold of a full jar of that stuff. I like you a little more, Dean. I might end up screwing you after all.”
“Thanks,” he replied drily. “But I’m engaged.”
She tittered. “Oh, that’s cute.”
“I am engaged,” he insisted.
“No, no, I meant it’s cute you actually took me seriously.”
Dean blushed angrily. “Are you going to keep our deal?”
His cell phone started ringing. The Firecracker Lady nodded through a puff of cigar smoke. “Need to take that? I’ll wait.”
With a snort, Dean mumbled thanks and answered the phone. It was his case coordinator, Charles Blu. As soon as Dean had seen who was calling, he knew he would have to answer. Charles could be very persistent; he was great at what he did but never wanted to venture outside of researching new contract opportunities back on Earth. If he had to deal with any extraterrestrials from other star systems, he had a mental block brought on by extreme xenophobia. After Dean calmed him down, he told Charles to just email the case file and contact information to him and he would take care of it.
“Sorry,” he told the Firecracker Lady as he hung up.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I sent such a belt buckle into the swamp to wrestle with crocosharks.”
“Hey, you got what you asked for, didn’t you?”
“I bet you didn’t even want to come to Moon City. This isn’t your forte, going after offworld serial killers. You’re no assassin. You got talked into this, just like that guy on the phone talked you into doing his job for him.”
“Am I in therapy here?”
She narrowed her eyes and flicked the ash of the cigar into a white porcelain ashtray shaped like a naked man. “I don’t have a filter for when things bug me about people. Was that guy your direct report? He was, wasn’t he?”
“Yep. So what?”
“I’d fire his ass.”
“Well,” said Dean, “thankfully for him and his family, I’m not you.”
“That’s strikingly clear. I own half a galaxy and you’re risking your ass to use my cameras. Yes, I do believe we are quite different beyond your peepee and my whowho.”
“Risking my ass was my part of the deal. What about yours?”
“Oh, just settle down a minute. You’re so hyper.” The red coal at the end of her cigar glowed brightly for a moment as she pulled on it. “Can I ask you something?”
“I guess you’re going to anyway.” He sighed.
“Do you think I dress this way because I’m some slutty bitch on a power trip?”
Dean was taken back, but recovered quickly. “No comment.”
“Well, of course not. You either pull out a white lie or you avoid what you really want to say. You’re the strong, silent type, but you’re also soft in the center. You don’t want anyone to not like you. So you just let everyone mow you over. With me, as I said, we are different and I don’t give two mumblyfucks what anybody thinks about me. But I’m giving you permission here. Answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Keep up with me, Dean, the slutty bitch power trip question.”
He grumbled. “No, I’m sure you dress the way that makes you happy.”
“You’re wrong,” she replied. “I actually am slutty and a bitch and I love power trips. However, why I dress this way is only half that. The other half is my boyfriend likes this kinky beach blanket bingo bullshit. He and I are going swimming in the pool upstairs after I’m through with this cigar. Dressing this way does nothing for me, but I do it anyway. Why? Because I want his affection. I want to keep him happy. I’m screwed up.”
“No you aren’t.”
“I can have any man I want and I’m wearing this ridiculous thing. I don’t even like swimming.”
“You aren’t screwed up.”
“Stop playing it so safe. I am screwed up. Years ago I fell in love with Surgeon Delta. You ever heard of him?”
“Who hasn’t? He’s almost as popular as Chris Agate.”
“Never met Agate, but Delta ruined me for any other man—not by length or anything but how he’d get behind me and put his—”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“Awww,” she said through the smoke. “Baby’s squeamish about boy parts?”
“Yes, in fact. I don’t even look down in the shower.”
She erupted in laughter. “There you go! That’s what I want. Just tell me everything straight up.”
“Fine then. So we are good now? Can I get my access to those damn cameras or what?”
“Of course, Dean Fulsome,” she sweetly said and leaned forward, tapping her fingers across her laser console. “My people will meet you down in the casino and give you access.”
“For a full day.”
“That was the deal.” She beat out more ash. “Oh, and if you know any freighters willing to smuggle that stuff off the moon, you let me know. I can give them a lovely percentage.”
“Can’t help you there.”
She shrugged. “Who knows? You have to ask to get an answer.”
“I’ll let you know… and have a good swim with your man.”
A sly grin. “Thank you. Just remember, Dean, neither of us has to do these things we don’t want to. We choose everything.”
“Agreed. So you keep wearing that stuff and I’ll keep doing other people’s work for them.”
She stubbed out the cigar. “Until we’re through with doing it, right?”
“Yeah.”
He heard the door unlock behind him as she released it. “Good-bye Slaughter Man. I hope you find what you’re looking for on those cameras.”
“Thank you Fire—wait, what is your name, really?”
Her smile was sad. “That’s only for Surgeon Delta to know. I think I’ll keep it that way. No offense.”
Dean bowed a little. “For the record, I don’t find you bitchy at all.”
She pointed to the door. “Enough feel-good straight talk. Haul outta here, dickface.”
He left, grinning, somehow feeling privileged to be insulted.
* * *
The two men who escorted Dean to a backroom in the casino looked nothing like henchman for a crime boss as renowned as the Firecracker Lady. He might have known better, since she employed Donaldo, the geeky super robotics genius contained in an intimidating frame, but one of the henchmen was a bartender, the other a currency exchange clerk. Perhaps she just trusted him enough now where she didn’t need to bring in the
big heavies.
But then there were the consoles. Moon City wasn’t a large satellite, but it was at least a hundred times larger than Earth’s moon, and though the entire civilization was considered a “city” in this system, there were over a thousand counties and hundreds of thousands of districts. So the consoles… the screens that could be a window into all these locations… there were only three.
East. West. South.
Dean sat and looked at the keyboard, which was ten times longer than any keyboard he’d ever seen and with dozens upon dozens of strange keys.
The exchange clerk coughed into his hand. “It’s Fanglion. We never use it. Just instruct the camera, date, time, location, reverse, forward, play. They all work. It’s intuitive too.”
“Good deal. Why isn’t there a feed for north?”
“Nobody’s out by the Midnight Sea—it’s too far and not enough proximity to power grids.”
“Fair enough. How do I engage it?”
“Com Cam Three Five—Dean here will be your master for the next seventy-two hours. Starting now.”
Dean said, “Show me the Stone Root Ale House two days ago.”
The image scrambled and revealed the tavern during opening hours.
“You can be more specific,” said the exchange clerk.
“Show me when any Deitii enters the bar.”
The time flew to later in the night. Not the night an earthling would have considered night, but around past second midnight. An unassuming Deitii entered, said hello to a couple of regulars, and headed for the bar. It was a child in age for their species, but if you’re over one hundred years old, a human will sell you anything you want to get messed up on. It just made sense.
To us.
Dean watched as the child sipped on a lager and read some news on his e-pad. A man sidled up to him and struck up a conversation. The face wasn’t in the shot.
Moon City Page 19
