“You must be Tychus Findlay,” the man said, in a voice that was deep as a crater and smooth as oil.
“That I am,” Tychus replied, puffing on the air tank as if he were puffing on his more familiar stogie. “This here’s my partner, Jim Raynor. And you have just got to be Declan Moore of the Screaming Skulls.”
The gold-tooth grin widened. “We don’t take pains to hide our identity, not here,” he said. “I understand you have a freighter full of shinies for us.”
Tychus glanced around. “Let’s drink first and discuss business later.”
“I told you, we don’t take pains to hide our identity here, Findlay.”
“Yeah? Well, I do.”
There was a tense moment while the two men sized each other up. Tychus could obviously snap Declan’s neck with one meaty hand. But Raynor had seen enough to know that the skinny pirate leader probably had a trick or forty-seven to counter with, and knew Tychus knew it too.
Finally Declan shrugged. “There’s a back room, for just such occasions.”
“Sounds just about right.”
A few moments later, they had been ushered into a particularly dark and not particularly fragrant area of The Pit. The room was quite small; Tychus practically filled it himself. Every member of the Screaming Skulls had piled in for the conversation, and the small table did not have an inch of space to spare once everyone’s drinks, ashtrays, and other items had been piled atop it. It was further crowded because, like Tychus, all the others wore harnesses with oxygen so that they could extend their enjoyment of the alcohol.
But apparently none of the Skulls seemed to mind. They were the most—Jim groped for the word—cheerful band of murderers and cutthroats he had ever seen. There was much laughter, spilling of beverages, bawdy talk, and generally good-natured camaraderie.
Declan made sure everyone was settled, then he turned to Jim and Tychus from a distance of about eight inches away.
“Now,” he said, his whiskey-scented breath bathing them, “shinies.”
Tychus had the warrior woman in his lap—her name was Elli, or Ella, or Alli; Jim hadn’t caught it clearly in the hubbub of the bar—and had to maneuver around her in order to fish out the crystal he’d brought as proof of his and Jim’s good faith. Alli/Ella/Elli didn’t seem to mind, chuckling throatily as she shifted on his lap.
Tychus placed the crystal on the table. “One of an entire freighter full,” he said. “Ought to fetch you a real nice price.”
“Ought to indeed,” Declan said. He reached out a hand for it, fingering it with the expertise of someone who knew what he was looking for. His eyes narrowed as he perused it.
Jim realized that, while not exactly an act, the happy-go-lucky, wild playfulness Declan and the others cultivated was far from all of what they were. There was a blade in the colorful, over-the-top sheath—a cutlass, no doubt—and that blade was very, very sharp indeed. He was suddenly quite glad he was doing business with the Screaming Skulls, not competing or in conflict with them.
“Decent-quality crystals,” Declan said. He reached over to Alli/Ella/Elli’s ample bosom and tucked the crystal snugly between her breasts. She gave him a wink. “We’ll give you a decent price.”
He put a pile of credits on the table. It wasn’t as large as Jim had fantasized about, but it was damned fair. He nodded to himself. They liked booze and fellowship, and they paid pretty well for work. Something cold splashed on his neck, and he jumped.
“Damn, sorry about that. Let me clean it up,” came a soft female voice. It was the other woman, the small blonde, and an instant later he felt a warm tongue licking up the trickle of alcohol.
Oh yeah. He liked the Screaming Skulls.
Talk of business was suspended for a while, during which time the party spilled out of the small back room into The Pit proper. Jack, the large black man who was apparently Declan’s second in command, was sent to confirm that the freight was indeed as laden with crystals as Jim and Tychus had promised. He returned with a large smile. More rounds of drinks were ordered, and some strange little snack that was deliciously and addictively salty. Jim was certain he didn’t want to know what it was.
At some point, the warrior woman detached herself and stumbled up to the bar. She was passed a mic by the grinning bartender. Finding one of the tables that had only a few drinks on it, she stood on it, tossed her black hair, arched her back, exposing her pierced midriff, and began to sing. Surprisingly well.
“Alli’s good,” Declan said, accepting a cigar from Tychus and permitting the bigger man to light it for him. “At a hell of a lot of things.”
Jim wondered if Declan meant what he thought he meant.
“No shit,” said the dark-skinned man. “She fillets better’n anyone I ever seen. Gets them screaming within three minutes, don’t finish ’em off until three hours.” He shook his head in admiration. “One hell of a woman.”
Jim settled back carefully in his chair.
“Got another job for you, if you want to take it,” Declan said, taking another puff. The tip of his cigar glowed orange. “We’d do it ourselves, but we ain’t got the time. Gotta pace yourselves, you know? Don’t want to miss the opportunity, but don’t want to burn out.”
“One must pause to enjoy the little things in life,” Tychus agreed, puffing on his own stogie.
“You impressed us with the freighter,” Declan said. “So we’ll share the profits with you. Generously.”
“Define ‘generous,’” Jim said.
“Seventy-thirty. And you get the seventy.”
Jim’s eyes went wide: it was one hell of an offer—they must have made a mighty fine impression—but Tychus had the better poker face.
“Let’s say twenty-eighty. Us.”
A murmur went around the table, and the conviviality dropped several notches.
“I mean, after all, we’re the ones out there risking our necks. Taking all the chances. You just got the info.”
“Twenty-five–seventy-five,” offered Declan.
Tychus rubbed his chin, apparently contemplating whether or not the stubble warranted a shave. “I reckon that is acceptable.”
At once glasses were clinked and alcohol was sloshed. Jim grinned and took another hit of oxygen before ordering another round.
Life was good.
An hour later, the plans having been discussed, staggering a little despite the oxygen they had inhaled as a precaution, Jim and Tychus were aboard the Screaming Skulls’ vessel, the Privateer. She was medium-sized, older, but with a lot of personalized touches. The slightly weather-beaten interior seemed to suit the cheerful group that piled in, heading, predictably, for a cabinet that housed a particularly rare vintage of something golden and strong-smelling.
Declan poured drinks all-round. Jim felt he could almost get drunk off the smell of the amber liquor. He swirled it around in the small glass, mesmerized by the thick flow.
“To new partnerships!” announced Declan, and he knocked his back.
It was the best thing Jim had ever tasted—strong like a good punch, smooth like a long, slow kiss. It burned a fiery trail down to his stomach, and he took another sip.
“If the partnership starts this way,” said Tychus, “I think we might be doing business together for quite some time.”
“Where can we drop you off, boys?”
There was only one place that Jim and Tychus particularly felt like spending the Skulls’ money.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEW SYDNEY
WICKED WAYNE’S
Raynor inhaled the smell of tobacco, other smokes, and spilled alcohol as if it were a fine perfume. This was the smell of Wicked Wayne’s, and it always made him smile. Big Eddie beamed and ushered them in, cheerfully accepting his tip, and Jim felt a smile stretching his own face as he looked around.
If there was anyplace in this sector he felt he could call home, this was it. Peace settled on him as he and Tychus entered, placed their drink orders with the ever-efficient and
lovely Misty, and took their usual seats. Over in a corner, a live band was performing tonight.
“Where’s Daisy?” Jim asked as he lifted his drink in salute to Evangelina, who was currently undulating on the stage in next to nothing.
“She’s busy. Guess I gotta find my own amusement,” Tychus said. They sat and watched the girls perform and drained their whiskeys in a comfortable silence.
Every time Jim saw Evangelina, he found her more striking. He kept looking for a physical flaw. He found one: a tiny little mole near her right eyebrow. And that was it. It astonished him. He’d yet to get her to bed—usually she was booked several weeks in advance—but she kept assuring him that just as soon as she had a break in her schedule, she’d be all his.
Tychus slammed his glass down with a grunt. “Time to go liberate some credits from some poor unfortunate souls,” he said. “You care to join me, Jim?”
Jim was pretty comfortable right where he was, but the idea did have merit. He had learned to play poker in the military, with Tychus and the rest of the Heaven’s Devils. Or rather, he had learned initially how to lose every payday. But by observing his compatriots, he’d learned to recognize “tells.” And by stubbornly refusing to quit, he’d learned the game well.
Evangelina was going to be onstage for a while. Why not accompany Tychus in the meantime? “Sure,” Jim said, rising and grinning at his friend.
Four games later, there were three faces at the table that registered varying expressions of glum, sullen, and pissed off, and two that were rather pleased-looking. Tychus’s pile was a bit larger than Jim’s, but the former farm boy had done pretty well for himself. And the night was young.
Tychus ground out his stogie and grinned wolfishly at the three losers. “Who’s up for another game?”
One of them, an older man with graying hair, simply shook his head, pushed his chair back, and went to the bar, presumably to see if Misty was in the mood to extend credit, as Jim was pretty sure they’d cleaned him out. The other two nodded.
“I want to get that money back,” said one.
“I don’t know how you cheated, but I’m sure you did,” growled the other.
Tychus just grinned. The funny thing about all this was, surprisingly enough, Tychus actually didn’t cheat. He just knew how to read people very, very well.
“I think,” came a feminine voice, “that Mr. Findlay is going to have to sit this hand out. And maybe a few more after that.”
Jim and Tychus glanced up to see Daisy slipping her arms over Tychus’s shoulders. “That does sound mighty tempting,” Tychus drawled, “but I’m on a winning streak right now, honey.”
“That you are,” Daisy replied. “Wait till you see what I got in store for you.”
Tychus searched her eyes for a moment, then grinned. “Wouldn’t be a man if I turned that down,” he said, shoving his pile over to Jim. “Here you go, Jimmy. Try not to lose it all on the first hand, all right?”
“I’ll do the best I can, Tychus,” Jim promised.
Daisy was not a small girl, but compared to Tychus, giantesses would look petite. Her hand was completely engulfed in his larger one as she led him up the stairs, glancing back down at him with a half smile and smoldering eyes that promised the world and more.
“Everybody’s talking about how stupid Butler and his posse looked,” Tychus said, “and that’s all due to you, sweetheart.”
Her half smile widened. “I had fun,” she said. “You know he’s come sniffing around Wayne’s before. I had myself a good laugh, watching them scramble around, trying to find you.”
Tychus chuckled. “I reckon you did. Jimmy and I had a laugh just imagining it. They weren’t too hard on you, were they, darlin’?”
Daisy rolled her eyes and waved her free hand in a dismissive gesture. “That delicate flower of a marshal? Not likely. That deputy of his just kept turning redder and redder trying to ask me about my profession.”
Tychus guffawed at that and squeezed her hand. “Thought you were usually booked tonight.”
“I am,” she said, winking. “I made a special exception just for you, baby. You usually don’t stick around here too long.”
“I always come back, though, and I always ask for you,” he reminded her.
“That you do. And that’s why I wanted to do something … well … special for you tonight.”
Tychus raised an eyebrow in anticipation. “Special, eh?”
She grinned and tugged on his hand. “Special. Come on.”
They ran up the rest of the stairs, and Tychus automatically headed to the room Daisy shared with three other girls. She shook her red head. “Not tonight,” she said. “I told you: special.”
She led him to a door on the far end of the hall, to a room he’d never visited before. She fished for the key, unlocked it, and pushed open the door.
The room was lavish, painted in dark, soothing colors, and Tychus whistled softly, impressed. Art hung on the walls, and the furnishings appeared to be genuine antiques. In one corner was a large claw-foot tub with gleaming gold fixtures. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed. Huge, canopied, large enough for more than two, its frame was heavy cast iron and was probably handmade. Fanciful creatures twined their way around the bed frame, culminating with two gargoyles perched on small golden orbs on each corner. The sheets were red and satiny-looking.
“My, my, girlie, you pull out all the stops when you say ‘special,’ don’t you?”
“I most certainly do!” laughed Daisy, throwing her arms around him and kissing him. His massive arms went around her and he lifted her off her feet, kissing her back and then moving toward the bed. Daisy pulled free of the kiss and slapped playfully and utterly ineffectively at the broad shoulders.
“Hey, now, this is my surprise! Don’t you go rushing and spoiling things!”
Tychus obediently set her down on the bed and grinned at her. “All right, darlin’, you’re running this show, and so far I like what I see.”
Her gaze flickered down to his crotch. “So do I,” she said. “Now, you gotta do just as I say.”
He placed a hand to his heart and bowed mockingly. “I am your obedient servant, madam.”
Still fully clothed, she kicked off her boots and scooted back on the enormous bed, her eyes bright with mischief. “Very good. Now. First of all, take off your boots.”
He obeyed as she instructed him to divest himself of boots, shirt, weapons, and pants until he stood proudly naked before her. She patted the pillow.
“Now, stretch out here for me,” she invited. He did so, appreciating the fact that the bed was large enough so he could fully stretch out. Daisy leaned over and kissed him, lingeringly and passionately. She trailed her fingers over his huge chest, then up one of his arms, and then—
Tychus laughed as a handcuff snapped into place around his wrist, securing him to the iron bed frame. He stared at the gleaming metal for a moment, then a huge grin split his face.
“Oh, darlin’ Daisy,” he said, warmth in his voice, “I didn’t know you was into this sort of thing, or we’d have been playing games like this long before now.”
“Well, I think tonight’s the perfect time to start,” Daisy replied, leaning forward to kiss his nose before snapping the second restraint around his wrist. Tychus tugged experimentally. These were the genuine articles, not play toys. It would seem Miss Daisy was more hard-core than he had imagined. It was a wonderful thought. Tychus made himself comfortable on the pillows, letting his arms relax in the handcuffs, and smiled as he anticipated the delights to come.
Daisy slipped off the bed and flounced to a large dresser with several drawers and cabinets. She opened a drawer and withdrew something she playfully hid behind her as she approached the bed.
“Whatcha got there, darlin’?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Her smile grew, became one of triumph. She took her hand from behind her back and showed him.
In her painted and manicured fingers was a hypo
.
“You should have paid me two months ago when I asked, Tychus Findlay,” she said.
All the heat that had been rushing to his groin dissipated, as if he had just had cold water thrown on him. He felt armor going up around his soul just as it did when he had put on the hardskin back in his army days. It was the oldest trick in the book, and he’d fallen for it. The thought infuriated him. He gave her a little smile.
“Aw, honey, that was a nice night. I thought that was a free-bie,” he drawled.
She laughed harshly. “You ain’t that pretty, Tychus.”
“Honey, that wounds me right to the core, that does. Hurts my ego.”
Daisy was done bantering. She continued in a hard voice. “And that nonsense, sending me like a damn calling card to Marshal Butler when you and Jim made off with those planet-hoppers. Also an unpaid job, I might add. Well, I told him quite a few things he was mighty interested in hearing. He and his boys are going to be here in just a few minutes. And when they get here, I’m going to be one rich woman off that bounty that’s on your head.”
“I think you get more if I’m alive,” he reminded her as she scooted over to him on the bed, bringing the needle closer to his neck. “Last time I checked, anyway.”
“You afraid of dying, Tychus Findlay?” she scoffed. “Course I get more money if you’re alive. This is just enough sedatives to knock out a horse. Which should take care of you. You hold still, and this doesn’t have to hurt any more than—”
He had been lying quietly, channeling his rage, controlling it. Now, as a teased animal kept in a cage might do, he flung open the door to his fury. Tychus directed his rage into his right hand, willing it to pull against the chain that imprisoned him, demanding that it break. It did, with a loud crack.
Daisy’s eyes widened to the size of credit chips. An instant later his fist, his wrist still encircled by metal and trailing the snapped chain, was in her face. She flew across the bed and collapsed like a rag doll in the corner.
He let out a bellow of fury, using the sound to focus his strength, and snapped the chain on the left handcuff. His feet hit the floor with a thump, and a heartbeat later Tychus Findlay was racing down the stairs, shouting for Jim at the top of his lungs.
StarCraft II: Devil's Due Page 7
