“Anyone who’s not a pretty female, anyway.” Tychus leered.
Jim didn’t bat an eye. “Scutter—”
Tychus made a keep-it-down motion with his hand. Jim continued more quietly but with equal vehemence. “Scutter O’Banon has got a ring through our noses, and yet he ain’t done a damn thing for us. I know that’s gotta sit bad with you.”
Tychus nodded slowly. “We still can’t just up and leave.”
“Damn it, Tychus—”
“Shut up and listen to me, boy.” Tychus’s voice was serious. “We don’t jump without a parachute. We don’t ditch O’Banon without some way of taking care of ourselves. We can’t say, ‘Why, thank you, kind sir, but we’d like to go work for someone else.’ If we’re getting out, we need to get out and be able to stay out. Drop out completely, for good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Jim did. Tychus, as usual, was one step ahead of him. Jim knew that plenty of people underestimated Tychus Findlay. They saw how powerfully, almost impossibly built he was, and didn’t think past the muscle. Big as he was, Tychus was extremely fit. He was also extremely intelligent. Jim knew he himself wasn’t a slouch in the fitness or mental acumen department, but Tychus thought about things in a different way than he did. They complemented each other well.
“Sounds like you might already know of something,” he said, taking another bite of flapjack.
“I listen,” said Tychus bluntly. “Even when I’m doing other things. And people talk, even when they’re doing other things. Scutter’s boys are no exception. Now, Cadaver and that butler know how to keep their mouths shut, but some of the others … well, let’s just say Scutter’s got a big, big score coming up. One that could keep us set for a long time. A long time.”
Jim was intrigued. “You know who we’re robbing? Where the money’s coming from?”
Tychus shook his head. “Nope. And it don’t matter none, anyway, because by the end of it all, that money’s going to be ours and no one else’s.” He grinned wickedly.
The man in the duster landed his small vessel at Deadman’s Port. He emerged from the ship and looked about, fixing his one-eyed gaze on the “authorities” there. The other eye was covered by a patch. There was something in that single cold eye surrounded by scars that made the men avert their own. They took his credits, wished him good day, and were happy to see the back of him.
He strode through the channels between hulking vessels with the confidence of one who knew he would not be bothered, and he was not. Not by adults, anyway. One member of a gang of urchins made the mistake of reaching out a small hand to clutch the duster. The child found herself staring wide-eyed at a pistol an inch from her face.
Daun smiled at her fear. “You know who I am?”
Tears welled in the brown eyes, slipped down the tanned face. “N-no sir.”
“I’m the bogeyman,” Daun continued. He clicked off the safety, slowly, knowing it would be heard clearly in the frightened silence that had fallen on the cluster of children. He lowered his face to the little girl’s, then lifted the eye patch. The girl shrieked. Beneath the black fabric was a patchwork of scar tissue. A glowing red orb sat in the black, acid-scarred socket. The orb seemed to dilate and constrict, making a slight whirring noise as it did so.
“I’m going to come at night, and crawl into your head, and haunt your dreams as I stare at you with my red, red eye. And then tomorrow I’ll be following you. Watching you. Do you know what I want to see with my red, red eye?”
She was fighting back sobs now, her whole body trembling. Her terror was intoxicating. It was a pity his line of work didn’t bring him into contact with children more often. Their fear was so … pure.
“No, sir,” she whispered. “What do you want to see?”
“I want to see you looking over your shoulder, wondering where I am. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, screwing her eyes shut. Mucus ran from her nose.
“Good. Maybe I won’t come back in your head after that. Or maybe I will. Run along now.”
She and her little group fled, scattering like roaches when someone turns on the light. Daun grinned and replaced the eye patch, straightening.
He always had liked Deadman’s Port.
He had a lead on whom he was looking for, and where he might be found. There was a small opening off to the side that denoted either a very secretive establishment or a very seedy one. His intel told him that this would be a good starting place to look, and if his quarry was not here, he would flush the rabbit elsewhere.
Daun slipped inside, pistol at the ready. No one challenged him. The building opened up as he went farther in, and strains of … singing? … reached his ears. The soft voice of a woman, not shouting obscene lyrics, nor fighting to be heard over blaring, raucous music. She was softly singing, with only a few instruments as background noise, an old, old song about love found and lost.
Daun frowned and moved fully into the room. The environment was calm, one might even say placid, even though there were a surprising number of customers sitting at small tables lit only by a few candles. The décor was subdued, almost spartan. The singer was on a stage illuminated by a single spotlight. She was attractive, but older and a little overweight, and her clothing actually left something to the imagination.
He shook his head at the strangeness of the place—no wonder the clientele was so secretive: in a place like Deadman’s Port things like this were shameful, he thought—and looked around for his target.
The man was sitting alone, sipping something out of a small glass and watching the singer with a half smile on his face. Disgusted with the mellow feel of this place, Daun slipped beside him and pointed the gun at the base of his skull. The man’s sudden spike of fear was most rewarding.
“You’re Edward Baines, aren’t you?”
The man started to nod, felt the muzzle at the back of his neck, and stopped the motion. “Yes,” he said, with calmness that was both admirable and annoying. “And you must be Ezekiel Daun.”
Surprise flitted through Daun. “I could be a two-bit thug.”
“Unlikely,” Baines continued. The man was thin and as gaunt as a corpse. Daun disliked him, not least because Baines was quickly mastering his fear. “A two-bit thug wouldn’t have the connections or the funds to pull the sort of strings it takes to learn about this place, let alone be able to sneak up on me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Daun snorted, lowering the gun. Baines turned around to face him, regarding him with calm, watery eyes.
“So. What do you want from me, Mr. Daun?”
“I need the dog to take a message to his master,” Daun said, smiling a little. “You tell that comfortable bastard who plays all sides that I’ll respect his little duchy here. I won’t make a play on Findlay and Raynor while I’m in town. Bad for business … his and mine.”
Baines nodded. “I will tell him. I’m sure he will appreciate your business acumen.”
“But,” Daun said, reaching over and picking up Baines’s drink, “that only lasts while I’m here and they’re here. I’m not interested in any kind of deal that makes me renege on a bounty. I don’t care how much someone pays. Besides, it’s gotten personal now. I want those two. And I’ll have them.” He swirled the drink, sniffed it, and raised an approving eyebrow before gulping it down and setting the glass back on the table with an exaggerated thump.
“Once Raynor and Findlay leave Deadman’s Port, they become fair game.”
Baines nodded. “I will tell him. Anything else? Perhaps about how long you expect to be in town?”
Daun chuckled. “I only came down to find you to deliver the message. I’m not interested in any of the other entertainment Deadman’s Port provides.”
It wasn’t quite true, of course. He still had to get back to his ship. There were a lot of places a man could visit while retracing his steps. But once he had reached his vessel, he would simply stay in orbit, a spider watching his web very, very carefully.
“That might be best for all involved, sir.”
Daun rose, patted Baines on his bony shoulder, regarded the singer with a thin smile of contempt, and left as quietly as he had come.
“How the hell did you even hear about this heist?” Scutter O’Banon was saying.
He, Jim, and Tychus were at O’Banon’s mansion. Tychus had insisted on meeting there, due to the extremely private nature of the information. “You don’t want this to be overheard,” Tychus had warned, and had been quite correct in the assumption. Even so, they were no longer being feted with lavish food and drink. The dapper Randall was conspicuously absent, and they were meeting in a small room off the front hall rather than in the parlor. There were no chairs. Scutter was saying without words that the business would be conducted quickly.
“I ain’t gonna name names, but people do talk, especially when they’re liquored up,” Tychus said.
“It would be worth your while to name names, Mr. Find-lay,” O’Banon said. “Especially considering the trouble you and Mr. Raynor here keep causing me.”
Tychus shook his head. “Naw. You’d know I’d rat someone out then, and the next person I ratted out might be you.”
Scutter sighed. Tychus had raised a good point. Still, he frowned. “You two are starting to become more effort than you are worth.”
Jim felt a chill. Words like that were never pleasant to hear. If Scutter felt they had exceeded their value to him, no one would ever find their bodies. Not that anyone would miss them, he mused darkly.
“Your hound showed up on my planet today,” Scutter said.
Jim’s stomach dropped into his shoes. Daun! He was alive after all. Jim had dared to hope—but it was hard to kill someone like him. Hard as hell.
O’Banon walked over to a hutch, opened a humidor, fished out one of his thin cigars, and began to trim it as he spoke. He did not offer one to Jim or Tychus. “Told me that he was going to play nice and not cause any trouble in my sandbox.” O’Banon almost spat the words. “Mighty gracious of him, don’t you think?” He lit the cigar and turned back to them. “So you’re safe here. But once you leave, he’ll be after you. I’ll do what I can.”
“Oh, that’s just great—” Jim started to sputter, but Tychus held up a hand.
“See, and that’s another reason we should go on this heist. Your boys might talk, but they ain’t stupid. Might have figured Jimmy and I already knew about it. Point is, nobody else does. Including Daun.”
O’Banon’s eyes narrowed. “True,” he said. “And you two do have certain … expertise that could enhance things.”
“Damn straight we do.”
“Very well. I’ll let you come along.”
“‘Come along’?”
Scutter smiled with his very pursed, very red mouth. “You couldn’t possibly imagine that I’d send you two off alone with something of this magnitude…. Hell, boys, you’re lucky it’s Randall’s day off, or you’d be bleeding on the floor right now.”
“Now wait a—” Jim began. Again Tychus held up a hand, though the strain was starting to show on his face.
“We’ll do it. But we want an equal cut.”
Scutter chuckled. “You pull this off, you’ll get an equal cut. My word on it.”
“I knew we could come to an agreement that would be of mutual benefit,” Tychus said. He ambled over to the sideboard and helped himself to a cigar. Scutter’s eye twitched, but he said nothing as Tychus prepped the cigar and began to smoke it. “So. Here we are. Fill us in.”
“I’m sure you boys are familiar with Bacchus Moon,” Scutter said.
“Hell yeah,” Tychus replied. “Gambler’s paradise. The Koprulu sector’s high rollers go there. Lots of entertainment too.” He looked at Jim and waggled his eyebrows.
“Entertainment of that sort, certainly,” agreed O’Banon, “and other types of shows and performances for those with more discerning tastes. Incredibly fine hotels, famous restaurants. Fantasy fulfillment on all levels, for the right price. The place caters to gamblers, as you say, but also hosts conventions. A very great number of people are moving through there at any given minute.”
“Good place for crime,” Jim said.
“Less than you would think,” Scutter said, in a this is why I’m the boss and you are the henchmen tone of voice. “Security is a going commodity, and people can pay for the best. Especially,” he emphasized, “the banks.”
Jim’s heart sank. He had hoped that they would have a specific mark, or that they would pull off a sting or fleece some gamblers. He didn’t know a lot about Bacchus Moon, but he knew the things that everybody knew, and one of the things that everybody knew was that if your money was in a bank safe on Bacchus Moon, the operative word in that sentence was “safe.” Nobody was going to touch it.
He began to wonder if he and Tychus were being set up for a suicide mission, just as a way for Scutter to punish them. Then he realized that all Scutter needed to do was let Daun have a crack at them. In the end, that would be more efficient.
Even Tychus’s body language changed. “I see,” was all he said, though, as he thoughtfully blew out smoke.
“It has come to my attention that the Covington Bank will be the location of a massive stockpile of Confederate credits for exactly thirty-seven hours before the credits are dispersed.”
“Define ‘massive,’” said Jim.
Scutter eyed him. “Seven hundred million, thirty-six thousand, four hundred and twenty.”
Jim wasn’t sure, but he thought he made a small choking sound. Even Tychus coughed a little as he inhaled the smoke from his cigar.
“For thirty-seven hours,” Tychus confirmed.
“At the Covington Bank.”
“Well, now, I must say, Scutter, that’s a right tidy sum.”
“I thought so. And since it’s so bountiful, and the job so tricky, I’m inclined to be generous with the men who get it for me.”
“There’s the rub, isn’t it?” said Tychus. “Gettin’ those seven-hundred-plus-million credits. What’s the current plan?”
“One cannot simply march in and ask for the money, so my man Ash Thompson has been doing some research into what’s below the bank. There was a cave-in about six years ago that severely damaged the sewer system. Costs to dig it out and rebuild it to meet safety regulations were prohibitive, so they simply let it stay caved in. Now, we don’t care about how good a sewer system it is; we just need to get access to the vault. Ash believes that—”
“Nope. That plan is total shit.”
O’Banon blinked. “‘Shit’?”
Tychus shook his head. “Too risky, from a lot of standpoints. Too time-consuming and uses too much manpower.”
A slow flush began to creep up Scutter’s face. “You have a superior plan?”
“I think I do,” drawled Tychus. “And you will recall, it was our reputation that got you interested in us.”
“I agree with Tychus,” Jim said. “We need to get in, get the credits, get out. The longer we’re digging in the dirt, the greater the chance someone will find us.”
Scutter took a puff of his skinny cigar and narrowed his eyes, thinking. “You know,” he said at last, “I did not get to the current position I so happily occupy by doing the dirty work myself.” He smiled thinly—at least, as thinly as was possible with his full lips. “Both you and Ash know your jobs. I think I’ll leave you three to figure it out. May the best man win, eh?”
He retrieved a piece of paper and a gold pen from the desk, jotted down an address, and handed it to Tychus. “Be there in three hours. I will expect to hear what you come up with in five.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DEADMAN’S PORT, DEADMAN’S ROCK
JACK’S SPOT
Jim and Tychus knew the place well. Scutter owned it, as he did many—most, actually—of the businesses in Deadman’s Port. It was a place called Jack’s Spot, with a gambling theme to play along with the pun, and was run-down enough to be inconspicuou
s and clean enough not to be a cesspool.
They arrived early and ordered food. “I don’t plot bank robberies on an empty stomach,” Tychus said. He ordered two sandwiches, chips, and beer, which for him was essentially little more than a midday snack. Jim poked disinterestedly at Tychus’s basket of chips and nursed his own beer. He was growing less and less excited at the prospect of what they were about to embark upon with every passing moment, and was beginning to wish he had just left and not let Tychus talk him into one final big heist.
At exactly one minute to the appointed time, three men approached them and slid into the booth.
“I like it when my team is punctual,” Tychus said.
Jim evaluated the men who had just joined them. They looked exactly as he had expected them to look. Hardened, calculating, wary, and yet confident. Just like Scutter O’Banon’s boys should look.
He wondered how he looked to them.
The one sitting beside Tychus—a man in his thirties, about Jim’s size and build, with dirty blond hair and a pale scar down one cheek—narrowed his eyes at the comment.
“The name is Ash Thompson. And I am the leader of this … team. I was told to listen to your plan and, if I found it sound, to bring you in on the job.”
Tychus took an enormous bite of his second sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Well, maybe we can learn a lesson from the playground and share the ball, then, Ass.” He feigned mortification. “Sorry … Ash.”
The man seated next to Jim and across from Tychus growled. “This guy is starting to piss me off, Ash. I already don’t like what I’m hearing. Let’s end this now.”
The third man stayed silent. He was small, thin, and dark-haired. Jim didn’t like his silence and glared at all of them.
“Now, now, Rafe, settle down. Let’s hear the man out before we cut his throat.”
Jim actually rolled his eyes. “Ash, I gotta tell you, if this clichéd routine you three have going is any indication, we’re the ones who want out.”
Ash’s mouth slowly stretched into a smile. It was thin, and cold, and dangerous. “The quiet one speaks.”
StarCraft II: Devil's Due Page 17
