Fuck me. “I told you I don’t touch that shit.”
Tris smiled.
Kevin slammed a fist into his chest and coughed. “Too much risk.”
She smirked.
Wayne stood and held up his hands. “Not forcin’ the issue. Two fifty on the hook. No one knows it’s here yet.”
“That’s too much money for something so ‘easy,’ isn’t it?” Tris narrowed her eyes at Kevin.
“Yep.” He folded an entire strip of ‘bacon’ into his mouth at once, chewing it slow like tobacco. Once it reduced to mush he could speak around, he shook his head. “Have anything with wheels comin’ after us constantly. They’re payin’ me two-fifty to haul it, so that means the shit’s worth at least two grand.”
“Too risky,” said Tris.
“In order for there to be risk, people would gotta know what yer doin’. I haven’t even posted the run on the board yet. Wanted ta keep it quiet an’ offer ya first dibs.”
“How charitable of you, Wayne.” Kevin chuckled.
“Well, you got a bad deal on that whole Harrisburg thing.” Wayne winked. “Least she’s easy on the eyes.”
“Yeah, she’s a real blast.” Kevin stabbed his eggs.
Tris hung her head.
“There’s a story there.” Wayne rubbed his chin. “Not sure I wanna know.”
“I’ll do it.” Kevin pushed the empty plate back to Wayne. “Leavin’ right away.”
“I don’t like this.” Tris looked up at him. “Feels wrong.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Consider this your first paid job then. We should come to an agreement. Twenty percent of all payouts is yours.”
“Twenty?” She poked him in the side. “I’m worth more than that. How many people out here you think could’ve made that upside down behind-the-back shot?”
For an instant, the image of an Infected’s serpentine tongue inches from his face played back in his head. He shivered and scraped the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. “Okay, fine. Thirty.”
“I’ll accept on the condition you agree to consider forty the next time I save your life.”
“My car. You’re making runs easier, not possible.”
Tris twirled some hair around her finger. “So all a girl needs is a car?”
Kevin eyed her. “Hey Wayne, you got any rope?”
She slugged him in the arm.
Wayne laughed as he wandered into the back room. Bee hustled out to take a position behind the bar. The android winked at Tris. A second later, she stood rigid with a startled face that made Kevin think someone stuck a finger in an opening the android lacked. One spark flickered out of the exposed metal under Bee’s right eye, and she settled back to a normal human posture.
“It is not perfect,” said Bee. “But I feel much better.”
The clonk of boots on rickety wooden steps echoed from the back room. Wayne emerged from the curtain and set an eight-inch black cube on the bar in front of him. Four raised channels about as wide as his pinky nail glowed with cobalt-blue light in the middle of each face.
“Jesus, Wayne. That looks like it came outta the Enclave.” Kevin leaned back.
Wayne covered the box with a rag. “I wouldn’t try openin’ it. Look, just get it to Glimmertown and give it to Neon at a place called Cloud 9.”
“Oh, this keeps getting better and better.” Kevin pulled his hand down over his face. Risk and reward battled in his head. The more time I waste hesitating, the harder this is gonna get. “Okay.”
Tris made a face at him as if he were about to give away her pet dog. “That’s drugs, isn’t it?”
“Relax.” Kevin wrapped the box up in the rag and stood. “What could go wrong?”
Wayne groaned. “Never ask that. God’s an asshole.”
“Heh, no shit.” Kevin headed for the door. At the window, he spotted a pudgy man in New regalia sitting on the Challenger’s hood by the charging cable. The man had a mustache as big as a dead sparrow, which twisted with the start of a smile. “Fuck.” He jogged back to the bar and handed Wayne the box. “Hold this for a sec. Gotta scrape some bird shit offa my car.”
“Careful,” said Wayne.
“Railing wasn’t me.” He jogged out, shoving the saloon doors hard. “Fatass. Off the car.”
The porch bounced under him. Four more News, waiting on either side of the door, rushed at him. In his haste to get to the steps, he hadn’t noticed them. Kevin roared and threw himself at the closer man on the right, a thirty-something white dude with a scar down his left cheek. The man didn’t seem to expect the charge, and Kevin caught him with a fist to the jaw, knocking him into a stagger. The other man on the right, a muscular Native American with long hair, grabbed Kevin by his armored jacket and slammed his back into the wall.
Tris flew in like a white wraith out of the corner of his eye. Her jumping kick connected with the tall, thin New they’d seen the other day, who’d been rushing at Kevin from the left of the door. He went over backward like a dropped plank. Tris ducked two punches from the stocky one before she caught his arm and flipped him over by it, dropping him on his chin.
Long Hair cocked his arm back. Kevin let the shot hit him in the gut, trading it for an elbow to the man’s cheek. Scar snarled and wiped blood from his lip. He let out a roar and ran in. Kevin ducked and twisted to his left causing Scar to punch the wall. As the man doubled over cradling his wrist, Kevin moved to kick him in the face, but Long Hair again grabbed him by the armored jacket.
The world blurred as his feet left the ground: ceiling, floor, ceiling, floor, and he smashed into the porch on his chest, seeing stars and unable to breathe. Tris screamed a war cry somewhere nearby. Kevin cringed, expecting the kick to the gut, but none came. Long Hair staggered backward. Tris grunted and snarled. Kevin pushed himself up.
The huge Native American had Tris in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms. Scar, Stocky, and Wiry converged on her with murder in their eyes. Stocky held up a pair of black military-style handcuffs. Tris let her weight hang in Long Hair’s arms. Her legs vanished in smears of blue. They appeared solid for an instant with simultaneous meaty smacks, her feet stopped in the crotches of Scar and Wiry. The hit lifted Scar on tiptoe and Wiry a few inches off the ground. Before either man’s heels returned to the porch, she’d twisted and kicked Stocky across the face with her left leg, again knocking him into the railing, which broke under the force of impact and dumped him onto the street.
Kevin sucked air into his lungs and jumped on Long Hair. Tris kicked and squirmed. Wiry curled fetal with his hands over his balls, whimpering. Scar seemed to experience a paradoxical effect from a kick in the nuts, going red-faced and enraged instead of stunned. He unwound a length of chain from his waist and spun it up to bash Tris in the head. Kevin let go of Long Hair to intercept, tackling the man flat.
“Damn, this bitch is strong,” said Long Hair.
“Get the fuck off me.” Tris snarled. “I’m not a fucking bounty.”
“Don’t matter now,” said the man sitting on the hood. “You resisted arrest last time. Now you belong to the News.”
Stocky moaned from the road.
Wayne appeared in the doorway, holding a shotgun. He gestured at the railing and flashed a pained expression. “Goddammit. Again?”
“Stay outta this, Wayne,” said the hood-sitter. “We followin’ the Code.”
“Messin’ with another man’s car while it’s parked at a roadhouse is skirtin’ the line, Raphael.” Wayne leaned back as Kevin grappled with Scar, trying to stay in too close for the chain to work. “Even your dumb ass should know that.”
“Dumb?” Raphael yelled. “Where you get off?”
Kevin forced Scar into the wall, squeezing his forearm into the man’s neck and getting a close view of the man’s name patch. “Road Rash eh? Guess you should learn to ride before you join a pack of morons.”
Rash gurgled, unable to get Kevin’s arm off his throat. His eyes rolled up.
“He k
nocks motherfuckers off their bikes,” whined the skinny man, still on the ground holding his crotch.
“Yeah, dumb,” said Wayne. “Who the hell gives a flying fuck where the Mexican border is now?”
Stocky grabbed the porch and pulled himself upright.
“Cuff this bitch already,” said Long Hair, still struggling to contain her.
Kevin let go of Rash, letting him slide to sit on the floor, and ran at the man holding Tris. He grabbed Long Hair’s leather at the same instant Tris faked a kick to Stocky’s face with her left, and drove her right foot into his groin.
Smack.
The hit echoed loud enough to cause every man on the porch to cringe. Stocky fell to his knees, emitting a high-pitched keening wail. The handcuffs slipped from his fingers and clattered to the porch.
She slipped away from Long Hair as Kevin wrestled him backward. An unexpected fist found Kevin in the forehead and knocked him scrambling for balance as the big man stomped after him. He rolled to the side and got upright a second before Long Hair punched again. His already-tender ribs didn’t need another dose, so he threw himself to the right and adopted a boxer’s defensive stance.
He traded jabs and blocks with the big man for a few seconds. Rash recovered and got to his feet, heading for Tris with a swinging chain. Wiry limped upright and pulled a knife. Wayne coughed. Tris shrugged the katana off her back, still in its sheath. Kevin looked away to duck an overextended haymaker and capitalized with a right hook to Long Hair’s jaw that sent him reeling. A rapid three-smack echoed, like a burst from a low-caliber assault rifle.
Wiry, head turned and spit flying from his lips, tilted back on his heels as if he’d taken a baseball bat to the cheek. Stocky fell to his left, blood spraying from his nose. Rash stumbled away, favoring his broken right arm as the chain fell from his grip. Tris blurred again, smashing the katana once on each of Rash’s knees before crowning him with a glancing stroke across the top of his head, all in the span of a second and a half. Kevin winced at the thought of what the attack would’ve done were the blade exposed.
Rash, unconscious, hit the ground, forearm and knees broken.
“Don’t,” yelled Wayne, aiming at Raphael.
Kevin managed a two-second look at the revolver in the fat man’s hand before Long Hair staggered at him again. The leader of the News stared at Tris with an expression as though he faced off against some manner of demon he needed to send back to hell. Kevin leaned away from the first punch, but the second caught him in the chest and bounced him into the wall next to the door. This time, Long Hair didn’t come right in. Kevin coughed and wheezed, searching for a second wind.
Raphael stared at Wayne, though his gun aimed in Tris’s direction. “You got a li’l Enclave exile. Ten grand you know. Split it with ya.”
“You know as well as I do that’s bullshit.” Wayne narrowed his eyes. “They’d sooner kill either one of us than pay.”
“That’s a rumor.” Long Hair took a step back, relaxing his posture a little. “They can make all the coins they want. Shit’s worthless to them. Won’t bother ‘em none ta pay.”
“Alamo’s right, Wayne.”
“No, he isn’t.” Tris faced Raphael. She didn’t even seem to be breathing hard. “They don’t think of anyone out here as a person. They made the goddamned Virus to wipe everything out so they had nice open land to take over. Do you honestly think a group capable of doing that is going to pay you? Killing you brings them closer to their goal.”
“Listen to her,” wheezed Kevin. “We’re dogs to them.”
The Challenger’s shocks creaked when Raphael stood. “We can handle it.”
“Can you?” Kevin filled his lungs and stepped forward. “Look what one little woman from the Enclave did to your crew. She’s not even trained for combat.”
Tris glared at him. “I got combat training… two weeks’ worth before they sent me out here.”
“Two whole weeks.” Kevin gazed up at the cobwebs in the porch roof. “Now think about full-time soldiers?”
Raphael’s right eye twitched.
“Look,” said Kevin. “Why don’t you go prick and dick about with the Olds about where Mexico starts and leave us the hell alone. The only reward you’re gonna get for her is a painful death.”
Tris blurred forward, drawn katana gleaming in the sun. The point stopped at Raphael’s neck. “If I even think that you and your boys intend to cause me problems, the Wildlands are going to be minus one pack of shitheads.”
Silence reigned for a moment. A steady breeze lofted Tris’s waist-long hair to the side. Alamo tensed, eyeing Kevin. The other three remained unconscious. Wayne lowered the shotgun. Raphael held his hands up.
“It’s only out of respect for Wayne I haven’t killed anyone yet.” Tris took a step back. “You were about to shoot me in the back. I really should kill you.”
Wayne spat over the railing. “I’m a neutral party. I got no ‘pinion ‘bout it s’long as it ain’t my blood hittin’ the floor. Then Amarillo gets involved. If you do it on the porch, their shit is mine.”
“I’m half tempted to shoot the fat bastard for sitting on my car.” Kevin pressed a hand on his side where Alamo hit him. “Damn, you got an arm.”
Alamo grunted.
Raphael holstered his revolver. “Come on, let’s go.”
Kevin glanced at the three still on the ground. “Your boys look tired, Raph. Guess she wore them out.”
Wayne handed him the cube. “Clock’s tickin’.”
“Yeah.” Kevin swiped the box. “I’ll get right on it.”
Bang.
Clatter.
Kevin twitched. His hand slapped on the handle of his .45 as he spun toward the sound. Tris had the Beretta out, inches from the holster. The katana she’d dropped to free her hand had hit the porch after she fired from the hip. Raphael lingered upright for three more seconds, a trickle of blood from the small red hole in the middle of his left eyebrow ran over his nose and dripped from his chin. His revolver fell from his grip, far enough out of the holster to topple over and hit the road.
Kevin glanced at Alamo. “Well, looks like you got promoted.”
“Bee,” yelled Wayne. “Need ya ta gather some stuff.”
“Horseshit.” Kevin rounded on Wayne. “He’s in the middle of the damn street.”
“Her boots were on my porch when she fired.” Wayne winked. “Shit belongs to the house.”
“Not all of it.” Alamo loomed at Wayne. “His cut stays with the News.”
Wayne made a ‘be my guest’ gesture at the big man.
Tris put her gun away and picked up the sword. “It’s okay. Let him have it.”
“Good eyes,” said Wayne. “Was wonderin’ if you were gonna see that coming.”
Kevin stared at him. “You were―”
“Neutral party.” Wayne leaned the shotgun up, balancing it on his shoulder.
Bee slipped through the door behind Wayne, who pointed at Raphael.
Kevin shook his head. He jogged to the plug board and disconnected the Challenger’s line before walking it back as the spring-loaded spool pulled it into the fender. Tris passed behind him and stood by the passenger side door. Bee ambled by in front of the car.
Kevin slapped the charging port closed. “How many rounds you got left?”
Tris pulled the Beretta and checked it. “Eleven.”
He whirled toward Wayne. “Got any nine?”
Wayne scratched his goatee. “Think so.” He raised his voice to a yell. “Bee. Nine mil para?”
“Seventy-four ball and thirteen hollow point.” The android seized Raphael by the belt and dragged him toward the side of the roadhouse building.
“Lemme get thirty ball.” Kevin keyed in the code to open the car. “She’s gonna need it for this one, and I’ll take twenty .45 too.”
“That’s a lot of ordinance. What’re ya runnin’?” asked Alamo.
“Tampons,” mumbled Kevin. “Whole trunk full. She’s a bit
of a bleeder.”
Tris glared.
“You’re a funny man.” Alamo grunted and slapped the skinny man until he woke up.
Kevin dropped into the driver’s seat, but left the door open while watching Alamo and Stocky drag the still-unconscious Rash off down the street. A few minutes later, Bee emerged with a small cloth sack, which she carried to his window.
“Thanks, Bee.”
“Welcome.” The android smiled, ducked to wave at Tris, and limped back inside.
Kevin swiped his hand over the switches, causing the dashboard to light up like a Christmas tree. He tossed the ammo in her lap. “Here goes.”
Tris glanced down at it and frowned at the ‘package’ stuffed in the center console. “Did that count for forty percent?”
This girl is scary. He squeezed the wheel, wringing his hands on it. Heck with it. The longer I’m with this one, the shorter my life will be.
“Sure.”
Silence lasted for a hair shy of an hour before Tris broke it by snapping bullets into the Beretta’s magazine. Dry, dusty nothingness streaked by on all sides, the road a line of dark over the endless beige. Kevin’s jaw twitched as each bullet clicked in. Half of his brain screamed with worry that the innocent looking, small, wide-eyed girl he sat next to could probably leave him wrapped around a cactus, stranded and car-less for the second time in his recent life.
He watched her with a sideways stare, measuring his odds at taking her out if he had to. From what he’d seen, she didn’t seem any stronger than a human could be. She’s definitely stronger than a girl her size should be. Speed’s the problem.
“What are you thinking?” Tris looked up with a hint of a smile.
The red LED ticked up to ninety MPH. At least Route 285 north of Roswell had remained relatively intact. Old abandoned cars and trailers flew by every so often, long ago picked clean of anything worth taking. One disgorged a family of dust-hoppers, startled by an approaching car.
“Wondering if those jackasses are going to cause more trouble.”
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 12
