by Jake Bible
“Who you talking to in there, halfer?” Morgo roared as the door shuddered in its frame a second time.
“You got a weapon on you?” Angie asked.
“My claws,” Etch said. “My pistols are in the living room.”
“Shit,” Angie growled. “How much time do you have?”
“You calling your mommy, you piece of shit?” Morgo yelled. “That what you’re doing?”
Mommy. Mom. A mom. Etch realized he had commed the wrong person.
“Gotta go,” Etch said and switched channels as he dialed in a new comm signature.
“What, Knowles?” a very sleepy-sounding Dark answered. “Better be good or you’re dead.”
“I’ve got two junkies trying to break into my lavatory and kill me!” Etch yelled. “I gutted one, but two are still here!”
“Do what now?” Dark exclaimed. “Hold on. Help is on the way.”
The comm went dead, leaving Etch alone as the attack against the door continued at an increasing pace of rage and violence.
“Yeah, I called my mom!” Etch yelled. “You may have heard of her! A Leforian that goes by the name of Dark!”
One more blow then the attack stopped.
“Terpigshit,” Morgo said, still enraged, but with a slight hint of fear and caution in his voice.
“Morgo and Gosby,” Etch shouted. “Those are your names. I bet Dark has a contact on the street that can find you within the hour. Better start running, bitch. Not much time before she gets here.”
There was some hushed arguing then, “You don’t know Dark. Little shit tile player like you. Dark doesn’t need your ass.”
“My business with Dark is beside the point, moron,” Etch said. “She’s on the way whether or not you believe me. Hang tight and you’ll find out.”
One last explosive blow to the door then silence.
Etch waited. He counted to ten, twenty, fifty. No more blows. A hundred, five hundred, two thousand. Still nothing.
Then a knock.
“Knowles? You alive in there?” Dark asked. “We got a corpse out here. You one in there?”
“About time,” Etch mumbled as he eased his legs away from the lavatory door. His muscles protested and his back was on fire from being jammed up against the sink. “I’m alive.”
The door cracked open and Dark’s Leforian eyes peered in then down, finding Etch on the floor. Her mandibles clicked in either irritation or amusement. Etch figured both.
“Hiding in the crapper from stim junkies,” Dark said and walked away. “Did I pick the wrong guy, Etch?”
Etch struggled to his feet, pulling himself up by the edge of the sink.
“Screw you,” Etch said, limping his way out of the lavatory, as two thugs dragged searcher’s body right out the front door.
Dark was standing in the middle of the living room flanked by two of her largest thugs. She had all four of her arms crossed over her chest and was busy looking about at the chaos and mess of the apartment. Cushions were slashed open, everything that could have held chits was smashed, there were holes in the walls. Etch didn’t remember any of that happening.
“Shit,” Dark said when she finally focused on Etch. “We need to get you into a med pod.”
“I’m okay,” Etch said and stumbled over to the thrashed couch. He fell onto the cushions and sighed at the feeling of softness against his skin. “Just let me rest for a bit and I’ll tell you all about the guys that came at me.”
“No, Knowles, we’re getting you to a med pod,” Dark stated. “Now.”
Hands lifted Etch off the couch and he let them. The last thing he remembered was passing by the cracked mirror hanging by the apartment door. He caught a glimpse of himself and cried out. One pupil was dilated almost to being perfectly round. That was very bad.
20.
Etch woke up in a med pod and felt like a new being.
He blinked a few times and started as he realized someone was standing over him, staring into the med pod and waving.
“Hi ya!” Guska said as the lid opened wide. “You got the whole base all scared for a second. Didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“I doubt the whole base was anything when it comes to me,” Etch said as he swung his legs out of the med pod.
He looked around at the room he was in. Sterile. Sanitized. Void of any distinguishing feature except for the brushed steel of the metal walls. Then he saw Schigg sitting in a metal alloy chair in the corner a few feet away.
“Everyone that matters in your life on this base was worried,” Schigg said. “Not me. But everyone else.”
Etch nodded at the man, but Schigg did not return the nod. He only stared at Etch with those glowing ember eyes.
“This your place?” Etch asked.
“You’re in the Club,” Schigg said as he stood up and walked towards the med pod.
Guska moved out of Schigg’s way. He didn’t give her a second glance.
“Leave us,” Schigg said, focused entirely on Etch.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll go find him some new clothes,” Guska said, a terrified grin on her face. “I could go back to the apartment and—”
“Ask Ms. Fleena,” Schigg said. “Clients leave clothes here all the time. We have plenty to spare.”
Then he turned and stared at her.
“You aren’t leaving the Club anytime soon.”
Guska swallowed hard.
“Ms. Fleena. Yeah. I’ll ask her,” Guska said. “Back in a second.”
“Wait outside until I leave,” Schigg said. “Understood?”
Guska nodded quickly and left.
Schigg returned his glowing gaze to Etch.
“Junkies,” he stated.
“Junkies,” Etch agreed and nodded. “What ya gonna do?”
“Not be involved with junkies,” Schigg said. “That’s what you are gonna do.”
“Involved? Not involved at all with that scum,” Etch said. “They were there to rob me. You talk to Dark? She saw the apartment.”
“I spoke with Dark,” Schigg said. “I also spoke with a few other people. You’ve been out for fourteen hours. Missed your first game. Mr. Gants is not pleased, but he shrugged it off. I didn’t shrug it off. I never shrug anything off. I prefer to have answers to problems. You being targeted by junkies is a problem. I wanted to know why.”
“Dark knows all about that too,” Etch said. He was feeling the chill in the room and glanced about, but there wasn’t even a hand towel to cover himself with, so he shivered and tried to smile. “I met her in jail. She knows—”
“All about that too,” Schigg interrupted. “Yes, you said that. But what Dark does and does not know isn’t what bothers me. She did her due diligence and took you on face value. Dark knew Gants needed a tile player. She found a tile player. Your reputation is strong with the circuit. Bad luck on Ballyway, but that happens.”
“Yes…it does,” Etch said warily. “So…what’s the problem?”
“Why do you ask that? Should there be a problem? You assume I found a problem?”
Etch didn’t respond.
“You see, Mr. Knowles, I didn’t find a problem. Which is the problem. Your story of being jumped in an alley in Mesker District checks out. My sources in the PD say those were legit junkies that went after you. But here’s the thing, Mr. Knowles, it seems those junkies’ story started inside that bar. Pitcher’s? Yes. Pitcher’s. The junkies were hassling a woman and a man. Can’t find a thing on the woman, but the man? A Shiv’erna with some severe scarring is fairly easy to track down. Know him?”
“Can’t say that I do,” Etch replied. “I’ve known Shiv’ernas, but none all scarred up.”
“No? You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Alright. That’s good. Know why?”
Etch sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “How about you tell me what you want, Schigg? How about you lay it all out instead of playing this game? I play games for a living, I don’t need this shit ri
ght now.”
“Lay it all out…” Schigg nodded then showed Etch his wrist. Quick swipe and a holo came up. “This is the Shiv’erna.”
A holo of Tipo appeared, slowly spinning for a full 360 look.
“Ugly cus,” Etch said. “What the Hells happened to the guy?”
Schigg cocked his head and stared at Etch. Etch casually looked up from the holo and met Schigg’s eyes.
“Well? He get dropped in acid as a kid or what?” Etch asked.
“Dropped in acid. That’s an idea,” Schigg said and a grin twitched at his lips then was gone. “No, Galactic Vice Detective Tipo S’lunn did not get dropped in acid.”
“The guy’s a cop?” Etch exclaimed. “What the fuck are you showing me some cop’s holo for?”
“No simple cop. Galactic Vice,” Schigg said. “Jafla Squad. Not PD, but GV. Funny how he was inside that bar being hassled by those same junkies that ended up out in the alley hassling you. Do you not find that funny?”
“Nothing funny about it,” Etch said. “Probably means those junkies were his snitches and now they’re dead. Is the guy looking for me? Does he blame me for taking out his informants? Is this what all this terpigshit questioning is about? Some GVD has a grudge against me and now you’re worried I’ve blown your scam job?”
“Those are excellent questions, all of them,” Schigg said and took a couple steps back. “All perfectly asked and placed into a conversation in order to deflect away from you. They teach you that in your training?”
“What? No. They taught me how to aim an H16 and blow shit up,” Etch said. “Then they threw a uniform and armor on me and dropped me into Hell. That’s what the Galactic Fleet does to Fleet Marines. Why would I be taught how to ask questions? We were strictly a shoot first, ask no questions division.”
Schigg didn’t say a word. He stared at Etch for a minute, two minutes, five minutes. Etch sat there and let him, waiting for the moment to break.
“I neither like nor believe in coincidences,” Schigg said. “That philosophy has served me well over the years. And I have lived so many years, Mr. Knowles. So many years. I have seen almost everything the galaxy has to offer. Especially when it comes to this business.”
He moved fast and had a hand on Etch’s shoulder before Etch could take a breath.
“I do not like you. I will never trust you. But Mr. Gants needs you for reasons that are his. I plan on explaining all of my suspicions to him. I doubt he’ll change the plan, he never does. But you should be aware that if my suspicions are true, you will be playing your last tile games very soon, Mr. Knowles. Very soon.”
Etch took a massive risk. It was probably the wrong move, but Etch felt like he was out of right moves. He grabbed Schigg’s hand and twisted it hard while shoving down and back. The being grunted and dropped to a knee, his arm giving in to avoid his wrist being snapped off. Etch kept pushing as he slid out of the med pod, his bare feet hitting the freezing metal floor with a hard slap.
Schigg tried to get his wrist free, but Etch applied a little more pressure and the being grunted louder. Then he tried to strike Etch with his other hand, but Etch managed to block that weak blow and kept on twisting until Schigg was forced to cry out, “Enough!”
“No,” Etch growled low, still holding Schigg’s wrist as he leaned in so their faces were only a centimeter apart. “I say when it’s enough. You come in here and accuse me of what? Being a snitch? Is that what this is all about? What in all the Hells am I going to snitch about, Schigg? I play tiles. I haven’t even played a game here in the Club yet. I just got my ass handed to me by yet another crew of stim junkies. Jafla Base seems to be filled with the fucks. Then you come at me all high and mighty and expect me to sit there and take it.”
Etch gave one last twist and the snap was almost as loud as Schigg’s yell of pain that followed. With a hard shove, Etch pushed Schigg away from him. The being scrambled to his feet and shook with pain and rage. Etch stood his ground and faced him, hoping his own shaking was interpreted as rage also, not the abject fear he felt at how close he was to losing it all.
“Tell me why I don’t kill you now,” Schigg asked, cradling his wounded wrist against his chest. “Tell me why I don’t slice off every inch of skin from your body and feed it to you until your stomach ruptures. Tell me, Mr. Knowles.”
“Because Mr. Gants needs me for reasons of his own,” Etch said. “Or you wouldn’t be talking about slicing me up, you’d be doing it. Waking up in the med pod tells me that Mr. Gants doesn’t think I’m a snitch even though he probably had the same thoughts as you. A guy like Mr. Gants doesn’t make it to his level without having instincts about who he works with. You telling me that you think Mr. Gants’ instincts are wrong?”
Schigg glared, but didn’t respond.
“I think I’ll go have a talk with him right now to clear all this up,” Etch said and looked past Schigg. “Guska? You can bring in my clothes.”
The door opened slowly and a twitchy Guska came into the room, a pile of clothes bundled in her arms, her eyes huge and full of fear.
“Thanks,” Etch said as he held out his hands. Guska gave the clothes to him, barely looked at Schigg, turned on her heel, and retreated as fast as she could. “I’ll be out soon.”
Etch got himself dressed. The pants were a bit tight, but they’d do. Once dressed, he nodded back at the med pod.
“You’ll want an hour in there for that wrist, Schigg,” Etch said. “I doubt you’ll need longer than that. Unless whatever you are is one of those races that isn’t compatible with med pods. What exactly are you again?”
“Get out,” Schigg said flatly.
“Gladly,” Etch said. “Mr. Gants in the bar? Never mind. I’ll find him.”
Etch shoved past Schigg and left the room, slapping the door controls on his way out. Once the door’s seal hissed locked, Etch heard Schigg let out a long, angry wail of frustration. It took all of Etch’s self-control not to freak out. He took several deep breaths and went to find Mr. Gants.
21.
“Crap,” Tipo said as he rubbed at his forehead. “Kalaka? This isn’t good. The last thing we need is for that guy to lock onto Etch. Kalaka loves working new criminal informants. He must see something in Knowles.”
“Sixty percent of Knowles’ take is what he sees,” Angie said as the two of them sat at the corner table of a small tea room that was kilometers away from the Jafla GV Squad’s headquarters. The clientele gave them surreptitious glances, but only because the two looked out of place in such a prim and proper setting.
“Sounds like Kalaka,” Tipo said. “But greed is about as corrupt as he gets. The guy has personal problems, but I am fairly sure he’s not on the take.”
“Fairly sure? Great, S’lunn. As long as you are fairly sure,” Angie scoffed. “Knowles should feel one thousand times safer when I tell him that.”
“Kalaka isn’t working for Gants,” Tipo said with confidence. “That much I know. Does he shake down bar owners and shopkeepers? Yeah, he’s that kind of asshole. But he’s not working for the syndicates. Not his style.”
“So the sixty percent angle is legit?” Angie asked. “Kalaka is that transparent?”
“More like that shallow,” Tipo replied. “Jorg knows all about Kalaka’s issues, but Kalaka has one of the best networks of CIs on Jafla. The captain lets Kalaka be because he’s useful when the time comes. That time has been coming more often lately and Kalaka is milking that for all he can. Must be why he’s feeling bold enough to risk pissing off Gants.”
“So Gants isn’t paying Kalaka off?”
“What? No. No way. Gants is way above Kalaka’s little hustles. He was talking shit to Knowles about that. Push comes to shove and Kalaka would turn tail and run for the hills before taking on Gants head to head.”
Angie thought about that, nodding her head as she stared down into her teacup. Something floated at the top of the cup and Angie winced. She had no idea what she’d ordered when they sat down. She
hated tea. She hated it even more as she watched the something wriggle and squirm as it secreted a brown substance into the water. She pushed the teacup away from her.
“It’s not that bad,” Tipo said as he sipped at his own tea. “Refreshing.”
“This network of CIs that Kalaka has,” Angie said. “Does it include stim junkies?”
“Sure,” Tipo said. “Stim junkies, prostitutes, muggers, stick-up men, heisters, petty criminals. He’s worked the street hard to get people under his thumb.”
“Could he have tipped off those junkies that came at Knowles?”
“Huh. Didn’t think of that. Maybe.”
“Find out.”
“I don’t even know where to begin with Kalaka. No one in the Squad does or Jorg would have been able to take over those CIs and boot Kalaka out a long time ago. I ask the wrong junkie the wrong question and it’ll get back to Kalaka. He’ll lock his shit down tight and we’ll never find out if he was behind the attack or not.”
“Probably right,” Angie said and nodded. “I’ll handle it.”
“You? You do not know Jafla well enough to handle this, man,” Tipo said. “You’ll get spotted in seconds.”
“Nah. I’m good,” Angie said as she stood up, waving her wrist across the pay sensor at the edge of the table. “My treat. Enjoy your worm tea.”
“McDade!” Tipo snapped. All heads swiveled in his direction, dozens of perfectly manicured eyes staring daggers at him. “Sorry.”
He got up and followed Angie out of the tea room.
“Do not go after Kalaka,” Tipo warned. “I mean it. You’ll upset the Squad balance and Captain Jorg will go over your head. This will snowball into a mess that will bring down our op. I’m telling you that Kalaka is not worth it.”
“I think he is,” Angie said. “And I’m going to handle it.” She patted Tipo on the shoulder. “Don’t worry your schnoz over this. Kalaka’s about to find out what dealing with a McDade is like.”
