Harry Watt Bounty Hunter

by Rob Guy

  “Damn,” Harry cursed under his breath. “Which one?”

  There was no way he could possibly tell what color did what, so he would just have to trust to luck. “Blue or white?”

  “Take the white one, Harry, take the white one, Harry. Scraawk!”

  He pondered for a moment, and for no reason whatsoever chose blue. With a mean look at Jonny, he picked one out and put the packet back in his inside jacket pocket. He gazed over at Rogers, still cavorting with his paid entourage. A sudden doubt came over him, a leaden cloak of uncertainty that was quickly replaced by one of absurdity.

  What the hell am I doing? Why am I not on Mars collecting a simple bounty? I just can’t keep my nose clean, can I?

  But he could not deny himself the truth. He was excited. It was like being back with the Bureau. If Hackman was on the Station then he wanted Harry dead. Why else would he give Raquel the cigars? And what did he have on her to make her do such a thing? He almost squashed the cigar as he thought of what he wanted to do to that man. Was he worth a quick death? Should he not go out the same way he took Larry from this world? For the first time since his partner’s death, Harry asked himself if he was really capable of taking a life simply out of revenge. When faced with the brutal decision to take a life or spare it, what would he do?

  God, there was so much shit going on in his life at the moment. It seemed an age ago since Headlock walked into his office.

  “Enough thinking, Harry,” he said to himself.

  In dramatic fashion he swept up the club soda and downed it in one. Wiping his mouth, he waited a second, belched, and then lit the cigar. He knew enough about explosives to know that the charge inside it was sufficient to take your face off if it was in your mouth. Or it would simply make a loud noise and maybe scorch the fake brickwork if he threw it back into the booth. Either way it was the perfect distraction. Jonny would just have to take his chances. If he moved the cage it would look suspicious. With a deft backward flick of the wrist the cigar went sailing into the vacant booth and settled on the fake leather where it started to smoulder. Harry moved away and waited. And waited. And waited. He heard a faint pfftt, and his heart sank.

  Don’t tell me they’re joke cigars after all that.

  He turned and watched, open mouthed, as a thin pale pillar of smoke rose up, billowed out as it hit the ceiling, and finally settled over Jonny’s cage. There was a smouldering black patch where the cigar had been. He watched transfixed as Jonny stood to attention, scraawked his last, and then spun round on his perch to land beak down, hanging like a fruit bat, his claws forever closed around his perch in a iron death grip.

  “Oh shit,” said Harry. “I’ve killed the bird.” It wasn’t everyday you got to say something like that.

  Now it didn’t need a genius to deduce that what he had ignited was not an explosive. He looked round furtively. For half a minute it was business as usual. But slowly more and more patrons began drifting their eyes over to where Jonny ought to be squawking out his one-liners. Evidently he was not normally this quiet for so long. Harry did the most sensible thing he could and started walking away in the direction of Rogers. As the seconds passed, more and more people began lifting out of their seats until someone announced that it appeared Jonny was no more. He was indeed, an ex parrot.

  Now all the bar was up and straining to see as those nearer gathered round the cage. Clyde and a few other staff members pushed through them to see what had happened. For a second Harry’s heart was in his mouth as he thought others might succumb to whatever had taken poor Jonny. But fortunately there were no more fatalities. Then Harry thought that Clyde might put two and two together and remember he had been sitting in the booth.

  Yet for all the sadness surrounding poor Jonny’s demise, it had, albeit inadvertently, created just the distraction Harry had hoped for. He looked over at Rogers to see he too was craning his neck over heads to see what the commotion was all about. His three female companions had separated themselves from him, and one of them was actually crying and being consoled by the other two. Now was his moment. He moved quickly, and was just about to grab Rogers and push him through the exit when he suddenly found himself confronted by Angel and Daisy.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” said the latter.

  “Oh. Hi….”

  “Daisy.”

  “Daisy, Angel. Look…”

  “If I didn’t know better I’d say you’d come here to find me,” said the blonde. “Angel told me all about what you did.”

  “What!”

  “Oh! Not what you did together, silly. Well, not all of it. I mean what you did to help her. So brave.” She giggled, and bent her knees in a coquettish fashion.

  Angel pushed her. “I could have taken them,” she said.

  “Well that’s not what you told me.” Daisy moved to stand in front of Harry. “Can’t get enough of a good thing, huh?”

  “True true. Look, I’m kind of busy with something at the moment. Can we…”

  “Isn’t it awful?” Daisy turned and pointed at the cage. “Poor Jonny. He’s been here years, all the time I’ve been here too. He’d call me hot pants. So funny. So sad.”

  Harry sighed and took a hold of her. She smiled warmly, and closed her eyes as she snuggled into his chest.

  “Oh please,” said Angel, turning away in disgust.

  “Just what I need,” Daisy said. She waved at Angel to get lost. Angel replied with a hand gesture. But then a strange expression came across her face. She grinned and moved in to join Daisy. She too put her arms around Harry

  “Oh I’m so glad you chose me,” she said, in a scared, drowned kitten sort of voice. She was practically nose-to-nose with Daisy. The blonde scowled at her and mouthed a very vulgar suggestion. Angel went on undaunted. “I haven’t been treated like that for such a long time. You made me feel so special for twenty minutes. Will you be coming back?”

  Harry lifted his head to the ceiling.

  Oh brother.

  Yes he was flattered, yes Angel had been great, and yes he didn’t need this right now. He looked back down and made his mistake. He locked eyes with Rogers, who had been watching them. Jealous probably, as he could see this was genuine affection, at least on Daisy’s part, and Harry hadn’t spent a credit on either of them, well not in the bar anyway. But as they stared at each other, Harry saw Rogers’ expression change from one of envy, to downright fear.

  Shit. Am I that obvious?

  Rogers dropped his drink and broke into a run, or at least he tried to. The throng of people, (word had spread to the mall outside), prevented him from making any hasty retreat. Harry rather unceremoniously untangled himself from the clinging females. He picked Angel up by the tops of her arms, and deposited her to the side followed quickly by Daisy. He kissed them quickly on the head and made off after his mark.

  Behind him, Angel wore an expression of disgust, which quickly turned to one of regret. Daisy blinked several times and waved meekly.

  “Anytime,” she said, her voice weak and sad.

  9

  The Pursuit

  Once outside, Harry’s keen eyes searched the busy thoroughfare. For a moment he couldn’t see his quarry. Then he caught sight of a flaying arm above the crowd as Rogers fought to remove himself of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

  “Very smart, young man, and quick, too.”

  Harry set off in pursuit, but quickly found he was panting. He kept himself in shape, but had lapsed during the flight up. He also didn’t need reminding he was chasing someone nearly half his age. Rogers kept up a good pace and tried all sorts of tricks to try and lose Harry, but he maintained his distance. He shouted out once, but it was impossible to try and talk him into stopping as the hustle and bustle of Main Street drowned out any attempt at communication. All Harry could do was keep after him and either hope Rogers tired first or he got a chance to talk to him.

  As they ran, it became apparent just how small this section of Venus Station was. Within a few minu
tes they came up against a sealed bulkhead. Rogers panicked for a moment, but the sheer throng of people enabled him to backtrack and edge his way to the other side of the concourse. Cursing, Harry did likewise, pushing and excusing himself numerous times. Within a minute or so they found themselves on the outskirts of Main Street once more.

  Off they went again. “This is nuts,” declared Harry.

  Rogers was only about ten metres ahead when he suddenly bolted into a side door. As Harry approached he realized it was the entrance to one of the six spokes that connected the outer circular habitat to the central hub. Above the padded arch a sign read, Venera 3, together with a brief list of its attractions. Below that was another sign warning of micro gravity.

  “Terrific,” Harry moaned.

  Rogers was already well inside the tube. As Harry watched him slowly getting smaller, he had a very distinct attack of vertigo, just for a moment, as his brain struggled to determine whether he was heading down or up. He closed his eyes, set his teeth, and pushed himself in.

  The spoke, or rather the pressurized section of it, was around eight hundred metres long, and about ten metres in diameter. Now, if that was eight hundred metres straight down, or up, then the average human being would maybe make it fifty metres inside before unmitigated panic set in, turning them into a gibbering, helpless wreck. It would take no great effort of the subconscious mind to convince someone they were plummeting down a kilometre long tunnel. Fortunately, Venus Station was designed with humans in mind. Every forty metres there was a pressure bulkhead, with a large convex window either side of it, and a wide Flexi-lock in the middle. Through this ran a travelator, chugging along in either direction at a sedate two klicks an hour, with two pairs of hoops every two metres for your feet.

  The bulkheads served two purposes. First and foremost they were there to seal off a section of the tube in case of emergency depressurization. Second, they helped to deceive the eye and mind into thinking you didn’t have that far to go. And just to make the journey more interesting, at irregular intervals the tube would veer to the left or right. You wondered what might be round the next corner. However, despite all these devices designed to put the mind at ease, the external structure remained one, continuous conduit.

  For the first hundred metres or so, there was no discernible difference to Harry’s weight, but gradually he felt himself becoming lighter. A third of the way in it was impossible to walk correctly, let alone run, and he had to resort to pulling himself along on the handrail, his feet bounding in great leaps of three metres or more. He tried the travelator, but it was moving much too slowly for felon pursuit.

  Harry had to excuse himself several times as he shoved and ducked his way past many people. Some were merely standing to the side, looking out at the spectacular views afforded by the very large concave windows. Venus was out of sight, showing only as a bright diffused mass below the Station. But the stars were enough to keep the tourists happy. Harry took one look outside and wished he hadn’t. His stomach felt like there was a lead baseball rolling around inside it.

  Ten minutes of tugging himself along, and Harry was beginning to tire. Boy, was he out of shape. Up ahead, he could see Rogers was approaching the exit into the hub. As he struggled on, Harry noticed a flashing red neon sign, buzzing slightly as he drew level with it. The Zero G Spot beckoned him inside, in all its tawdry naughtiness. There was a blacked out window either side of the door, and from each hung a similar garish neon invitation. One read, ‘You haven’t lived till you’ve done it in zero g!’ while the other one glared, ‘And you still haven’t lived till you’ve done it at The Zero G Spot!’ Despite his rather frantic situation, Harry couldn’t prevent himself from smiling as he glided past, hand over hand, his legs akimbo.

  “Some other time,” he muttered.

  Rogers was now at the end of the spoke. Harry saw that he appeared to be arguing with two men, rather well dressed, and extremely well built.

  “Hey!” Harry yelled, as he pressed himself through the final Flexi-lock. “Restrain that man. I need to speak to him.”

  He was either not heard, or ignored. Harry sensed it was the latter. A second later, Rogers was past them and disappeared into the hub.

  “Goddamn it!” Harry gave the handrail an extra tug. His upper arms were starting to cramp, and the accompanying feeling of nausea did not help. He reached the end to be confronted by the same two men. It turned out they were the doormen to the rather plush and expensive revolving restaurant that occupied most of the central hub.

  “That guy you just let in,” Harry began as he drew up to them. “Didn’t you hear me? He’s wanted for questioning.” He was horizontal as he talked, and fought to drag himself upright. Beyond the two men, Harry could see the spinning restaurant, complete with crystal chandeliers, glistening silver cutlery, and pristine white tablecloths. The sight of the rotating waiters and patrons made him distinctly queasy.

  “Who are you?” asked one of the doormen.

  They were happily attached to the ground, their broad feet inserted through two pairs of hoops.

  Harry thought quickly, which wasn’t easy as his brain, arms and stomach were all competing to quit on him first. As he pushed himself to stand nose to chest with these guys, one thing he knew was certain. To tell them he was a bailsman simply wouldn’t cut it. One look at these two lugs convinced him of that. “I’m Special Agent Dick Tracy,” he announced. “That guy’s a felon. Let me through.”

  “Not without ID, Agent Dick,” said the first doorman, with a very pronounced smirk.

  “And a tie,” added the second, with an even bigger pronounced smirk.

  Harry looked from one to the other. “What?”

  “Tie,” the man repeated, wagging his fingers below his neck as though he was playing an invisible clarinet.

  Harry held up a hand. “No, no. You don’t seem to understand. The man you just let through is a wanted felon. I need to take him in.”

  “Seemed like a decent sort to me,” the first man said.

  “Yeah,” offered the second one.

  “Look, fellas. Don’t make me have to take you downtown as well. Let me through, and we’ll forget that at this moment you are impeding a Bureau officer in the course of his duty.”

  The two doormen crossed their arms but said nothing.

  Harry took a deep breath. “I’m ordering you both to stand aside and let me through.”

  “Not without ID,” repeated the first man.

  “Or a tie,” repeated the second man.

  Okay. Bluff not working.

  Harry leaned forward, but as he did so, the laws governing inertia tipped him ass over elbow. The doormen waited silently and patiently as Harry completed his own little orbit. He was all set for another one before he called out. “Goddamn it, guys. Help me out, will ya?”

  They looked at one another then dragged Harry back down. “Thanks,” he said, regaining his composure. “Look, fellas. You got me. I’m not a special agent, okay? But I do need to talk to that guy you let through. Please, help a bondsman out, huh?”

  Shit! You idiot.

  The first doorman chuckled. “You’re a bondsman? Couldn’t get a real police job?”

  Harry swallowed hard, and told himself he had to let it go. “Yeah, that’s right. Ex-wife took everything, so I figured I can make just enough doing this so I don’t have to pay alimony.”

  “Neat,” said the second man. He didn’t appear to have much in the way of conversation.

  “That’s a real shame,” said the first. “But I still can’t let you in without ID.”

  “I just told you I’m not who I said I was. Did the other guy show you ID?”

  “Yes. Lots of ID.” The doorman rubbed a thumb over the fingers of one hand, and grinned.

  Finally, they were getting to the rub. Harry sighed, but tried once more, nonetheless. “You do realize you’re attempting to bribe a licensed bailsman, don’t you?”

  Even as he said this, Harry’s mental s
trength buckled just slightly as his conscious self reminded him that he hadn’t yet renewed his damned license.

  “Whoa, there. Who said anything about a bribe? You’re merely contributing to the staff retirement fund.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Or you could just buy a tie.”

  The doorman indicated a rack adjacent to where Harry stood. He looked at it. With a resigned hunch of the shoulders he picked one up. “How much?”

  “A hundred creds.”

  “A hundred creds!” Harry shrieked. “When are you retiring? Tomorrow? After this shift?”

  “Hey, you’re a funny guy. Just for the wisecrack, I’ll let you have it for ninety-five.”

  Harry shook his head in disbelief, but dug deep into a pocket nonetheless. The money wasn’t a problem. He’d been in this situation countless times before. The delay was. He deftly thumbed the notes in his pocket, flipping aside the higher denominations with practiced ease.

  “I’ve only got eighty,” he announced, holding up a crumpled wad.

  The doorman pondered for a moment, then extended a hand. “Enjoy your meal, sir,” he said. “Please watch your step as you enter the carousel.”

  “Thanks,” Harry replied, without a single trace of sincerity.

  The human doorway parted, and Harry pushed on through. After a few false starts he managed to synch his movements with the revolving treadmill that encircled the restaurant. It resembled an airport baggage retrieval conveyor belt, and was surrounded by hundreds of glass panel balustrades to prevent anyone from accidentally stepping on it. Harry had to wait several seconds until a gap emerged. His heart sank when he saw the maître d’ standing there, smug and starched in his immaculate DJ and bow tie. He was giving Harry the once over, concluding already, it seemed, that our good bailsman was below the standard of clientele his restaurant expected.