Harry Watt Bounty Hunter

by Rob Guy

  Hackman chuckled, and swapped the gun over to his other hand. “Ah, Harry. Mr Glib. You must have known this was going to happen, yet you still came. Did you really think I wouldn’t do this? Didn’t you for a second believe it was a trap?”

  “That’s so clichéd. But then who is the trap for? If you’re going to shoot me, doesn’t the condemned man at least get a last request?”

  Hackman frowned, then smiled, intrigued. “They do? First I’ve heard.”

  “It’s an old custom, from a time when someone convicted of a capital crime was permitted a final request.”

  “Really? I like the sound of it. Go on. What’s your last request?”

  “Well I have two, if that’s okay with you?”

  Hackman chuckled, a high pitched clucking that felt like a skewer through the ears. “This is so bizarre. What’s first?”

  “Petersen. What’s his story? Why does Headlock want him so bad?”

  “You really want to know that before I kill you?”

  “Why not? It will ease my passing.”

  “You always were a weird one, Harry, you and that partner of yours. How you could be best buddies with someone who was banging your wife is frankly beyond me.”

  “Well I was doing the same to him. Didn’t stop Larry being my best friend.”

  “Whatever. I don’t know if I want to tell you about Petersen.”

  “Aw, please.”

  Harry was careful not to sound too eager. But another piece of advice from his first sergeant was again running through his head.

  “Best way to keep your psycho talking is to get them to talk about themselves, or the case. They are almost always willing to volunteer any information that allows them to beat their chest.”

  “You could be playing me,” said Hackman, “waiting for something. But I have to tell you no help is coming. You’re on your own here, Harry.”

  For a heart stopping moment, Harry thought this was it. Hackman levelled the pistol for a second before lowering it. He scratched his temple with the barrel.

  Go on! Pull the trigger now, you bastard!

  “You know what? I think I will indulge you. What the hell? How much do you know already?”

  “Only that Petersen didn’t steal anything from Headlock, or Tyrell, or you for that matter. That business of the million going missing is bullshit.”

  “Well, yes, you are right about that. Headlock, or more correctly, Hansel & Gretel, employed Petersen to locate extra-terrestrial water for both the Venus project and Mars. He came out here, and helped the locals locate areas of perma-frost other than at the poles. Hansel & Gretel shipped out the machinery necessary to collect and break down the gunk into its constituent parts. Hey presto! H2O. And so for a time, everything was fine and dandy, everyone was happy. But Mars Central was growing. Lots of construction, lots of people. The colony needed all the water for itself. Six months ago Mars Central informed Headlock of their decision to stop supplying Hansel & Gretel with water.

  “Of course, the Judge was furious, but there wasn’t a great deal he could do, not legally, anyhow. That said, it didn’t stop him challenging the decision by taking the Mars Council to court, claiming it was down to Petersen that they had found any water at all. But as we speak, they are still deciding on where and when the hearing should take place. Can you believe that? So in the meantime, Headlock instructed Petersen to locate water some place else other than Mars.”

  “And that place was…?” Harry interrupted.

  “Quiet, you’re interrupting. Headlock decided on Phobos and/or Deimos. They were close by, and it would also be a way of getting back at the Mars Council. And this is where it gets interesting. I was there at the meeting when the Judge ordered Petersen to size up the Martian moons for possible mineral and water extraction. Petersen acted very oddly, dismissing the idea out of hand. He said he’d already conducted surveys and tests with an orbiter and lander he’d designed. Nothing there, he said. But the Judge smelled a rat, and quite frankly, so did I. So Headlock gets the new kid on the block to take a look.”

  “Rogers,” said Harry, nodding his head.

  “Indeed. Rogers gets access to Petersen’s work, and discovers Phobos has the potential to produce trillions of litres of water. Trillions. However, in order to get at it would involve destroying them in the process. Petersen knew that, obviously.”

  “So why did Rogers run?”

  “Change of heart. How the hell do I know? What do you care, anyway?”

  Harry shrugged. “Mmm. Well, I can see where you’re going with this. I guess the Mars Council won’t take kindly to the news that both its moons are about to disappear. And Headlock must have decided that Petersen no longer had the best interests of the Company at heart.”

  “Do you want me to tell you or not? Why do you keep interrupting me?”

  “Sorry, Adam. Please continue.”

  “Adam? Since when did you start using my first name?”

  “Sorry if that offends you.”

  “It doesn’t offend me. What offends me is you interrupting me when you asked me to tell you about Petersen.”

  Getting riled I see. Thanks, Serge.

  “Now, where was I? Ah yes. Petersen’s argument was that the asteroid belt would be a far better place to mine for water, as well as other things. Plus there would be no damn colonists to appease. He was quite excited by the idea, actually. He talked about the Kuiper Belt as well, or The Boondocks, I think it’s called colloquially. Billions of comets, and asteroids, and dwarf planets out there. All ripe for the taking. But his employers were not interested. For them it was Phobos or nothing, and they don’t do nothing. Headlock said, and I agree with him, that to go out there looking for water was simply too expensive and time consuming, even if we found any.”

  “And of course there are stock-holders to keep happy.”

  “Exactly. And so we have this mess.”

  “We sure do,” agreed Harry, not hiding the sarcasm. “Damn that Petersen, damn him and his conscience.”

  Hackman sneered. “What no-one knows yet is that we’ve decided to go ahead and mine Phobos for its water and hang the consequences. Headlock knew that any case against them by the Martians would be in court for years.”

  “They could still rule that all mining ceases until the case was resolved.”

  “True, but we would continue anyway.”

  “Yes, of course you would.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “What does it matter what I think? You’re all just a bunch of petty thieves when you get right down to it.”

  Harry caught Hackman’s expression, or rather his own. Damn it was so odd looking at himself. It was faltering. He had to be careful. He didn’t want to antagonise him too much. After all, the son of a bitch still had the gun.

  “So what about Petersen?” he asked, clearing his throat. “What did he do then?”

  “They threatened him of course, and Rogers.”

  “You see, that’s why I’m puzzled. Why Rogers? He is, was, young, idealistic you could say. You said he discovered Phobos had all that water. Clearly a Company man. Something happened to change his mind.”

  “Are you that dim? Petersen and Rogers were together, you know, in the Biblical sense. Petersen refused point blank to have any part in it. He was smart enough to know that Headlock and Tyrell couldn’t risk him telling someone of their plan. I would surmise that Rogers felt guilty for going behind Petersen’s back. Between the Company and Petersen, he chose Petersen. Damn fool. That’s when they decided to make a run for it. You were supposed to go after Petersen and bring him back. Petersen is the best hydrologist there is. And the machines he’s invented, boy, I tell you, the man’s a genius, a one off. If anyone was going to find water out here it was him. I was sent after Rogers. He was going to remain our bargaining chip, until we could get to Petersen, and shut him up for good. But you fucked everything up. Why you couldn’t just do as you were told I don’t know. But then I guess that
’s the Bureau training in you. Can’t blame you, I suppose.”

  “So why kill Rogers?”

  “I couldn’t risk him telling you everything. Plus I got bored. At first I figured I could frame you, then go onto Mars and bring Petersen back myself, or kill the bastard. My choice. But then I thought it would be fun to do it this way.”

  “Fun? This is your idea of fun?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself, Harry. The thrill of the chase and all that? The kill?”

  “Guess I’m not like you. I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “Never? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Not even in the line of duty?”

  “Eh? No. When else would I be expected to kill someone?”

  Hackman laughed. “Nothing in the box for you? I am surprised.”

  “I prefer talk to bullets. So how could you not risk Petersen telling the Mars Council about your continuing plans?”

  “That’s where Rogers came in, of course. Jesus, Harry, these women have fogged you up. I let Petersen know we have Rogers and there you go, we are back on track.”

  “Only you’re not, are you? As you said, you got bored. Have you told Headlock and Tyrell about your boredom?”

  Hackman made a peculiar noise in his throat, as if a bee was stuck there. “Speaking of which, I’m starting to get bored now, and we both know what happens when I get bored.”

  “Indeed. I’m getting bored too. But there’s still my second request.”

  “Which is?”

  “Raquel. What do you have on her?”

  “Oh come on, Harry. Why do you want to know that? You’re about to die, and all you can think of is a damn woman.”

  “I never got near her. I’m puzzled. Did you tell her not to? Were you banging her?”

  Hackman looked genuinely surprised. “Would it bother you if I was?”

  Harry had to keep him talking, keep him interested. “Yes, it would. It would explain a lot, but not why she would help you in trying to kill me.”

  “God, you are such a chauvinist.”

  Me?! Pot. Kettle. Black!

  “No, I wasn’t banging her, if you must know. She’s not interested in men, except one. Her father.”

  Harry nearly faltered, but he set himself, shouting at his inner man to remain calm. “I see,” he said simply. “I must say you are quite the one. We were never taught to slaughter innocents, but it doesn’t seem to bother you, does it?”

  “Don’t be so naïve, don’t give me this, ‘Holier than thou,’ shit. You know as well as I that some innocents must suffer or die so that others survive. It’s just the way it is. Jesus! I’ve had enough of this.”

  “Me too. Let’s get on with it. Ah, there it is. We’ve docked.” Harry pointed to the clock behind Hackman’s head.

  Hackman glanced quickly over his shoulder. As he did so a cold breath of air caused his hair to move. Chisato suddenly stopped her playing and looked up.

  “Did you feel that?” said Harry.

  “What?” said Hackman. “And why are you so interested in the clock?”

  “Larry-san!” Chisato called out.

  “Eh?” said Hackman, turning to look at her.

  Harry seized his moment, and leapt forward. Before he could draw and aim accurately, Hackman felt the full impact of Harry’s lunge into his midriff, and the two men went careering into the back wall. The gun flew from Hackman’s grasp, and went off as it bounced and hit the floor, making Chisato squeal and cover her ears. The pair were locked together, jostling and snorting like a pair of underweight sumo wrestlers. Harry brought his head up to knock it under Hackman’s jaw, making him grunt. Then a head butt from Harry caused both men to stagger backwards. After a second, Harry was into him again, fist after fist into the hated Hackman’s face.

  Harry gave no quarter. He knew this was it. Kill or be killed. He actually felt quite exhilarated, even relieved that at last battle was joined, and there was going to be an end to it, one way or another. Yet how bizarre and downright eerie to be in a death struggle with oneself. Harry’s face glared back at him, ready to beat him to a pulp.

  Maybe it was his own likeness that threw him into a frenzy; the thought of all this bastard had done to those dear to him, whilst looking like him! Bastard! The sudden input of adrenalin certainly helped every punch to hit home harder and harder. But Hackman was not beaten yet. As Harry went to throw another punch, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, then a burning sensation. He looked down to see the butt of a switchblade protruding from his belly, and the sound of Hackman laughing like a madman. Stupefied, he took a step backwards, allowing Hackman room to move. He went to punch Harry, but rushed it and only managed to hit him on the shoulder. Harry turned, and screamed as he felt the blade twist with him. Hackman hit him again, landing a punch to Harry’s neck, making him cough and splutter. Harry yelled at the top of his voice and threw himself back at Hackman.

  This was no disciplined fight, no kind of etiquette was being observed. Each knew that the victor was walking away and the loser wasn’t. As the struggle continued, Harry could vaguely make out Chisato, remarkably calm given what she was witnessing. But who was that standing next to her? Larry. Of course. Bizarrely, he smiled at his dead partner. Larry was saying something, but this was hardly the time for casual conversation.

  Harry felt the blade being thrust deeper, and then it was withdrawn. He looked down to see it in Hackman’s hand. He had to make sure it did not re-enter his body. He gripped the hand holding the knife, and with both hands pushed as hard as he could. His hands were covered with blood, and the same dark red liquid was pumping slowly through his flight suit and onto the floor. Both men slipped in the small puddle and fell down, bumping into a rusty shelving rack. A large wrench fell at the disturbance, hitting Hackman on the top of his head. Dazed, he dropped the knife, and Harry once more had a hold of him.

  Harry knew he did not have long. He was growing faint, and he was astonished to see how much of his own blood they were fighting in. But he did have the upper hand, for now. He was lying on top of Hackman, and grasping and slipping for the wrench, used it to break the fingers of one hand. Hackman screamed. Harry went for the other hand, but as he raised the wrench to swing it down, fresh blood oozing into his palm caused it to fly from his grip.

  Harry’s head was swimming. He had to keep a hold on Hackman, but at the same time he was losing his own grip on life. His eyes refused to focus, and he stared dimly at the lights on the ceiling, round, and white, glaring down at him. Something was pushing and rubbing against his hip, and in that moment he remembered, and began fumbling in his pocket. With one hand round Hackman’s throat, he pulled out the cue ball, and went to thrust it into a very startled Hackman’s mouth.

  “Eat up now, there’s a good boy,” Harry managed to say, with what he thought would be his last breath. The cue ball sat just right between Hackman’s teeth. With one hand holding down his tormentor’s good hand, Harry placed his other hand over Hackman’s mouth, and squeezed his nostrils shut between his thumb and forefinger. All the while, Hackman kicked and ripped at him, his broken hand slapping ineffectively against Harry’s cheek. His knees bucked up against Harry’s back, but it did not deter him. Harry closed his eyes as Hackman’s muffled death throes echoed in his ears, his feet slipping and refusing to purchase on the blood and grease. He waited. He waited for what seemed an age. Men do not die quickly or quietly from asphyxia.

  Eventually, the thrashing of arms and legs slowed down, and finally stopped. Still Harry held on, waiting.

  “It’s okay now, Harry,” said a voice. “I’ll take it from here, buddy.”

  Harry opened his eyes to see Larry and Chisato stood over him.

  “You can let go, Harry.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes. Let go, buddy. I have him.” Larry turned to speak something to Chisato that Harry didn’t catch. He slumped back, and remembered his belly wound. He looked down and didn’t like what he
saw. He watched with heavy eyes as Chisato rushed out of the room.

  “Don’t worry, she’s gone to get help,” Larry told him. He knelt down. “You did it, Harry, see? Look at him.”

  Harry, his face growing slack, looked at Hackman’s prostrate body, eyes open, heart stopped, the cue ball just visible, smeared with blood. “I never killed anyone before,” he said. His voice carried no emotion. But then he suddenly laughed. “I’ve killed me!” He pointed to his likeness, stiff and lifeless.

  “I know, my friend. You need to stay awake till help gets here. Keep your hand there, keep some pressure on the wound. Hey! Harry! Stay with me now, okay?” Larry snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

  “Okay.” But Harry was slipping down into blackness. “I think I’ll just lie here a while.”

  “No no. Harry, look, you need to see this. I’m going, I’m not coming back, you hear me? You killed the bastard that got me. Harry! Harry!”

  To the unseen eyes of Harry Watt, his long dead partner and friend Larry Watkins stood up and stepped back. If he had been conscious, Harry would have seen Larry smile down at him and shake his head. It was at this moment the door opened, and in rushed two medics followed closely by Heidi, Angel and two security guards. Behind them all stood Chisato, and next to her was Sachinyo, holding her hand.

  Larry looked at the little girl. “I have to go now, Chi Chi. Will you tell Harry-san I said goodbye. Look after him.”

  “Where are you going?” asked the four year old.

  “Huh? Chisato?” said Sachinyo.

  “A good place,” said Larry, “a very good place, thanks to Harry-san. You must remember that this was a bad man.” He pointed to Hackman’s body. “He pretended to look like Harry-san. All those bad things were done by him, not by Harry-san. Do you understand?” Chisato nodded. “That’s good. Now then.”

  Larry took another step back, and allowed Chisato to watch him leave. He knew that this time it would be all right. He waved to her and she waved back, causing Sachinyo to look down at her and frown. Larry closed his eyes, and moved away into the ethereal, never to be seen again by mortal eyes.

  “Ah, sayōnara, Larry-san.” Chisato stared for many seconds at the wall, waving.