Turning to the port workers, although a few of them were simply passing locals, he sent them all, even those that had avoided his offer of free drinks, out the door, and staggering in more than a few cases, to walk the several blocks up the street to eat. He tossed two one thousand credit notes on the bar. Gibson didn’t walk over to pick them up right away. Instead, he locked the door and flicked a switch next to it, sending a red glow through that small diamond window. Haveram remembered there was a red colored holographic “closed” sign on the wall next to the door.
Haveram turned to Tall Man, and in a slightly slurred manner, asked, “Can I buy you and your six friends a drink now? I’ll include good old Gibson here if you want. Although he must be tired of making all those drinks I’ve been buying all night.”
Carl stood and looked him over carefully. “I think you can drop the slurred speech act Mr. Smith. I don't know what drug you take that keeps you sober, but my boss sure wouldn’t want you selling it around here. Most people wouldn’t spend money on liquor that doesn’t affect them.” Haveram picked up the “my boss” reference, so this man wasn’t him.
Haveram shook his head. “I made plenty of piss trips, so it did have some impact.” He smiled and spoke clearly.
“You know my name, Tall Man. Do you have one to offer in exchange? I know Gibson’s name here, and I don't really care what the names are of the six meatheads you brought with you.”
The meatheads bristled at the description, and two of them stood up when he said that.
He winked at them. “Look threatening on your own time. Tall Man there has not let you off your leashes, so settle back down.”
“I’m Carl.” The tall “leash holder” told him. “That’s my real first name. You certainly aren’t Fred Smith.”
“Probably not.” Haveram agreed easily. “If you were convinced that I wasn’t getting drunk, why did you wait all that time?”
“There was a chance we were wrong and you might pass out and fall flat on your ass. However, when you decided to slickly evacuate those drinking buddies the way you did, I knew no booze-fogged brain had decided so suddenly and cleverly to do what you did to get them out of here. Therefore, you are not drunk. Let me turn your question back on you. If at long last you caught on that we were here after you, why did you stay behind? Why didn’t you try to go with them?”
In a friendly tone he said, “Carl, I waited because I wanted to have fun with the kind of people I like to associate with, and I did indeed enjoy their company, their jokes, and some shared tall tales and some true tales.” He shrugged and continued.
“However, I didn’t finally figure out that you were here for me. I’m sure you recall the creep I’ve thought of as Oily Man, just as I thought of you as Tall Man, until a moment ago. I knew I had been followed here when he first walked in, and then I saw him talking to someone on an ear bud phone. He soon looked at the door, just before he walked over and you paid him off for his work.”
“OK. You were observant. I’ll grant you that. Why didn’t you try to leave with the others?”
Haveram couldn’t resist tweaking his nose, and doing the same, even if remotely, to his boss. “I saw that you might object to my leaving. If I did that before moving those friendly drunks out of here, they could get hurt. I naturally knew you had another way of tracking my movements, because you seven arrived here too quickly for Oily to have provided directions. Thirty seconds after he began talking on his phone, he was startled to learn you were already at the front door. He was a redundant method of tracking me if I did the unexpected, but I proved predictable, like your boss anticipated from my prior visits here. Your employer had already sent you to the port area after I landed, and then told you exactly where I was. In his own bar.”
He turned his head and looked directly where the infrared outline of the warm Tri-Vid camera was located, behind the bar’s two-way mirror. “Isn’t that right, Carmody Enterprises?”
Carl had to listen to a few annoyed words through his ear bud from Carmody. He Looked at the mirror, and nodded.
He signaled the six toughs to stand back as he strode closer to where “Smith” leaned casually at the bar, his back turned now to the mirror. He seemed calm for a man that had recognized he had been tracked and trapped by people he didn’t know, and was heavily outnumbered and out massed.
He stopped a few feet away, but never saw a “trapped” animal look in Smith’s eyes, or sensed his body tensing, such as preparing to defend himself from an attack. However, Carl was only going to talk, for now at least.
“We know the ship you claim to own, the Sparrow, is also registered as the Falcon, out of Poldark with a different owner named.” That last part about the owner’s name was a supposition, because they couldn’t obtain the name. It wasn’t likely to be the unimaginative name of Fred Smith, however.
“The operators of the Falcon run lucrative smuggling operations between Poldark and three other worlds. It’s obvious that you have had to move to new markets, because the Krall have disrupted two of your former sources of goods and customers on the Rim. Poldark has very serious security now, controlled by the PU military, which we doubt you have been able to bribe. Gribble’s Nook and Bollovstic are dead. Thus, we find you coming here to our territory, without permission from my boss mind you, to smuggle something, in or out, without paying him for the privilege. You need to explain that financial lack of respect right now.”
Haveram smiled. “Gee, Carl. On every trip here I’ve paid the exorbitant exchange rates at the bank, where Carmody Enterprises has a representative on its board, I paid high export fees of which I’m sure the local government probably receives only a small share, and I paid bribes to the truck drivers so that they would actually deliver everything I ordered locally. The truck line I used belongs to Carmody Enterprises, based on the signs on their sides. I suspect that all political kickbacks, vice, and shipping related activities in Brisbane are controlled by…,” he paused in thought. “Is Carmody one person’s name, or is it a sort of distributed Family of close friends?”
Carl’s head tilted as he listened to the little voice in his ear. “Mr. Carmody runs the business alone, with assistance from loyal employees such as me, and from these large…, ah…, Gentle Men.” He concluded, also with an easy grin.
The feminine controlled society’s introduction of the appellation of Gentle Men to all males of the species, after the Gene War had left only two or three percent alive, struck even Carl as amusing when that term was applied to these hulking thugs. Haveram shared his grin, at that incongruous description of these modern day Neanderthal looking males.
They had obviously benefitted from muscle developing drugs, as well as exercise. They were too bulky to be lithe and limber, deferring to the gorilla image of looking strong and dangerous. A Krall warrior could break them in half with one hand. Perhaps that was the reason for the holsters, worn under jackets that were too warm for the season, causing them to sweat. Haveram estimated they’d even have to raise their non-gun arms slightly, to increase the draw speed of their pistols from the squeezed-in holsters. Not a smart choice for mob enforcers, although he doubted they had been hired for their brilliance, and muscles were likely their normal weapons.
The dapper tall man was another matter entirely. He had the look and movements that hinted that he would be far more dangerous in a fight than the muscle bound men. There was a slight bulge of a shoulder holster for him as well.
Carl removed his smile. “Mr. Carmody is aware of the routine collections for services he has provided to you, as he provides for any citizen of, or visitor to Brisbane. However, you and your ship do not represent just any visitor. Your ship’s known past association with smuggling, something we learned from various contacts in our mutual trade, forces us to conclude that you are generating an additional level of illegal revenue here that is off the books. Revenue of which Mr. Carmody demands his fair share, as with any illegal profits earned in his territory. Or else perhaps some othe
r form of compensation will suffice.”
Haveram nodded. “I suppose that my assurances that all of my dealings on New Australia have been entirely open, honest, and legal would not alter his opinion in the slightest. I certainly have done some things elsewhere that the Planetary Union would call illegal, including smuggling, and other more egregious offences, which their outdated laws say deserve the death penalty.” He continued smiling, now leaning back slightly, resting his elbows on the bar.
Carl raised his eyebrow. The squeamish women that had dominated the PU government for three centuries didn’t have any criminal laws he could think of that had the death penalty attached. Even Krall collaborators, if they survived that stupid and pointless effort, were never executed if recaptured by the PU Army. Not even if they had personally killed or tortured other human captives while with the Krall. Carl was an army deserter in a time of war, yet he wouldn’t face a death penalty if caught.
Carmody, sitting in front of his wall screen saw his henchman’s skepticism. “Carl, ask him if he’s done any human genetic research.” That was the only set of old laws he knew of that still had the death penalty attached. It had not been applied in Carmody’s seventy-one year lifetime, as far as he had heard. The Tri-Vid news services would be all over such a trial, and live coverage of the execution would have been on every channel.
Echoing his boss’s question Carl asked, “Smith, you don’t look like a science type to me, but have you done any human genetic research?” The question seemed idiotic to him, but he couldn’t say that, not with his bad tempered boss the questioner.
The brief pause before the question, combined with an attitude of Carl listening to someone, had been obvious to Haveram. “You apparently have a boss better informed than you are. That’s a very perceptive question.” He glanced back at the mirror before answering.
“I don’t known squat about bio-science, including genetics. At one time, I would have said I don’t have a scientific related bone in my body. I can’t say that now.” He laughed outright at a joke he knew only he understood. His carbon nanotube reinforced bones comprising the reason for the cryptic punchline.
He was impatient to get this game over, so he came to the point. “You wanted me alone, and here I am. What do you want Carmody, that you couldn’t have simply invited me over for a drink, and asked me directly?”
The relay of questions must have also grated on Carmody, and Carl, after listening to his ear bud a second, said, “Gibson, put your com set on top of the bar. Put it on speaker when the boss calls.” The chiming started as Gibson placed the set down, and he pressed the speaker button.
A nasal sounding deep voice issued from the speaker. “Mr. Smith, I don’t care how legally you claim to have acted here, swombats never change their stripes, and smugglers with a fast ship never give up their trade until caught. You didn’t come all this way from Poldark for cheap household goods. However, I might forgive and forget the trespass, this one time, if we work out a reasonable arrangement.”
“I’m listening,” Haveram said. “Although I did come here for exactly the sort of household goods I bought here previously. I don't know what a striped swombat is, but I’m not smuggling anything through Port Brisbane. Not even to or from all of New Australia. This planet is simply conveniently located for my shopping. It’s not as far out of the way for me to travel here as you think, since I don’t Jump here from Poldark.”
The journey, from Koban’s location far outside human explored space, was about the same distance as a Jump to any of several Rim worlds. For the simple goods the long isolated Kobani wanted, New Australia offered fast delivery even if at slightly higher costs, and no official questions would be asked. Haveram was not about to give anyone a clue as to which direction Koban lay, or even hint that it existed for that matter. Kobani genetic enhancements really did carry a risk of the death penalty, if the PU knew about them.
Carmody wasn’t a trusting type, of course. “I don't believe you, but that’s part of the deal I’m offering anyway. In order to forgive and forget whatever secret deal you had going on here under my nose, I need something from you in return.”
With a sigh, Haveram said, “There wasn’t any secret deal, but since it’s all to be forgiven anyway, tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if you can have it, OK?”
The crime boss snapped back at him. “Curb your tongue with me Smith, or I’ll watch you eat it raw. This isn’t so much a negotiation as it is a way for you to save your ass and keep your ship.”
“Fine. What is it you think I can do for you?” He turned and leaned on the bar, looking at the supposedly hidden camera.
“You, or the ship owners, have ties with Khartoum’s Destiny, or at least with some of its Sheiks. Those people are difficult to meet if you’re an outsider and not of their faith. Your organization managed to pull that off somehow. I want you to get my representative a successful introduction with whomever you know there. If that leads to my making deals with them, you keep your ship and your ass. You can even profit nicely from any runs you contract to make on my behalf with Khartoum. On the other hand, you can go your own way after a successful introduction takes place. However, you had best never return here.”
Haveram had casually fished into a breast pocket as Carmody spoke, and pulled out a half a handful of large dark brown seeds, saved from the orange colored fruits he’d been served as a garnishment on the fancy drinks he’d ordered tonight. He had made a point of counting them off to his drinking companions as he saved each one, dropping them into his top pocket after each drink. That had actually been done for the benefit of his watchers, so they knew what he had in his hand now was harmless.
He idly tossed some of the half-inch heavy pits back and forth between his hands. He kept his eyes on the mirror, presumably looking into the camera at the crime boss, but focused on the reflected scene. He knew Carmody wasn’t going to like his answer.
“Your contacts didn’t give you current information concerning ownership of the Sparrow, or rather the Falcon, as it’s registered on Poldark. I am the registered owner, although I represent a group of people that you definitely do not want to anger.” He continued before Carmody reacted.
“We knew the ship had been configured for smuggling, a fact that made it ideal for our own uses, which must remain outside of PU government knowledge. One thing that did not come with our purchase was a list of former suppliers, customers, contacts, or partners. We don’t have, and more specifically, I don’t have any influence whatever with the Sheiks of Khartoum’s Destiny. You’re flat out of luck.”
“I am so disappointed,” Carmody said through the com set, in false sympathy, “but not exactly out of luck. The Falcon will make a speedy addition to my handful of other ships, but I’ll have to choose a new name. Sitting Duck seems an appropriate bird related name right now. You on the other hand, really are completely out of luck.” He addressed his lieutenant.
“Carl, let our boys pay Mr. Smith back for the earlier derogatory meathead comments, would you? Let them stretch their muscles.”
This might be interesting, for a few minutes, Carl thought. He’d sized up their target, and had noted his graceful, smooth and easy movements, and dexterity as he tossed the heavy fruit pits back and forth without even watching them, or his hands. Smith had remained calm, and smiling, even as Carmody ordered his thugs to beat him to death. He apparently believed he could take on all six men, or he was crazy and suicidal.
Carl stepped farther away, and with a wave of both hands, motioned the toughs towards the man, who still had his back to them. They moved forward deliberately, rather than in a rush. They wanted to instill fear as he saw them coming, like an unstoppable slow avalanche. Showing off their skills while the boss watched was an unusual opportunity for these low-level types.
Haveram, watching them in the mirrors, had divided the solid feeling heavy pits equally between each hand. He let one pit in each palm fall between index finger and thumb, and turned around
, raising his hands just higher than his shoulders, as if surrendering.
“Hey. Watch this neat trick.” He said, assuring the six thugs had their eyes open and focused on their intended punching bag.
His hands suddenly blurred in an astonishing series of rapid wrist flicks, as he snapped them down and backwards towards each of the six thugs, the index fingers uncurling and flinging the pits with unerring accuracy, and high velocity. As he brought each hand back up, a new pit was caught between finger and thumb, and a fresh flick of the wrists sent two more pits flying.
The two closer thugs couldn’t even initiate the 100 to 400 milliseconds of time required for an average blink before the little projectiles arrived, and the pits buried themselves with a wet splat in the corneas of their right eyes. The next two pits also struck the surface of an eye of two other thugs, but due to the necessity of ensuring the replacement pits were properly caught and positioned, and the need to shift aim, meant a blink was initiated, but incomplete, before those two eyes were damaged.
The next two men had actually completed closing their eyes when the pits struck. Their eyes weren’t as damaged, but there was rupturing internally as the pressure was still transmitted through the eyelids to the vitreous fluid beneath. In barely a second, all six men were effectively blinded, even though only one eye of each man was hit. Five men had a right eye damaged, one man, a lefty, had that eye blinded. Haveram had deduced their handedness from holster location, and knew that this was normally reflected in which eye was dominate, and used for aiming a pistol.
Which was the dominate eye might not even be a factor in this situation, because it was surprising how hard it was for most people to immediately open the good eye after the other eye was seriously damaged in some fashion. At least for long seconds it would be difficult. They weren’t going to be given those long seconds to try.
Carl, seeing what was happening, had blinked and started to turn his head and raise a protective hand to shield his face, he realized in an instant that it would not have been fast enough. However, Haveram had a different demonstration in mind for the mob lieutenant. He’d not even propelled a pit his way.
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