by Jake Bible
“Whatever, pal-o,” the driver said and pretended to ignore Tipo for the entire ride even though Tipo was well aware of the fact the man was trying every few minutes to pierce the masking protocol so he could score some brownie points with one of the local hoods.
Tipo smiled and closed his eyes so he could grab some rest while he had time to spare. Tipo’s gut told him the new job, and Mess’a’s issues, were going to make sleep hard to come by for a long while. Get it while you can was what he’d learned in the Fleet Marines. That applied to almost every category of life, but especially sleep.
He sighed as he thought of the mess he’d gotten himself into. Co-manager with Lt. Angie McDade was not going to be easy. It certainly was not the move he’d wanted to make, but he didn’t have a choice. The choice had been made for him and he was along for the ride.
Tipo only hoped that ride didn’t end up killing him.
7.
Dive bar was a kind description when it came to Pitcher’s.
A door barely on its track; walls coated in decades of dust on grease on dust on grease and so on; the stink of unwashed beings stewing in their own juices and pickling in cheap liquor and even cheaper beer; an even stronger stink of multi-racial piss; and a bartender that looked like he was a serial killer on his days off.
Angie sat there and glared at the bartender as the being, a pock-marked Groshnel with stim burns on half his tentacles, glared just as hard back at her. Angie downed her beer, shivered, and held up the empty mug. The bartender snorted, scratched at one of the burn marks, proceeded to light a stim stick, took a long drag which filled his entire body with smoke, and poured another beer from a tap that looked like it had more layers of crust on it than the walls.
“Here ya go,” the bartender snarled around his lit stim stick. He inhaled deeply again and his skin flashed different colors for a moment before he leaned away from the bar and closed his eyes. “Come and get it.”
“You aren’t bringing it to me?” Angie asked.
The bartender didn’t answer, too lost in his fresh stim haze to bother.
Angie smirked and got up. She walked to the bar and picked up the beer mug. The handle was sticky and it wasn’t from the liquid currently occupying the drinking vessel.
“Gonna need a week in a med pod after this,” she mumbled to herself as she walked back to her tall table and stool. She stopped before she got more than two feet. A Shiv’erna was sitting there, waiting. “You better be S’lunn.”
Tipo nodded and eyed the mug that Angie was drinking from. “You did hear me about not drinking that shit, yeah? How many have you had?”
“Six,” Angie said and walked steadily to the table then raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my seat.”
“There’s another stool right there,” Tipo said, nodding at the opposite of the table.
“Nope,” Angie said. “That one faces the door.”
“I know,” Tipo said, not budging.
“This how we’re going to start things?”
“Listen, man, I didn’t want a co-manager on this op,” Tipo began, but Angie held up a hand and he stopped.
“Neither did I,” she said. “This is my op. Until you wormed your way in. Don’t know who owes you a favor, but they pulled the right strings and took this from Division and split it with your Squad. I’m all for intradepartmental cooperation, but you don’t poach someone’s op like this, S’lunn. This is going to bite you in the ass one day.”
“You going to do the biting?” Tipo asked then waved a hand. “That wasn’t a come on. Just need to know if I’ve made an enemy or not. I wasn’t trying to poach anything, man—”
“Don’t call me man.”
“—but this op is personal. Xew was my mentor and friend. Best partner a GVD could ask for. No one will partner up with me now. They think I’m either bad juju or I was on the take and had something to do with Xew’s death.”
“And the death of the Jafla PD tactical team,” Angie said.
“Them too,” Tipo said. He pointed at his face and the scarring that disfigured more than half his features. “Do I look like someone on the take? The only reason I didn’t die is because I’m Shiv’erna. The smell of that barge was about to knock me off my feet. I was bent over retching like a rookie when the barge blew.”
Tipo patted his mangled proboscis.
“Don’t have to worry about smells now,” he continued. “This baby is useless, man. I couldn’t smell a fart if my schnoz was halfway up someone’s ass.”
“Feel lucky,” Angie said. “That means you can’t smell this place.”
“I’ve been here before. I know what it stinks like,” Tipo said.
“Now that we have that all worked out, how about we talk business?” Angie said, still standing, still glaring, still eyeing Tipo’s stool.
Tipo sighed and stood up, offering the stool to Angie. She set her beer on the table and took back her seat.
“Thanks,” she said. She shifted on her stool and fixed Tipo with a hard look. “Retching like a rookie. Weren’t you a rookie a year ago when that barge blew?”
“No,” Tipo said. “I wasn’t. But I’m the newest in the Squad, so I’ll be the rookie until we get an actual rookie to take the name from me.” Tipo sighed. “And they still might call me rookie. None of the other GVDs like me worth a shit.”
“Not a people person?” Angie asked.
“Not a take shit from assholes person,” Tipo said.
“We have that in common,” Angie responded and smiled. She sipped from her beer. “Talk to me about Gants. You really think he’s the guy that ordered the bombing?”
“Think? Man, I know,” Tipo said.
“I said not to call me man,” Angie snapped.
“I call everyone man. Except for the captain. I call him sir. Everyone calls him sir or he goes ballistic.”
“But he’s a baby nuft at heart, right?”
“No, he’s a total asshole. He has three settings: pissed off, really pissed off, and homicidal. If you ever meet him and he stops yelling at you, then run. Odds are he’s about to slit your throat.”
“Nice Squad you work in. Co-workers that hate you and a captain that hates everyone. Why stay on Jafla, S’lunn? You were wounded in the line of duty and lost your partner. You could have had the pick of the galaxy for assignments. Why let that window of sympathy close and stay in this craphole?”
“You can probably guess,” Tipo said.
“What? Mess’a Tikk? Your dead partner’s wife?” Angie asked. She drank half her beer, winced, then downed the rest. She held up the empty mug and said, “Don’t make me come over there, barkeep. Or I will rip those nasty tentacles off and shove them in your air sacks.”
“Fuck off,” the bartender replied, but began pouring a new beer.
“Should have you go undercover,” Tipo said. “You fit in nice around here.”
“I come from rough stock,” Angie said. “This place would have been a haven growing up.”
“Damn.”
“And I’ve paid my UC dues. This pretty face is burned in underworld circles. I couldn’t go undercover if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
Tipo shrugged and nodded.
“Mess’a Tikk,” Angie said. She waited as the bartender shuffled over, set down the fresh mug, grabbed the empty one, glared hard at her, then turned and shuffled back behind the bar. “You two getting it on?”
“Me and Mess’a? Shit no, man,” Tipo said. “Shiv’erna and Groshnel aren’t exactly compatible.”
“Beings always find a way,” Angie said and shrugged.
“No, Mess’a is a friend and that’s all,” Tipo said. “I thought about leaving Jafla, but she fell apart and I’ve been the only one she can rely on since Xew died. Her friends bailed on her since none of them approved of her marrying a GVD anyway.”
“Not a cop-loving people here on Jafla?”
“Not a decade older than her, out of shape, or GVD loving people here on Jafla,” Tipo said.
“At least not her friends. They never approved of her marrying Xew and ditched her as soon as they could. I was all that was left to keep her from eating the business end of a laser pistol.”
“Wouldn’t have done much,” Angie said. “Punched a hole in her cerebral membrane, but she would have bounced back. You gotta use plasma blasts or explosives to take out a Groshnel.”
Tipo glared.
“Shit. Sorry. That was a horrible thing to say,” Angie said. “Okay, okay, you stuck around to help your partner’s wife get through her grief. She still grieving?”
“She’s worse,” Tipo said.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
They sat there for a few seconds. Angie was about to start speaking again, but a horrible noise from her guts made her eyes widen and she began to hurriedly look around the bar.
“Told ya,” Tipo said, unable to hide his smug grin. “Far corner.”
Angie rushed from the table and towards the far corner where she saw the faded sign for restrooms. She threw open the door, rushed inside, slammed the door, and locked it tight. Then she popped a pill for her gut, took a couple deep breaths, relaxed, and activated her comm.
“McDade,” a wizened voice replied over the comm. “Progress?”
“I think so, Chief,” Angie responded. “S’lunn looks to be legit. If he’s on the take with Gants, then he’s either the greatest actor in the galaxy or he’s such a psychopath that even the best analyst would fail at profiling him. The guy really does want revenge and justice for his dead partner. He also wants justice for his dead partner’s wife. That seems to be the main motivation.”
“They screwing?”
“Groshnel and Shiv’erna.”
“Beings find a way.”
“No, I don’t think they are. The guy is young and still has part of his heart intact. The job hasn’t taken it all yet.”
“Careful. The ones that still have beating hearts tend to act first and think second.”
“I’m having to work with Knowles, Chief. I’m very aware of that type of personality.”
“Knowles does more thinking than you know, McDade. Don’t underestimate him. He will come through in ways you didn’t think possible.”
“I Eight Million Gods damn hope so, Chief. Because this op could ruin all our careers if we get it wrong. The Collari syndicate has a far reach. We make one wrong step and they’ll have their paid-off stooges in the Fleet bury us.”
“Now you’re thinking like me. You think you can do this without us all going down?”
“I do.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then do it. Set up the meet between S’lunn and Knowles. Make this op work and let’s take down the Collari syndicate on Jafla.”
“Copy that, Chief. I’ll comm you when I can, but it’s going to be few and far between. Gotta lot of work to do.”
“Understood. Weekly reports would be nice, but comm-in only when it’s safe. If I don’t hear from you after three weeks, then I send in a recovery team.”
“Copy. Gotta go.”
Angie cut the comm and washed her hands. She splashed water on her face and neck, pinched her cheeks so it looked like she’d been straining hard, then unlocked the door and left the bathroom.
When she saw the table, she stopped. Tipo was no longer alone. Instead, there were two Gwreqs and an Urvein towering over where he sat. All three of the beings screamed stim junkies and their twitchy behavior pretty much confirmed Angie’s assessment.
She sighed and began to walk towards the table, but, without looking back at her, Tipo lowered a hand and waved her off. She changed course and found a shadowed booth where she could take a seat and watch whatever was about to go down.
8.
“You is an ugly one,” one of the Gwreqs said.
Gwreqs were a stone-skinned, four-armed, humanoid race that were built of muscle and aggression, averaging about seven feet tall. The one that spoke was easily seven and a half feet tall, but lacked a good amount of muscle definition due to the unfortunate stim habit the being was obviously beholden to.
Tipo glanced at the second Gwreq, but that being was so checked out that even though he was a good deal heavier, and even taller, than the first Gwreq, Tipo figured he could take the guy out with one hard swing.
The Urvein, on the other hand, was a different matter.
Even strung out on stim, Urveins were dangerous. Gwreqs were certainly dangerous, too, but their metabolism didn’t process stim the way Urveins’ metabolisms did. Despite multiple patches of mange on the huge being’s coat—and the being was huge at just under three meters tall—the Urvein’s musculature was actually more defined on stim than if he’d been a healthy, happy, productive member of Jafla Base society.
Tipo understood that, so he angled his body to be ready for the attack from the Urvein over any attack from the Gwreqs.
“You got the scoots in your pants?’ the first Gwreq asked. “Why you shifting, ugly?”
“How about you move along, man,” Tipo said. “I don’t want trouble and I know you don’t want trouble.”
“You’re in our seat,” the second Gwreq screeched.
Tipo’s eyes widened at the high-pitched voice that came out of the being’s mouth.
“You got a bit of a squeak there, man,” Tipo said. “You should have that looked at.”
“Cop punched me in the throat,” the second Gwreq said. “Hurt.”
“I bet it did, man,” Tipo said. “Listen, I’m here with someone and she’s about to come back. How about I give you guys some credits and you go buy a few drinks on me? You can sit over at that table instead.”
“This is our table,” the first Gwreq said, looking confused, enraged, and a little like he was going to throw up.
“Chits,” the Urvein said, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble in his chest. “Chits.”
“Don’t have chits on me,” Tipo said. “Credits are good here. The bartender will set you up with credits, no problem.”
“Chits,” the Urvein repeated.
“Yeah, yeah, chits,” the second Gwreq squeaked. “We need chits. They don’t take credits on the corner, ugly! They don’t take credits!”
“Don’t have any chits on me,” Tipo said.
“Hey, baby,” Angie chirped as she shoved past the Gwreqs and wrapped her arms around Tipo’s neck then gave him a huge kiss, her cheek shoving his proboscis to the side so she could get to his lips. She pulled away then flashed a brilliant smile at the three junkies. “Did I hear you say you need chits? Oh, I have chits in my roller out back.”
“You got chits?” the first Gwreq asked, his eyes narrowing. “Out back? Out back where?”
“The alley,” Angie said. “That’s where I parked my roller. A girl has to be careful when she has thousands of chits stashed in her vehicle, am I right?”
“Honey, maybe you shouldn’t have said that,” Tipo muttered.
“Chits,” the Urvein said and clamped a hairy paw on Angie’s shoulder. “Now.”
“You bet, you furry lug,” Angie said and extricated herself from the grip. She walked off then turned and looked back over her shoulder. “I’m not bringing the chits inside a place like this. If you want some, then you’ll have to come with me.”
Tipo watched the junkies try to figure out what to do. It was a very confusing situation all around. The Urvein finally made the decision for them and pushed the Gwreqs out of the way so he could follow Angie towards the back of the bar.
“Hey! Where you going?” the bartender shouted.
“Just doing a little business,” Angie called back. “Pour me another?”
The bartender glanced at Tipo, who shrugged and nodded his head at Angie. The bartender shrugged back and poured the beer.
Tipo got up once the Gwreqs decided they’d follow their pal who was walking so close to Angie that Tipo lost sight of her behind the being’s massive bulk. With undetected ease, Tipo slid his pistol from i
ts holster and kept it down and pressed close to his thigh. He gave a brief glance at the rest of the bar, but the few patrons there were focused on their own misery and not even close to glancing in his direction.
The strange party reached a back hatch door and Angie whirled the wheel then shoved the hatch open out onto the alley that stood behind half the establishments on that block. She walked out like she didn’t have a care in the world. The three junkies followed her.
Before Tipo could step outside, Angie caught his eye and gave a quick shake of her head. He paused and waited just inside the hatch.
“Where the roller?” the first Gwreq asked.
“Down there. Behind that incinerator bin,” Angie said and pointed to the darkest part of the alley. “You guys go on down and I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”
Tipo almost started laughing. Why would she make sure the coast was clear if they were her chits? The junkies were so fried in the brain, and used to being sketchy, that they didn’t even think twice. In their lives, someone always had to make sure the coast was clear.
Once the party of three was a few meters away, Angie hurried back to the hatch and inside the bar. She slammed the hatch closed and spun the wheel, locking it tight.
“They’re going to come back,” Tipo said. “Through the front door. And they’ll be pissed.”
“They aren’t coming back,” Angie said. “Not when they get to the roller.”
“Whoa, what?” Tipo exclaimed. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “There’s actually a roller?”
“Yeah. How else did you think I got here?” Angie asked.
“I didn’t think about it,” Tipo said. “Why would you send them to your actual roller? Please tell me there aren’t chits inside either.”
“Better,” Angie said and held up a finger. She cocked her head like she was on the comm then said, “Yes, I’d like to report my vehicle stolen, please.”
“All the Hells,” Tipo muttered as he took a step back and leaned against the wall. “You are something, man.”
“Yes, officer, I rented a roller and it has been stolen,” Angie continued. “Where? I believe it is called the Mesker District.”
