Dirty Deeds

by Mark Wandrey

  “Thought you’d know that,” Murdock said. “See, when I saw your name, I knew right away it was familiar. I met the original project director who was bringing the first whales and stuff here. Nice guy by the name of Vincent Sharp. Your father?”

  “Yes, he was. Two years ago, these terrorists killed him. They sabotaged the ship he was on and it crashed while landing.

  “Like Columbus?” Murdock asked, taking a shot. Jerry nodded.

  “After your merc companies refused to fight it out, they couldn’t hire any more. Mercs are expensive, after all. For a few years, we thought that was it. Only it wasn’t. The worst of them formed a group. Called themselves The Front. Since they couldn’t stop us from introducing new species, they just caused as much carnage as they could. Typical environmental ecoterrorism, right out of the Earth First playbook. Even considering, it wasn’t too bad. Then all of a sudden it got a lot worse a year ago. They started sinking ships and setting bombs in stores. Their goal was to put our fishing industry out of business. They’d realized it was the key to stopping our projects.”

  “But they couldn’t do enough damage? Your fish is for sale all over this region of the galaxy.”

  “Right you are. They must have found a benefactor, because they’ve taken over local politics. Well, part of it. They increased our taxes, then used the money to fund these bastards who’re trying to destroy us. Isn’t that funny? We’re paying for our own demise.”

  “I see,” Murdock said and put his mug in the sink. “Well, I need to get to work.”

  “After all I’ve just told you, you’re just going to go to work?”

  “Yup,” he said. Jerry shook his head in consternation. “I said I’m retired. So, can I rent the room by the week?”

  “Sure, I guess. Let’s say twenty-five credits a week?”

  “Works for me,” Murdock said, and left without saying another word. Margaret came out of the kitchen the second the door closed behind him.

  “He won’t help?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jerry said.

  * * *

  “Good morning, Murdock,” Shannon Dresdin said as Murdock walked up to the store front. Shell Game was just opening, the young woman working at the somewhat rusty crank to move the steel doors up. It reminded him of movies from old Earth. Like most colonies, Valais didn’t go in for a lot of automation where it wasn’t necessary.

  “Morning,” he said. “I never asked what you wanted me to do?”

  “Well, it isn’t going to be beating up everyone you see,” she said and shot him a huge smile.

  “Too bad,” he said in a perfect deadpan, which brought her up short. “I’m kidding,” he said. He wasn’t. Beating up assholes taking advantage of people just trying to make a living was one of the things he considered good in life. If he could earn a few credits doing it, so much the better.

  “The last few guys we’ve paid just hung around in the back until we needed them. Mostly they just aged fish and took our money.” He grunted a half laugh. He’d already figured the guys the Dresdins had been paying were working for the same jerks causing the trouble. Time to shake things up a bit. He turned and wandered down the alley. “Where’re you going?”

  “Think I’ll walk around a bit and see what’s going on.”

  “What if we need you?” she asked. He was already around the corner.

  Murdock spent an hour wandering up and down the alleys around Shell Game. While most were seafood shops of one kind or another, there were a fair number of other kinds as well. There were also quite a few empty spaces, or ones with “For Sale” signs. He stopped at a little coffee and tea shop and had a cup of java, though he wasn’t thirsty. He hadn’t had coffee since he’d left Earth. The flavor reminded him of the overcrowded blue planet. He lit a cigar, ignored the glare from the barista, and sipped as he listened to the conversations around him.

  People were getting frustrated. Though more than a few had been born on Valais, some were thinking of leaving. Fear was running away with them, and they didn’t really know what they were afraid of. He didn’t say anything, though many cast suspicious looks at him; he merely stood by the coffee bar and sipped his drink.

  As the hour came to an end, he left an extra credit on the bar to make up for them putting up with his smoking, and walked back to Shell Game via a different route. As he came around the corner to the shop, he found pretty much exactly what he was expecting. Three men stood there confronting Sheela Dresdin. She was wearing her fish-blood-stained smock, hands on hips, and not backing down to a guy at least three times her size. Her daughter stood a few feet back, a mop held across her body like a spear, her eyes big with fear.

  Murdock walked up calmly, as if he were just looking to buy some fish. He stashed the cigar nub. When he was a dozen meters away, he could hear what she was telling the man.

  “I don’t care who you say they are, I fired them.”

  “You can’t just fire them,” he said.

  “And why not?” she demanded.

  “Because I said so.” The two men behind the leader both laughed just as Murdock reached them. He calmly grabbed both their heads and slammed them together. They hit with a wet crump and both men slumped to the ground. The big man who was their leader turned around and looked from Murdock to the two unconscious men now lying on the floor.

  “I think the lady said your buddies there are fired.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

  “Their replacement.” The man gave a little grin and moved like he was going to put his hands up, then darted his right under the light jacket he was wearing. Murdock gave him a lunge punch to the throat for his efforts. The man gagged and folded. On the way down, Murdock kneed him in the face for good measures.

  “Where were you?” Sheela demanded.

  “Waiting for these assholes to show up,” he said, eyeing the first two he’d put down. Aside from bleeding out their ears, they looked salvageable. “Didn’t figure they’d make an appearance unless I was out of sight, or they would and just come in shooting.”

  “Shooting?” Shannon croaked.

  “He’s being dramatic to make it sound like he’s earning those twenty-five credits a day,” Sheela said. Murdock none-too-gently kicked the leader onto his back and pulled the jacket aside to reveal a holstered pistol. He took it out and dropped it on the ground. “One little gun,” she said, not sounding as confident anymore. Murdock proceeded to frisk all three. By the time he was done, there were four pistols, three knives, and a retractable asp on the ground. “Oh,” she said. “I’d better call the constable.”

  “Don’t bother,” he said, then picked up all the weapons and carried them into the shop. A minute later, he came back out, took the heels of the leader, and began dragging him down the alley.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Taking out the trash, Boss.” As the man dragged along, his head bounced up and down on the paving stones with a most satisfying smacking sound. Sheela didn’t move from her spot as he dragged him down the alley, then returned for the next one. A man with another small fish store two doors down smiled at him, and he nodded back.

  “Where did you put them?” she asked after he’d come back from the last one.

  “Someplace fitting,” he said. “Anything I can help with inside?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I suppose. Shannon, can you show Mr. Murdock down to the dock? The ships should be arriving any minute.”

  “You bet, Mom,” she said, and looked at Murdock with wonder, and maybe something a little more. Murdock followed the young lady. “Where did you put them?” she asked, once they were out of her mother’s earshot.

  “You know that trough at the end of the alley?”

  “We use it for guts,” she said, “it leads to the bay.”

  “Bingo,” he said, and gave her a wink. She giggled and led him onward.

  * * *

  The docks had changed a lot as well. Everywhere in Atlant
is Murdock went, he kept hoping something would look the same as he remembered from twenty-nine years ago. Some buildings, streets, people, anything. As he walked with Shannon and did his best to ignore her incessant teenaged prattle, he realized it was one of the things he liked about Jim Cartwright, besides his natural strength of will. He wasn’t a jabberer.

  They finally rounded a corner and the docks came into view. Just like everything else, they had substantially changed. The docks had been a simple affair all those years ago, concrete piers installed with local-made steel and rock. They’d been placed along the base of a cliff, creating some land where none existed before. Prime land was far too valuable to be used for jetties onto piers.

  The docks were a hundred times the size now, extending out a quarter mile into the water. He thought they looked like they floated, instead of being sunk into the ocean floor. The cliff faces over the dock were now honeycombed with structures as well. It looked like mostly dense residences, either condominiums or apartments. A few were boat manufacturers and offices.

  The docks themselves held a dizzying array of boats and ships. Everything from single-person sailboats to massive ferries big enough to hold a hundred ground cars. Pinnacle Island’s geology meant roads would never connect the outlying towns. Instead, ferries linked the settlements.

  “You going to stand there and gawk, or what?” Shannon asked, a laugh in her voice. “You act like you’ve never seen a fishing fleet before.”

  “I haven’t,” he said. “Fishing on most of Earth is illegal now. Which is why they pay you so much for your fish. The environmentalists shut it down half a century ago. Some sort of ‘neutral footprint’ thing.” He shrugged.

  “I’d heard some of that from my mom,” she said, “part of why we immigrated here when I was little. At least, I think.”

  “Your mother never talked about it? What about your father?”

  “He died on a fishing boat a few years ago.”

  “Let me guess, The Front?”

  “It wasn’t The Front,” she said. He knew there was more, but she didn’t seem interested in explaining, so Murdock simply let her move on.

  She led him out onto the largest pier, then down several smaller ones, which branched off until they reached a ship. It was a good-sized vessel with two decks and a bridge, the aft deck not far above the waterline. The low transom said Shell Game II in green paint. The crew of around ten were bustling about, securing the ship to the dock and maneuvering a crane over the deck. A huge hatch was being lifted clear.

  “Ahoy, little Dresdin!” a man called from the small bridge. A pair of radar booms swung around in circles.

  “Hi, Captain Orlan,” she called back and waved. “Good catch?”

  “You bet,” he said. “We saw another pirate. A new ship.”

  “Shit,” she said. “We think the pirates are working for The Front.”

  “They aren’t The Front themselves?” Murdock asked.

  “No,” she said, “they act for themselves. The Front harasses the fishing fleet. The pirates kill people.”

  “Like your father?” She looked away. A pair of big trucks were rolling down the dock toward the ship just as the first crane load of wiggling fish was hoisted from the hold.

  He waited as they unloaded the fish from the ship to the trucks. The fish were different than his last visit. These were huge—monsters compared to the ones you might see on Earth. Tuna the size of small cars, and flounder as big as a man. The world was a rich bounty of seafood just waiting to be harvested, all thanks to the work of a few creative Humans.

  When the trucks were loaded, they bid farewell to Captain Orlan and the crew of the Shell Game II and took a seat in the cab of one of the trucks. The driver welcomed Shannon and gave Murdock a nod. In just a couple minutes, they arrived at the shop and began unloading. Murdock took a look around the shop, then around the outside. Satisfied, he grabbed a rolled-up bundle he’d put aside earlier and slipped unnoticed out the back.

  * * *

  “Hey, boys,” Murdock said as he entered the empty shop and closed the door behind him. He had the nub of the last cigar clenched between his teeth. This kind of work wasn’t compatible with fresh, long cigars. It was why he saved stubs. Well, and the only replacements were lightyears away.

  The three thugs were tied by hand and ankles, lying on their stomachs like bound steers. They all had gags stuffed in their mouths. Two of them looked up as he entered. The third, one of the two whose heads he’d bashed together, wasn’t moving. Murdock puffed on the stogie and shrugged.

  The storefront was large, with heavy concrete walls. He’d picked it because the shops on either side were empty as well. He pulled an old chair he’d found in the empty shop over and set it down so both the conscious men could see him, then settled down onto it and looked at them.

  “I have some questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

  The leader stared hostilely at him, shaking his head and screaming around the gag, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d be that way,” Murdock said and pointed to the other man. “But you, I’m not so sure about.” One entire side of the other guy’s face was a mass of blue and black bruise from where he’d collided with his still unconscious friend. The second man shook his head from side to side meekly.

  “Okay.” He reached behind his back and pulled the bundle out. Laying it on the filthy floor, he pulled the strap, untying it, and unrolled the fabric to reveal a set of filet knives. The light was dim, only what made it through the shuttered front windows. It was still enough to make the high-carbon steel edges gleam. “I’ll just let you watch me work on your boss for a bit.”

  The leader’s eyes widened as Murdock selected a thin, long blade with a rubber handle and stepped over to him. “Tough guy, huh?” The man stared hatred at him. Murdock took the cigar stub out of his mouth and looked at it. Almost gone. He gave it a couple puffs, turning the tip cherry red, and put it out on the leader’s forehead.

  The man screamed behind the gag, trying to pull away from the burning cigar. Murdock grinned. “Oh, patience, buddy,” he said, then used the knife to deftly carve a huge chunk of meat out of the man’s bicep. Blood sprayed, and the man’s screams took on a decidedly shrill edge. Most of it was muffled by the gag.

  “That looked like it hurt,” Murdock said, looking disappointedly at his now extinguished cigar. The other man was staring in abject horror. “Probably not as much as this, though,” he said as he hooked the blade under the leader’s balled-up fist and gave a twist. Two fingers flew through the air. “That’s gotta hurt,” he said, shaking his head and laughing.

  Murdock stood over the leader, whose head had fallen to the floor when he lost consciousness, and looked at the other man. “You see, punk, I’ve been killing aliens and getting paid for a lot longer than you’ve been alive. Still, I’ve managed to develop more respect for those bastards than shitweasels like you, because at least they have some honor. They don’t often fuck over their own race. Now you?” he said, then looked down at the leader. “You motherfuckers could care less.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a hypo-injector, and jammed it into the leader’s arm.

  The leader’s entire body went rigid and he gasped around the gag. In just a few seconds, the bleeding stopped. “Nanite medkit,” Murdock explained to the second man. “Amazing things; saved my life several times.” He looked back down at the leader. “They have more than a few extra uses which aren’t in the user’s manual.” He’d had three left in his gear, and decided this little operation justified the use of one.

  The leader tried to crawl away. Impossible, tied the way he was. It still made it hard for Murdock to work. So he cut the man’s hamstrings next.

  “How long we do this is entirely up to you,” he explained to the man. The leader looked ready to tell Murdock anything, but he never asked the man a question. He was more useful in the demonstration part of the operation. By
the time the nanite medkit was down to its last dose, the leader was in nine pieces. Interestingly, he wasn’t quite dead yet. Murdock got up and looked at his hands, shaking his head in mock disgust.

  “Such a messy business,” he said and went to the sink in the closed shop. The water still worked, and he washed the blood off his hands, then returned to where he’d left the bundle of knives. He selected a serrated blade next, designed to cut through bone. “Now it’s about time we have a talk,” he said to the second man. The man was weeping and shaking his head. He also rested in a spreading puddle of urine. Murdock moved over and yanked the gag out of the man’s mouth. “That is, unless you’re interested in talking instead?” It turned out he was quite interested in talking.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  “Deagan hasn’t checked in,” Praeg announced out of the blue.

  Grayson looked up from his slate in annoyance. “What do you mean, he didn’t check in?”

  “We sent him over to some shop—the Shell Game?” The man looked down at a handwritten note, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. They fired our guys after some new dude beat up a team of harassers.”

  “So what have you done about it?” Grayson asked. Praeg looked down at the note as if it would hold an answer. “Jumping shit, how long ago were they supposed to be back?”

  “This morning?”

  Grayson glanced out the office window, overlooking a growing sunset, and yelled something incomprehensible, throwing his slate across the room. Praeg ducked and looked terrified. The man was like most of the muscle Grayson had hired; modestly successful punks from Earth and a couple other colonies. Not too successful, of course. He didn’t want management issues. When he’d gotten this gig on Karma through some underworld contacts, Grayson went on a short hiring tour, then slowly infiltrated his teams.

  Unfortunately, the operation’s bankroller hadn’t exactly given Grayson a suitcase full of credits. Too bad, too, because with just a doubling or so of funds, Grayson could have turned the mudpuddle of Valais upside down in quick order. When he’d asked his employer about the endgame, their answer was simple; mind your own business and carry out the operation. He’d shrugged. No skin off his teeth. It just made success less certain in the short term. Of course, it also meant the talent he’d hired wasn’t top notch. A lot of them were just punks.