Dirty Deeds

by Mark Wandrey

  “Who are you staying with?”

  “The Sharps?”

  “Doc Sharp and his wife?” Murdock nodded. “Why don’t we go talk to them?”

  “Sure,” Murdock said. He glanced over and saw Shannon Dresdin looking at him with worry on her face. He gave her a wink, and her eyes got slightly wider.

  Murdock climbed in the officer’s little car. Nothing more than a glorified scooter with a windscreen, it was seriously tested with a man the size of Murdock in the passenger seat. “I didn’t give you my name,” the detective said as they drove. “Detective Shawn Tyrie. You’re Abraham Murdock, correct?”

  “Just Murdock.”

  “Okay, Just Murdock, you’ve had a busy couple days on Valais.”

  “Oh, I just helped with a few punks and cutting up fish.”

  “Didn’t cut up any punks, too?”

  “Now why would you think that?”

  Detective Tyrie looked at him and grinned slightly. “Maybe you just like kicking people’s asses? You’re a merc, according to customs records.”

  “Retired,” Murdock corrected. “I’ve kicked a lot of alien ass, and gotten paid well to do it, for decades. Humans aren’t my specialty.”

  “Tell it to those two you put in the hospital the day you got here.”

  It was Murdock’s turn to give a little grin. “Oh, trust me, Detective Tyrie, I could have hurt them a lot worse than I did.”

  On the way to the Sharps’, they passed within view of police headquarters, a building half the size of what Murdock would expect from a city of several hundred thousand. “How many on your police force?” Murdock asked.

  “We have 120 law enforcement, and about twice that on support duties. The judiciary has maybe twenty people.”

  “Jails?”

  “Wondering for your own purposes?”

  “Call it curiosity,” Murdock said.

  “There’s a detention facility for minor offenses and holding prior to trial. Most crimes are worked off on fishing ships. Call it community service. The real problems are simply deported.”

  “What if you catch those pirates? People have died. What would you do with them?”

  They pulled up to the housing block where he had his room. The detective got out of the car and looked at Murdock with a curious expression before answering. “That would be up to the judges, I guess.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we talk to the Sharps?”

  Murdock used his Yack to unlock the door and walked in. Jerry and Margaret Sharp were sitting at the dinner table drinking tea. They looked up, a little surprised to see him. “You’re early, Mr. Murdock,” Jerry said. Then he saw the detective right behind the merc. In a second, the expression changed to recognition. “Detective Tyrie?”

  “Yes, Dr. Sharp. I understand Mr. Murdock here is staying with you?”

  “Yes,” he said and stood up. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “There were some killings last night,” Tyrie said.

  “Yes,” the man said and glanced at his wife. “It’s all over the news.”

  “What time did Mr. Murdock here come in?” the detective asked.

  Jerry looked from the detective to Murdock and hesitated.

  “Must have been around nine?” Margaret jumped into the pause. “Wouldn’t you say, Jerry?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jerry replied. “I’m pretty sure you’re right. I was tired after being out on the ship all day.” He glanced at Murdock again. “When were those men all killed?”

  “Late,” the detective admitted. Murdock was amused to hear the disappointment in his voice. “Coroner guesses around midnight.”

  “We done here?” Murdock asked.

  “I suppose,” the detective said. He moved a little closer to Murdock and spoke low enough the Sharps couldn’t hear him. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  “Come by the shop for some flounder,” Murdock said. “I’ll give you the police discount.” Frowning, the detective let himself out.

  “Mind telling us what that was all about?” Jerry asked.

  Murdock came over and sat at the table. “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “I’m smarter than average, Murdock. Let’s say you give it a try?”

  “Dr. Sharp, and it is Dr. Sharp, as I understand? You never mentioned you took over your father’s work.” Jerry nodded. “Let me ask you something first.” He nodded toward the departed police detective. “Do you really want to know? I’m sure you’re aware of the term ‘plausible deniability?’”

  “Oh, quite well,” Jerry said.

  “So, with that in mind,” Murdock continued, “we can have a nice little discussion on the particularly gruesome end of a bunch of scum-sucking thugs…” Margaret gasped slightly and put a hand over her mouth, “or maybe Mrs. Sharp can see if there might be a little dinner left in the kitchen, and we can just relax and enjoy the evening.”

  Jerry looked from his wife’s horrified expression to Murdock and swallowed. Murdock could recognize the appearance of a man giving the options a thorough going over. He wasn’t overly worried the man would insist on knowing. He considered himself a pretty good judge of human character. It was hard to reach the rank of first sergeant without those instincts.

  “Margaret, why don’t you bring Murdock some leftovers.” His wife looked more horrified.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Murdock said, “I want to have a smoke and go clean the blood off.” The woman gave a little squeak, and Murdock glanced at her. “Fish blood, I was unloading the catch before the detective showed up.” He got up and went to his room, leaving the two alone.

  * * *

  “My god, Jerry!” Margaret exclaimed once he was gone.

  “Well, dear, you were just lamenting you didn’t think he would help us.”

  “Help, sure,” she said and stood, then gestured at the Tri-V where they’d been watching the police report. “But killing a dozen men?”

  “Marge!” he barked, and she jumped slightly. “How did you think that help would materialize? Did you honestly think he’d pull some sneaky tricks, bump a few heads, and the thugs would all pack up and leave? Maybe shake their fists at us as they flew back to their own planets?”

  “Well, no, of course not!” she said, sounding a little indignant. “But murder?”

  “I doubt he just slaughtered them,” Jerry assured her.

  “Do you really?”

  He rubbed his stubbled chin and then shrugged. “Are you going to ask him?”

  “Heavens, no!”

  “Neither am I. You better get some food for him.”

  “Maybe you better ask him to find another place to live.”

  “No,” Jerry said, “I’d rather have him right here.” He looked at the door the detective had left through earlier. “I have a feeling things might get worse before this is all over. Murdock might be a wrecking crew, but he’s on our side. Saints help me, I think I trust him.”

  “I think you’ve taken complete leave of your senses,” she said and went into the kitchen. Jerry just grunted and sipped his now-cold tea.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Murdock went out of his way to have an unpredictable schedule in the following days. He always showed up at work by the start time; some days he was right on time, and others as much as an hour early. He usually had lunch in the shop, since it was free, though not every day. Same for after work. He never ate or drank at the same place twice—not hard in a city like Atlantis—and he managed to get lost twice. One day he brought home freshly-caught lobster for Margaret Sharp to cook.

  He spotted a tail several times the first three days. In time, he noted their abilities and plotted escape routes. The fourth night they were becoming complacent, and he slipped away.

  At a small mechanical repair shop down by the waterfront, he found three nervous and confused guys who hadn’t heard a word from Grayson in three days. He capped them and then appropriated a small fiberglass-hulled skiff, whi
ch looked like it had seen better days. It did, however, have a basic robotic pilot. It sailed quietly out of the harbor late at night and set an easterly course. Several hours later, a tiny thermite charge went off, and it sank, with all three hands on board, in more than a thousand meters of water. Murdock didn’t want any more bodies turning up.

  It took two weeks to finish cleaning up the remnants of Grayson’s little operation. Partly because the police still tried to tail him from time to time. At the end, he was confident they’d all been dealt with. The only ones he left alive were a trio of local juvenile hoodlums Grayson had used as lookouts and narcs. He caught them trying to carry on with an elderly pair running a bakery.

  Murdock donned a balaclava and, after beating the three senseless, dumped them in an alleyway with the sage advice to find a better line of work before they found themselves waking up with bullet holes in their heads. He traced their movements the next few days. Two found jobs on fishing boats, and the last jumped a freighter off-world.

  He finally proclaimed Atlantis free of the thugs. The police didn’t have more than the occasional petty theft or drunken brawl anymore. The venders around Shell Game were confused and ecstatic. The politicians who’d been complicit in the whole thing were just as confused as they tried to take credit for the cleanup of Atlantis.

  Sheela Dresdin would have complained she didn’t need Murdock anymore, except the man had proven a quick study in the fish business, and was even more helpful as a shop hand than he had been as a bodyguard. One day he caught Sheela watching him out of the corner of her eye in an appraising manner. Unlike Jerry Sharp, she’d never suspected he’d been behind the murders of the thugs. Or if she did, she’d kept it to herself. Of course, she’d lost a husband some time ago to the bastards, which might have had something to do with it.

  The Sharps were a bit different. Jerry Sharp acted like nothing had happened, while his wife Margaret had cooled toward him considerably. She was never disrespectful or gave him anything other than great service as his host. Likewise, she was never congenial again.

  He made sure to be the one to walk down to the docks with Shannon each day. The young girl had struck up a friendly, older-brother sort of relationship with him. Murdock was comfortable with that. She also liked that her mother was warming to Murdock as well—and he didn’t mind that, either.

  At the docks, he made sure to talk to Captain Orlan for a few minutes. Always casual chatter about what the oceans were like, how it was to man a ship like his, and most importantly, any sightings of the pirates. Two weeks to the day after taking out Grayson, Shell Game II came in with damage.

  “What happened?” Murdock asked as he swung over the gunwales onto the deck, a cigar clenched in his teeth. The hull was scorched in several places along the bow, and one of the bridge windows was shattered.

  “Scout boats spotted a huge school of tuna over by Tyvee Island, so we hustled over there.” The captain eyed the cigar but didn’t say anything. “As soon as I put nets in the water, they attacked. Pair of boats with lasers and machine guns.”

  “Yeah?” Murdock looked over the damage, taking careful note of the effect on the hull plating. “Any casualties?”

  “Only half the catch,” he said. “They cut the lines with their lasers and we had to retreat.”

  “Glad nobody was hurt,” Murdock said.

  Later that night in a bar frequented by fisherman, he heard a dozen accounts of similar attacks. The next morning he talked to Sheela.

  “I was thinking of asking Captain Orlan if he could use a hand for a while.”

  “What?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, I’d like to know how to fish.”

  “Fishing on a huge boat isn’t the same as dropping a line in the—”

  “Sheela.”

  “What?”

  “I know.”

  “And you still want to go out?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is it the pirates?” she asked. He just stared at her, then winked. “Okay, better I don’t know. I’ll talk to the captain tonight. We’ll miss you here.”

  “You’ll get by.”

  “I’ll miss you here.” He stopped and smiled at her.

  “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

  * * *

  “Ahoy there, Murdock!”

  “Good morning, Captain Orlan,” Murdock said as he swung up onto the ship. Even with the bridge glass replaced and temporary repairs made to the burned hull, the damage was still evident. Several other ships showed recently repaired damage as well.

  The captain gestured at the dark clouds and rain. “Not sure I’d call it good. Stormy seas; I hope you’re up to it.”

  “I’ve made forty-two HALD drops, Captain; I’m not overly worried about some waves.”

  The captain gave a little grin and nodded. Murdock shouldered his huge duffel bag. “Damn, we come back to port every night. What do you need all that for?”

  “Oh this?” Murdock asked. “This is just for my titanium nuts.”

  “Sure, sure,” Orlan laughed. “Smith, show the man where he can stow his gear.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Oh, Murdock?”

  “Yes, captain?”

  “Only smoke on the bridge wings.” Murdock cocked an eyebrow out of curiosity. “I don’t want the fish smelling like smoke.”

  “No problem.”

  Six hours later, Murdock was dearly wishing he’d kept his goddamn mouth shut about little waves. The oceans of Valais were truly massive, and her twin moons created titanic tides. The reason there was so little land was the wave action of Valais was many times more intense than on Earth.

  His first job was as a baiter. He would take bait fish, grind them up, and stuff the ground-up fish in buckets, which were placed in crab traps. Those in turn were dumped over the side in a hundred-kilometer-long string. The ship would return to them the next day. Murdock puked over the side about once per kilometer.

  “How does it compare to a HALD drop?” a deck hand asked between traps, and between puking.

  “Oh, fuck off,” Murdock spat. The crew roared with laughter. Murdock suspected they’d gone to an area with the worst seas the captain could find. Only fair, he guessed.

  After lunch, they moved to shallower water, where the seas were much less rough. There they set hooks on a long line and trawled for flounder. He helped both bait and recover. Most of the hooks came back with a flounder of ten kilograms or more. The ocean literally teemed with life.

  “Without any large predators, bottom fish do particularly well,” a deckhand explained to him.

  “Dr. Sharp is afraid they might have to eventually introduce some predators,” another hand said.

  “Bad idea, if you ask me,” the first man said, and for the next hour they had a good-natured argument on the subject. Murdock spent his time learning the simple physical needs of the job and watching the horizon. Always watching the horizon.

  When they got back with the fish, Shannon was there waiting. She smiled and laughed at how Murdock was covered in blood and fish guts. “So, you like fishing?”

  “It’s okay,” Murdock replied. Some of her smile faded, and his grew. “Let’s get this unloaded, I’m starving.” He lit a cigar, and she didn’t bat an eye. At least they were getting used to his smoking.

  * * *

  There wasn’t much to learn on the boat. It was different than on Earth in the old days. Back then, fishing ships specialized in just one or two types of fish. On Valais, the ships were designed to catch anything, and rotated between harvests. One thing the fleet dropped everything to catch, though, was tuna.

  Despite tuna doing just as well as other species, they were still rare, because they ran in massive schools. Valais was a big planet, with vast seas. Tuna schools with half a million fish would be spotted one day, then nothing for weeks.

  “We think they’re following the migrations of local fauna,” Dr. Sharp explained one night. “There are several smaller loca
l fish most of the predatory Earth stock enjoy, in addition to what we’ve introduced.” He’d shrugged. “Another factor is, we’re only fishing about 10% of the oceans intermittently. It’s only been fifty years; things are still shaking out. When the first orca arrive next year, things will really get interesting.”

  “Killer whales?” Sharp nodded. “Is there enough food for them?”

  “We think so. We’ll start with two small pods, one here around Pinnacle and another by Icetop. There are eight species of fish here now that orca prey on, and two more coming with them.”

  “Won’t they eat the other whales?”

  “The right whales, probably, but we have the most of them. Last count was 200. Like the tuna, the orca will have to find them first. The grays are too fast. We wanted to introduce a mammal prey animal before they got here.” He shrugged. “We’re stalled. The penguins won’t work, there aren’t any waters cold enough. We think we’re going with sealions and sea turtles. They’re not my specialty, though.”

  While he worked each day, Murdock pumped the first mate for information on pirate attacks and strategy. The crew were naturally quite interested in them as well. Several had images of the pirate ships. Murdock studied them intently. By the end of the week, he was certain of two things.

  One, the pirates had a base somewhere, because they didn’t have large ships. Two, aside from a harassing raid or two, they did their worst damage and made their largest attacks when the fleet combined to go after tuna.

  The night after he found the last information, Murdock stayed up late cruising Valais’ AetherNet on the colony’s laws. He was most interested in jurisdictional issues. What he found made the little sleep he got much more enjoyable.

  The fleet spent a lot of time hoping for tuna. The market on Earth was unbelievably profitable. So much so that the fish were shipped there alive in specially-built containers. Bluefin tuna, which used to top out around 350 kg on Earth, often topped 500 kg on Valais. At first, the Valais tuna weren’t highly prized because the fish fed primarily on native life. But as Earth imported food species flourished and became a significant percentage of their diet, everything changed.