Progeny (The Progenitor Trilogy, Book Three)

by Worth, Dan

  ‘Van Horne, huh? I’m Vito Molinelli. Michael here says you used to work with Bennett?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Steven, aware that Michael - evidently the attack dog had a name - was still hanging around within earshot. ‘He and I had a nice little thing going until he got iced. Heard the government finally caught up with him.’

  ‘I hear all sorts of things about what happened to Bennett, but I never heard of you,’ said Molinelli, pointing at him with a chubby index finger.

  ‘Really? I’m surprised. Maybe he wanted to keep me all to himself.’

  ‘Maybe. Ah, Bennett didn’t tell all and sundry about his business dealings,’ Molinelli shrugged. ‘So: I hear you have some sort of proposition for me?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m in the import-export business and I have a special line in acquiring rare or quality goods for discerning customers. The current situation is hurting your business, am I right?’

  ‘Too fucking right it is. With all those ships in orbit and the war? I can’t get shit. I’m fucking bleeding here. No customers. No shipments. Fucking troops and cops everywhere...’

  ‘Right, right. Except I managed to make it through all that. See, I have a fast ship with a good crew working for me, and get this: it has a fucking stealth module fitted to the drive.’

  ‘Holy shit. That must’ve set you back a fair piece.’

  ‘Yeah, but it pays for itself. Fucking Navy can’t track me. Plus I got a nice little private spaceport all of my own way out in the jungle. Don’t have to worry about customs. In and out, and those dumb Navy fuckers never see us. See, I can get you goods that are hard to come by, especially now the rest of the Commonwealth is cut off from here. Some things are getting scarce, right? Even some normal and legal shit. People will pay over the odds for stuff like that. Here, take a look at this.’ Steven reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small plastic container. He opened it and showed the contents to Molinelli.

  ‘The fuck is this? Herbs and spices?’

  ‘This is Barrachak Cloudfrond.’

  ‘I know what it is. I do own a coupla restaurants, you know.’

  ‘So you know that you can only get this stuff from Vreeth space, right? This stuff has increased in price ten times since the war broke out. It’s almost impossible to get hold of and the only sources are from stocks of the dried stuff. But here, check it out.’

  Molinelli took the container from him and sniffed the Cloudfrond, prodding it with his thick fingers, crushing it between thumb and forefinger and smelling the results.

  ‘It’s still fresh,’ said Molinelli.

  ‘Right. Straight from the source. See I brought that to you as a taster. Something nice and legal that I could carry around the streets with me, but that I could use to prove to you my capabilities. I’m renting a room in a hotel not far from here, The Traveller’s Rest.’

  ‘Yeah, I know it.’

  ‘I got other samples back there you might be interested in, more... selected and high quality goods, so to speak. You wanna come and have a look at what I can offer? We can talk and maybe come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.’

  Molinelli nodded thoughtfully, then made a gesture to Michael. The fierce little man produced a scanning device of some kind which he held out towards Steven like a talisman.

  ‘Don’t fucking move,’ said Michael.

  ‘The hell is this?’ Steven replied, protesting, meanwhile preparing himself to take down both men if necessary.

  ‘Just a precaution, van Horne. It’s just that you’re a new face in here’ said Molinelli. ‘Don’t take it personal, but the cops have tried to set me up before, you know. Michael’s just going to check you for any little surveillance devices you might have about your person.’

  Michael ran the device over Steven’s body, front and back, and then stepped back.

  ‘He’s clean, boss, but he is carrying a couple of pieces. One under his left arm-pit, the other strapped to his right ankle.’

  ‘You came into my place armed?’ said Molinelli, obviously offended.

  ‘Just a precaution, Molinelli. Rough neighbourhood. Don’t take it personal,’ Steven grinned.

  ‘You got that right,’ grunted Molinelli. ‘But don’t you come in here heavy again, okay?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘You come here alone?’

  ‘No, I got my two guys outside. Well, guy and girl. They’re my crew. They’re just watching my back.’

  ‘They armed too?’

  ‘Yep, but they’re strictly on a “don’t shoot until I tell them to” footing. But trust me, I’ve learned the hard way what happens if I don’t take precautions walking into a place like this unprepared.’

  Molinelli appeared to be mulling over his options. He nodded slowly, then took a mouthful of his drink and swallowed before he answered.

  ‘Well it’s not ideal, but here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll take Michael here, and another one of my guys. They’ll both be strapped, but they’ll also be on orders not to use ‘em unless I give the word. Insurance, you understand? You got a ride?’

  ‘My truck’s right outside.’

  ‘Good. We’ll come with you to your hotel and meet you in the lobby, then we’ll go on up and have a little chat, real nice.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Steven replied. ‘See you outside.’ He lifted his comm. to his ear. ‘Yeah it’s me,’ he said, speaking quickly into the slender device. ‘I’m coming out.’

  Isaacs and Anna were already approaching the truck, their weapons concealed in hold-alls, as Steven walked calmly out of the front entrance of the club. The rain had stopped, and Steven squinted at the bright sunshine now reflecting from the puddles in the street.

  ‘How did it go?’ said Anna, cautiously.

  ‘Not bad. I convinced them, for now. Bad news is: Molinelli won’t come alone, which isn’t entirely unexpected. He’s cautious, and he’s bringing a couple of his goons with him, both armed I expect. We need to be careful. I was hoping to lean on him for the information we need, but it might be more difficult now.’

  ‘You need us to help you take them down?’ said Isaacs.

  ‘Maybe. I hope it won’t come to that. Shit, here they come.’

  The door swung open and Molinelli swaggered out into the sunshine, his pudgy features partially obscured behind a pair of expensive shades. Michael padded at his side, eyes darting left and right, his t-shirt failing to conceal the tell-tale shape of a pistol tucked into the waist band of his jeans. There was a squeal of tires and a sleek, antique limo emerged from behind the club. Steven took it to be at least half a century old, pre-AG tech. Its black paintwork gleamed in the sun. Molinelli probably had his lackeys clean and buff it for him regularly. The tinted window on the driver’s side slid down to reveal another one of Molinelli’s men behind the wheel. Piggy eyes glared from a hairless head that seemed to lack a definite neck and to grow straight from his overly muscled shoulders, whilst his tree-trunk arms were a mass of tattoos. Steven eyed him cautiously, wondering whether the man’s physique was due to time in the gym or illegal drugs and augmentation.

  ‘Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do, Stevey boy,’ said Molinelli, businesslike. ‘You’re gonna ride with us in my car. Your two friends can follow in your truck. AG traffic ain’t allowed as I’m sure you’re aware, so we’re taking this antique from my collection and riding the old fashioned way.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Steven. ‘Let’s get going, then.’

  They rode to the hotel in near silence. Molinelli appeared to be occupied with a datapad that he poked and prodded as the car moved smoothly along the almost deserted streets, the only sound the whine of the car’s electric motors and the strange tutting sound that Molinelli made as he studied the device. Michael, his right hand man, sat next to him, alert and watchful of everything both inside and outside the cab, whilst the driver – Steven had learnt that his name was Vic or Victor – never said a word and kept his eye on the road ahead. Steven sat opposite
Molinelli, facing backwards in the spacious rear compartment of the limo. He could see Isaacs and Anna following them at a distance through the rear window.

  Eventually Molinelli looked up from the datapad.

  ‘Just doing a little research,’ he said. ‘Want to know who I’m dealing with. I didn’t find much, but you like to enjoy yourself, huh?’ he added and grinning, held up the datapad and turned it towards Steven to show a photo of Steven van Horne, independent businessman and wannabe playboy with a his arm around a scantily clad blonde woman ten years his junior who was pouting at the camera. The photo had been staged. It was part of a fake online profile that had been created to satisfy the curiosity of anyone who cared to investigate the background of Steven van Horne, one of several identities created for Steven to use. ‘Yeah lots of photos here with you and some good looking broads,’ said Molinelli, apparently impressed.

  ‘Yeah well, I’m good at making what they really love: money,’ said Steven and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and grinned.

  Molinelli chuckled at the sexist comment. ‘Yeah this line of work has its perks. Think a guy like me could get women like that if I was some regular asshole in an office? Forget it. Couldn’t find out much else about you though, no business details...’

  ‘Like I said; I’m discreet,’ said Steven. ‘You think I go shouting about my wares in the fucking street like some market trader?’

  ‘I do not, and I respect a man who can keep his mouth shut,’ Molinelli replied, apparently satisfied.

  Reaching the hotel, Steven directed Vic to take the car down into the underground car park beneath the building. As they got out of the vehicle, Isaacs and Anna appeared in their truck and drew up alongside in the next parking space. Michael eyed them uneasily the whole time, his piercing gaze never leaving them. Isaacs glared back.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ he said casually.

  ‘I dunno. You tell me, fly boy,’ said Michael, scornfully. ‘You think you’re a tough guy?’

  ‘I can handle myself,’ Isaacs replied, meeting his stare.

  ‘That piece you got slung under your shoulder. You ever use it? See, I hear you freelance pilots are bunch of fucking faggots when you’re not safe in your little ships. You’re nothing but a fucking chauffeur,’ Michael spat back, moving closer so his face was mere inches from Isaacs’

  ‘I have used it, and by the way, I’m the best fucking pilot you’ll ever meet. Now get the fuck out of my face,’ Isaacs snarled back, unfazed. Michael looked like he was about to say something in return when his boss intervened.

  ‘Hey! Easy! We’re all friends here, right?’ said Molinelli, with a placatory tone. ‘Michael, please.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Anna. ‘Enough of the dick-swinging contest. You two gonna start marking your territory next?’

  ‘You should come by the club sometime honey, I’ll show you all about dick swinging,’ said Michael and leered.

  ‘So charming as well,’ Anna replied drily and shot Michael an icy grin.

  ‘Hey, enough,’ said Molinelli. ‘Steven, my apologies. This guy... If you’d care to lead the way?’ He put a weighty hand on Steven’s shoulder and ushered him towards the lift, the others followed, casting furtive sidelong glances at one another.

  They rode up in the dingy lift together, squashed in against the bulk of Molinelli and Victor. It was a relief when the lift finally deposited them in the shabby corridor that led to Steven’s room. He unlocked the door.

  ‘Wait,’ said Molinelli and signalled to Michael and Victor. They advanced, pistols drawn and indicated to Steven to push the door open. He did so, and then switched the light on and walked slowly inside, with the two men following him. Once they had searched the room and the adjoining bathroom, they called Molinelli in after them.

  ‘Can’t be too careful,’ said Molinelli and Isaacs and Anna entered behind him and shut the door. ‘Nothing personal about it, you get me? Now. You wanna show me what else you got for sale?’

  Steven glanced over at Isaacs and Anna, meeting their gaze individually for a split second. He saw them both tense. Molinelli wasn’t stupid. He sensed the change of atmosphere in the room in an instant.

  ‘Fuck, I knew it...’ he began.

  ‘Vittorio Molinelli, I’m...’

  ‘You’re a fucking cop, is that it?’ said Molinelli. ‘Fuck me, I must be going dumb in my old age. Well you got shit on me, for a start. So what do you want?’

  ‘I’m not a cop, I’m an agent with Special Operations Command. Now sit the fuck down and listen to me,’ snapped Steven.

  Molinelli was shaking his head.

  ‘Come on kid, out with it. What do you want?’

  ‘You and I need to have a little chat, Molinelli. I’m looking for information,’ said Steven.

  ‘Information, huh?’

  ‘Play this right, and you can go about your business, maybe even benefit a little,’ Steven replied. ‘But I warn you, I’m not bluffing.’

  ‘You got any ID?’ sneered Molinelli.

  ‘No I don’t. But I’m going to ask you some questions, and believe me, it’s in your interests to help me out,’ Steven replied. ‘You do not want my people coming after you.’

  Michael was already sliding his hand towards his waistband, hoping that everyone’s attention was on Molinelli. Victor tensed, ready to hurl his weight forward and knock Steven off his feet. Isaacs saw them both start to move and realised he wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon quickly enough.

  ‘Fuck you!’ said Molinelli. ‘This is fucking bullshit. I’m a legitimate businessman. I been clean for years, ever since I got out. This is a fucking set up. You gonna make me disappear like all the others, huh? Like Bennett? Like those people who you pinch on the street? Think again, asshole! You and your little buddies ain’t walking away from here, you hear me?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, and listen!’ said Steven. ‘I’m not with Morgan.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ bellowed Molinelli, reaching for his gun. Michael already had his weapon half drawn, and Victor had started to move forward. Isaacs saw what happened next and couldn’t quite believe what his eyes told him. Somehow the laser pistol was just there in Steven’s hand. One moment, Michael was bringing his gun up and then there was a loud crack, like someone slamming a door. Then the next, Michael was falling backwards, a smoking, bloody hole of cauterised flesh, scorched bone and leaking brain matter in the centre of his forehead as the gun he had been trying to draw dropped from his lifeless fingers.

  As Michael slumped to the floor, Steven switched his aim instantly, firing off another shot that burned a furrow into the right thigh of the charging Victor. The big man stumbled and fell, howling in animal pain as Steven’s aim switched once more and he pointed the gun directly at Molinelli’s forehead as the portly gangster still fumbled for his own weapon. Barely more than two seconds had elapsed.

  No-one said anything for a second. Victor sobbed in pain like a child. Isaacs and Anna were still frozen in shock and then brought up their own guns, though it hardly seemed necessary.

  ‘What the fuck did you have to do that for?’ said Molinelli, plaintively. ‘Victor’s just a big kid...’

  ‘A seven foot kid with a gun,’ said Isaacs.

  ‘He’s still eight years old up here,’ said Molinelli, tapping his head. ‘I raised him. No one else would.’

  ‘He’ll live,’ said Steven, without taking his eye off Molinelli. ‘As long as he stays where he is. The laser will have cauterised the wound. Sorry about your other friend,’ he said tilting his head in the direction of Michael’s corpse.

  ‘Would have happened sooner or later, I guess. What with his temper,’ Molinelli replied, his voice quavering. He had gone rather pale. As he sat on one of the cheap chairs by the window and placed his gun on the table, Molinelli’s hands started to shake. Steven took the gun from him and ejected the power cell, pocketing it.

  ‘You are going to tell me what I want to know,’ said Steven, firmly. ‘I’m not here
to ‘disappear’ you, but I warn you not to fuck with me. I don’t work for Morgan and his so called ‘Freedom Alliance’, I work for the Commonwealth. I am from SOC and not from the cops and you will co-operate.’

  ‘You’re a long way from home then,’ said Molinelli. ‘Commonwealth ain’t got no control around here no more.’

  ‘Yeah, but unfortunately I am in the same room as you now, and I’m holding the gun. The CIB has extensive files on the Sirius Syndicate on this moon, you know? Did you know that Bennett was working for Morgan, and that Morgan had him killed to prevent him from talking to us?’

  ‘Shit,’ said Molinelli and shook his head.

  ‘When all this is over, and it’s time to deal with collaborators and traitors, we’ll be coming for you, you know?’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Molinelli said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘No it ain’t. So you’d better start talking. The cops aren’t coming for you. It’s just me. Co-operate, and I’ll make sure I tell my superiors that you were ready to help us.’

  ‘And if I don’t? What are you gonna do? Kill me?’

  ‘This isn’t about taking down organised hoods like yourselves. Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit about what pimping, protection rackets and drug dealing operations you have going on here. This is about the future of the Commonwealth itself. No, I need you alive so you can talk. Victor here, though...’ Steven brought his gun down to point at the whimpering form of the man mountain still crying and clutching his wounded leg.

  ‘Alright!’ cried Molinelli. ‘Jesus...’

  ‘So: we’re looking for someone. Word is: you might know where he is.’

  ‘Who?’ said Molinelli, looking bewildered.

  ‘After the battle for this system, a number of Commonwealth Navy personnel crash landed on this moon. They were scattered far and wide but many of them were captured. We’re looking for one in particular. A high ranking individual. I need to know where he’s being held.’

  ‘You think I have that kind of information? Jesus, you’re fucking deluding yourself,’ said Molinelli, incredulously.