Render nodded and his men lowered their weapons. Quey’s crew did the same.
Question and Answer
Sticklan Stone could see the convoy parked in the middle of the road from over a mile out. As his car, clean and glistening in the late afternoon sun, pulled up and stopped beside the cluster of rusted cars, beat up motorcycles, and the semi truck they surrounded. Render took a hit off his pipe and sighed at the beautiful rush and euphoria that followed as he expelled the smoke in a thick white cloud. Then the passenger’s side door of the rig opened and he hopped to the pavement.
Stone sighed and opened his own door, the cool breeze washing in around him, and stepped out to approach the man. When Render was close he took another long pull off his pipe while Sticklan asked him, “Where is he?”
Render nodded toward the building just inside town and spoke as smoke poured from his lips. “The diner.”
“You’re holding him in the diner?”
Render looked about, uneasily. “We got ourselves a bit of a standoff here.”
“What does that mean?” Sticklan inquired, his eyes squinting into angry slits as Render took another pull.
“See the guy on the roof?” the brood leader asked.
Sticklan glanced and spotted Reggie. “So?”
“Well, that motherfucker has himself a rocket launcher of some sort.”
“It’s a bluff,” Sticklan said with certainty.
“Maybe,” Render conceded, hands outstretched, begging for a moment to explain. “But this Quey guy, he’s willing to talk to you, says he’ll answer any questions you have, he’s just lookin ta still be alive at the end, see?”
Sticklan glared at the leader of this gang of shitheads for a long moment. Finally he nodded. “Who’s in the diner?”
“Two of ours two of his.”
Sticklan glared at him again, “Well now it is a standoff.”
“Look,” Render started, stepping closer to the man, “You wanted to talk to this cocksucker and there he is, ready and willing,” he continued, indicating the diner with a gesture. “You told me he was a simple fucking moonshiner-”
“He is,” Sticklan remarked.
“Yeah, well this simple fucking moonshiner took out five of my men before we managed to fuck his truck. Then he held up here with a motherfucking rocket launcher and the local Sheriffs backing him. Now, I’ve been running raids for a long while and I know just a fucking roader when I meet one and that guy ain't it. Fuck, the whole city of Fen Quada put up less of a fight than this asshole, so you want to take him go right ahead, but I want my money for the trouble.”
Sticklan looked at him and said, “I’ll decide what he’s worth after I talk to him.”
“Look around for a minute,” Render advised him. “See all these beat up angry motherfuckers?” Sticklan’s eyes glanced over the Angels of the Brood surrounding him. “They all heard the bounty and they ain't gunna be happy with less, and make no mistake, they work for me, not you. And I work for cash. Not. You.”
Sticklan nodded slowly. “You’ll have your money, after I talk to the shiner.”
Render stepped back and aside and said, “Be my motherfucking guest then,” with a gesture of the hand holding his pipe.
Sticklan stepped away from the cluster of Broodlings and started for the diner.
Tension hung heavy in the air as the afternoon sun streamed through the large windows along the outer walls of the diner and shone onto the tiled floor in prismatic shafts. Quey and his men had come to an understanding with the Angels of the Brood, but until the man who’d put the bounty on him showed it wasn’t over and terms were neutral, not friendly. Both sides understood this and both kept keen accounts of the other’s movements.
Quey sat at a table sipping coffee with Dusty to his right, rifle in hand. Beside him, trembling slightly and fighting the urge to vomit was Arnie, sweat damping his brow. Quey would have rather it been Reggie, but if it came to it the big man was the only one of them who could use that fucking cannon so he remained at his post on the roof. Had it been a bluff he and Arnie would have swapped but make no mistake, if it came to it Reggie meant to fire that weapon.
Across from the trio stood two Angels of the Brood with rifles of their own. They were a scruffy pair, though the one on the left seemed a bit cleaner than his friend, both had hard skin and wrinkles around their eyes from squinting against the sun. Both wore jackets patched with the Brood insignia and accomplishments.
It had been several minutes since any sound broke the silence slowly breeding a nervous mistrust.
“Boys want some coffee?” Quey offered.
The Broodlings exchanged a glance but said nothing.
“Come on, from what I hear you’re all about to be a great deal richer on account of catchin’ up to little old me. Can’t figure a single reason not to be civil.”
They exchanged another glance and the one on the left spoke. “Really? Well I figure five. All of them were friends now bloodstains on the highway.”
Quey nodded, solemn. “I had friends too you know, in that town you and yours turned into a barbeque. As did they,” he nodded toward Dusty and Arnie. “But that’s done and got nothing to do with the present as we’re not here on account of any of that. We’re here on account of a very large bounty somehow levied against me, about to be collected by you, so what do you say? One lump or two?”
The Broodlings pondered visibly for a moment and then the one who’d spoken rubbed the back of his hand against the stubble on his chin and nodded before sitting at the table across from Quey. His rougher, filthier friend followed his lead.
Quey smiled and shouted to the waitress without taking his eyes off the pair, “Bring over a few more cups, will you darlin’?”
The waitress, a skinny thing with dirty blonde hair wearing a black skirt and white blouse, trembled as she loaded a tray with more coffee mugs and a fresh pot and walked it carefully to the table. When everything was set out she hurried away.
Quey lifted the pot and filled the cups, it had, apparently, slipped the waitress’ mind but he wasn’t about to hold that against her. The three of them sipped coffee but the tension was still there and remained for another full minute before the dirty one on the right broke silence.
“You know I’ve had your shine before,” he said and Quey looked over at him smiling. The smile was old habit and where it had once contained enthusiasm it now contained nothing at all. It was a ghost of a feeling he’d spent years pretending to have. Everyone always went to mentioning the shine. Suddenly he found that very funny. Then he was laughing and the Broodlings chuckled too.
“Shit you say,” Quey said.
Shaking his head, the one on the right assured him, “Nope, I’ve had it sure enough. Got to admit my heart broke a bit when I saw your truck burning on the side of the road. Was hopin to snatch a few freebies off it when we caught you.”
Quey laughed again.
“It is good shine,” the clean one added. “Shit, might have taken after you even if there hadn’t been a bounty.”
“I expect you would have, though then I might still have a truck.”
The Broodlings chuckled, “Hell, you’d have gotten away,” the one on the left told him. “Way you guys work,” he trailed off and took a sip from his mug, “Where the hell did you learn that shit.”
Quey shook his head, “Lots of years on the road. And too many on the streets.”
His eyebrows rose, “You were a camp kid?”
Quey nodded, “Camp for wayward, east Remel.”
The broodling smirked, “I was in South Corade.”
Quey nodded, “What’s your name?”
The man was about to answer when the bell over the door rang and a man in a tailored suit stepped inside. He was clean in every way, his hair cut short to frame him, and his eyes were the serious sort.
“I’m here for Quey Von Zaul,” Sticklan Stone announced from the doorway.
“Then you’ve found him,” Quey repli
ed from the table.
Sticklan crossed the room and stood beside the table for a moment. The two Broodlings stood and took a step back.
“Like some coffee,” Quey offered as the man in the suit sat down.
“No,” he replied a bit curt.
“So you’re the guy who-”
“Where is Rain?” Sticklan interrupted.
Quey switched off the charm. He could tell this man wasn’t interested in and wasn’t likely to fall for such tactics. He shook his head, “I don’t know.”
Sticklan cleaned the area in front of him, first moving a coffee mug out of the way then dusting a bit of sugar into his hand and dropping it onto a napkin he folded onto a small plate. Finally he rubbed his hands together and collected his thoughts. His instinct had been to reach into his coat and produce a surgeon’s knife, but with the situation being as it was, he decided against it, more wisdom from his little blue pill. Instead he nodded and wiped his hands clean. “I understand,” he began again, and Quey was visibly puzzled. “Pretty thing like that throws it on you and you start to feel chivalrous. But, you’re not helping her. And you’re sure as hell not helping yourself.”
Quey sensed Dusty’s agitation and Arnie's nervousness, but a simple glance toned Dusty down. As for Arnie, he just had to hope the kid would last a bit longer, that maybe Dusty could carry him through if it came to that.
Sticklan went on. “I don’t care how juicy a piece she was, she’s not worth what’ll follow you even if you walk out of here today. Even if you shoot me in the head. See people, ones who employ men such as myself, ones who have a serious hard on for this bitch, already know to look for you. That you’re a piece of the puzzle. People who can turn a bounty on you that doesn’t specify dead or alive.”
Quey didn’t move. He’d met men like this before. This guy wasn’t really looking for Rain at all, the search for her was a means to an end. What he wanted was death. What he wanted were bodies. He’d frenzied the Angels of the Brood and turned them loose, knowing they’d scour the earth for a bounty as grand as ten million, knowing they’d burn everything they happened upon in between.
A long sigh escaped him and he nodded. “I’ll say what I know.” Sticklan nodded. “I was making my rounds, hauling my shine to here and there.” He shrugged, “I stop at the Dine Out for a bite and a place to shut my eyes for a spell. There’s a girl there, pretty thing, like you said. We talk. We eat. I open some barrels of shine, throw a party, try to impress her. It works. We spent the night together, as you say. Morning comes around and we have breakfast. Then she leaves.”
“Where did she head?”
“North. Took the fork north.”
Sticklan nodded. “Did she have anyone with her?”
“No,” Quey replied.
“No one. Not another girl? Not a boy, pubescent?”
Quey shook his head and Sticklan nodded, peering at him for a long moment. “I’m going to believe you,” the psychopath finally said. “But if I find out I was wrong to, I will put such a price on your head these fine individuals will burn the world down to find you.”
“Bet you’d like that,” Quey said with a touch of slyness. They sat for another moment. Quey didn’t move. Finally the other man stood and Quey asked, “What did she do?”
Sticklan stared at him.
Quey shrugged, “What? You spend all this time, go to all this trouble, looking for me. You have me hunted, destroy my truck, I can’t know what for?”
Sticklan took a long breath. “Knowledge can be dangerous my friend. The right amount might give you peace of mind, too much and you might start to form ideas about what you think you know.” He thought for a moment then decided, “But I think you’ve been true to your word and so I’ll give you something. I will tell you that she was involved in the kidnapping of a boy, the son of someone very important, and most likely the death of his daughter.”
“Most likely?”
“Things were blurry then,” Sticklan said, his eyes drifting. “Either way, it doesn’t matter to you,” he finished then turned and walked casually to the door. The two Angels of the Brood waited until the bell marking Sticklan Stone’s departure diminished completely before heading out themselves.
The grimy one marched out into the fading afternoon but the other stopped and looked over at Quey. “Hey,” he called and Quey glanced over at him. “Trevor,” he said.
Quey smiled slightly and nodded before the man followed his fellow Broodling back to the pack.
Quey and Dusty let out long sighs of relief, but Arnie collapsed into a booth and sat heaving on the bench, letting his rifle clatter to the tile floor. Dusty sat across from him and spoke softly, “You did good kid, real good.”
“That you did,” Quey added.
“I don’t care,” Arnie said, then added, “I have to pee,” and ran off to the back of the diner, banging through a door marked ‘Men’s.’ Quey and Dusty looked at each other and laughed quietly.
Quey snatched Arnie's device from the table and connected to Reggie. The big man answered and Quey asked, “What’s it look like out there?”
“Looks like the Broods getting paid and prepping to turn heels.”
Quey and Dusty looked at each other again and smiled. “You come down as soon as they’re clear.”
“Right,” Reggie answered and the feed cut.
Reggie watched Sticklan Stone open the trunk of the car and remove a black case. He handed it to the leader of the Angels of the Brood. Render opened the case and looked over the contents, nodding slowly. Sticklan said something to him—“Remember the girl’s worth five times that and more”—and then got into the car and drove away. The Brood mounted their bikes and climbed into their vehicles and a moment later there was a thunderous roar of old, mal-maintenanced engines. A few ticks clicked by and they were leaving, first the bikes, then the cars, and finally Render in his rig. Off to hunt again, for the girl they call Rain.
“So what do you know about this girl?” Dusty asked.
Quey shook his head, “Just what I told him.”
Dusty smirked, “Come on, you didn’t hold anything back?”
Quey stared off at nothing in particular. Every part of his mind was lost in a thought of one kind or another. Part of him was conversing with Dusty, part was trying to think what came next, and another was lingering on Rain and the man that had just walked out of the diner. “I wish I could’ve helped her,” he said softly.
“What?” Dusty asked. Quey snapped out of his trance and looked at his friend. “What do you mean?” Dusty probed further.
“I mean whatever she’s gotten herself into it isn’t going to end well. I mean that kind of man is the worst kind. Worse even than Once Men, because he knows what he is, has a sense of it, and enjoys it.”
The door opened and Danny and Herold stepped inside, guns in hand but not aimed.
“Told you I’d quell this ruckus,” Quey said as the two men stopped beside the table and looked down at him.
Herold nodded, “And you were true to your word but now I want you gone, got me? Kind of trouble you bring, I can’t have and don’t want.”
Quey nodded, “Can I get an hour or two?”
Danny was about to chime in, probably with a string of curses, but Herold stopped him. “Storm seems to be calm for now, so you take your hours. I’m going home, going to see my wife and kids and try not to think how close I came to not doing so ever again. I’m going to try not to think about you for the rest of the night, hell for the rest of my life. In the morning I’m going to make the rounds and if I never see you again I’ll be successful in my forgetting. If I do see you however, I won’t be pleased by the reminder.”
Quey nodded. “You’re a fair man.”
“A bit too fair,” Danny muttered.
Herold looked at the younger man and said, “Go home to Tracy. Let her face wash your memory.”
The Sherriff and his deputy walked out as Reggie stepped in.
When the door fi
nished closing the big man was standing beside the table and he asked, “What’d they want?”
Dusty looked up at him and asked, sarcastically, “What do you think they wanted, to buy us a drink and offer up their virgin daughters for our whims.”
“They want us gone,” Quey answered, deadpan.
Reggie nodded. “Where’s Arnie?”
“Bathroom,” Quey said.
“Probably losing his lunch,” Dusty added.
“So what do we do?”
Quey looked up at Reggie, saw the soldier in him functioning and admired it. He wished he had that, a switch that made facts relevant and put emotion on hold. He still saw Rain’s smile, as she sat on the back of his truck that night and laughed at something he’d said. He remembered the feel of her against him and the passion she’d writhed with atop him in the sleeper of his rig. He remembered the necklace she’d suggested for his special someone and the look in her eyes when he’d teased her into having dinner with him. He almost heard her laugh, clear and pure in its joy and then he had to speak.
“I go back to the car lot and buy the truck. We go back to my rig and find that robot. We make the rounds.”
Dusty peered at him quizzically and Reggie almost laughed.
“The rounds?” the big man asked. “You know you ain’t got no shine left.”
Quey nodded. “Doesn’t matter. Rounds aren’t for the shine this go.”
Now it was time for Dusty and Reggie to share a look.
“Listen, brother,” Dusty began. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a shit pile here, and we’re with you but we have to know what the fuck is going on. I mean, what’s so important about this robot?”
Quey looked from one of them to the other and nodded.
Arnie walked slowly from the back of the diner and joined them. He didn’t look good, pale and clammy, as he sat at the table across from Dusty while Reggie took his place across from Quey.
“You alright?” Reggie asked and Arnie nodded.
“Good,” Dusty said, “Because Quey here was about to fill in the landscape.”
The Saffron Malformation Page 25
