On the other side of the bar stood a thin, rat-faced man with scraggly hair and patches of facial hair adorning his chin. Frankie looked like the kind of guy who spent most of his life with a head stuck in a toilet by people much bigger than him.
Tommy wasn't a fan of bullies these days, but in Frankie's case, he understood the impulses at play in their head.
Frankie looked up at Tommy. His eyes widened for just a split second, but long enough for Tommy to notice. Kind of what I thought, Tommy thought to himself.
"Tommy, my main bro! What can I get ya?"
Ignoring him, Tommy sat on one of the bar stools, made from a smaller but similar metal spool by cutting the wider portions narrower. Tommy's was almost circular. Ish.
"Problem?" Frankie asked.
Tommy locked his eyes on the back wall. Slowly, he raised his right hand and motioned for Frankie to come closer.
Slowly, the other man crept nearer. As he got into Tommy's line of sight, he asked the rat-faced man, "How much did she pay you?"
"Huh?" Frankie replied, his eyes betraying his lack of confusion.
Tommy reached out and grabbed the man's shirt and pulled him halfway across the bar. "I said, how chafing much did they pay you?"
He flailed about as his feet were almost half a meter off the deck. "Dude, seriously, you got me all wrong. I didn't do nothin'."
"Shovel that to someone who might want it. You were the one who recommended that hull tech last time we were here. Since then, I've had a whole heap of trouble. Now, I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is what that trouble spells for me and mine. You sold us out, and I take that more than a little personal. So I'll ask you again: How much did they pay you?"
"Five-K," he squeaked out.
"Really? So my crew's life comes that cheap, is it?"
"Look, man, I'm sorry. I chafed up, okay?"
"Yeah, you chafed up. That's definitely an understatement."
The other man swallowed hard. "Anything. Anything you want, it's done. I'm sorry."
Inwardly, Tommy tried to ignore the man's cowardice. After all, it was working in his favor right about now. Unfortunately, Tommy thought, he'll buckle under the next time he feels threatened…most likely, anyways.
"Here's how it's going to work," Tommy said. "Sabercat crew? We eat and drink for free when we're dirtside. Got it?"
The other man's face drained of blood. "Can't do that, Tommy. I Can't. Discount. You folks eat at cost."
Tommy jerked him a couple of centimeters closer. "You're under the impression that this is a negotiation. I'm telling you what it's going to take to keep my crew from making you past tense."
Stunned silence, then Frankie nodded so fast that it looked almost like his head might fall off. "Uh…Okay. I copy," he stammered.
Smiling, Tommy let go. Frankie's feet slammed into the floor behind the bar. "Now, get me a burger. I'm hungry."
The other man scampered into the kitchen.
A throat cleared behind him. Tommy turned and saw Harley smiling behind him.
"Well, that was amusing," the big man said.
Tommy sighed. "You saw that?"
Harley nodded. "Hadn't seen that side of you in a while."
"Yeah, I know," Tommy said as his eyes dropped. "I just…"
"I understand. If there was a time for that side of you, that was it," he said, taking a seat at the stool next to his captain. He shot a look both ways down the length of the bar before speaking again. "You can't live your life scared of scaring someone. You gotta understand that."
"Still," Tommy said. "I don't like the person I was. Never did, really."
"Maybe. Just don't beat yourself up too much about it. Frankie isn’t worth it, and you're looking out for your crew. Used to be you didn't look out for anyone."
Tommy smiled. "Good point." He paused for a time, then continued, "But getting me to stop 'beating myself up too much about it' is a lost cause, so get used to it, okay?"
"When are you meeting the passenger?"
"Tonight. Café Renault."
Harley let out a low whistle. "Nice. I guess we know the client's good for it if they can afford that place."
Tommy shrugged. "At this point? I wouldn't be surprised to find her there with another one of her ultimatums."
"What? Sending pirates after you wasn't her big gun?"
Tommy cut his eyes over at his first officer and smiled mirthlessly. "You worked for her long enough. What do you think?"
A shadow darkened the doorway, such as it was. A large shadow. Tommy and Harley both looked toward the door. At least the shadow had a familiar shape.
"Good day, gentlemen," the shadow said, his Russian heritage dripping from every syllable.
Tommy and Harley spun away from the bar and walked toward one of the structures which were laughably called tables.
"Igor," Tommy said, gesturing toward an empty seat.
The big Russian moved out of the doorway and toward them. Now absent of the backlight, his bald head and goatee became clearer. The muscles of his forearms strained against his skin, indicating that not much of his bulk was body fat, though the muscles were somewhat hidden beneath tattoos. Apparently, each tattoo had a meaning, something that indicated something regarding Igor's organization, but Tommy wasn't that interested in learning what it was.
Igor pulled out the chair and sat with a resounding thump. "Mister Reilly," he started. "Did you secure it?"
Tommy nodded, then gestured to Harley.
The first officer pulled a vial out of his pocket and placed it on the table. With two fingers, he pushed it toward the big Russian.
"Synthelon-B," Tommy said, "as requested."
"Was it…difficult?" Igor asked.
Tommy chuckled. "Do you care?"
The Russian studied the two men for a long moment, then laughed. "No, I suppose not." He then slid a card across the table and said, "A little extra. For your trouble."
"We appreciate it," Tommy said, feeling himself relax a bit. Maybe he could eat when he left atmo now. Maybe.
"And I owe you. You need anything, come see me."
"We appreciate that," Harley said.
"No," Igor said, his hawk-like nose lending the grin he made terrifying in a way, "it is me who appreciates what you bring to me. Svetlinov Bratva is in your debt, from now until end of time."
We might just need it at this rate, Tommy thought.
Chapter 2
Tommy approached the maître d' at Café Renault about ten minutes before his meeting.
"Can I help you," the man asked. He wore a white shirt with black bow tie, evocative of a tuxedo but far more resilient for someone who had to wear it every day.
Feeling underdressed was a new sensation for Tommy, but it was growing far more common than Tommy really liked. Maybe burning most of my clothes wasn't my smartest move, but it sure made my point at least.
"Tommy Reilly. I understand you're expecting me?"
The other man's eyes widened as his mouth stretched into a broad smile. "Ah, Mr. Reilly," he said, "your dining companion this evening requested an outdoor table. I do hope that is quite alright?"
He nodded to the maitre d', who did an admirable job of pretending Tommy's opinion mattered.
Walking by with all the attitude he could muster, the maitre d' sauntered out the door with Tommy following. Outside, the small tables were covered in delicate white tablecloths held in place with magnets embedded into the cloth.
The man gestured for Tommy to sit, so he complied.
"May I offer you something from our bar?" he asked.
Tommy nodded. "Sure. Jameson, neat," he said.
The maitre d' nodded with approval and hustled back inside.
A short time later, a waiter returned with the amber liquor in a glass and placed it before Tommy. "Anything else, sir?"
He shook his head.
The whiskey burned on its way down, but in an almost soothing way, the way good liquor should. There was a rea
son people called it "smooth". Tommy sipped it carefully. This stuff was expensive and his days of being able to get tanked off of stuff like this were long gone.
He found himself lost in the experience, oblivious to all around him. That was why he jumped when a feminine voice said, "Tommy Reilly. You look a lot different."
Turning to look, Tommy's eyes beheld a vision of beauty. Dark hair contrasted against pale skin and ruby lips and the proverbial "little black dress." It took Tommy's brain a few moments to catch up. His internal facial recognition software finally made a match, and the results stunned him.
"Dianne Caldwell?" he asked as he stood. "Holy crap. You're one to talk."
Dianne nodded and took a seat.
"And punctual. That's a long way from how you were in school," she said as she sat in the chair across from him.
Tommy cringed and said, "Yeah…that wasn't me. I mean, I'm not that guy."
"So I heard," she said doubtfully.
"You're the client?"
She nodded, keeping her piercing blue eyes locked on him, as if studying him.
"And you want to go to Ararat?"
She nodded again. Again, her eyes never moved from his.
"And you're going to just glare at me the entire trip?"
She shrugged noncommittally.
Tommy sighed. "I get it. I was a complete ass to you back in school. You probably hate me. I don't blame you. I hate the me I was back then. Now, if you want passage, I can provide that, though the accommodations are less than first class."
"Saving the best for yourself?" she asked.
He took a deep breath. He really didn't want to deal with this, but she was the client, that meant he didn't have a choice. Well, he did, but since the option was to blow off the job, he didn't really see it as much of a choice.
"No, I'm not," he said. "You'll have the best on the ship. Sabercat wasn't built for comfort though. She's a cargo transport, not passenger. Still, we'll do the best we can."
Dianne leaned back in her chair. "You willing to prove that?"
"If I have to. I don't remember you being too concerned with having the best of everything though."
"I don't. But I need to know if the rumors are true," she said, her voice softer than it had been throughout the conversation.
"Why?"
"I just…I just do. Will you trust that at least?"
Tommy studied her face for a moment. Superficially, she looked calm and assured, but deep down, he could tell something was bothering her. There was something she wasn't telling him. Won't, he thought, or can't?
"Yeah, I guess so. To a point."
She laughed softly. "Paranoid in your old age?"
"A little."
The waiter brought Dianne a glass of wine and asked if they were ready to order.
"No, thank you," she said. "We just need a little privacy."
The waiter nodded his understanding and walked off.
"So you're a little paranoid. Is there are reason for that?"
Tommy shrugged. "Probably not anymore."
"You're sure?" she asked, a skeptical eyebrow reaching toward the sky.
He cocked his head to the side and said, "Well, if I was sure, I wouldn't have said 'probably'."
"Fair enough," she said. "How safe will I be?"
"Safe," he said. "We've managed this far just fine, and we're undertaking a few things to make that a bit easier to stay just so."
"Good. You know that I'm going to Ararat, but that's just the first stop. I'll be picking up an item, then heading to Armstead."
Tommy leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. "Armstead? Why would you want to go there?"
"I can't tell you that."
He laughed mirthlessly. "Then you're not going anywhere on my boat."
"Tommy-"
"No!" he interrupted. "I get it. I used to be an ass. You haven't forgiven me. I get that too. I haven't forgiven me for that, truth be told. But my crew hasn't done a damn thing to you. I'm not taking them to Armstead without a lot more words spilling out of you. We're not chafing dying for you or anyone else unless we've got a good reason."
She nodded slowly as she took a deep breath. "You're right. That's…a fair point. I apologize. The problem is, I can't tell you. Not now, anyways."
"Then we've got a problem," Tommy said, leaning back in his chair.
"How about a compromise?" she asked, her eyes studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.
"What do you have in mind?"
"I'll tell you after we're in the black. If you don't want any part of it, you take me to Ararat, collect your due, and be on your merry. If you do…"
Tommy considered for a moment as her last word hung in the air. The truth was, he didn't have a lot of choice. There wasn't much to export from Jericho, which meant nothing for him to haul. That meant a trip off of this rock on his own dime, and after Port Control's fine, there wasn't really a whole hell of a lot his own dimes left. Even considering Igor's generosity.
On the other hand, he had his crew to think about. If she was smuggling—which didn't seem her style but people change—then he and his would be in a world of crap.
"You sign that you're responsible for the contents of your personal baggage," he said. "You sign that or we're not even lifting."
She considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. For this leg at least."
"Okay, good," Tommy said. "And if there's a next leg, we'll be clued in completely. Right?"
"Right."
He didn't like it. Mystery and intrigue was part of the family business, and the Caldwell’s were one of the oldest of the Clans, right there with the Reilly’s, so Dianne was born into it just like he was. Or, apparently she was. He'd always thought she was above all that, still, it was a fair enough deal. Again, what choice did he really have?
"Alright. We'll do it, but-"
The rip of automatic weapons fire ripping down the café cut Tommy off. He looked at the black cycle speeding past, spraying projectiles as if from a garden hose, then cut his eyes back toward Dianne.
Months of almost constant training with Harley kicked in. He knocked the table over, the top positioned between him and the shooter. Next, he grabbed Dianne and jerked her behind the table.
His Capella appeared in his hands as if materializing from his will alone. He popped his head above the table and looked down the top of the weapon. A holographic targeting system popped up with red crosshairs crisscrossing in front of him. When they were just a hair ahead of the shooter, he squeezed the trigger.
Coils within the weapon sent the metal projectile rocketing out the barrel. As it cleared, angled fins shot out, causing the projectile to spin and stabilize in the air.
The projectile slammed into a streetlight a few feet beyond his intended target.
Rounds stitched the table, forcing Tommy to drop behind it before he could squeeze off more shots. Dianne had flattened herself against the concrete sidewalk. Tommy threw himself on top of her as the table was turned into toothpicks.
Just as soon as it started, it was over. Silence engulfed the café, soon to be replaced with the cries of the injured.
Tommy moved from on top of Dianne. "You okay?" he asked as he stood up.
She pushed herself up and took a deep breath before nodding. "Yeah, I think so."
"Good. We're getting the hell out of here," he said, his left hand extended down to her, his right still clutching the Capella.
** ** **
"After that, we hauled ass here," Tommy said, finishing his account of what had happened at the café. The crew occupied the rickety wooden chairs surrounding the galley table. Some captains might have had some fancy conference room, but that wasn't in the budget when he'd been ship shopping. Instead, they dealt with the hum of the refrigeration system.
"That's weird," Harley said. "Café Renault usually has the streets pretty well secured in their area. All those businesses pull together and hire some pretty decent
muscle."
"You're missing the big picture here," Tommy said. "It doesn't really matter how it happened, just that it did."
"Bastards are just lucky you can't shoot a handgun for crap," Harley fired back.
Tommy rolled his eyes.
Cody studied Dianne who sat quietly beside the skipper. "Was she the target?"
Tommy shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We're going to act like she is until we know she wasn't. The prepared usually aren't all that surprised and all that."
"What's the plan?" Harley asked, all business.
"You're going to escort Dianne to her hotel and get her gear, then bring her back. She's never more than five feet from your person."
"Close protection then," he said with a nod.
"Yep. You keep her safe and bring her back here. Dianne," he said, turning to the woman, "you're going to be on board a little longer than you planned. You okay with this?"
She looked up at him and nodded, her eyes still wide from shock. For some reason, that made Tommy's heart race just a bit faster.
"Good," he continued. "Everyone else is strapped if they set foot off the boat. The law ain't much, but they don't like long guns, so pistols only. Don't screw with stun weapons either. These boys shot up a whole café. Whether it was for kicks, settling a score, or to hide the target, they're not playing around, so you don't either. Michelle? You going to be okay with that?"
She shrugged. "Not particularly, but I wasn't planning on leaving Sabercat anyway."
"Fair enough," he said. Tommy then looked at the rest of the crew. "Any questions?"
There were none, so Tommy sent them back to their duties. In moments, the galley was empty except for Dianne, Harley, and Tommy.
"What aren't you telling me?" Harley asked.
"The fare is actually two legs. One to Ararat to pick something up, but then the second leg…"
"Where?"
"Armstead."
"Is she…?" he asked Tommy, then turned to Dianne. "Are you…?"
Sabercat (Tommy Reilly Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
