by Ric Beard
Carson signaled his men to stay put at the door as his mid-calf riding boot heels clicked toward Sean.
As if those boots have ever seen the back of a horse, up close. What a poser.
He wore a garish white cowboy suit that Sean assumed he selected to contrast with his dark skin, a style choice not uncommon among the wealthier citizens of the city. Carson had a way of dressing above his station because he served so many of those wealthy OK City denizens, and they weren’t likely to give him much shit about his style selections as long as he kept stuffing their accounts with easy credits.
The meandering clicks of his metal-tipped boots as he paced across the concrete floor rounded out the impression that Carson was in charge and everyone was working on his schedule, but Sean had seen this game of personage bullshit played too many times to be impressed.
“Carson,” Sean said. At six feet tall, he had Carson by at least four inches.
Carson shook Sean’s hand as a bright smile erupted across his face. It was like gripping a cold, limp fish.
“Sean.” He released Sean’s hand and gazed up at the aged rafters and along the rusted metal walls. “I like it. Rustic.”
“Thanks. Just don’t breathe in too deep from your nose.” Sean chuckled and shoved some dust around with his shoe. “It’s close enough to the city that I don’t need to worry about The Horde, but far enough away that city folk won’t just wander in.”
Carson looked down at himself. “City folk, huh? You ragging on my duds, pardner?”
The smile had degraded.
“Nah, man. You look like a regular John Wayne.”
“John who?”
“Forget it.”
“Whatever.” Carson glowered at him. “Anyway, this place works. Got the shit?”
Sean nodded and led Carson back to the crate upon which he’d been sitting. He reached behind it, brought up a pouch, and tossed it. Carson snatched it out of the air.
“There’s an extra rock in there, with my compliments.”
The wannabe cowboy shook the bag next to his ear, listening to the contents rattle as a new smile crawled onto his face. Then he reached in, pulled out a gem, and bounced it in his hand a couple of times. Sean likened it to watching a prospector weigh a nugget without a scale. Carson threw Sean a quick glance before holding it up to the light and peering through it with one eye closed.
This poser.
Carson nodded over his shoulder and one of his men stepped out of sight. “You mind if we sit a minute? I might have a job for ya.”
Sean dropped his ass on the crate and rolled his eyes while Carson draped a handkerchief over a rusted stool and perched on its edge.
Yeah, cowboy.
Carson placed the pouch on his thigh and scratched his nose as he spoke.
“Ever heard of Alexandra Bingham?”
“I’m not interested,” Sean said.
Anyone who thought Carson was a risky associate would testify that Bingham was potential suicide. The depths of her connections to the government and her hands in the disappearances of people who got in her way were epic tales people only told in the privacy of their own hovels. Anyone with lists like hers was to be avoided by someone with the hyper self-preservation instincts in which Sean took pride. You didn’t live outside the walls for long without them and Sean Stone lived outside them for a spell that would send tougher men into tantrums.
Carson nodded absently.
“You should hear me out.”
“You’ve got two chances of it happening. Slim and none. And Slim just left town.”
“Nice. That one of yours?”
“It’s older than both of us, but the meaning applies. I don’t have a death wish. I’ve heard the same stories as everyone else. I hear she’s ruthless. Is that true?”
He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the line of shit Carson came up with.
“It depends on your perspective. Some downplay things, and others make them bigger. Exaggeration is commonplace in our line. Unimportant people tell stories to make themselves relevant…but, yeah,” he shrugged, “a lot of it’s true.”
Sean shook his head and said, “No fuckin’ way.”
Carson sighed.
“Let me say it this way. Miss Bingham may have asked me for a referral, and I might have already vouched for you.”
“You did what?” Sean knocked the crate over as he rose and threw his hands up. “Why the fuck would you do that? I don’t want to be on her radar, man! You trying to set my nuts in a vice?”
Sean heard a mechanical whir as an energy rifle was cocked in the doorway. Judging from the cycle time, Sean judged it to be a military weapon.
Carson waved his man off and spread his arms wide. “What the fuck man? It’s Sean! Don’t be so god-damned trigger happy.” He shot that off-putting grin at Sean and shrugged again.
Sean took a breath as he glared at Carson’s henchman. “Seriously?”
“Sorry, pardner.” Carson’s smile crept back onto his face. “Gustav can be a little jumpy.”
“I don’t mean Gustav; I was talking about Alexandra and this referral.”
Carson stood and started to slap the dust from the bottom of his slacks. There was none.
“Listen, you’ve always been the kind of guy willing to take some risk to make some more cash, right? So, I put your name out there. She’s interested, but it ain’t like she’s going to go all Big Bad Wolf on you if you say no.”
Sean looked at him quizzically.
“You know… The Big Bad Wolf? Three Little Pigs? Christ, did your parents never tell you that one? ‘The fuck is wrong with people?”
Sean had heard of it. But Carson didn’t need to know that.
“All right, don’t get your panties in a bunch over it.” Carson reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small handheld. He reached out to Sean, who stared at the device as if it were an alien artifact rife with radiation. Carson nodded impatiently at the device. “Don’t be fuckin’ rude.”
Sean pulled out his own handheld and let the two devices sync with a beep.
“That’s her info. The job pays a lot.” He shook the bag of gems. “More than this little shit, Sean. A lot more. Real money. And, you have no idea what I consider real money.”
Sean gave a weak smile, glancing down at the new contact on his handheld.
“Call or don’t, I don’t care. Remember, though. No risk, no reward.”
There was a difference between risk and suicide. Getting involved with someone like Alexandra was the kind of endeavor that tended to keep one involved with Alexandra until they failed her and ended up pig feed, which was why Sean didn’t eat pork.
You never know.
Carson waved a hand toward the door and an older model truck rolled its way slowly down the concrete ramp. Sean saw areas where stripped-out paint indicated that the truck once held mounted weapons. Probably an auction-job after one of the military’s many upgrades. New versions were the norm with The Horde out there, ready to come beat down the gates. The hover platform was either disengaged, or busted, because it rolled in on wheels. As it came to a stop, the brakes squealed. Carson’s man got out and offered a slim black piece of plastic with a single red button to Sean.
“Take it. The goods are in a hidden trunk on the underside.”
“Thanks.” Sean took the remote and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“You don’t want to check the load?”
“No. I trust you.”
Carson, still flashing the smile that camouflaged the psychopath beneath, thumbed the brim of his hat. Sean figured it was something he copied from ancient cowboy films, even if they hadn’t starred John Wayne. At least it fit the outfit, ridiculous as it was.
“Right.” Carson strode across the warehouse and up the concrete ramp. “Trust.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Wounded Act
A half hour later, Sean was back inside the OK City wall, cruising in Carson’s truck with the quiet
hover systems engaged. They hadn’t been busted, after all. He weaved around a mix of hover and wheeled vehicles as he made his way to his haunt.
The Choking Goat wasn’t in the best part of OK City. The sidewalks were dingy, the buildings dirty, and the people stained. Most of the brown layer that blanketed everything was the byproduct of industrial plants boiling their leavings into the air and downwind, which probably explained the high disease rates. But regardless of the filth, Sean felt more at home here than anywhere else in the city. Defense Forces seldom came down here unless there was a murder, and only then in their own sweet time. Sean couldn’t help but enjoy the absence of their stun batons and superior attitudes.
He pulled the truck to one side of Choking Goat’s green-paneled storefront and hopped down from the raised cab. The blinking LEDs advertised beer and gambling through smudged glass. In this part of town, gambling meant hocking your ration chits until you could afford to win them back.
Sean slammed the mammoth door and jerked the handle to ensure it was locked tight. The air tasted like burnt swine, the scent like a tar pit. He ignored the smile of a plastic-looking woman whose pimp had probably seen a good investment in her ten years earlier. An obligatory glance over each shoulder was cast as he walked inside. The hooker adjusted her ill-fitting, industry-stained skirt and meandered up the sidewalk in search of the next guy with a car.
Thunder rolled in the distance and Sean was thankful to be moving indoors in light of the crazy storms that commonly soaked the city these days.
The Choking Goat was bustling, even in the middle of the day. He made his way through the lunch crowd from the helium distillery up the block. Keeping assault blimps in the air was good for business. The exterior facade continued inside with real wood floors shined to the point of reflection, which was in stark contradiction to the streets outside. Wood grain paneling circled the back half of the main room, framing a bar-length mirror. Two women in skimpy t-shirts slung drinks, and both greeted him by name as he walked past. He raised a hand in greeting before walking down a narrow hallway to the back.
He stopped at an occupied booth and glared down at the chubby man sitting there. A moment of awkward silence later, Sean had the booth to himself. As he was making himself comfortable, one of the women from the bar ambled over carrying a frosty mug filled with amber liquid and slid it on the table.
“Good day?” She asked.
“Good enough. How’s your mom doing? Feeling better?”
She smiled. “Yeah, doing a lot better. That medicine did the trick.”
“Good, just don’t go telling people where it came from. I have a reputation to maintain.” Winking, he tapped the mug. “Keep these coming, would ya?”
“Sure, babe,” she replied. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “And thank you. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, you’ll let me know, right?” She squeezed his thigh and turned back toward the bar.
Sean brushed pork rind dust from the table, flicked on his handheld, and tapped a command onto the screen before setting it down. A circle materialized around the tablet computer. Characters and controls appeared on the table-turned-touchscreen.
Sean used a finger to scroll up and down on the screen, assessing what this latest haul would bring him.
This shipment should net a cool fifty thousand, sixty if prices went up as expected.
Not bad, he thought. But OK City was an expensive place to live.
After all, there’s nowhere else in the world to run to, unless you want to live in an exposed township in horde territory. Of course, there’s Triangle City, but the richest of people couldn’t pay someone enough to make that haul. It would take a military escort to cover twelve-hundred miles across badlander territory, and they’d still suffer losses. Maybe if they get helicopters off the ground again. Those gung-ho psychos on the interstate clearing crews must be out of their minds.
Fifty grand could cover his lifestyle for about six months—if he took it easy.
With a muffled beep, a square popped up on the table near his handheld. Inside was a text message from a guy on Defense Force with whom he occasionally traded gifts for information.
You’re tagged.
Someone talked.
DF on way to The Goat.
Sean pounded the table and stood up, staring down at the message. “Shit!”
Which one of those grimy scumbags rolled?
Sean grabbed his handheld, jumped out of the booth, and leaned to look up the narrow hallway before bolting toward the front door. Just as he crossed into the front bar area, he saw the unmistakable Orange and Silver of a Defense Force vehicle through the dingy windows as it tore up to the curb. He turned on his heels and bolted for a door in the back that led to The Choking Goat’s office and a set of stairs leading to the roof three stories above.
Sean burst through the door and onto the roof, thankful his sometimes-obsessive behavior had brought him to case the place months before, when he’d adopted The Choking Goat as his office. The lone access to the roof was the stairs and there were no fire escapes anywhere around the building. Sean reached behind the environmental unit and pulled out the pipe he’d left there after casing the place. Similar tools were planted at his apartment, the warehouse where he’d met Carson today, and anywhere else he did business. In his line of work, exit strategies were crucial.
The dark storm clouds he’d expected were directly overhead now, lightning flashes accentuated their curves.
Great.
The idea of being tagged in OK City make his heart thump in his chest. It was the equivalent of an old-world arrest warrant, except for the piece where the Defense Forces didn’t much care if they took a tag in the industrial district dead or alive. The best he could expect was a broken body and a long time on the inside.
I am not going back to the inside!
He quickly slid the pipe through the loops set into the metal door and its frame. It trapped him on the roof, but it would also buy him a few precious moments. He ran across the roof to the front of the building and peeked over the ledge. DF officers surrounded his truck.
Dammit! So much for the fifty thousand.
Flashing lights drew his eyes up the street, and Sean saw another cruiser whipping around the corner, heading his way.
If they’re roaring into the area with that kind of gusto, I must really be fucked.
When the backup arrived, they would go inside. S.O.P. Defense Forces would be methodical, and their dispatch would have already given them the lay of the land while they were en route. Like Sean, they knew there was only one way in and out of the bar.
Sean turned and ran toward the back side of the building. He stopped at a stack of boxes and started kicking them out of the way, a few tumbling off the roof and toward the ground. When at first he didn’t find what he was looking for, he felt his heart pound a hole in his chest, but after fumbling for another moment, he found it. It was about the size of a suitcase, wrapped in thin plastic. On one end, there was a pull strip that ended in a handle. Printed on the case in block lettering was:
OK CITY FIRE RESPONSE
Sean glanced over the back ledge to confirm there was no one in the alley below. Hefting the package up, he ripped the handle free and shoved it over the ledge. Halfway down there was a quiet thump as it decompressed. Sean studied the bottom of the alley, now covered in a blue film. Rain started to fall as he stared down.
“Hurry up! Come on, come on.” He patted the ledge and bounced up and down like he had to pee as the blue liquid started to expand and fill up part of the narrow way below.
He could hear the Defense Forces below shouting ‘Clear!’ to each other as they swept through the third-floor rental rooms. They were moving too fast. They loved busting contraband dealers. It made them look tough on crime, though they never seemed to arrest the rich people who bought the shit.
Sean jumped when the blue foam reached halfway up the building. He hit the center, and his weight slowly cut a hole throug
h it until his boots gracefully hit asphalt. He pushed his elbows out in front of him and charged through the material to make an exit hole. Tossing the tattered jacket into a trash chute, he flicked a few pieces of blue material from his pants, stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, and glanced both ways before darting into the shadows.
An hour later, Sean was in a room on the outskirts of town, near the perimeter wall. Just outside that wall was the wilderness he fought so hard to escape before he found OK City: a reprieve in the middle of a rat’s nest of destruction and death.
As thunder shook the room and rain pelted the exterior, memories of dirt, blood, conflict, and flames flew through his mind. Standing on township walls, blasting away at incoming Horde units while kids were burned into blazing nightmares by flamethrowers. Images tormented his mind of children of those who resisted The Horde, lumbering through the fields, their blood-curdling shrieks echoing as if emanating from the flames engulfing them. Sean tried to force the chills back down his spine and the memories persisted, urging him forward, forcing him to focus, reminding him of what was out there, and what he would have to face again if forced to leave OK City.
The room in which he stood was the least favorite of his holes. The walls in here were way too close together for his taste, but none of his crew knew this place existed, and he didn’t know for sure who’d rolled on him. He used his sleeve to dab sweat from his forehead.
Sean rifled through gear he’d retrieved from one of his other holes before tucking himself into the safe room. It wasn’t much, but he would make do here for a few hours while he got situated.
