by Nick Travers
Chapter 30
Serendipity is a frontier town perched on the edge of the trade routes; too small to be a state in its own right, but too large to come under the control of other city states.
Fernando studies the all-balloon supported platform through his telescope. “Seven levels. Why didn’t you say we were bound for Serendipity, Nina?”
I’m at the ship’s wheel and feeling particularly anxious about this assignment. I don’t know the lay of the land, I don’t the people we are dealing with, and I don’t know the cargo—far too many unknowns for my taste. We could turn up, present Jed’s money, and get shot on the spot. Or worse, Mr. Bateman, Jed’s contact, could just keep Jed’s money and his cargo, and turn us over to the authorities for the reward money. In fact, I reckon this is the most likely scenario. “Does it matter?”
“I got a cousin on Serendipity.”
Now that is interesting. “Really? Your lot gets everywhere, Fernando.”
“Family policy to ensure the long-term prosperity of the clan—spread out and make lots of contacts.”
“Wow, how does that work?”
“Never refuse a request from another family member, and every favor has to be repaid by another favor. Basically, we trade in favors among ourselves. Refuse and you’re out of the clan.”
“Like the Mafia then.”
“Yeh, but legitimate.”
Even I am not fool enough to believe that. “So what does this cousin of yours do?”
“Not really sure. Last I heard she had some sort of trouble with the local constables.”
“Perhaps we should pay her a visit.”
When facing the unknown, having at least a rudimentary exit plan is better than nothing; even if the plan is impossible to execute, just having it in mind prevents brain freeze and encourages adaptation.
Mr. Bateman’s office is a tumbledown wooden shack on the third level. His warehouses consist of packing cases roofed with canvas and corrugated tin. Bateman has the medical supplies Jed sent us to retrieve.
I turn from Izzy to Fernando, who flank me on either side. “Ready?” I’ve left Scud in charge of the Shonti Bloom—his preparations for a quick departure will be meticulous. Also, I don’t want him bugging out on me should we find ourselves in a sticky situation—which is almost a certainty.
Fernando wanted to trade a family favor with his cousin for an exit plan, but I wouldn’t let him. However desperate our situation, I don’t want anyone indebted on my behalf. Especially since I have no idea who Fernando might have to pay back to redeem the debt. What if the creditor demands my wanted reward, would family loyalty prevail? Would Fernando turn me in? In any event, I prefer to pay my own way, even if it is with someone else’s money.
Bateman’s heavy front door creaks as I push it open and we are faced by a gum chewing female secretary. She forces a smile and continues typing on an ancient typewriter—something salvaged from the ancients, I guess. This part of the packing crate complex looks like any other office: plastered walls, cheap prints hanging in rows, thinly upholstered chairs crammed against the wall; paneled wooden counter behind which the secretary hides; heavy inner door which presumably leads to Bateman; even the roof is plastered.
I clear my throat. “Um.”
The secretary ignores us, I guess we don’t look important enough, so we sit uncomfortably in the cheap chairs and wait.
The secretary carries on typing.
Eventually she reaches the end of her passage and looks up. “Yeah.”
“We have business with Mr. Bateman.”
She looks us up and down. “Yeh sure?”
“Yes.”
She looks down at the typewriter behind the counter and taps out a few more words. “What’s your business then?”
“Private.”
“Name?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Company name, address, contact number?”
This secretary is beginning to annoy me with her questions. “None of your business. Now, can I see Bateman?”
The secretary raises an eyebrow. “Yeh sure?”
“Definitely.”
She shrugs in defeat and presses a button. “On your head be it.”
Behind the heavy inner door I hear a faint buzzing of an intercom and a gruff voice blares. “I’m busy.”
“There’s a couple of kids here wants to see you, but won’t say why.”
“Tell him Jed sent us,” I volunteer.
The secretary glances up briefly. She pauses as if resentful I’m prepared to give information to Bateman but not her. “Someone called Jed sent them.”
“Five minutes, that’s all I can spare. Send them in.”
“On their way, Honey.” Definitely resentful—she’s reminding me she has a relationship with Bateman and I don’t. She’s probably his latest squeeze.
Bateman isn’t as big as his voice. He’s squat and square, with a shaven head and tattooed arms. He remains seated as we enter his office, which is grander than his secretary’s, but without a ceiling. Creamy canvas provides plenty of bright diffused light. Who would guess the walls are made of packing cases. The hubbub of the street outside filters in through the canvas roof.
Two Heavies in suits, with bulging gun holsters under their badly fitting jackets, stand either side of Mr. Bateman, each guarding a passage that leads away into darkness.
Bateman doesn’t rise when we enter. “Jed’s got a nerve, sending someone else to do his dirty.” He laughs in his big gruff voice.
The Heavies look nervous as I approach the desk and hand over the letter Jed has given us. I step back while Bateman reads the letter. We wait… and wait.
Eventually Bateman looks up with a shrug. “None of my business who Jed uses for couriers. Money?”
I turn to Fernando, take the case he is nursing, and place it gently on the desk. I step away again. One of the Heavies is waved forward to open the case and count the money. The Heavy whispers in Bateman’s ear, then steps back to his post by the passage.
Bateman raises an eyebrow, he looks troubled. “This is only half the agreed price. Where’s the rest?”
Oh no. I trawl my mind for an excuse that sounds even half reasonable. “Jed doesn’t think it is worth so much.”
“Hah, you trying to rip Jed off?” Bateman grins maliciously. “Nice try, kid. Now you go back to Jed and tell him there’s no deal until I get the full price.”
“But—”
Bateman leans over his desk and interrupts. “I don’t care what you done, kid. You just deliver the message, and be quick about it. He waves his hand dismissing us and the heavies reach for their guns.
