Tris let off a cute grunt as she shoved the door open and got out. He followed and keyed 4-1-9-4 into the buttons under the door handle. The Challenger chirped.
“I thought you said it’s under the roadhouse protection if it’s parked here.” Tris stuffed her hands in her pockets and trudged around the front end of the car to the porch. “Don’t you trust the code?”
“The Code I trust.” He crossed the porch and put a hand on the door. A quiet murmur of voices emanated from inside. “It’s the people I worry about.”
“I don’t understand.” Tris leaned back as he opened the door. “There’s no guards. Not like there’s any kind of communication grid out here. How’s it work?”
Dusty air laced with stale beer and wood washed over him. Kevin’s attention went first to the two men at a round table in the back end of the room sandwiched between a decades-dead jukebox and a small cabinet that held the remains of a touchscreen monitor and a cash drawer. The older man’s pewter-colored hair hung in long, straight strands over a black armored shirt with Kevlar panels sewn into the material. Might stop a pistol. His traveling companion looked less than half his age, not-yet-twenty as far as he could guess. The younger man gave the customary quick glance at the squeak of an opening door, started to look away, but left his stare on Tris.
“They still got radio. Don’t take long for word to get around, then Amarillo puts a few thousand coins on your head… you’re done.” Kevin glared at the younger man. “Somethin’ I can do for you, friend?”
“Nah.” He kept staring, chewing something, for another few seconds before shifting to face the table.
Kevin grasped her arm above the left elbow and pulled her toward the bar. “Come on.”
“Was that ‘I wanna fuck it’ or ‘I wanna kill it?’” Tris yanked her arm away. “I can walk, you know. I’m not six.”
“Could’a been either one.” He tugged on her jumpsuit. “Until you lose this, won’t know. People do a lotta stupid shit for ten thousand coins.”
“You know they’re fake right?” Tris leaned on the bar.
“Those tits look real enough to me, honey,” said a wiry woman a day or four away from sixty. “If you’re lookin’ for work, we could come to an arrangement.”
“I meant the coins.” Tris glared up at Kevin. “They stamp steel or aluminum.”
“So?” Kevin chuckled. “Not like it matters anymore. No government to counterfeit against. If it looks like a coin, some people will take it. Amarillo’s a bit picky, though.”
The proprietor leaned back, making her breasts prominent against her patched red tee shirt. Straight brown hair, as long as her belt, slipped off her shoulders as she tilted her head and winked at Kevin. “I’m Beth. This is my place. What’cha need?”
“Meat. Preferably cooked. Whatever you got’s hot.”
“Sweetie…” Beth leaned forward. “Everything I’ve got’s hot.”
The younger man behind them choked on something.
“Go fuck yourself, Roy,” said Beth in a saccharin sweet tone with a bat of her eyelashes before standing straight and looking at Kevin. “Fries?”
“Yeah.” He nodded at Tris. “Same for her ‘less she wants somethin’ different.”
“Nah, I’m okay with that.” She sighed. “He’s paying, I don’t have an opinion.”
“George,” yelled Beth, “need two hood ornaments with collateral damage.”
“On it,” said a baritone from behind the wall.
Kevin suppressed a wince. That’s going to hurt on the way out.
“Five coins.” The woman leaned both hands on the counter, arms wide. When he counted out five and went to hand it to her, she chuckled. “Each.”
Kevin squinted at her for a few seconds. “Little high.”
“You remember where you are?” The woman gestured at the door. “Eastern fringe.”
“So you jack the prices?”
Beth sighed. “Not like there’s many people runnin’ supplies out to me this far. I’d charge less if I didn’t have to pay cowboys like you to scav supplies.”
“Don’t ‘spect you get much traffic this far up.” He set down ten coins, a mixture of pennies and dimes. “Got anything to drink that won’t give me the shits for a week?”
“Filtered water or engine cleaner, and enough. There’s couple settlements up 522 what trade in ammo and shine. Gets a routine flow through here.”
He grinned. “Shit, I haven’t had engine cleaner in years. That’ll do. She―”
“Water.” Tris raised her hands. “Just water.”
The woman showed three fingers.
Kevin dropped another few coins on the counter while Beth filled a huge plastic cup from a spigot on the wall behind her. After setting it in front of Tris, she reached below the counter to retrieve a sealed mason jar of clear liquid, which she handed him. Kevin headed to his left, toward a booth in the front corner, where he could watch Beth, the two men, and the front door without craning his neck. He settled into high-backed bench built into the wall, with a fat strip of red cushion. Grime pressed into the red and white checkered tablecloth highlighted tiny squares in the material. Beth had even managed to find salt and pepper shakers, though he didn’t trust what was in them.
Tris slid into the adjacent spot on the bench and looked from him to the room and back. “What? I’m not trying to be cute. Keeping my eyes on possible threats.”
“Mm-hmm.” He opened the jar. In seconds, fumes watered his eyes.
“That’s not actual engine cleaner is it?” She cringed.
“Nah. Moonshine. Course… you could clean an engine with it… if anyone still had one.”
Tris leaned into him, eyeing the two men. “Maybe you’re right about this jumpsuit.”
“I’ll hold your sword if you wanna take it off.” He grabbed the scabbard.
“No!” She clamped her hands over the wire harness between her breasts. “I’m not running around in my skivvies. See if Beth has any clothes to sell.”
Kevin scoffed. “After what we paid for the food, clothes can wait for Wayne’s. Besides, those two’ve already seen you.”
Beth walked over with two metal plates, each with an irregular lump of meat between thick cut slabs of bread next to a pile of fried potato discs. She winked at Kevin again and went back behind the counter.
“So… ten thousand some odd coins you’re trying to save up.” Tris plucked one of the potatoes from her plate and held it up in two fingers. “So you can ask people if they want fries with it.”
Kevin held up a hand. “Shh. This is a special moment.” He clasped the sandwich with reverence due a holy relic and raised it to his nose. Growling emanated from his stomach; he salivated. After taking a long, deep breath and savoring the fragrance of… Probably deer. Eh, fuck it. He chomped, and spent a good three minutes chewing the first mouthful.
Tris’s face turned pink.
“What?” He glanced sideways at her. “Why are you givin’ me that look?”
“Stop moaning like that. They’ll think I’ve got my hand down your pants. It’s only food.”
Kevin smiled. “No such thing as only food.” He enjoyed another bite. “And yeah… I’d rather sell potatoes than get shot.”
“Will those two be a problem?” Tris examined her burger as if looking for the proper angle from which to grasp it.
“Shouldn’t be. We’re so damn far away from the Enclave I doubt they believe it. ‘Sides… locked door.”
Chomp. Oh, yeah…
wo days later, Kevin guided the Challenger down the familiar streets of Hagerman, New Mexico… or at least what used to be Hagerman, New Mexico before politicians made maps and borders irrelevant. People still tended to call it Hagerman, but almost no one bothered with the other part. The few that did liked to make a big deal about it, the kind of big deal that often involved blood and bullets. He squinted at a pair of motorcycles parked by Wayne’s porch, and the two men with brown leather biker cuts emblazoned with th
e crimson star ‘sheriff badge’ logo of the News. They shifted at the crunch of his tires on the dirt as he pulled into his usual spot.
“Looks like Wayne fixed the railing,” said Tris. “Think he’ll be mad if I break it again?”
Kevin swept his thumb over the rocker switches, shutting down the car. “No idea what you’re talking about. Some New idiot fell on it.” He pushed his door open and stood, locking eyes with the self-appointed ‘law’ in the area. “They won’t do shit.”
The taller, thinner man swatted the other in the arm twice as his eyes widened with apparent recognition. His stockier friend still had a bruise on the side of his face from where he’d had a close encounter with Tris’s shoe. He leaned forward as if about to rush at her.
Tris raised her arms in a combat stance. “Come on. I got my hands this time. See what happens.”
“She’s not a damn bounty.” Kevin forced his way between them. “You got balls lookin’ to start shit so close to Wayne’s.”
Tris ducked around him. “I can take this idiot.”
“Hey.” The taller New held up a hand. “No trouble. Juan. Let it go.”
Juan squinted.
“She put your ass down with one kick last time. You should listen to your friend.” Kevin winked. “Unless you want another dance.”
Juan spat to the side and walked off, shaking his head and muttering.
“You know they’re going to get friends.” Tris folded her arms.
Kevin put an arm around her back and guided her through the saloon doors. “We tried. Next time it’s on them.”
“This is your fault.” She followed.
He looked back, but kept walking. “How is this my fault?”
“If you had untied me when I asked, they wouldn’t have bothered with us on the way out.”
“Oh, sure.” Kevin shook his head. “If you hadn’t gotten yourself kidnapped in the first―”
Her fist in his back made him yelp. He rubbed the spot over his left kidney, one eye closed from the pain, and grimaced.
“Hello, Kevin,” said Bee. The android woman in a torn shirt and knee-length denim skirt shuffled across the room with a gait like an Infected in the middle of being electrocuted. A spark sizzled by a patch of exposed metal under her left collarbone. “Hello again, girl.”
“Nice of them to leave her tit hanging out.” Tris let her arms fall.
“It. It’s a robot. Not a real tit. Trust me; no one is looking at Bee and thinking about anything but how long it takes to bring food to the table.”
“Kev,” shouted Wayne from behind the bar. “I was not expecting to see you again. How’s it feel to own a roadhouse?”
For a long minute, Kevin scowled at the fifty-something cowboy, trying to come up with a reason to hate every grey whisker on his face. “Go to Hell, Wayne.”
The older man threw his head back and laughed. Bee caught his cowboy hat when it fell and put it back on for him. His bushy goatee and moustache twisted with a smirk. He sent a playful wink at Tris. “Had a feeling. The innocent looking ones ain’t never what they seem.”
Kevin climbed onto a barstool. “Usual… and one for her.”
“Oh, dammit… there it goes.” Wayne shook his head, causing his hair to dance over his shoulders. “She’s got you already.”
“It’s a tab.” Kevin stared at the ceiling and grumbled. “I got some .50 Browning in the trunk, bout sixty some odd rounds.”
“Ween make it?” Wayne raised an eyebrow.
“Nah, salvage.”
Wayne’s interest seemed to melt out of his face. “So you don’t know how old it is… or if it still works?”
“Looks in decent shape. Signs of hand loading on the brass. It’s not prewar.” Kevin stretched. “Need something else for her to wear. Got anything?”
“Possible.” Wayne turned to shout into the alcove behind him. “Bee.”
The robot woman tottered into view. “Yes, boss?”
“Two burgers.” Wayne indicated Tris with his thumb. “We got anything in her size in the back ta wear?”
Bee shuddered with a spasmodic twitch, made a noise much like a sneeze, and walked like a normal human around the bar. Her fluid motion lasted about three more steps before her left leg seized at the knee.
“Christ, Wayne. You ever gonna fix that? Almost seems cruel.” Kevin cringed.
Bee’s right eye glowed red, projecting a grid of laser light on Tris.
“Ain’t got the parts or the knowhow.” Wayne shook his head.
“Bee r-r-r-ight b-b-b-ack,” said Bee, as she convulsed in place and bent forward at an angle. Her black hair slid off her neck, exposing the B-19-C. “Pain detected. Ouch.”
Tris moved up behind Bee and pushed the destroyed shirt up. After a moment of prodding at the imitation skin on the android’s back, a square panel rose out and opened. Inside, flickering light illuminated a cloud of smoke around something whirring.
“You know what you’re doing in there? Kill Bee, and your ass belongs to Wayne.” Kevin cringed around as Tris stuck her fingers inside the machine.
“I only had the intro courses on robotics… Everyone gets it in high school. Been awhile.” Tris made a series of contemplative noises. “When was the last time you had her serviced?”
“Serviced?” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “Case you hadn’t noticed, little lady, this ain’t the sorta place what’s got android shops.”
Tris grumbled. “Got a star driver at least? Maybe a toothbrush?”
“A what?” asked Wayne.
“Really?” Tris sounded annoyed. Kevin chuckled. “It’s a screwdriver with a tiny tip that looks like an asterisk.”
Wayne looked past Kevin at the source of her voice. “What the fuck’s an asterisk?”
“Isn’t that a bird?” asked an old woman in the back.
“That’s apteryx,” said Tris. “Dammit.”
Wayne, mouth half open, stared at her for another few seconds before shifting his gaze to Kevin, who returned a ‘yeah, I know’ glance.
“Guess that’s some ‘o that fancy book learnin’ eh?” Wayne slapped the counter. “Be right back with them burgers.”
“Need a charge too.” Kevin’s back muscles tensed at a loud, sizzling spark from behind him.
“That did not feel pleasant,” said Bee.
“Port Three,” yelled Wayne from a room separated from the bar by a camouflage curtain.
Tris mumbled. “All the connectors are loose. It’s a wonder you can move at all.”
Kevin stood, wanting to be as far away from Bee as possible when she exploded. He jogged to the door, keeping an eye out for any members of the New gang, but the porch was empty. He walked around to the Challenger’s driver side door and punched 4-1-9-4 into the buttons under the handle. The door clicked. He ducked in long enough to hit the release for the trunk as well as the charging port on the front right fender. After closing and locking the door, he retrieved the belt of .50 Cal ammo from the pile of salvage in the back. Kevin draped it over his shoulder, glancing around for any sign of trouble. Seeing none, he slammed the trunk and walked along the passenger side to where the small panel about the size of an old gas hatch tilted outward a few inches behind the wheel well. A light push on the near side levered it open the rest of the way, and he drew out a few feet of wire in clear plastic insulation, which he plugged into a bank of sockets by the porch stairs.
The scent of ozone floated out from under the hood within seconds. He squinted up at the roof of solar panels, which accounted for most of the cost of starting a roadhouse. The people in Amarillo charged through the nose for them, since as far as anyone knew, they were the only source. Not that the world had many cars left, but the ones that remained needed charging.
They control the power. They control us all.
He shook his head and tromped up the stairs followed by the clattering of ammunition. Wayne, three unfamiliar men about his age, a dark-skinned woman with an explosion of dreadlocks, and one ancient
man all looked up as the tin can door chimes rang. Tris remained forearm deep in Bee. From that angle, it looked like she worked an old ventriloquist dummy, her arm was in so far. The android emitted a series of disturbing phrases like: “Oh, that feels wonderful,” “Please do that again,” and “Yes… yes… that’s the spot.”
Kevin resumed his place on the same stool he always tried to sit in. Third in from the left. Whenever someone else sat on it, he’d give them the squiggy eye until they moved. Once, he’d gotten into a fistfight over it. Brass hit the counter with a clatter that got everyone looking again as if the treasure of a dragon’s hoard had landed on the wood. On top of the stink of stale beer and fart, a weak trace of cooking meat drifted by.
“Hmm.” Wayne picked up one end of the belt, appraising the bullets like a jeweler. “Don’t look in too bad o’ shape.” He shook it, listening to the powder move. “Four per bullet.”
“Fuck you too, Wayne.” Kevin chuckled. “You’re gonna sell it for twelve each. There’s a reason I never got a .50 mounted on the Challenger.
“Seven and I’ll throw in clothes for the little woman.” Wayne winked.
“I’ll pay fer her duds if’n she changes out here,” said the old man.
“Seven and the clothes,” said Tris, sounding unamused.
“Seven.” Kevin reached out to shake. “Plus whatever you pick off the old horndog’s corpse.”
The elder squealed. “Easy, I ain’t want trouble.”
Tris snuck a smile over her shoulder at Kevin.
“Done.” Wayne shook.
“The meat is ready,” said Bee, still bent forward at a ninety-degree angle.
“Sec.” Tris tried to reconnect an uncooperative copper-colored ribbon cable and snarled after a few seconds of it not fitting in place. Eventually, a loud snap came from inside Bee, and she shot upright. “There.”
The android woman convulsed in place and her head thrashed side to side.
“Oh, shit. What did you do?” Kevin leaned back.
“She’s rebooting.” Tris raised a hand. “Calm down.”
“I’m about to re-boot someone’s ass if you broke her.” Wayne rested his elbows on the counter, sniffing the air. “I smell smoke.”
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
