One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Stacy stared for a half second before the tears started. “G-game?”

  “You got us to split up, and now you’re leading me into a dark alley. Who’s waiting for us?”

  “N-no one.” Stacy held her hands up. “I promise… no bullshit. Please don’t kill me.”

  Tris stared down the gleaming length of steel and narrowed her eyes.

  “Please…” Stacy whined and rose up on tiptoe to get away from the point at her throat. “You’re the only one in this place who’s ever been nice to me. I wasn’t always like this. I swear I ain’t gamin’ you.”

  Tris lowered the sword one inch. “You’ve seen how fast I can move.”

  “Yeah.” Stacy nodded.

  “I’ve got some Enclave tech. One of my toys is a kind of lie detector.” Tris touched the point of the katana to the base of the girl’s throat. “It measures facial gestures and stress responses. Look me right in the eye and tell me you’re not leading me into some kind of ambush. If it tells me you’re lying, I’m going to cut your head off right here.”

  Stacy shivered, sniveled, and cried. She stared at Tris without blinking. “I’m not lying. Her name’s Jasmin. She runs the general store. Has a job. I wanna get out of this town.”

  If this kid’s acting, she’s pretty damn good at it. Tris sighed and lowered the sword. “Okay. Sorry. It’s been shitty for us lately. Gotta be careful.”

  Stacy covered her face with her hands, shivering and breathing hard. She wiped her eyes and moved away from the wall. “S’okay. I did, like, try to sleepy you and everything. I understand why you don’t trust me.”

  The teen’s sorrowful look bloomed into one of startlement. Instinctively, Tris’s cybernetic boost kicked on. A scuff of dirt came from behind. She whirled. A skinny man with wild hair and a thin goatee down to his belly leapt out of a gap between two huts, a syringe held high like an assassin’s dagger.

  Tris whipped her blade around, severing his arm midway between wrist and elbow. The pain from the strike only began to register on his face when her follow through took his head off. He hit the ground with a weak thump. Stacy whimpered.

  Tris glanced back to find the girl trembling. “Pee yourself?”

  Stacy shook her head. “Almost. Ain’t never seen anyone die before… not that close.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a problem with slavers.” Tris squatted and gathered a bit of the man’s coat in her hand, using it to clean the blade. “If you’re with us for any length of time, you’ll probably see death a lot more.”

  “Hey… I ain’t like lookin’ to be adopted or some shit. Too old for that now. I just wanna get outta here ‘fore… you know.”

  Tris stood. “Kevin said most people out here are friendly and helpful.”

  “He ain’t from Glimmertown. This place ain’t ‘most people.’”

  “Lead on.” Tris slid the katana back in the scabbard and crushed the syringe under her shoe.

  “Sec.” Stacy cringed as she crouched over the body and rummaged his pockets. She collected a couple coins, a knife, and three needle-tipped ampules of white liquid. “‘Kay.”

  Tris glowered at her until she dropped the drugs. Poor kid. “How’d you wind up here?”

  Stacy’s pleading look back and forth from Tris to the injectors failed to sway her. “Don’t really remember much. I was pretty small. When you’re real little, everyone’s nice. ‘Ventually, I stopped being a ‘little kid’ and it changed. People didn’t wanna give me food and stuff unless I did things. So I started stealing. The drugs… I don’t really remember how; they kinda happened.”

  “Just say no.” Tris smiled.

  Stacy blinked. “What?”

  Tris tugged her along by the sweatshirt. “I’ve seen historical documentaries about what drugs do to people. You’re supposed to ‘just say no’ and everything will be okay.”

  “Uhh, whatever.” Stacy trudged on. “I haven’t had any in a while. Startin’ to feel like ass.”

  “What were you taking?”

  “I dunno. Whatever I could get my hands on. Not VS. Fuck that with a capital f. Most people who take that crap don’t come back. They get high and stay there.”

  Tris cringed. The Enclave… I never should’ve let him take that stuff to sell. “It’s as much my fault as his now. I didn’t have to get it back.”

  “Huh?” Stacy looked back.

  “That box. It’s uhh… full of void salt.”

  Stacy’s light brown skin faded to almost Caucasian for a second. “No way. Uhh, maybe I shouldn’t go with you two.”

  “Oh, it’s not happening again.” She glared at the wall, where someone had painted a giant jalapeño pepper with a sombrero and eyes. “Guilt makes a person do strange things.”

  “Yeah.” Stacy gathered the purple sweatshirt tight. “I guess. Sorry.”

  Eighteen minutes later according to the time floating in the lower left corner of her vision, Tris followed Stacy along a passage between two large buildings. The alley forced them to turn sideways and shimmy in spots, except for a protruding ventilation fan that required a little crawling to get by.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Tris dragged herself past the gap and stood.

  Stacy replied in a whisper. “You got Petersen’s crew looking for you, and probably Tyrant’s as well. Jasmin’s place is right in the main quad. Sneaking in the back way.”

  The girl crept to the end of the building and poked her head out into the sun. A few seconds later, she slipped around to the right. Tris followed into a wide-open quad surrounded by various shops, casinos, and brothels. The garage where the Challenger waited sat less than sixty yards away, on the far side of the reinforced gate. Stacy kept close to the wall and ducked into the first doorway she reached.

  Tris walked in behind her, eyeing a room set up like an old-timey store with shelves of seemingly random stuff: canteens, coils of wire, a pile of mass-produced machetes, tackle boxes, a handful of mismatched boots, one sleeping bag, matches, candles, a number of shirts, and even some canned goods. Over the shelves on the right, a selection of cowboy hats hung on pegs. Tris debated getting one for Kevin, but expected he’d only complain about wasting money.

  At the back end of the store, a woman who could’ve been Stacy’s cousin by looks stood behind a glass counter. She had a pair of handguns in a nylon harness over a grey tank top that struggled to contain her rather generous bosom. The clerk had a second pair of handguns on her belt, camo fatigues, and flip-flops. A pair of well-worn black combat boots sat near a doorway that led deeper into the back.

  Tris approached, still mulling the hat. She pictured him wearing only the hat and grinned to herself. Red velvet material on the enclosed shelves bore dark spots in the shapes of handguns, though the only items inside consisted of a handful of chintzy rings and a box of bandages.

  “What’s this?” asked the woman, speaking to Stacy but giving Tris a look. “Somethin’ not natural here.”

  Stacy leaned back, elbows on the counter, and smiled. “Jaz, I found some people who might be interested in that job.”

  The woman regarded Tris with a critical eye. “Well, you definitely not from Glimmertown.”

  “No… no I’m not.” Tris nodded at Jasmin’s belt. “That’s a lot of hardware to protect a couple pairs of boots and some camping gear.”

  Little trace of warmth lurked in the eyes locked on her. “What’s the Enclave doin’ out here?”

  “Beats me.” Tris put her hands on her hips. “They want me dead. What’s a shop owner willing to pay 1800 coins for someone to drive somewhere? I’m guessing you’ve got some special merchandise. We’re not interested if it’s drugs.”

  “Oh, a crusader.” Jasmin’s hard glare relaxed. “Next thing, you’ll be tellin’ me you’re the one that offed Neon.”

  Stacy coughed.

  Tris shrugged. “Not sure I know anything about that. Though, I’ve heard some guns tend to go off on their own if they’re brought too close to stupid people.”


  Jasmin smiled. “Took his pets too, huh?”

  “They’re safe.” Tris kept half an eye on the window, watching shapes she assumed to be armed men move around outside. “Not havin’ a whole ton of time here. What’s the run?”

  “Well.” Jasmin chuckled. “It is drugs, but not the kind you’re thinkin’ of. Medical supplies. Antibiotics, some pain killers, couple antivirals, basic stuff.”

  “And you’re going to trust someone you’ve never met to take it where you want it to go?” Tris blinked. “Seems like an awful lot of faith to have in a town like this.”

  “I’ve got a lot of faith in GPS and tamper-proof cases.” Jasmin folded her arms. “The kind of tamper proofing that puts a permanent end to thieves.”

  Tris tilted her head to one side. “GPS hasn’t worked in years. All the satellites got toasted during the war.”

  “Damn. Fuckin’ Enclave would know that.” Jasmin glared at the floor.

  Stacy covered her mouth to hide her grin.

  “Why would we steal it? Bandits aren’t all that interested in medical supplies. Besides, Kevin’s a driver for the roadhouse. If something goes wrong, you can take it up with them.”

  Jasmin tapped a foot, seeming to debate the issue.

  “Not to mention,” said Tris, “1800 coins is a lot to pay for a bunch of painkillers and antibiotics. Where’s it going? That’s the catch, isn’t it? It’s going somewhere shitty.”

  “Not that bad.” Jasmin pursed her lips. “Dallas.”

  That sounds familiar… must be a big city. Kevin’s gonna love that. “I think we can do it. How large a shipment are you talking? We’ve got car, not a cargo truck.”

  “One box.” Jasmin outlined a shape about the size of a footlocker in midair. “Should fit in a trunk. Sergeant Ralston is the contact in Dallas. He’s got the code for the box and the money for you. I’ve already got my cut of it, so you don’t have to come back.”

  Oh, sure. The guy we’re going to has the money. She froze, staring at the wall. Wow. Hypocrite much? “Okay. Meet at the garage tomorrow morning?”

  “Sounds like a deal.” Jasmin reached over the counter to shake hands.

  Tris accepted. “See you then. Oh, hey you got any spare ibuprofen around? Friend of mine went face first down the stairs.”

  Jasmin disappeared into the back room, returning half a minute later with a brown plastic bottle.

  Tris stuffed a hand in her pocket. “How much?”

  “Only six pills… Call it a good faith gesture.” Jasmin set the meds down and slid them across the counter.

  “Thanks.” Tris tossed the bottle up, caught it, and headed for the door.

  Stacy led the way back across the courtyard, skimming along in the shadows. Once they cleared the far end of the too-narrow passageway, she spun and looked Tris in the eye.

  “That whole lie detector thing was bullshit, wasn’t it?”

  Tris smiled. “Yeah, a little.”

  Stacy looked annoyed, but laughed it off. She tapped her sneaker on the dirt. “What’s GPS?”

  “Old tech for navigation. It used satellites to tell people where they were.”

  “What’s a satellite?” Stacy fell in step at her side.

  Tris whistled. “Electronics people used to launch into outer space. They’d float around the planet and do all sorts of different things. Some even had lasers on them that could assassinate people.”

  “Wow…” Stacy shivered. “That’s scary as shit. How do you know all this stuff?”

  Tris shrugged. “I watched a lot of historical documentaries.”

  Kevin leaned on a wall at the corner of an alley, glancing at the front of Cloud 9 out of the corner of his eye. He tapped his foot and shifted his weight from leg to leg. At this hour, the place looked abandoned. After what had happened there, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine it was abandoned. Tris did have a point… he couldn’t summon much respect for the sort of people to be more upset at having their clothing stolen than they were at enslaved women. With Tris going apeshit and titties bouncing everywhere, maybe no one noticed me. Not my circus. Not my monkeys. He sighed. This is the king of shitty ideas on a mountain of shit.

  “I should write that on a coffee mug.” He shoved off the wall and strode across the clearing.

  He fidgeted with the empty holster on his belt as he walked. Leaving the .45 in the hotel room was a calculated risk. Assuming this idiotic plan worked out even close to a way that didn’t leave him twisted into a human pretzel knot, odds were high they’d disarm him before he got within shouting distance of Petersen. The chance they’d ‘lose’ it was a chance he didn’t want to take. The Uzi would suffice.

  The front doors of Cloud 9 were open, which surprised him. He stepped inside, and found the place in much the same condition as he’d left it in, except for the lack of bodies. The dancing cages remained empty and open, someone had cleaned up the blood on the floor, and the absence of unbearable stench had to mean Neon’s office got cleaned out as well.

  “W’aint open yet.” An imposing bald man behind the bar, patch over his left eye, looked up from a porno magazine that looked three times older than him.

  Kevin tapped into something halfway between courage and idiocy. “Man, those pages were stuck together before you were a dirty thought in someone’s head.”

  “Yeah.” Tall and Bald flipped it closed to examine the cover. “2018, and it ain’t for sale.”

  “Not buyin’.” Kevin put one hand on the bar. “Or drinkin’. I got a package for Mr. Petersen. Roadhouse job.”

  “Leave it. I’ll get it to him.” The man fluttered pages back to his place. A few did seem fused together.

  “Can’t, pal. You know the drill. Gotta bring it to him.”

  The security guy grumbled and got that look in his eye like he was about to do whatever it took to regain his previous solitude. He shifted his weight forward as if to stand.

  “700 ampules of void salt.” Kevin scratched his head. “You look like a no-bullshit kinda guy, so I figure before you throw me out the door and get the big man’s panties in a knot, you should know.”

  The man froze with one ass cheek still on his chair. “Have a seat.”

  Kevin took the nearest stool and leaned on the bar while the security man fiddled with what appeared to be a CB radio under the bar.

  “Pedro, it’s Al. Got some dude here says he’s got a box of Salt for Mr. P.”

  Static crackled as he let off the talk button.

  “Sec, Al.” About a minute later, the radio crackled. “Sendin’ an escort.”

  “Copy.” Tall and Bald set the mic down and reclined with his back to the wall. “You’re in luck, buddy. He’ll see you.”

  Yeah. Luck. I guess that’s one way to put it.

  Kevin stared around at the place for a while, trying to guess which bullet holes came from Tris’s attack of conscience, and which had been there for years. A chewed on table leg lined up with a recent patch in the front of the bar. Wow, they fixed that pretty damn fast.

  “Hey,” yelled an average looking man in the doorway. His voice sounded far too deep for his build. “You the driver?”

  “Yep.” Kevin threw a half-hearted salute at the bald man and headed to the door. Two other, much larger, men waited on the road. Both had shotguns, and more lame attempts at fancy suits. “Wow, red carpet time.”

  “Comedian,” said the closer man. “I’ll need the Uzi till you’re done with the boss. Plus any others you got on ya. We find one later on, it’s going up your ass.”

  Kevin shrugged the strap off his shoulder and heaved the weapon to the guy. “Figured. I’m just finishin’ a job. Don’t want any trouble. Only brought that one.” He pulled his jacket open to show off his lack of other weapons.

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they always say.”

  The dark-haired guy waved him to follow and headed off down a side street. The two leg breakers with shotguns took up the rear. They meandered in no great hurry
down streets wide enough for two cars to pass abreast. Most of the facing buildings had the look of bars, casinos, or abandoned houses. An old, twisted street sign identified an intersection as S. Temple going one way and S 400 E branching off at a T, but the way it had bent left it anyone’s guess which was which.

  Hmmf. Temple my ass. If there is a god, he’s left this place way behind.

  His guide hooked a right past the sign, which put the mountains to their left. About five minutes of walking later, he turned toward the mountains and passed a collapsed multi-tier parking deck and a plain beige brick building beyond it before cutting across a dirt lot full of car parts that may once have been a well-tended lawn. A short concrete porch led up to the face of a three-story building that bore a mild resemblance to an ancient castle. On the third floor, metal gratings protected windows long-since devoid of glass, where men stood behind belt-fed machine guns mounted on posts. The entire first floor had layer upon layer of metal armor plates arranged around it, several with car-shaped dents.

  That explains the thing with cars.

  The man stopped at the door. “Before we go inside. You got any hidden weapons you don’t have room in your ass for?”

  “Just my mouth.” Kevin winked. “Feel free to check. I haven’t been felt up by a dude in about six months. Kinda miss it.”

  “I’ll take yer word for it.” The deep-voiced man opened the door and went in.

  After a brief trip down a hallway and up two flights of stairs, they followed a moldy carpet beneath a skylight installed via high explosives to a dull red door that looked as if it could stop missiles. The man opened it for him and waited.

  Kevin forced a smile and stepped past him into a dark wood-paneled office that seemed to have escaped the very existence of a nuclear war. A subtle hint of unsmoked cigar lingered in the air. Overstuffed bookshelves surrounded a desk at which an older man stared imperiously down at him from a wingback chair.

  Mr. Petersen could’ve been fifty as easily as ninety. The appearance of his face, pale, stout, and veiny, had the texture of a nonagenarian, but the structure and shape of a much younger man. Despite a plain white button-down shirt that seemed far too clean for anyone in Glimmertown to be wearing, the man’s eyes pinned him in place. Kevin had the distinct urge to turn around and haul ass.