Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation
Page 55
Turn 14
December 1, 2009
3:54 P. M.
Dionysius Garden, Portland, Oregon
“Hm. Chic.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Fancy. Posh. Should be above an arms dealer’s pay grade.”
There was a certain degree of truth to that as we stepped into our target’s private room, the key working as intended and permitting us to lock the door behind us. A king sized bed, a fifty-five-inch television, a mini fridge loaded with booze and a complimentary bottle of wine. A bathroom that had a bath for what could have been a private party… that me and Pierre could take more than twenty steps across the freshly vacuumed carpet was evidence of itself that this was more than a simple suite for one.
What we did then demonstrated our personalities, myself stepping over to the desk and looking through the man’s documents while Pierre stifled through the open suitcase. Looking to him, slightly impressed for once even if he was back to wearing an old bloodied uniform, I asked with admiration
“Looking for any secrets in his luggage?’
“Psh. No. That’s for you to take care of, garçon de courses. I’m just looking for anything worth looting.”
“I thought it was immoral to steal.”
“Stealing is taking from the living. Looting is taking from the dead. You beat Eugene tomorrow, and Monsieur Ford dies within the week. Whether it’s literal or not doesn’t change the fact he won’t be needing this anymore… or this!”
The man took out a massive magnum, reeking of a foul stench that I knew to be some kind of anti-FTM poison. Such a weapon would have not only cost a few thousand dollars to customize and outfit to even handle the special ammunition, but would require someone within our realm of operation to simply have the knowledge and resources to do so. No doubt about it; Eugene was a former Baron company man.
“You’d be smart to carry one of these, mon ami. The stronger a vampire grows, the greater his aura becomes. You’ll be a target soon enough, even with those contacts you wear.”
“Dying is my objective. I say let them come.” I replied, just as I happened upon something that would cause me to delay that wish. Centurion suits were all the rage, but with the increasing size of armies and the conflicting, decreasing size of weapons, remote operated vehicles and drones were going to soon replace the concept of infantry itself. For those who chose to remain on the battlefield, something like this would be useful.
An anti-ce-
“Hey! What the hell are you doing in my room?”
Eugene Ford stood at the doorway, a point-dexter nerd and black sheep of the extended family. Even with his hair slicked back, greased up like he was some sort of aspiring mobster, he couldn’t escape the need for contacts that gave his green eyes a bit of a yellowy, piss like hue that were far from being attractive. Even on his day off he had decided to go with slacks and a button up shirt, pen sticking out of the front pocket though he at least had gone without a tie and undone the top button. A grease stain, besides the small patch of ketchup on his cheek, must have meant he had gone to lunch…
And here was I simply keeping up with old habits. Perhaps I was more like Alucard than I’d like to admit. Trying to keep cordial, I took a seat at his desk as I nodded to the guest, taking his room for my own as I said
“Ah! Mr. Ford; just who I needed to talk to. Would you come in?”
“You kidding me? How about you get out of my room Sears before I get security.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. It’s not like you have a choice.”
Pierre decided to pop out from behind the wall then, hat titled down even as his lips faced up with a smile that spoke of bloodlust. The magnum, safety removed, starred at its owner’s chest and looked as if it would explode any minute, the first life to claim being the man who commissioned it in the first place. Irony always tended to opt for murders like these.
Eugene, thankfully, acknowledged my request and came in, sparing us from any such nonsense. Sitting right onto his bed, ruining the perfectly done sheets of the maid service he was paying eight hundred a night for, the man gave a single gulp that caused his thin Adam’s apple to bounce before he said
“Is… is this about out chess game tomorrow?”
“Of course not.” I replied, scooting about in the uncomfortable chair. Always was picky about where I sat. “There’s only one player in the world that I fear, and he died in prison. You won’t take me more than thirty-five, maybe thirty, moves at most.
“I’m here on a different kind of business. We need to talk about your little hobby, centurion.”
The man seemed to let go of a huge weight off his soldiers, confident that at least he wouldn’t be dying today if that was the matter. While that remained to be seen, Pierre looking like he’d take a bite from the fit human any second now, I kept my eyes between them and ensured they’d both stayed still as I gave permission to Eugene to speak.
“You want my research, then? You want to make a deal?”
“More than that. While I may not be long for this world, Sherry is. She’d like to make a job offer that you’ll find to be more than fair. We fake your death on your way to your interview in Europe, give you a new name and identity so no one will ever hunt you down again, and pay you a million a year for the next five years as part of your contract with about five million dollars’ worth of stock in Products for Patriots. More than Ingersoll’s Hounds can afford.”
The man seemed to be happy at that, though his nervousness could be attributed to either the gun or a lingering concern. Seemed to be the latter.
“What’s the catch?”
“Whether you take the job or not, you aren’t leaving this room until you sign a no compete clause. Robber Barons are bad for business, and you’re lucky we’re giving you a job instead of killing you ourselves. Pierre Belmont seems particularly keen to the latter idea.”
“Mon ami, you have no idea. Men cannot live on smokes and wine alone; a bit of blood is needed to make his diet complete.”
There was a reason why this was the first match. All it took was another gulp for the man to relent, sighing as he took out his pen and said “Alright. Where do I sign on… and where do I have to live?”
“Here. Hope you like the rain; you’ll be getting a lot of it the next few years.”
Turn 15
From the Notes of Sherry Sears
File 1093: Seth Sears vs Eugene Ford.
Winner: Seth Sears.
Turn count: 33
Pieces lost: 3 pawns, 1 rook, 2 Bishops.
Outcome: Seth Sears advanced to next round. Eugene Ford signed contract and faked his death on December 7th, 2009. A private plane crash, it was reported that his death was caused by his unwillingness to fly a charter airline as he made his way back east to catch a flight over the Atlantic. Eugene Ford then went to work for us as a Centurion suit technician for a planned five years.
Eugene Ford died in an electrical accident where a new compact battery exploded as he was inserting it into a retrofitted Cato Mark II system three years into his contract. Complete accident. His shares were reabsorbed into the company with a substantial bonus awarded to his surviving family.
File closed and sealed. Reopen file of surviving family becomes a problem.