by Tom Shepherd
The Quirt-Thymean gangster laughed. “Yeah, sure. Miracles can happen. Charlie, if you understand my conditions, you may have a seat.”
“Thank you.” He slid into a chair beside Rosalie and helped himself to a goblet of wine.
“Let’s get to the details,” J.B. said. “What do you want from my client?”
“Suspension of all sex trade activities and 100 million Terran credits in damages.”
J.B. nodded slowly. “We are willing to consider your settlement offer, provided you satisfy two conditions.”
“I’m listening.”
“Immediately terminate the bounty on my uncle.”
“No problem. But I suspect that’s not going to be the sticking point. What’s your other demand?”
“Come to Bekka-Capella and testify for the defense,” J.B. said. “Tell the court how forces within the F-7 colonial government have colluded with your syndicate to provide sex workers for Meklavites on the planet, not just here in the free trade zone.”
Heirzos made a guttural sound J.B. never heard from a Quirt. “And risk arrest, or death, or at the very least, loss of business when the story breaks? I don’t think so.”
“Death?” Rosalie said. “How would testifying in a public courtroom place your life in jeopardy?”
Heirzos laughed. “You really don’t know the Meks, do you?”
“Someone has threatened you?” Charlie said.
“I don’t want to have this conversation, especially not with you.”
“T’paeken, we’ve known each other for a long time.” Charlie leaned across the table. “You’re not reluctant to dispose of your enemies, though I’ve cautioned you repeatedly that violence always makes more enemies.”
Heirzos smirked. “Your warnings lack moral authority.”
Charlie shook his head. “This isn’t about morality. I’m sensing something new motivating you.”
“Preach on.”
“You may talk tough, surrounded by armed thugs,” Charlie said. “But for the first time, you’re actually afraid. Something dark, beyond your control, is squeezing your space, and you can’t stop it.”
“I don’t know what—”
Charlie leaned forward on his elbows. “The Mek colonial government has called your Quirt-Thyme homeworld and found something you thought was long buried, haven’t they?”
Heirzos leapt to his feet. “We’re done! Get your people off this rock, because the white flag falls tomorrow.”
“Mr. Heirzos, let me help you,” J.B. said quietly. “Is Charlie right?”
The blue mobster waved off his guards, who retired to the other side of the wide balcony, out of hearing range.
Heirzos glared at Charles Matthews. “How did you know?”
Charlie smiled faintly. “I have women sleeping with male consorts to high government officials. Men talk to their lovers.”
“Very true,” Parvati said. “Proficient sex lubricates the male tongue as well as the vaginal—”
“We get it,” J.B. said.
Heirzos shook his blue ears like a dog shedding water. “I’ve been a fugitive from the Quirt-Thyme Empire most of my adult life. I figured they wouldn’t waste resources chasing me around the galaxy, and until a week ago I was right.”
“For what offense?” J.B. said. “If we’re going to help you with legal problems, we need to know everything.”
“First tell me something,” Heirzos said. “Does the famous Terran Commonwealth rule about attorney-client confidentiality apply here?”
J.B. said, “I’m not your attorney. That would represent a conflict of interest. However, anything you tell me is a work by-product of defending my uncle, therefore the same rule applies.”
“Excellent.” He shrugged. “When I was an adolescent, I killed the King.”
“Which king?” Parvati said.
“Karlott-Poozel, father of the latest king, Bandu-Jeewan, who also got himself assassinated,” Heirzos said. “Your team at Annistyn is investigating Bandu’s death, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You killed Bandu-Jeewan’s father? “J.B. said. “What happened in your alleged regicide?”
He laughed. “Alleged. I love those quibbling little lawyer words. It was—what’s that term for legal murder?—justifiable homicide. Self-defense. Doesn’t matter. He was the King.”
“You need to elaborate,” J.B. said.
“I’m getting there. You realize I don’t ordinarily talk about this, right? Karlott-Poozel had two sons, and I guess he didn’t want civil war to break out when he died. So, he issued a secret decree about which boy would succeed him. The royal order said, for the good of the Empire, the other crown prince was expendable.”
“Did you know the unchosen son?” J.B. said. “Did you preemptively murder King Karlott to save your friend?”
“Nothing of the sort. The King caught me packing my bags to run away from home.”
“Wait a minute—you’re talking about your father?” J.B. said.
“Yes.”
“You are, I mean you were Bandu-Jeewan’s brother?”
“His older twin, by a few hundred breaths.” Heirzos said. “Father and I got into a loud fight, and he decided to do the dirty work himself.”
“Where was your mother?” Rosalie said.
“My father had her executed for treason the previous year. She was no longer satisfying him, and he couldn’t divorce the First Queen.”
“It must have been horrible,” Parvati said.
“When he pulled a blaster to finish me, I ducked and threw a small gold statue at him. It struck above the eye. Pure luck. He fell on the bedroom floor, bleeding.”
“So, he died of a concussion, brain trauma?” J.B. said.
“No, I picked up the blaster and shot him eleven times,” Heirzos said matter-of-factly. “He died, I ran, Bandu became Emperor. I left behind everything I loved when I fled the palace that night.”
Rosalie nodded. “As the brother of Bandu-Jeewan, the murdered High King, you are now rightful heir to the Quirt-Thymean throne.”
“Disqualified by regicide. “ He glanced at J.B. “No better than your friend, Zenna-Zenn.”
“It was self-defense,” Rosalie argued.
“Not when he repeatedly shot his father,” J.B. countered. “The King was already unconscious on the floor.”
“My only mistake was waiting until after he murdered Mother. The bastard needed killing. He was never a father to me, or to Bandu for that matter. Karlott ran the Empire and eliminated his enemies.” Heirzos lowered his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know why you Terrans think Quirts are a kindly people, when we have continually produced murderous leaders, like Karlott and Bandu.”
“Why did the Quirt government wait until now to flag your location?” J.B. said.
“Oh, they’ve known how to find me for some time. Visiting tourists spoke of a Quirt who the ran the pleasure moon Lerrotica and spoke perfect High Caste Pharmaadoodil. To keep my skin, I sent secret payments to Bandu for a decade.”
“But he’s gone now,” Rosalie said. “You must have other options.”
He nodded. “An agent of the government contacted me several days ago. Said he had the power to erase my crime if I performed a simple task for his superiors.”
“How do you know this agent actually represented someone from Annistyn?” Rosalie said.
“He had credentials.”
“What sort of credentials?” J.B. said.
“A holographic message from Queen Veraposta.”
J.B. and Charlie exchanged glances. Rosalie smirked. “That lying bitch,” she muttered.
“And what task does she require to end your exile?” J.B. said.
Heirzos raised his eyes to lock with J.B. “Eliminate all you Matthews, and any other members of the Family who come afterward.”
The blue mobster’s armed guards moved into position around them again. Rosalie reached for her ankle holster, but J.B. caught her wrist.
“Mr. Heirzos,�
�� J.B. said coolly, “if you intended to honor her request, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You are correct, Mr. Matthews. If I kill you, there will be another favor someday. And another. I prefer independence to indentured servitude. Especially to that pretentious cunt Veraposta.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she betrayed me like this. Veraposta was my—well, that was a long time ago.”
“I have a counter-offer,” J.B. said. “Testify on Charlie’s behalf, and we will return to Annistyn and do everything we can to clear you of regicide charges without the First Queen’s help.”
Charlie laughed. “How about it, T’paeken—ready to rule the Quirt-Thyme Empire?”
“My first official act would be to divorce Veraposta, then abdicate.” He ordered a fresh round of purple wine. “I like being king of my little realm. Pleasure houses, casinos and professional entertainers.”
“My kind of ruler,” Charlie laughed.
“Do we have a deal?” J.B. offered a hand.
As Heirzos reached for the handshake, his three guards went for their sidearms. J.B. froze, but Rosalie did not.
“Down!” She pushed her brother to the floor, rolled over him, and came up with a blaster in each hand. Charlie upended a table to duck behind, but the first rounds hit T’paeken Heirzos squarely in the chest. Parvati touched her armband and became a shimmering phantom. Her bracelet and field scanner clattered to the tiled floor.
Rosalie answered with a barrage of precise shots that dropped two of the attackers. The last man peeled off a badly aimed heat blast, leaped the balcony railing like a high-hurdler, and splashed into the canal two stories below. Rosalie leaned over the edge and splattered the water with bolts of energy. She was still firing when J.B. put a hand on her shoulder.
“The asshole got away,” he said. “Rode the low gravity to safety.”
“I know. Fucking velock’chi.” Rosalie fired a final pair of blasts and cursed the escapee in a language J.B. did not speak. Grey smoke curled from the barrels of her heat-exhausted kinetic weapons. “I must be losing my edge. Should’ve dropped all three with the first volley.”
“You got two of them,” J.B. said.
Parvati activated her bracelet and rematerialized as a tangible hologram. “Unfortunately, the fallen killers will answer no questions.”
“Is Heirzos dead?” Rosalie fanned her blasters in the night wind to accelerate cooling.
“Not quite.” The Quirt-Thymean groaned and sat up on the balcony floor, hugging his ribs. “Thank the Universe for good body armor.”
Charlie emerged from behind the upturned table. “Rosie, did you just—where did you learn to—oh, no. My sweet Red Fox—you’re one of them, too?”
“Long story. You are sworn to secrecy,” J.B. said.
“Well, of course. Bianca wouldn’t want—”
“Let’s keep Mom out of this.” Rosalie ankle-holstered the cooled-down blasters, flattened the long skirt and tightened her shoe straps. “I don’t report to her.”
Charlie held up his hands. “Sure, sure.”
J.B. helped Heirzos up from the floor and waited until he settled in a chair before asking the obvious question.
“Why did your guards try to kill you?”
“It’s so damned hard to find good help in this corner of the galaxy. I still need that drink.”
As if summoned by sheer willpower, a green Kolovite waiter appeared, balancing a tray of drinks. He nearly dropped the beverage order when he found dead bodyguards sprawled on the balcony. The server placed full glasses in front of Heirzos and his guests and hurried from the balcony with an empty tray.
“Get somebody to clean up this mess!” Heirzos called after him.
“Mr. Heirzos, shall I repeat the question?” J.B. said. “Why did your guards want you dead?”
“No idea. I hired them years ago. They were always loyal.”
“Not tonight.” Rosalie nudged one of the dead thugs with her shoe. “Wait a sec—J.B., check this out. He’s wearing a bracelet.”
“It’s a holo-projector.” Parvati adjusted her field scanner. “He is disguised.”
Rosalie’s brother knelt and turned over the dead man’s hand. At the place where one might fasten a wristwatch, the would-be dispatcher sported a coppery metal band about four centimeters wide and fairly thick. J.B. found the catch and removed the band. The body on the floor flashed-changed from a tanned Mindorian human to a lizard-like reptoid with a jaw full of teeth.
Parvati checked her readings. “Ectothermic—cold-blooded. He’s a Saurian.”
“Probably from the Resoto Alliance,” Rosalie said.
Charlie said, “Saurians are a peaceful race, but I’ve heard rumors about a mutation that reintroduced links to their primordial nature.”
“So, we may be looking at a new subspecies,” J.B. said.
“The other attacker has a similar device.” Parvati popped it from his wrist, but this time the crumpled body changed from Mindorian to sky blue Quirt-Thymean.
“Another substitution,” Rosalie said. “I wonder what the bastard that got away really looked like.”
“My guards—damnit!” Heirzos said. “They must’ve killed them and stashed their bodies somewhere in the Casino.”
“Could be the same pendejos who uploaded a virus into the Legal Beagle that nearly eliminated us,” Rosalie said.
“Veraposta,” Heirzos muttered. “We’ve got to put that bitch down.”
“If she is, in fact, the one who commissioned these dispatchers,” J.B. said, “Quirt-Thymean law will bring her to justice.”
Heirzos protested. “I saw her hologram—”
“Holograms can be falsified.” Parvati’s voice rang with personal authority.
“We don’t know who’s behind this, my friend,” Charlie said.
“So, what are you suggesting as a course of action—sit on my ass until the next hitmen kill me?”
“No, sir. We fight back,” Rosalie said.
“We have a court date on F-7,” J.B. said. “If you’re willing to testify.”
“You couldn’t stop me,” Heirzos said. “If the Mek leadership of this colony and my Quirt-Thyme enemies are conspiring against me, I need to take them out first.”
“Legally,” J.B. said. “The rule of law has more sticking power than mere homicide.”
Rosalie smiled. “If not, I’m available.”
“So, I am your client now?” Heirzos said.
“Effective as soon as Charlie walks free from the Mek courtroom,” J.B. said.
“And that avoids your ‘conflict of interest’ qualms?”
“At this point, Mr. Heirzos, I no longer give a damn.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s my Bear! I’m having a positive effect on you at last.”
J.B. ignored the quip. “We’ll head back to our ship and message my brother on Annistyn. Tyler needs to know what happened here.”
“Ordinarily, I’d insist you stay at my Casino as guests of the house. Free luxury suite, food, drinks, and a lot of credits to gamble. Plus other amenities.” Heirzos smiled bitterly. “But after tonight I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Rain check after we clean up the mess on both worlds?” J.B. said.
Heirzos nodded. “You are a highly optimistic rascal, Mr. Matthews. A free week for your Star Lawyers crew if you prevail.”
“If not,” Charlie said, “we’ll all be dead.”
Heirzos said, “I’m a gambler. Let the games begin.”
“See you on F-7,” J.B. said. “We’ll contact you with time and place.”
“I’ll be there,” Heirzos said. “Fly safe.”
Rodney and Arabella had the Legal Beagle ready to fly before midnight local time. J.B. spent the interim dictating a message to Tyler, bringing him up to date on what had happened since they escaped the twin black holes. He concluded with their encounter on Lerrotica with the new client he had signed, T’paeken Heirzos, an
d the possibility that Veraposta was behind the attempts on their lives.
For a better connection, J.B. held the transmission until after the Beagle lifted off Lerrotica. Without Apexcom, the message would take sixteen hours to travel halfway across the galaxy to the Quirt-Thyme homeworld. Sixteen hours out, sixteen back, plus whatever time it took for Tyler to compose his response.
J.B. closed his eyes and rested while Arabella flew the Legal Beagle on its hour-long hop to their reserved slot at Bekka-Capella Spaceport 06. Charlie’s trial was in a few days. Suddenly tired beyond words, he wondered if Suzie had found comfortable quarters for the team. A brief image flashed through his weary brain. He lay in bed, curled up with an unclothed Parvati, whose brown breasts pressed against his bare chest. J.B. mentally slapped himself and fled the delicious delirium.
Free of the fantasy, he wondered how Tyler was doing in his quest to free Mr. Blue.
Twelve
Tyler awoke to a light rapping on the lid of his casket.
“Mr. Matthews?” a young male voice said from beyond the darkness. “You can come out now. You’re safe inside the Mindorian Embassy.”
Splitting the curved lid of the burial box, he sat up and shaded his eyes from painful light like a vampire facing the dawn. Good thing Dr. Julieta had given him a sleeping sedative or he might have gone crazy in the absolute darkness. A portable oxygen tank kept him alive during the five hours it took to load the death crate onto a diplomatic shuttle, fly to Annistyn’s surface, off load the container to a surface skimmer, and navigate the congested lanes of the capital to the Mindorian Cultural-Economic Embassy. Thank God he didn’t wake up in mid-transit with a burning need to urinate.
“I’ll let Mr. Akello know you’ve arrived safely,” the voice said.
Tyler heard a door close, but the light still blinded him, so he never got a look at the young embassy staffer’s face. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he found Julieta Solorio gazing out a window on the far side of the empty office.
“Not a bad looking town,” she said. “Lots of skinny copper spires topped by globular apartments or workplaces. Green zones carpeting the city, whitewater creeks winding among the towers like Alpine runoff.”
