by Rachel Aukes
No data on the client or on Vane’s crime left Joe with only a guess as to why she’d ended up as a target. The sheriff was either causing problems for someone or had broken some unwritten code. Either way, it didn’t matter. Joe needed the credits, which meant the sheriff was going down.
Joe had given up his ideals long ago. He no longer worked for justice; he worked simply for a paycheck. At least, that’s what he told himself on jobs like this one. Maybe one day things would change, but for now, he needed to survive until tomorrow.
He arrived at Clearwater to find a rough town sitting on the edge of a lake of sludge that was the opposite of anything remotely clear, let alone water. Rows upon rows of green leafy crops lined the lakebed, but Joe didn’t recognize the food—not that he was an expert. Most of his meals consisted of ration bars. He savored the dinners he had at the Swintons, and considered that to be damn near the best food in the world, though according to Nick, his mother was a mediocre cook at best.
Joe drove down the main road and casually noted that Clearwater was a one-bar-sized town. The jail was across the street, which was good planning on someone’s part, given that just about all folks who ended up in jail were drunk at the time of their crime. Joe continued for another block, passing decrepit stone buildings with busted windows, before turning left and bringing Monster behind the jail. Three cutters sat there already, though two were dusty enough to look like they’d been parked there for some time, assuming the dust storm Joe had driven through earlier hadn’t passed through this area too. The third cutter had a sheriff’s star painted on the doors. It could belong to a deputy, but Joe guessed that the town was small enough to have none.
He eyed the jail’s back door, weighing his options as he drove by. He could wait out the sheriff, shooting her as soon as she stepped outside. But the longer he waited, especially in the daylight, the likelier he’d be noticed, hurting his element of surprise. He could go in after her, but he didn’t know the layout of the jail and could find himself at a disadvantage, even with an exoshield. His third option was to track the sheriff to her home, wherever that was, then take her out while she slept, but that option had the same risk as the second one. The smartest option would be to reconnoiter in plain clothes before setting a plan since his exoshield would stand out like a cow in a buffet line. Still, Joe hadn’t gone out in public without an exoshield since before the Shiprock War, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He decided to go with the first option. Since there was no decent camouflage for Monster near the Jail, Joe parked his cutter in an alley a couple of blocks down. He grabbed his rifle and climbed out after making sure no one was around. He moved slowly and quietly behind the buildings that led to the jail.
When he reached his destination, he hazarded a glance into the sheriff’s cutter. A rifle sat on the passenger seat, and the systems looked to be in standby mode. He then weaved between the two dirty vehicles to find a spot that offered concealment and a direct shot at the back door. He went down on a knee behind the back fender of a green cutter. He set his blaster rifle on the fender and lined up his shot.
Then he waited.
It was late afternoon, so he expected the sheriff to leave soon. He wanted to get the job over with and be on his way back to the Cavil. Knockout jobs never sat well with him—made him feel too much like an assassin. Ironic, since that’s what he’d been in the Revolution and in the Shiprock Riots, and in the Wilds Rising after that. He’d killed enough to know he would still be able to sleep at night, which was more than could be said for many of the townsfolk after they learned of their sheriff’s death.
Through the years, Joe had noticed that regular folks—good folks—tended to overestimate the effect of death in the short-run and underestimate its effect in the long-run. Once the initial shock wore off, those folks would discover that they’d lost innocence, only to have it replaced with a jaded realism. Joe called that surviving, and folks needed that mindset to make it in a world dead-set against them.
He heard a crunch behind him, and he tensed.
“Gun down, hands up,” commanded a woman’s voice, and what he suspected was a blaster barrel banged against his back, then tapped the back of his helmet. At that proximity, he couldn’t move more than a few inches before she fired. She had him dead to rights, and she knew it.
He gritted his teeth, set his rifle on the ground, and raised his hands.
Chapter Fourteen
“I figured Sloan would send you guys after me one of these days. How many others are with you, Raven?” the woman, who Joe assumed was Sheriff Val Vane, demanded.
Calling Joe by his squad name caught him off-guard until he realized she must have served in the Revolution. So she’d recognized his cape as being the banner of the Raven squad. “Just me, and I go by Havoc,” he answered through a tight jaw.
There was a pause before she spoke again. “On your feet, Havoc.”
He did as instructed and felt her disarm him of both pistols.
“Keep your hands in the air and walk yourself slowly into that jail. If you make any sudden moves, I’ll pull the trigger, and we both know that your shield can’t stop a blaster shot at this range.”
Joe still had a few weapons on him, not to mention that he wasn’t too shabby at hand-to-hand combat, but there wasn’t anyone good enough to turn the tables on an experienced shooter at point-blank range. Few people could sneak up on Joe, though he admitted he’d been sloppy, driving through town in broad daylight. Still, that she managed to sneak up on him meant she was good. But the real question he kept asking himself was: why he was still breathing and not bleeding out behind the cutter?
“I’m impressed. Someone hasn’t snuck up on me in a long time. I take it you saw me come up behind the jail, and you went out the front and made your way around to flank me,” he said in an effort to glean information from her.
She guffawed. “I had you pegged the moment you hit Clearwater. I was out back before you set up at the impounded cutter.”
He cocked his head. “Oh yeah? Now I’m doubly impressed.”
The rifle barrel pressed against his shield. “Keep moving.”
He reached the door. She reached around, swiped her armlet over the panel, and the door opened. Despite the high risk of being shot, it was a perfect time for him to grab her wrist and yank her down, but he was curious as to why she hadn’t shot him yet, so he obediently stepped inside.
It was a small station as police stations went, with a single cell and a single desk. A rug on the floor no doubt covered a door that led below ground, likely where the sheriff stored her munitions. The single six-by-six cell stood open and he walked inside, needing no instruction. The bars slammed shut behind him.
“Remove your helmet and set it on the bed. Then I want you to face me and stick your hands through the bars. Yeah, I know you still have weapons on you, but if you even think about trying anything, I’ll shoot you twice in places I guarantee will bring you plenty of pain. The first shot will be because you deserve it, and the second shot will be because I was having a decent enough day before you showed up to kill me,” she ordered.
Joe grimaced as he removed his helmet and set it down. He focused on keeping emotions off of his face as he turned around, slid his hands through the openings between the bars, and looked at his captor for the first time. Her face matched the image on her files. She had dark brown skin with even darker eyes and curly black hair. She had strong features and a severe expression that seemed to be her natural state. She looked strong too, her biceps exposed thanks to her sleeveless leather shirt. The pendant that hung from a chain around her neck—a bird of some kind—seemed like a dichotomy to her stoic demeanor.
Her eyes narrowed on him. “You don’t look so dangerous without that helmet. I would’ve guessed you Ravens to look meaner, like puppy beaters, but you seem like you could pass as an ordinary guy on the street.”
Joe flashed a smile, though Sara had often warned him that his smile seemed t
o convey crazy more than kind. “That’s me. Your ordinary run-of-the-mill sensitive guy, working to make a living, just like everyone else.”
She chortled. “Everyone doesn’t kill for a living.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “There are far more who do than you realize.”
Her scowl deepened.
“So, you’re Sheriff Val Vane,” Joe continued. “You’ve made yourself an enemy that earned you a knockout ticket. What’d you do? Arrest the wrong person? Kill the wrong person?”
She held the rifle with one hand as she bound Joe’s wrists with her other hand. “I made an enemy by doing my job,” she said bluntly.
“Ah, so both.”
She backed up to her desk and took a seat on the squeaky leather chair. “You should know all about me if you have the ticket.”
He leaned against the bars. “No official ticket. It’s an off-the-books job.”
She sneered. “Figures that Sloan wouldn’t have the guts to have his name associated with my murder.”
“Gabriel Sloan, Cavil’s MRC administrator, wants you dead?”
She frowned at him. “They don’t tell you assassins much, do they? I’m talking about Roderick Sloan, Gabriel’s younger brother, and MRC administrator of Clearwater. Greediest, most corrupt SOB you’ll ever come across, though Gabriel Sloan comes in a close second.”
“I’m a bounty hunter with the Haft Agency. I’m not an assassin,” Joe clarified.
Her brow rose. “Oh, there’s a difference? You were hired to come out here and kill me. That sounds more like an assassin than a chaser to me. Plus, you wear an assassin’s cloak. So, now you’re telling me you’re not an assassin?”
“I’m a bona fide member of a bounty hunters’ guild. Go ahead and ask them.”
She snorted. “It takes more than a piece of paper for a tiger to change its spots.”
“Leopard.”
“What?”
“Tigers have stripes. Leopards have spots.” He thought, anyway. He’d never seen either, as large cats had gone extinct a couple of hundred years earlier.
“Let me guess, you’re a zookeeper when you’re not killing people.”
“Nah. Just an animal lover.” He sighed. “You have me curious. If you kept me alive just to have someone to chat with, I’m sure there are therapists out there who provide a lot better conversation.” He shrugged. “Though a prostitute would be cheaper and just as good a listener.”
She raised the rifle an inch. “I could kill you now if you want.”
He lifted his hands as much as he was able in mock surrender. “I’d prefer to keep breathing if it’s all the same to you.”
“Good. I’d prefer not to kill you.”
He clasped his hands together. “Hey, we have something in common. I feel like this is the start of a wonderful friendship.”
“That’s not going to happen. I have scruples.”
“I do too.”
She chuckled. “Like what?”
He thought for a moment. “I’ve never stolen someone else’s cutter.” Then he remembered that time in Shiprock when he’d stolen the commander’s vehicle.
Val must’ve noticed a change in his expression because her lips pursed. “Sure, you haven’t.”
He jutted out his chin. “Okay then, another one. I live by the Golden Rule.” Whoever pays makes the rules.
She eyed him for a moment before she spoke. “I didn’t keep you alive for your conversation—believe me, that alone is enough to kill you. I kept you alive because I’m in need of your services.”
He frowned. “You need a bounty hunter?”
She gave him a droll stare. “No, I kept you alive because I need an assassin.”
He bristled, then forced himself to relax. How could he deny what he was when he’d driven to Clearwater for the express purpose of killing the sheriff? He sighed again. “Who do you need killed?”
“The Sloan brothers, starting with Roderick Sloan.”
He raised his brow. “The murcs are best left to themselves. There’s nothing but trouble in going after one of theirs. And if this guy is anything like his brother, he’s a ruthless bugger who doesn’t take kindly to things not going his way.”
“Roderick Sloan is meaner than a snake, but Gabriel’s the brains of the pair. Roderick does all of Gabriel’s dirty work, so if we kill Roderick, then Gabriel will be forced to delay whatever he’s scheming. Roderick is also the easier of the two to get close to. The problem is, everyone around here knows my face. I can’t get close enough. But hardly anyone knows you’re here. You can do the job, and no one would be the wiser.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not that hard.”
Joe scrutinized her features. She looked damned sincere. “In case you haven’t noticed before, bounty hunters”—he gestured—“or assassins, if you will, aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by most folks. In fact, most will turn the other direction if they see me coming their way.”
“Get creative. You can get close to him by saying you have a ticket for Boris—that’s his new right-hand man. There’s no way Sloan would allow you to take his man away, and would be there to pay you off.”
“His new right-hand man? Let me guess. You had something to do with that change of employment status?”
Her lips thinned. “His predecessor tried out his new photon cannon on a dozen farmworkers just to see how well it worked.”
“Then he deserved whatever came upon him. But back to Sloan and Boris…those types of fellas most certainly aren’t fond of bounty hunters.”
“I haven’t found many to be fond of bounty hunters. Especially when they wear exoshields.”
“That’s because my armor’s saved my life more times than I can count.”
“You can count?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“I have to be able to count to know how many credits I’m getting paid to take out someone,” he replied without a hitch.
“Of course you do.”
Joe shrugged. “And if things go south—and they always go south—I prefer not to be caught in just my skivvies.”
She winced, as though the idea of him in underwear was a bad image, before waving him off. “Don’t worry. You’ll need your exoshield for this job.”
“You expect me to get shot at?”
She smirked. “Something like that.” She sobered then. “It doesn’t have to be messy. I can get you to the farm. From there, getting to the house at night won’t be hard. I have the full layout and everything you need, and I’ll pick you up as soon as the job is done.”
Sure, you will, Joe thought wryly to himself.
“I don’t care how you kill Sloan, just kill him. You’ll be doing the right thing. He’s been a blight on this town for too long.”
“So why don’t you just move and leave this all behind you?” he offered.
She scowled. “Far too many people have suffered or been killed under his command, and as his power grows, he’s starting to do the same to nearby towns. People are going to keep hurting as long as he’s in control. There’s only one way to stop a man like that.”
Joe considered mentioning that people like Sloan seemed to be heads of a giant hydra: kill one and two more come to take his place. Instead, he asked, “And what’s in it for me?”
“Easy. His life for your life.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” he said with a chuckle.
She said nothing.
He stood and watched her for a moment. “Let me get this straight. You’ll let me out of this cell, give me back my weapons, and let me walk out that door with just my word that I’ll kill Sloan.”
“That’s right. I’ll even do everything in my power to help you.”
“What’s to keep me from walking out that door and driving straight out of Clearwater and far away from you?”
Her lips curled upward into what resembled a smile but seemed far more sinister. “Because when I first came up behin
d you, I placed a PED on your back.”
Joe stiffened and tried to look over his shoulder to find the personal explosive device, but he couldn’t crane his neck far enough to see.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with how PEDs work. It’ll go off if you try to take off your armor. It’ll go off if something happens to me. It’ll go off if you get more than three thousand meters from me. Basically, it’ll go off any time I want it to go off.”
“Hey now, that’s not playing fair.”
“Oh, and you were playing fair when you snuck up behind my place to try to kill me?” she countered.
He knew his features were tight as he watched her, but he was no longer trying to hide his emotions. “How do I know you won’t kill me as soon as I finish the job?”
“Because I’m not like you. I keep my word.”
He scowled. “Just so you know, I keep my word, too.” He blew out a breath. “I’ll do it.” It wasn’t like he had any other choice.
She gave a small nod before walking to the cell and removing the hand restraint. “You have my word that if you kill Sloan, I’ll remove the PED, and you’ll be free to go.” She pressed a button on her desk, and the cell door opened.
Joe grabbed his helmet and carried it under his arm. “Even after Sloan’s dead, there’s no guarantee they won’t send another hunter after you to finish the contract.”
She laughed. “I look forward to them trying.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rex could hear the Iron Guild’s hunters in his vicinity, but he couldn’t see them. He lay on his back in a shallow hole, covered by his cloak and dirt on top of that. He relied on his helmet’s air filters to breathe. Even so, the air he inhaled was stale and heavy. Cat’s hunters, or “kittens” as Rex liked to call them, had been prowling a ten-mile radius around Copper Gulch nonstop since he blew up the woman’s vehicle. Evidently, he’d hit a nerve. He would’ve smiled except that he was too thirsty, too hungry, and too damn tired to do anything except lie in his hidey-hole.
