Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  “So, what do you think, huntress?”

  “I…think…I’m gonna be sick!” Izabel leaned over and puked into the water. A nimble waitress swerved to avoid her spewing.

  “Wow!” Conlan laughed “This really is your first time on Aquila.”

  When Izabel was sure there wasn’t anymore puke coming, she splashed water on her face and turned back to the table. Conlan was smiling. Her vision was slightly blurry and her head felt like it was the size of a watermelon…a rotten one. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re a bit short, a little mouthy, not to mention a two-legger.”

  She opened her eyes long enough to give him her meanest “Go to Hell” look.

  “Nitrogen narcosis,” he answered.

  “What?”

  “We’re fifteen hundred feet below the surface, huntress. Your body’s not used to the pressure.”

  A merfolk waiter appeared in the water next to their booth. Thank goodness it wasn’t the server she had nearly puked on.

  “Good evening, what can I get you?”

  “A Gaijin for the lady and I’ll have a Cranberry Vodka.”

  With a nod of his head and a wave of his tail, the waiter was gone.

  “I don’t…want a drink,” said Izabel.

  “Yes, you do. It’ll cure your symptoms.”

  Roughly, twelve shooting spikes of pain later, the waiter returned with their drinks. Gripping the mug with both hands, Izabel sipped tentatively. If she had been a betting gal she would’ve lost serious credits on whether or not her drink would actually cure her aliments. Just the first sip alone dropped her triple vision down to double. It tasted bitter and thick like syrup. She tipped the mug back again. Not a sip this time, but a gulp. One a Giant could be proud of. The liquid oozed slowly down her throat. She closed her eyes and forced herself to drain the entire mug. When she opened them again, her vision had cleared and so had her head.

  “Better?” Conlan asked.

  “Mucho.”

  “So, how do you intend to find your kameleon?”

  “I need to talk to the owner,” Izabel said.

  “That would be Shardae.” Shardae? Not Wren? Hmm.

  “How do I find this Shardae?”

  “You don’t. I’ll summon her.”

  Summon? Izabel narrowed her eyes at him. She’d had to intimidate him to get him down here and now that they were here he was offering to hand deliver the owner.

  “Why so charitable all of the sudden?”

  “Just trying to aid an enforcer of the law, any way I can.” His innocent facial expressions and body language were betrayed by the smugness in his voice. She didn’t know what kind of game he was dealing. But she decided to play.

  “Okay. Summon her.”

  Conlan polished off his beverage and then signaled their waiter. But instead of ordering another drink he said, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course, sir. You’re Prince Conlan Curry, son of King Garson of the Emerald Enforcers.”

  “Good. Would you inform Shardae that I’m here and that I would like to speak with her at her earliest connivence.”

  “Certainly.”

  The waiter left and Conlan fixed his gaze on Izabel. The smugness in his voice had captured the rest of his body and infected his aura.

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?”she asked. Truthfully, she was impressed but not with Conlan, with herself. She’d convinced a Merfolk Prince of all people that she was a real a bounty hunter and she’d done it with a stolen badge and a name like Skye Duffy, no less.

  “I’m way too humble to try to impress a bounty hunter.” He was still smiling and still staring. Suddenly she was aware of the way her wet clothes were clinging to her bosom. She crossed her arms and looked away; at the bar, at the other tables and at the marine life swimming outside the opaque walls. At anything other than the smug and incredibly handsome half-naked man sitting across from her.

  “Shall I order something to eat, while we wait?”

  Food? God, even the thought of it made her mouth water. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Hours? But it felt like days. She didn’t like losing track of meals. And this was starting to become a habit and she liked that even less.

  “Sure, I could eat.”

  Conlan ordered steak fajitas that came out on a sizzling pan. Izabel ordered a Triple Sampler, that consisted of crispy chicken fingers, spicy egg rolls that were to die for, and sliced potatoes smothered in melted cheddar. She washed her delicious meal down with not one but three cherry cokes. Their waiter was burning as many calories as she ate.

  “Uh, where’s the restroom?”Izabel asked. In hindsight, three sodas didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Over there.”

  Izabel looked to where Conlan had pointed. There was a door next to the bar with a neon PRIVY sign hanging above it. She got to her feet and froze. She had momentarily forgotten that the booth and the restroom were separated by flowing water. If she had to swim, she’d never make it. The only thing worse than hearing running water while you had to pee was swimming in it. Suddenly the entire booth lurched forward. She had to grab on to the table to keep from falling in. She looked around at Conlan and found an empty seat staring back at her.

  “Conlan?”

  “Down here.”

  Startled, she looked down and saw Conlan swimming next to their booth. No, he wasn’t swimming next to it. He was propelling it, directly towards the restroom. When they were about five feet from the privy Conlan climbed back on board and their momentum carried them the rest of the way. There was a slight jolt as the rubber bumper on the bottom of the booth collided with the landing’s bumper. Izabel grabbed the railing and pulled herself up onto the landing. Thankful to be back on solid ground, she strolled over to the restroom and stepped through the door.

  Three minutes later Izabel emerged from the restroom and stopped dead in her tracks. The mermaid sitting at the booth with Conlan was the spitting image of the syren Fiske had imitated. Same ruby colored eyes. Same locks of hair that were so red they seemed to be on fire. Same unblemished skin; so fair, so perfect. She was breathtaking. And she was staring at Izabel. Probably because Izabel was staring at her. Izabel looked down as she grabbed the railing and boarded the floating booth.

  “Skye Duffy, this is Shardae McCready, owner of The Pearl Casino,” said Conlan when Izabel sat down. Shardae offered her hand and Izabel shook it. But her attention was on the hideous scar running across Shardae’s neck. It was an old wound. The scar tissue was knotted and thick. Fiske’s imitation hadn’t had the scar and Izabel didn’t know how you got Wren out of Shardae. But it had to be the same woman. Everything else was a perfect match.

  “Prince Conlan tells me you’re a bounty hunter,” said Shardae. “Do you mind if I see some ID?” Okay, so the voice wasn’t the same either. Fiske’s version of Wren had been sultry. Shardae’s voice was raspy. But look at that freaking scar. It was a miracle she was still alive. Of course her voice would be screwed up. Izabel suddenly felt very sorry for her. Syrens were famous for their singing. If Shardae’s speaking voice was that distorted then it was probably impossible for her to sing.

  “Uh…sure,” said Izabel fumbling Roe’s badge out of her pocket.

  “Okay. What can I do for you, Ms. Duffy?” asked Shardae, after a cursory glance at the badge.

  “I’m tracking a kameleon named Griffon Andrews. He received a 200,000 payout on the fifteenth of last month from this casino. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to see the video log of him earning his winnings.”

  “That was nearly a month ago. I don’t understand how the video log could help you find him now,” said Shardae.

  Damn. This chick was smart. No wonder Roe fancied her. “Leave no stone unturned. Sort of thing,” Izabel said.

  “Very thorough. The life of a bounty hunter must be exhausting,” mused Shardae. Izabel forced herself to meet the merm
aid’s fiery gaze.

  “It ain’t for everyone. That’s for sure.”

  “I must admit you don’t look like a typical bounty hunter,” said Shardae.

  “Oh, she’s tougher than she looks,” offered Conlan.

  “Is she?”A smirk was starting to form at the corners of Shardae’s mouth. It wasn’t a pleasant smirk. It was a dangerous one. Izabel didn’t know where she’d gone wrong but Shardae wasn’t drinking any of the Skye Duffy, Bounty Hunter Extraordinaire’s cool-aid. The way she saw it. She had two options. Bluff or bail. If she bailed then she’d be right back at square one. And, that just wasn’t an option. Izabel stood up and made a show of slamming her hands on the table. It had the desired effect.

  “Listen bitch, if you don’t show me that video log, you’re gonna find out just how tough I can be.” There. That should shut the mermaid’s trap.

  It didn’t work.

  Izabel saw Shardae’s jaw muscles dance and then the mermaid lunged at her. Izabel didn’t even have time to gasp. Shardae cleared the table and slammed full-force into her. Both women fell backwards into the water. Izabel was so preoccupied with fighting back that by the time she realized what Shardae was doing it was too late. The mermaid had locked her arms around Izabel’s neck and was diving for deeper water. She tried to break free but the mermaid was twice as strong as her. Izabel was along for the ride and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Shardae exited the casino the same way they’d come in and then she dived.

  And dived.

  And dived.

  The water grew cold…and black. Her oxygen starved lungs were on fire. The only relief was that she was starting to lose consciousness. She was going to die and no one would know the truth. Her father and her would both become statistics. Him; just another rockstar that had succumbed to the pressures of fame and taken his own life. Her; just another senseless two-legger that had wandered into Merfolk waters and never returned.

  LARKIN

  LARKIN GRUNDY HATED sunglasses, but he hated night vision shades even more. He wasn’t one of those freaks that couldn’t stand having something touching their face. Claustrophobia and comfortability weren’t the problem. The first issue was the way the shades conformed to his face and irritated his cheek laceration. The second problem was that G heads moved around by bouncing off of things, having your peripheral vision taken away was like trying to walk with a broken leg. But for anyone other than a vampyr, it was impossible to navigate through the port of NOS482 without them. So he wore his shades through the dark tunnels and he made it a habit to constantly turn his head from side to side. All the extra effort was causing the muscles in neck to ache and he longed for the blonde vampyr in the sheer gown. She hadn’t massaged anything but his groin but he knew that massage techniques were required skills for every prostitute. In fact, as he bounded through the dark tunnels, he thought he could still smell her cherry blossom perfume. The scent must’ve rubbed off on his coat when she’d undressed him.

  Smiling at the thought of the hooker’s perfect naked body, Larkin rounded a corner and nearly floated into a couple of vampyrs that were feeding on a brown ogress. The coppery scent of freshly spilled blood devoured all hint of cherry blossom in the air. Larkin planted both feet on the wall, careful to avoid stepping in what could only be blood from the ogress’ carotid artery, and quickly bounced past them. He had no desire to become their dessert.

  Upon entering docking bay 81 where his cruiser was docked, the scent of cherry blossoms returned tenfold. He realized that prostitutes were a bit like dessert themselves. They gave you a tremendous high while you enjoyed them but then you felt low and guilty afterwards. Well, some people felt that way, but not Larkin. To him prostitution was a service, no different from paying for a cruiser wash. So, why in the galaxy was this one whore lingering in his mind? He brought himself up short and nearly gasped.

  Only nearly.

  Leaning against one of the landing struts of his cruiser was the blonde vampyr. She had one foot propped against the strut and this exposed her knee and a good portion of thigh through the slit in her sheer gown.

  “I hope you’re not trying to change my mind about the blood,” he said with a smile. With most prostitutes, only two forms of payment were accepted: credits or morphagens. But with vampyrs there was a third option…blood. Larkin had passed on this offer. He preferred to keep his blood inside his veins and out of the mouths of vampyrs. No matter how ridiculously sexy they were.

  “No, how the client pays is their choice,” she said, returning his smile. Even the green glow of night vision couldn’t mask her beauty. She’s galactic brothel material for sure, he thought as he slowly lowered himself to the concrete. The ache in his loins erasing the memory of the ache in his neck.

  “Then what are you doin’ here darling?” he asked.

  “I thought you might want a travel companion,” she answered. “At a discounted rate of course.”

  “Wish I could. But I’ve got important business to tend to.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” she pouted. It was adorable and Larkin almost changed his mind. But then he saw the whore’s eyes glance at something behind him. Instinctively, Larkin launched himself into the air and the something behind him rushed forward into the space he had just vacated. The something was a someone. Someone with enlarged incisors. But this wasn’t Larkin’s first dance with the undead. He was prepared. He drew his revolver and fired.

  BANG!

  The silver cap and mahogany bullet of his anti-vampyr rounds nearly decapitated his would-be attacker in a spectacular spray of blood, skull fragments, and grey matter.

  Still floating in the air, Larkin leveled his gun at the blonde vampyr who was now cowering behind the landing strut.

  “Please,” she begged, “I’m sorry!”

  “That sun has set darlin’. Now, c’mon on out so I don’t accidentally hit my ship. She’s new.”

  To Larkin’s surprise, the whore actually came out from behind the strut. She was hugging herself and her entire body was trembling with fear. There was no sign of the sexy goddess from earlier. She was just a scared girl that was hoping her life would be spared. She was hoping in vain. He was going to find out why she had tried kill him and then he was going to put a bullet through her cold and bloodless heart.

  “Why’d you ambush me?” he asked.

  Before she could answer, another vampyr shot out of the darkness at him. He fired at the last moment but his shot went wide. The force of the blow, combined with the effects of his addiction, carried him and his attacker across the docking bay and into the far wall. His revolver slipped from his grasp and clattered noisily on the cement. For the second time that night, Larkin found himself pinned against the wall by a sexy vampyr chick. But this time it wasn’t a prostitute. It was Agent Barstow and the saliva dripping off her incisors was as serious as the starch in her uniform.

  “No need a for citation officer. A warning will suffice,” Larkin snarked. Agent Barstow responded by trying to sink her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. He elbowed her across the jaw hard enough to bust her lip. She snarled in anger then reared back for another bite. A bigger deeper bite. Larkin didn’t think Agent Barstow was interested in turning a G fiend into a blood addict. She was after death…his. If he was going to survive long enough to find out why then he needed to do something. Quickly.

  He grabbed his attacker by the throat with his left hand. Her neck was thin and his elongated fingers almost touched at the back. With his right hand, he retrieved a garlic grenade from his bandolier beneath his trench coat and flipped the pin. Thick garlic scented fumes spewed into the air. Agent Barstow howled in agony as the garlic worked its magic, burning every inch of her that came in contact with the fumes. He released his grip and she fell writhing to the floor. The grenade was only half empty so he tossed it next to Agent Barstow where it could continue to torment her until the end of its existence. Her cries, which had subsided to a murmur intensified t
o full-out shrieks. It was music to his ears. He placed a second garlic grenade on the floor in front of the exit. The fumes clouded the entire doorway. He didn’t want any newcomers joining the party but he didn’t want any the guests leaving either. He still intended to question Agent Barstow and that blonde bitch if she was still around.

  But first he needed to make sure that there weren’t any more of the suckers lurking in the dark. He scooped up his dropped revolver and then propelled himself from the floor to the top of his cruiser. Crouched above the cockpit, Larkin discarded his night vision shades and then used his remote control to turn the cruiser’s headlights on. This resulted in a fresh outcry from Agent Barstow as the light found her. The ship’s high beams illuminated the entire west end of docking bay 81, revealing that there were no more vampyrs in that direction. Agent Bitch was alone in her suffering.

  Also at Larkin’s disposal was the cruiser’s landing lights. He pressed the button and was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal that came from somewhere under the cruiser. Apparently, instead of fleeing the blonde whore had sought refuge in the shadows of his ship. Now that darkness was being flooded with light, painful burning light. Smiling, he readied his revolver and waited for the prostitute to emerge. She did and he shot her in the back. She tumbled to the floor and he saw that the bullet’s exit wound had ruined her perfect breasts. He shot her a second time to make sure she stayed down and then a third time purely out of spite. He waited a few more minutes to see if any more vampyrs would come scrambling out. None did.

  So, he floated over to the smoking ruin that was Agent Barstow, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her in the only dark corner remaining in the entire bay. Larkin added to the vampyr’s list of burns, when he pressed the barrel of his revolver against the quivering agent’s forehead. She gasped but it was very weak. She was on the verge of losing consciousness. He had to hurry if he was going to get any useful information out of her.