Sirian Summer (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 2)

by John Bowers

  Nick grunted and shook his head.

  “Tell me about Willard Kline.”

  Blake’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

  “What kind of man is he?”

  “Hell, you met him. What did you think?”

  Nick shook his head. “He was trying to impress me. I saw only what he wanted me to see. You’ve known him a lot longer.”

  Blake looked uncomfortable as he stared at his cigarette.

  “Why you want to know?”

  “Being the Marshal means knowing all you can about the area and its people. As near as I can tell, this town is Willard Kline. He built it, he owns it, nothing happens here that he doesn’t know about or approve of.”

  Blake leaned forward slightly.

  “You sayin’ Mr. Kline knows somethin’ about the murder?”

  “No, I’m talking about the town. For instance, nobody would open a business without Kline’s approval. Am I right?”

  Blake settled back.

  “That’s about right, I guess. He does keep his eye on the situation around town. That’s why he hired me. Hell, there ain’t no crime around here much; nobody would dare steal anything. The Gates murder is the only serious thing to happen since I’ve been here.”

  “How long is that?”

  “Seventeen years. I used to be a lawman back on Terra, before I came out here. Texas Rangers. When I came to Kline Corners Mr. Kline hired me to keep the drunks in line. Friday and Saturday nights are the only time I really have to work.”

  Nick smiled.

  “Well, I have to compliment you on how you handled the forensics on the murder. I read the reports. It was real professional.”

  Blake dipped his head in embarrassment.

  “Well, tell you the truth, Marshal, I called a friend up in New Dallas and he sent a couple of his investigators down. I knew the Federation would expect the best possible job.”

  Nick nodded. “That was smart of you.”

  Another silence, then Blake spoke again.

  “Mr. Kline, huh?”

  “Yeah. Did he design the town?” Nick asked.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve been around some, but I’ve never seen a modern town built entirely of wood. Starcrete and steel have been standard construction materials for centuries, but this place is like a museum, everything made of composite lumber. Any particular reason for that?”

  Blake laughed.

  “Yeah, that was Mr. Kline’s idea. He’s from Texas, just like me. He wanted this place to look like an Ancient West cow town. So he insisted everything be built as close as possible to match. Kind of eccentric, I guess, but it’s his toy.”

  Nick smiled encouragingly.

  “Mr. Kline is a good man. Honest and fair, tough when he has to be. None of his workers will cross him, I’ll tell you that. If he ever wanted to break the law they’d back him up, but he ain’t like that. His boys are the same way. Well, Willis is a little hot-headed, but he’s never caused any real trouble.”

  “What would you do if he did? His dad is your employer.”

  “I’d lock him up, same as anyone else. Mr. Kline was very clear about that—his boys get the same treatment as any other citizen.”

  Nick nodded approval. “Good attitude.”

  “Sure makes my life a lot easier. If he wanted to be a bad-ass about it, I could have a problem if one of the boys ever did act up. Course they never have.”

  “What’s Mrs. Kline like?”

  Blake shook his head sadly, staring out the window.

  “She died a long time ago. Natural causes.”

  Nick finished his coffee and set the cup on the desk. He leaned back and stretched.

  “Tell me about Constanza Valenzuela.”

  “Who?” Blake looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Fourteen years old, disappeared last year. Her mother works for the doctor.”

  “Oh.” Blake looked embarrassed. “Sure, I remember now. Pretty little serf girl. What about her?”

  “Any leads on what happened to her?”

  Blake shook his head slowly. “Nothing substantial. Prob’ly a runaway. Nobody saw anything and she never did turn up.” His eyes narrowed. “Why you askin’ about her? That was a local matter, not exactly a U.F. Marshal case.”

  Nick shrugged. “Found it in Gate’s files, didn’t know if it was important. Have any other girls gone missing?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Out in the villages maybe?”

  Blake shook his head. “If they did, that would be outside my jurisdiction. My duties are limited strictly to this town.”

  “You don’t oversee the county?”

  “There is no county. This isn’t like back home. Nothing is incorporated. It’s just Federation Territory. Everything outside of town belongs to you, not me.”

  Nick should have known that, he realized. He still had plenty to learn about Sirius.

  “Well, I think it’s about lunch time. Guess I’ll head over to the Vega. Thanks for the chat.”

  “Any time, Marshal. Anything I can help you with, just let me know.”

  Nick smiled. “You can count on it.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes after Nick left the sheriff’s office, the door opened again and Willard Kline walked in. He looked around casually, nodded to Blake, and settled easily into the same chair Nick had recently vacated.

  “How’s it going, Roy?”

  “Pretty good, Will. You?”

  “No complaints. Hot out there.”

  Blake nodded.

  “How you gettin’ on with the new marshal?” Kline asked pointedly.

  “No problem so far. Matter of fact, he was here just a little while ago.”

  “I know. I saw him leave. I was over at the Vega for a bit. He causing any trouble?”

  “Not yet. It’s only been one day, though.”

  Kline nodded soberly.

  “Keep an eye on him. I don’t want him starting anything. Every time we get a new Marshal we have to break him in right.”

  “This one may take some doin’,” Blake said. “He’s a cagey bastard.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He comes in here looking all defeated and sounds like he’s give up on the murder, then starts askin’ about that serf girl that went missin’ last year. Next thing I know he’s askin’ if any other girls are missing. Questions come out of nowhere.”

  “Curious son of a bitch, huh?”

  “He sure is. I don’t know if it’s natural to him or if he’s investigatin’ something. I sure as hell don’t like it.”

  Kline sat in thought for a few minutes.

  “Well, overconfidence may be his biggest problem, and our secret ally. Don’t give nothin’ away cheap. Make him work for it. Most likely he’ll give up after awhile. If he don’t, well…”

  Blake nodded, his eyes vacant. They both understood the alternative.

  * * *

  After lunch Nick returned to his office and pulled up SiriusWeb on the computer. Blake had lied to him. Dr. Taylor had specifically stated that she had informed the sheriff of five missing girls, but Blake claimed knowledge of only one. Nick’s initial instinct, that Blake could not be trusted, solidified.

  He spent twenty minutes searching the planetary web for missing girl reports, but the only ones he found involved white girls. Sirian law enforcement was not interested in crimes committed against…serfs. (God, how he hated that word!)

  Next he searched the web index for references to slavery, but found very little. Two hits in Missibama and another in Tennetucky advertised slaves for sale—which he hadn’t expected—and one clearly stated that the company behind the website would fill orders to spec if the desired product was not available. None of the pictures on display were of white women, nor were there any children. The company called itself Chocolate Treats.

  Nick gazed at the display with a stirring of dread in his bones. If Sirian society condoned this
kind of thing, the frontier civilization was moving in the wrong direction. He remembered talk not so long ago that Sirius might soon gain full independence from the Federation, which would eliminate any Federation influence over societal values. When that happened, as it surely must, would Sirius relapse into a state of barbarism?

  Shaking his head, he pulled up a list of Federation marshals on Sirius. Including Kline Corners, he found five offices, with a total of nine men assigned to them. One of the offices was located just south of the Missibama border—in the Outback.

  Nick placed a call.

  Chapter 8

  A U.F. Marshal cannot be all things to all people. You can’t be everywhere all the time, so don’t even try. Focus on your mission and let local law take care of local matters. Consider yourself lucky if you are even partially successful; after all, you’re only one man.

  Page 149, U.F. Marshal Handbook

  It was Friday night in Kline Corners. Cowboys poured in from the four corners of the Kline ranch, foremen and their families arrived in town, and like a dormant seed waiting for water the town suddenly mushroomed with life. Stores were open late to take advantage of shoppers and the two empty rooms at the hotel were promptly rented. Ranch vehicles and hovercars lined the street; people stood in knots along the sidewalks, visiting and catching up on the week’s news. But the greatest concentration of bodies was inside the Vega.

  Suzanne Norgaard always had three extra waitresses on weekends to handle the load. Every table was filled and people outside waited to get in. A serf combo on the stage played a combination of music—Vegan, Sirian country, and something less easy to define that could only be called serf music, fast and snappy with a definite Latin beat. Talk and laughter almost drowned out the music—in short, the Vega had a holiday atmosphere.

  Nathan Green came in with his parents before the tables were all filled and sat near the window. Kristina waited their table, pointedly ignoring Nathan, though the looks they gave each other spoke volumes.

  Suzanne kept a careful eye in that direction; Kristina had been forbidden to be alone with Nathan, and had told her mother they had cooled their relationship. But Suzanne had her doubts—she’d been young once, too. Her daughter had far too many of her own traits to be trusted.

  Another table, the one nearest the shrine to Sophia, was perhaps the loudest of all. Four bottles of liquor were rapidly dwindling, and though the four men sitting there were also eating heartily, the Lightning had a head start on their empty stomachs. The men were regulars on the weekend.

  Willis Kline was the loudest of them all. Suzanne had known him for years and knew him to be quick-tempered at the best of times, but when he was drinking all bets were off.

  Jason Kline was a different story. Younger than Willis by a good ten years, he hadn’t married yet, but whereas youthful exuberance is usually tempered with age, Jason was the antithesis of his brother—he was the quiet one.

  Gerald Graves was one of the head foremen on the Kline ranch, a hard case who could handle a serf uprising all by himself, if there were ever a need.

  The fourth man was Sheriff Blake.

  Suzanne busied herself between the bar and the kitchen, making sure the orders were getting done on time and supervising the waitresses. Kristina hustled tables taking orders, delivering food, pouring coffee, and clearing dishes. She tried not to be obvious about it, but managed to spend as much time at the Greens’ table as all the rest combined.

  By the time those at the corner table had finished dinner, Willis Kline and Gerald Graves were as drunk as Suzanne had ever seen them. They’d been drinking Lightning for over an hour before the meal. They were swapping boisterous stories and smoking cigarettes when Kristina arrived to clear their table, and she couldn’t have picked a worse moment.

  As she leaned over the table to lift the dirty dishes, Willis Kline winked at Graves and slid his right hand up her thigh and under her skirt.

  Kristina had just lifted the stack of plates and reacted instinctively, jerking upright with a squeal and losing the plates, which cascaded into Kline’s lap.

  Kline leaped to his feet in sudden fury, grabbed the girl and shook her, then slapped her soundly. Kristina screamed in panic and tried to throw up her hands to cover her face, but Kline shoved her face down against the table, grabbed her by the hair and began slamming her forehead down again and again.

  It all happened in five seconds’ time, too fast for anyone to react. Suzanne leaped around the end of the bar, but was too slow. Someone else was already there, and Willis Kline was catapulted across the stage, crashing into band instruments, as Nathan Green hit him like a railsled.

  “Get your hands off her, you goddamned pervert!” Nathan screamed, and as Kline struggled to his feet the boy knocked him down again, and then again.

  Kline was reaching for his laser pistol when Gerald Graves grabbed Nathan from behind and twisted him to the floor, punching him brutally with short, hard jabs to the stomach and kidneys.

  Nathan struggled like a hypercat, but couldn’t get free of the older man, and suddenly found himself helpless before both Graves and Willis Kline.

  Suzanne had reached the table by then and pulled Kristina away, holding her even though the girl was screaming hysterically at the men to release Nathan. Across the club Nathan’s parents were staring in horror. Everyone else seemed paralyzed, and Suzanne turned to Blake in cold fury.

  “Do something, Sheriff!”

  Blake got unsteadily to his feet, as if just remembering that he was the sheriff.

  Kline was beating the boy with his laser pistol and blood was spurting across the floor.

  “That’ll do, Willis!” Blake said. “Let him go!”

  Kline either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He hauled Nathan to his feet, where he sagged into Graves’s arms, and began hammering him with his fists.

  “I said let him go, Willis!” But Blake didn’t move from where he stood.

  Jason Kline, realizing Willis wasn’t going to stop, rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. Willis shook his brother off and returned to his task, but Jason lunged again and the two men struggled, finally crashing to the floor and upsetting a nearby table. Willis Kline’s alcohol intake and the sudden exertion finally caught up with him—his younger brother managed to pin him and hold him.

  “God damn it, Willis! You’re gonna kill the kid!”

  “I will kill the little bastard!” Willis panted, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Lemme go!”

  But Jason held him down, turning his head to look at Blake.

  “Get over here, goddammit! Help me!”

  Blake obeyed, and between them they got Kline to his feet and pushed him toward the door. Everyone in the club was staring in disbelief as they passed, but Suzanne stopped them at the exit, pushing in front of Willis Kline, her green eyes blazing with anger.

  “Willis, if you ever touch my daughter again I will personally cut your balls off! Do you hear me?”

  Kline stared at her a second, spat blood on the floor, then his lip twisted into a sneer.

  “Fuck you, Suzanne!”

  “Only in your wet dreams, cowboy!”

  “You seem to forget who you’re talking to.”

  “No I haven’t! You have! If I tell your daddy about this incident you’ll wish I hadn’t. He has a vested interest in this place and what goes on around here. He’ll rip off your skin and salt it for you. You know he will. Now you get your stupid ass out of here, and when you come back you act like a gentleman, or you’re finished! I won’t tell you twice.”

  Willis stared uncomfortably at her, more than a little cowed by the threat of his father finding out. He wanted to keep up the bravado, but she had him treed and he knew it. He ground his teeth shut and pushed on out the door.

  “I’m sorry, Suzanne,” Jason Kline said. He stared at her with hollow eyes, and she just nodded.

  “Thanks for stopping him,” she said, her voice only slightly less frigid.

>   As Jason followed his brother outside, Suzanne turned and marched back across the room to where Gerald Graves was picking up his hat. He saw her and started to grin, but she stunned him with an open-handed slap across the face that cracked like an electro-whip.

  “I don’t want to see you in here for thirty days!” she hissed at him. “And when you come back, you will protect my daughter if she’s ever mistreated again.”

  “Suzanne, for God’s sake…”

  “Shut up! You say one more word and I’ll tell Mr. Kline that you stood by and let Willis molest Kristina. You wouldn’t like what would happen next! Do we understand each other?”

  Graves stared at her for long seconds, twisting his hat rapidly in his hands. Finally he swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Sure, Suzanne. I’m sorry.”

  “All right. Get out. And don’t come back for a month. A whole month!”

  He left quickly, painfully aware of the stares and whispers from the other customers. Suzanne then advanced on Roy Blake and stood nose to nose with him.

  “You son of a bitch!” she spat. “What the fuck were you thinking!”

  “Jesus, Suzanne, I…”

  “You fucking hand puppet!”

  “Hey, now look…”

  “Get out! If you can’t keep peace in here, then don’t come in at all!”

  Blake didn’t know what to do. He was the sheriff, he should be shown some respect—especially in front of all these people. But she was Suzanne Norgaard, and though she was just a woman, no one in Kline Corners had ever been able to stand up to her. He wasn’t brave enough to be the first.

  He cleared his throat uncertainly. “I’ll come back and talk to you when you’ve calmed down…”

  “I am calm, goddammit! Get out before I lose my temper!”

  Blake turned and beat a hasty retreat, and finally it was over.

  Almost.

  The Greens had picked up their son and set him down on the stage, where the band members stood awkwardly around wondering what the hell to do.

  Kristina sat next to Nathan, pressing against him, alternately mopping his face with a towel and kissing any place she could find that wasn’t bruised or cut or bleeding.