by James Axler
But right now, she had little option. If she uttered a word of what she knew to Trader, it would be J.B.’s balls dragged across hot coals. Baron Emmerton prized his man Luke, and anything that upset the taciturn and moody bastard would bounce right back to the convoy.
She had tried to broach the subject with J.B., but the Armorer had proved oblivious to subtlety. Hunn and subtlety: another concept that was alien, but which she had been straining her tits off to achieve. And, in truth, the strain was getting too much. She didn’t know what was going on between Emmerton and Trader that it was taking them so long to get the hell out of the ville, but it had better be resolved before too long. Because if Luke didn’t catch on, and J.B. didn’t make it even more obvious, then she sure as hell was going to explode.
J.B. CONTINUED TO HANG around at Luke’s workshop, but he was starting to get the feeling that he wasn’t wanted. When the two men weren’t discussing the ins and outs of ordnance maintenance, then they had maintained a companionable silence while they worked, or watched each other at work. But over the last day or two, the Armorer had felt that the silences were a little strained, as though Luke didn’t want him there. Of course, Luke wouldn’t say anything. And J.B. was loathe to broach anything that went deeper than ordnance details. So they sat in silence, prickly and awkward, until J.B.—puzzled—could stand it no longer.
“Luke, I get the feeling that there’s something that’s bothering you,” he said tentatively.
The taciturn man turned his head to look at J.B., pushed his backward baseball cap back and scratched his hairline. At length, he said quietly, “You reckon?”
J.B. furrowed his brow. “Yeah. I’d say so.”
“And you’d not be knowing what that is?”
Luke was looking at the Armorer as though it was a question for which he would know the answer. But, J.B. mused, how was he supposed to know what was going on in Luke’s head? Sure, they got on, but he’d only known him for a short time.
“No,” was the only response he could muster, after some time.
Luke studied him carefully. The only time J.B. had seen the big man look like that before was when he was disman tling an ancient Gatling, trying to pry rust from the mechanism. It was a study that intense.
Why?
The Armorer’s genuine puzzlement had to have been obvious, even to a man who spent more time on the study of machine than of man. Luke shook his head, snorted softly.
“This woman you’ve been spending time with…” He let it hang, waiting for J.B. to speak.
“Yeah, there is a woman. Her name’s Laurel. Says her old man is neglecting her. Never known anyone like her…” As the words tumbled out, J.B. wondered why he was telling Luke this. He hadn’t mentioned her to anyone else, and only Hunn knew that they had even met. Laurel had been adamant that he say nothing, which he hadn’t, up till now. Come to that, why should Luke want to know? Was he in some way envious of losing the Armorer’s company? Of sharing him? J.B. had encountered men who liked other men, but he’d never have put Luke down as one of them. Not that it mattered, it was just that—
His train of thought was interrupted. Luke said, “That’s all you know? That she has some guy who she says is neglecting her? You don’t know who he is, though?”
J.B. shook his head. He was aware that Luke was still staring intently at him. It was, to say the least, unnerving. Incomprehensible.
Luke gave the briefest of nods. “Yeah. That figures.”
“What figures?”
Luke shrugged. “She’d have to be stupe to tell you. That way you can’t think twice.”
J.B. frowned. “Like I should? Is there something that I should know here? Like who this guy is? Like there’s some kind of deep shitpit that she could land me—or Trader—in?”
Luke laughed, but there was little humor in it. “No, J.B., no. There’s no shitpit as far as I can see. And I guess it serves this guy right.”
“So you know her?”
“Yeah,” Luke said slowly, “I know of her…Mebbe she’s right. Guess it’s not doing any harm as long as she keeps it quiet. But be careful. You never know with people.”
It was Luke’s last word on the subject. He returned to the weapon upon which he had been working, and said little more on anything. The atmosphere had changed. J.B. could feel it. But if anything, it had become more uncomfortable. It was not long before the Armorer had made an excuse to leave.
The feeling of unease lingered no longer than it took him to see Laurel, waiting and beckoning to him from a street corner.
He didn’t see Hunn. He didn’t see Luke follow him out, and watch him go.
“Aw, fuck, this isn’t gonna go away, is it?” Hunn muttered to herself.
“THAT FAT BASTARD is up to something, boss,” Abe said as he and Trader left their latest audience with Emmerton. “He has to be. Why the fuck else would he change overnight like that?”
Trader shook his head. “I dunno. But the greasy ratfuck son of a bitch is starting to piss me off big-time. He carries on like this and I won’t be coming through his shitty little ville again. Fuck the east, Abe, it ain’t worth the bother.”
Abe knew that Emmerton’s attitude had really gotten to Trader. It was unlike a man who had based his entire reputation and accumulation of wealth on thoroughness and a willingness to go where others wouldn’t to simply dismiss a part of the lands that were neglected by other traders for no other reason than the actions of one man.
Over the last few days, the fat man had stopped trying to persuade Trader that it would be good for J. B. Dix to stay in Hollowstar and work with Luke. And, conversely, he was no longer worried about his man Luke wanting to join the convoy. If anything, he was demanding greater tithes from Trader for the dubious pleasure of passing through to the wastes beyond the toll road. Tithes that were getting so large, it would not be too long before Trader would be better off turning back.
That was if Emmerton would let him. For, along with this demand for increased payment, there was an underlying threat that Emmerton would not let the convoy pass. At times, he seemed so angered by their presence that it was almost as if he were trying to taunt Trader into a situation that would lead to combat.
Now, Abe knew that Trader would have every confidence in his people being able to wipe the very floor with anything that Emmerton had to throw at them, even granted that they were in the middle of what would rapidly become enemy territory. But there would be some casualties, and some damage. And that would cost jack, one way or another. There was no way that Trader would willingly put himself in a position where a trip would make a loss. As it was, they stood to be doing this for no profit. And that was biting at Trader. Abe could see this.
“There’s something underlying everything that fat fuck is doing,” Trader said as they made their way back to the convoy. “I don’t know what it is, yet, but I’m gonna find out. Something has got up his fat ass and is burrowing under his skin.”
“Shit, boss, I don’t wanna think about that.” Abe gulped. He was now cursed with a mental picture that made him want to heave.
Trader allowed himself a smile that was rare over the past few days. “Hey, I get these ideas, I don’t want to be the only one to suffer,” he said, his humor—at least temporarily—improved. “We’ve got to find out what’s bugging him.”
“Yeah, and how are we supposed to do that without getting him or his sec suspicious?” Abe asked as they approached the convoy.
Trader tugged at his ear. “Tell you the truth, I figure that it’s too late for that. Something one of us has done, or is doing, has pissed him off. And if he’s already pissed, I don’t see how we can really make it worse. Besides which, if I’m right in figuring that it’s something that one of us has done, then all we have to do is look among ourselves.”
Abe sighed. “Yeah, and we know the first place to look, right?”
Trader nodded. “I know J.B.’s said nothing about her, but those two are tighter than a rat’s ass wh
en a randy dog comes calling.”
Not for the first time, Abe was puzzled about where Trader got these sayings. Were they from the old predark shit he used to read, or did he just make them up?
Back in the bosom of the convoy, a few inquiries re vealed that neither J.B. nor Hunn had been seen for some time. Trader dispatched those convoy members not engaged on routine maintenance duties to search and find. While they were still out, Hunn appeared in the fenced-in patch of land that was used as a wag park, and where the convoy was based on every trip to Hollowstar. She was alone, and seemed lost in thought.
“Hunn, where the fuck you been?” Abe asked as he approached her.
“Nowhere that’s any of your damn’ business,” she answered, immediately on the defensive.
“Ain’t mine, but it’s Trader’s,” he replied. “Anyways, where’s J.B.? He’s supposed to be your shadow.”
She shook her head. “That right? If only it was that simple.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively.
“Better let Trader be the judge of that,” Abe mused. “Go see him now. Things are really fucked up, and until he finds out exactly what you and J.B. have been up to—”
“Why would it be us? And what the fuck, exactly, does he think has been going down?”
Abe shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Just go. Can’t remember the last time I saw him like this.”
Hunn left him with a heavy heart, echoed by her dragging feet as she approached War Wag One. It was deserted apart from Trader, who was trying but failing to enjoy a cigar. Given his love for them, and their scarcity, it was a sign of how angered and annoyed he was. This impression was only confirmed by his tone, and the gleam in his eye, as he greeted her.
“So, what the fuck you been doing now?”
“Ah, nothing…I mean, it’s not me, is it…But…”
Trader looked at her, confusion written large on his face. “What the hell are you babbling on about? Shit, woman, all the time you’ve ridden with us, I’ve never known you to be like this.”
She sighed, rubbed the heel of her hand over her cropped head. “Look, it’s not like he knows. He wouldn’t have fucked up like this if he’d had any idea. Besides, he likes the guy, so it’s not like he’s gonna—”
Trader sat forward. He spoke softly, but with a tone that emphasized his firmness and his barely contained anger.
“Hunn, what has J.B. been doing that he’s so unaware of? Tell me. Our getting out of here in one piece could depend on it.”
So Hunn began, hesitantly at first and then warming to her theme, to tell Trader about what she had observed—from the first encounter in the bar, to the last time she had seen J.B. walk out of Luke’s shop and into Laurel’s waiting embrace.
When she had finished, Trader sat back and whistled. “Shit, that explains why Emmerton is so pissed. If Luke stops being the armament genius he is, then that’s a lot of Hollowstar’s prestige and jack down the shitter. And what’s gonna piss a man off more than his wife being screwed senseless by the man he calls friend?”
“Yeah, but J.B. really doesn’t know.”
Trader looked at her. “How can you be sure?”
Hunn sighed. “C’mon, boss, you know J.B. like I do. He ain’t that sort of man. Hell, he’s hardly interested in women at all, let alone the kind of pussyhound who chases other men’s women. And he’s a loyal friend. No—” she shook her head again “—you can bet your ass that the bitch hasn’t told him who her old man is. And if Luke’s anything like J.B., he’s gonna suffer in silence until we go. He ain’t gonna blame J.B., but it’s all gonna go off big-time once we’re out of here.”
“Or before, if Emmerton’s temper doesn’t hold,” Trader mused. “I can’t work out what he wants. Why didn’t he say something, if he knows this is going on?”
“Mebbe he thinks you know, and it’s shit on your shoes that you have to clean up,” Hunn offered.
Trader winced. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. You’re right. But it’s not what I wanted to hear at all. So I’m figuring that you know where J.B. is right now?” She nodded. “And you’re here because he’s going to be some time, yeah?” She nodded again. Trader breathed in heavily, rubbing his hand across his brow as though trying to alleviate a headache; which, in many senses, was exactly what he was doing.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
He was out of War Wag One and crossing the fenced-in compound before Hunn had a chance to draw breath and follow him. She had to run to catch up as he reached the gates, looking over his shoulder. He waited for her to catch up, allowing her to overtake him and lead the way.
They walked in silence through the bustle of late-afternoon Hollowstar. Around them, the inhabitants of the ville went about their everyday business as though nothing of any import was about to happen. Which, in truth, was true. It was only for Trader and his people that events about to unfurl would have any impact, either positive or negative.
Hunn knew exactly where she was going. As Trader followed her, he wondered how long she had been letting this go on. Stupe bitch should have known it would lead to trouble, he thought. And the funniest thing was, although she was loyal to the convoy, he had never known her carry a personal loyalty like she did with J. B. Dix. Hunn never stopped surprising him; but in truth she was nothing next to the bundle of shock the Armorer had turned out to be.
By this time, they were on the edge of the ville, moving out toward where the cinder-block buildings around the tollbooth were the delineating feature. There were a few dwellings scattered around these parts, but they were moving away from the main bulk of the population. Which, Trader guessed, was the point of the woman bringing J.B. here. They wouldn’t be easily disturbed. It couldn’t have been caution, as she didn’t sound as though she’d been too careful about snaring him.
“You should have told me sooner,” Trader said in an undertone as they approached a one-story house with a wood porch.
“Why? I didn’t know that porky creep Emmerton knew. Shit, I still don’t know how he tumbled to it. I haven’t seen any of his sec.”
“He doesn’t need sec for this. Everyone in this pesthole pulls together. Always have done. A word here, a word there, and—”
Trader was stayed by a raised hand. With a gesture, Hunn indicated that they move forward in silence. Fair enough, Trader figured. Hunn was the hunter, the fighter. And if they wanted to catch J.B. and the bitch unawares…
He could hear them talking as he approached the win dow. J.B.’s voice, low and soft. He couldn’t make out what the Armorer said. Then her voice in reply, higher and clearer, but with a honeyed tone that—before he even saw her—made him realize why J.B. had been so easily led.
“You know I can’t, hon. There are just reasons that mean I can’t leave. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just—”
More low mumbling from J.B. Then Laurel replied, “I can’t tell you. Not yet. mebbe not ever. But there are things that keep me here, and there’s nothing that can change that. No matter what I do or don’t want.”
Trader looked at Hunn. She mimed putting two fingers down her throat and gagging, leaving him in no doubt as to her opinion.
He shook his head. Now was not the time. He gestured to her to go ahead. He wanted to take the Armorer by surprise, but knew that even in such moments, J.B. would never have a blaster too far from reach; more, J.B.’s reflexes were such that he wouldn’t want to test them. Especially not with himself or Hunn in the front line.
Hunn approached the door, making no attempt to disguise or deaden her footsteps. Trader allowed himself a wry grin: Hunn had obviously had the same thought. Even as he smiled, he heard a muffled exclamation from the woman, and a silence that was unnatural compared to what had gone before.
Hunn banged on the door. “J.B., it’s me. Stop dicking around and open the fucking door before I lose my temper and blow the fucker of
f its hinges.” She was met with silence, and turned to Trader with an expression that was part anger, part exasperation.
“J.B., do it. She’s not screwing around, and neither am I,” Trader said in a level voice.
There were scuffling sounds from inside, and after a few moments the front door opened, revealing an owlishly blinking J. B. Dix, astoundingly hatless, and still attempting to dress himself. He looked hassled, which was a new one on Trader.
Hunn pushed past J.B. and into the building.
“Where the fuck is she?” she barked.
“Who?” J.B. asked. His tone of voice, however, betrayed that even he didn’t think he was going to get away with that one.
Trader sighed. “Don’t fuck around, son. The woman. Where is she?”
J.B. looked at Trader. Ellipitically, he mouthed, “First Luke, and now you. What is it about Laurel that’s so damned important?”
Trader was about to speak when Hunn reappeared, dragging Laurel behind her. Even half upright and with her hair in Hunn’s fist, Trader could see why she had captivated J.B. That look, with that voice…Hell, he couldn’t blame the boy…
“What the fuck are you doing?” J.B. yelled, on seeing Laurel in Hunn’s grasp. He lunged toward them, but was restrained by Trader’s strong grasp.
“Easy, son, easy,” Trader muttered.
J.B. looked at him, bewildered. “What has she done? Dark night, what have I done that’s making you do this?”
“It’s not so much what she’d done as who she is,” Trader said softly. Seeing J.B.’s look of confusion deepen, he expounded. “You do know who she is, don’t you?”
J.B. shook his head. “You’re acting like she’s important. She told me that her old man was always too busy, so I figured he must be high up in Emmerton’s command—”