The image froze. After a second or two, it reset and began to play again. Jim paused it and stared blankly at nothing.
Was this some kind of trick? Had Myles sold him out? Was this a way to get him to come to Shiloh, by lying about his mother so that … what? Jim buried his face in his hands for a moment.
Myles Hammond had been a fixture in Jim Raynor’s life since he could remember. Hammond had been a Raynor family friend, at dinner two, three nights a week, and had attended all of Jim’s derbies. Jim had been grateful that Myles had been there for his family after he had left, and even more glad that the man had been there when Karol Raynor had suddenly become a widow after an accident on the farm. It was the years of living on the edge that made him suspect anything ill of that man.
Now she was dying. Dying of what? How? Would money help? Could he talk her into going to a doctor who—
No. She wasn’t taking the money he’d sent already. She would have had plenty to get off planet, go to some specialist. And she obviously hadn’t done so. Anger welled up in him. It would serve her right, he thought bitterly. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want his money or anything to do with him. Why should he risk his life trying to get back to Shiloh, away from the protection of Scutter O’Banon? Hell, maybe he’d lost it already, pissing off O’Banon just by making contact with Myles.
No. No way he’d go back, giving Daun a chance for easy pickings, just to see a woman who …
Jim closed his eyes, but not before hot liquid had begun to seep from them.
He emerged, sober and resolute, blinking into what passed for sunlight in Deadman’s Port. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, so he headed back to the place where he’d struck up the conversation with the bartender. She wasn’t there at this hour, of course; she had the night shift, and the large tattooed man who was clearly polite only because he had to be did not invite conversation. Jim was nursing a shot of whiskey when a large shape filled the doorway.
“There you are,” said Tychus. “Been huntin’ all over for you.”
“All you needed to do was ask Cadaver and his goons where I was,” Jim muttered.
“Which is precisely what I did,” Tychus said mildly as he sat down next to Jim at the bar, ordered a beer, and turned to his friend. “Scutter O’Banon ain’t altogether happy with you right now.”
“Ask me if I care,” Jim said.
“Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”
“Someone got rousted out of a warm bed with a warm girl by a man who looks like a walking corpse.” Jim downed the shot and gestured for a refill.
“Well, this’ll make you happier. We got our first job, and it’s a sweet and simple one.”
“Like getting the logs from a scrap yard?”
Tychus frowned as the bartender plunked a sweating beer bottle down in front of him. “I don’t like your attitude, Jimmy. We’re sitting on a fine deal here and you keep acting like you’re doing O’Banon a favor by breathin’ the air on this planet.”
Who says I ain’t? The retort came to Jim’s lips but he choked it back. Tychus was right: Jim might not like O’Banon, but it wasn’t the man’s fault that his mother was dying, or that a sicko who liked to make holographic recordings of his victims had been hired to kill them.
“Go on,” he said instead.
“Simple retrieval and smuggling mission on Halcyon. Get something, get back with it. Cake.” Tychus took a long pull of the beer.
Jim nodded. “Okay. But I gotta make a stop first.”
“What?”
“I gotta go to Shiloh.”
“What the hell you wanna go back there for?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tychus regarded him for a long moment. His eyes had narrowed and gone cold, like chips of ice. “If you ain’t willing to tell me why you want to make a stop, we ain’t making one. We got a job to do.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Jim snapped.
Tychus rose slowly, still holding the bottle. Jim was reminded of just how big the man was. “I give you a lotta slack, boy. I put up with things I wouldn’t take from any other man alive. But there are some things I ain’t taking. Your whole attitude stinks, Jim Raynor. It has from the minute I brought up O’Banon’s name, and I’m getting mighty tired of the stench.”
“I’m getting mighty tired of your attitude, too, Tychus,” Jim said. He slid off his chair as well. He was not as big as Tychus—few were—but he was no small man, either, and the life he had been leading for the last few years had made him tough with muscle. Besides, he was royally pissed. “It’s my life, my business, and I am going to make a stop before we do anything else!”
Tychus took a long swig of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, seemed about to say something, and then swore violently as he hurled the bottle angrily at Jim. It flew past Raynor, spewing frothy amber liquid as it turned end over end to crack against the wall.
Jim’s mouth dropped open.
“You son of a—”
“Hold it right there!” snapped a voice. Hands came out of nowhere and closed on both men’s arms.
It was a very big mistake.
Tychus let out an enraged bellow and whirled with a clenched fist. At the last second he recognized the man as Cadaver, but that didn’t slow him down one bit, and his mammoth hand connected quite audibly with Cadaver’s face. Cadaver let out a yelp and staggered backward, blood pouring from his shattered nose. Four others sprang from the shadows and leaped on Tychus, trying to bring him down like a bull at a livestock show. But this bull was having none of it. Tychus shook off two of them almost casually, whirling and slamming the other two into the bar. One of them swung before impact, getting off a lucky punch that caught Tychus’s jaw.
Raynor, meanwhile, found himself staring at one of the men who had barged into his room that morning. He made a fist, putting all of his fear, anger, helplessness, and righteous fury into the punch as he swung. He felt the gratifying sensation of cartilage crumpling beneath his knuckles. Then he was doubled over as another one of O’Banon’s goons kidney-punched him. Grunting in pain, he turned, reached out with both hands, grasped his attacker’s head, and head-butted him as hard as he possibly could.
Someone sprang on him from behind, pinning Jim’s arms to his sides and making him lurch off balance. The arms were like steel bands. Jim struggled, swearing, but to no avail….
Then abruptly the weight was gone. Jim stumbled forward, whirling to see Tychus throwing Jim’s attacker clear across the room like he weighed nothing at all.
Their eyes met, and Jim grinned.
Then they turned their backs to each other and began slugging it out for real against O’Banon’s boys. Approximately five minutes later, the area around the bar was in shambles and there were ten men in various stages of pain, trauma, and semi-consciousness.
Cadaver stared at them, shaking with dissipating adrenaline and rising fury. He was holding a cloth to his nose.
“You hab just bade a serious biscalculation,” Cadaver said, his voice muffled by the cloth, which was turning bright red.
“No. We did exactly what you knew we would do,” Tychus growled. “You jumped us with no warning, so we beat you to a pulp.” He nudged one of the bodies on the floor. The man groaned weakly. “You’d best be getting these boys to a doctor’s care if you want to reuse them. Jimmy and I were about to depart on O’Banon’s business. I suggest you leave us to it.”
Jim tensed slightly at the words but said nothing as Cadaver and his cronies limped, lurched, stumbled, or were carried out, some of them casting hate-filled glances behind them as they left. Tychus turned to the surly bartender, who also looked at him with contempt.
“Looks like we made a right mess here,” Tychus said, counting out credits. “This should cover repairs. And this is a little something to cleanse your lily-white innocent mind of this terrible scene you were forced to witness.”
&nbs
p; The man looked at the amount and brightened considerably. “Mr. Findlay, you and Mr. Raynor are welcome to trash my joint any time you want.”
He plunked two bottles of ice-cold beer in front of them and they all grinned. Jim picked up the bottle and took a swig.
“Tychus, I still want to—”
“I know, Jimmy. Whatever is going on, I can see it’s important to you. I’m thinking I’ll enjoy letting O’Banon stew awhile after this bullshit he just pulled on us anyway. I’ll drop you off on Shiloh and give you a day to conduct your business. But then no slacking. Deal?”
Jim grinned. The gesture hurt like hell as he realized he’d gotten at least one good punch in the face, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He clinked his bottle against Tychus’s.
“Deal,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CENTERVILLE, SHILOH
It was early fall, and the heat was searing.
Jim squinted in the bright sun as the dust devils swirled about him, kicking up little puffs as he walked. He had sent a reply back to Myles, and true to his word, Myles had found a good spot. Jim had had Tychus drop him off in the prearranged site, a field that struck a good balance between “in the middle of nowhere” and “driving distance to town.”
This field should have been bursting with triticale-wheat ready to be harvested. Instead, it was sere and dry. The dust would make for a spectacular sunset, Jim remembered, and as luck would have it, Centerville lay to the west.
He wore nondescript farmer’s clothes that had been left for him at the drop point along with an older-model pickup truck. Jim knew that he was a wanted man, but he also knew Shiloh, and people on this planet tended to mind their own business. He clapped the hat on his head to complete the disguise, climbed into the truck, and took off.
He barely recognized the place. The town itself had sprawled past the limits he remembered as a youth, but many of the buildings had been built, inhabited, and then closed down—an entire life cycle in the period in which he had been away. The main street had several FOR SALE signs on places that Jim had never seen.
It was early evening, and the sun was only beginning its glorious red-hazed descent, so most of the remaining businesses were closed for the day. That made it safer for him. As he passed a small park on the right, something caught his eye. He slowed, made a U-turn, and stopped.
It was a large rectangular wall made of the tan stone quarried in Shiloh. The stone had been cut and highly polished, and there were some kind of drawings etched in it, and a plaque. Curious, Jim climbed out of the truck.
As he drew closer, he realized that it was a memorial for the Guild Wars. A small flame flickered in front of it, and at the little fire’s feet were the words WE WILL NEVER FORGET. The drawings were of farmers on one side, armored Confederate marines on the other. All struck poses so heroic, it would have made a recruitment officer weep.
He walked around to the other side. It was almost completely covered by a huge plaque. Jim realized with a jolt that it was a list of those sons and daughters of Shiloh who had fallen in the wars.
It was a hell of a long list.
Slowly, he reached out and touched the raised names, trailing his fingers downward through the alphabet. Too many to read each one, but those he recognized jumped out at him: Phillip Andrews, Jacob Cavanaugh, Roger Gregson, Henry “Hank” Harnack …
Harnack. Hard to believe he and Jim had grown up as bitter enemies, and become friends, brothers in arms, when they both had joined Heaven’s Devils. Hank’s death … had not been a good one.
Felicia Karlson, Vincent Lamont …
“Thomas Omer,” he said quietly. He and Tom Omer had grown up together. They had signed up together. He’d watched his friend receive the wound that would take his life. Jim allowed his fingers to linger on the name for a moment, remembering.
He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. He turned, got back in the truck, and sped on his way.
The offices of the mayor were small and out of date. A fan whirred, laboriously trying to cool the receiving room, succeeding only in feebly blowing the hot air around. The mayor returned from a quick dinner break, briefcase in hand, to file some papers and sighed as he realized the room was not noticeably cooler than it had been several hours earlier. He loosened his tie and removed it; it was, after all, after office hours.
He removed his hat, hung it up, and headed down the narrow corridor to his private office. He opened the door—
And closed it behind him quickly, staring at the man who sat in his chair.
“Well, hello, Myles,” Jim Raynor said. “You know, all this time, when you told me in the messages that you’d become mayor, I thought you had lost it. But you really are the mayor, you old son of a gun!”
Myles Hammond laughed. “Some days I wish I was crazy and imagining this, let me tell you,” he said, chuckling. He regarded Jim with kind eyes, and the smile faded. “Now … what in blazes are you doing here? I left the clothes and the truck specifically so you wouldn’t have to come into town.”
“I wanted to see you,” Jim said, rising. He stuck his hand out. Myles clasped it warmly, then pulled the younger man into an awkward but affectionate embrace.
“I’m glad to hear that from you, Jimmy, I am, but you are a wanted man. This was a dangerous little stunt.”
He unlocked the briefcase he’d been carrying, reached into it, and pulled out a piece of paper. Jim found himself staring at his own face with the word WANTED written over it in large capital letters.
“Huh,” he said jokingly, “I thought I was better-looking than that.”
“This ain’t a laughing matter,” Myles said. “I assume you were too smart to let anybody see you.”
“People see what they expect to see,” Raynor said. “I look like a farmer in these clothes, and that’s what anyone who noticed me at all saw. I promise.”
Myles relaxed slightly, nodding. “Good, good. That poster was at the post office. I just came from there. I took down all I could find. Still—hardly a hero’s welcome. Cup of coffee?”
“If you still call that swill you brew coffee, sure,” Jim said. Myles smiled again and prepared a fresh pot. He locked the door, pulled down the shades, and turned to Jim.
“So,” Jim said, sitting on the edge of the desk, “tell me about Mom.”
“You know all I know, Jim,” Myles said.
“I mean about the money. I’ve been sending you a goodly amount of money from my”—he was about to say “heists” but caught himself—“business profits for several years now. What’s been happening to it?”
Myles sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I been trying to tell you, Jim, she won’t take it. Not her, not your father before her.”
“None of it? It’s tens of thousands by this point.”
“Not a single credit,” Myles said firmly.
Jim swore. “She always was stubborn.”
“Her and your father. Salt of the earth.”
“She’s okay, though?”
“Well enough. Farm Aid’s been a real blessing to the people of Shiloh. A lot of families here have been able to have roofs over their heads and food on the table because of it. Your mom’s one of those.”
Jim nodded. Myles had mentioned Farm Aid before. He was glad to know that hadn’t stopped for some reason.
“Since you’re here …”
Myles went to the wall behind the desk and removed a painting of Creek Canyon at sunset. Behind the painting was a safe. Myles keyed in a code, and the door swung open. “You might as well take your money back,” he said, removing several sacks that made a distinctive clinking sound. Myles also took out a small data chip.
He placed the sacks and the data chip on the desk and went to pour their coffees. Jim looked at the sacks for a moment, pushed the data chip out of the way, then opened the sacks and dumped their contents on the table. It made for a large, messy pile.
Jim started counting. “Nothing personal, Myles, I’m just used to counting my m
oney before I walk away from a deal.”
Myles stiffened slightly, but then nodded and finished pouring. “I reckon you would be, considering the line of work you’re in. Count away.”
Several moments later, Jim was both disappointed and angry. “You’re short, Hammond.”
“Yes, I most certainly am.”
“What’s going on?”
Hammond plunked down a steaming cup of coffee in front of Jim and pointed to the small data chip Jim had ignored. Jim looked at him, puzzled. Myles picked up the data chip and slid it into the computer on his desk. A file came up.
“Take a look. Jim, we both know that what you’re doing ain’t on the right side of things by anyone’s reckoning. We also know your parents needed that money. I couldn’t get them to take it, but I did what I could. It’s all there. I took a small percentage of what you sent me each time. I routed it through various channels and was able to directly pay off the liens that were put against the Raynor farm without your mom catching on. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but sometimes you just have to do the best you can with what you’ve got.
“I also invested some funds into research—compiling some statistics on your family compared with others on Shiloh. It was pretty persuasive stuff. Your parents, being your parents, insisted that others were in worse shape than they were, so they declined any kind of help other than the most basic survival assistance. I talked to some people at Farm Aid, showed them the statistics, and was able to quietly get your parents some better-quality food and supplies than they thought they were getting. It was what they rightfully deserved.”
“I saw a lot of empty fields,” Raynor said quietly. He was still staring at the documents on the screen. Everything corroborated Myles’s words.
“You’d be seeing a hell of a lot more empty fields here if it weren’t for Farm Aid. That program is the only thing keeping a lot of people afloat here. It sure helped your parents.”
StarCraft II: Devil's Due Page 13