Hunter

by Sharon Partington

  “I’ll add another fifty to what you have in your hand.”

  A flicker of greed passed across her face. “Wait here. I’ll see if he’s interested.”

  I released her wrist and watched her head back to the bar. She whispered something to a sharp-faced Rigian kid sitting at the end. He looked to be no more than twelve or thirteen. He looked over at me, then hopped off his stool and approached my table, sliding into the seat across from me.

  “Dalla says you need an errand boy. Might be I’m your man, if the price is right.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be hanging out in a dive like this?”

  He shrugged. “My da owns the place. And I ain’t young, I’m goin’ on fourteen.”

  I reached for my drink. “You have a name?”

  “Jak, you?”

  I chuckled. The kid had balls. I studied him from behind my shades. His pale yellow hair hung in lank strings to his shoulders, and his sharp green eyes watched me with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. His skin was a dusky orange rather than the mustard yellow of a full-blooded Rigian—he was obviously a cross-breed.

  Fourteen, he said? Right. Going on thirty.

  “Five hundred Terran credits,” I said. “Half now. The rest when you bring me what I want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’m looking for a woman.”

  He laughed. “For five hundred credits I’ll get you a dozen women.”

  “One will be enough.” I showed him the photograph that had been attached to Kenny’s interrogation report. “Her name is Wynn.”

  “She’s Androsian.” He looked up at me. “She your wife?”

  “No. I want you to find her, but I don’t want the whole city to know I’m looking for her. Understand?”

  He took the photo and stuck it into his shirt pocket with a shrug. “Sure, I’ll nose around real quiet like and see what I can dig up. What about my money?”

  I took an envelope from my jacket pocket and set it on the table. He stared at it the way a starving man stares at a roast pig, but he didn’t reach for it.

  His eyes flicked back to me. “How do I get hold of you if I find what you want?”

  I took the photo out of his pocket and wrote the number to my com-link on the back. “Call me.”

  I stuck the photo back in his pocket. He snatched the money from the table and stuffed it into his shirt before escaping back to the bar. The barmaid came by with another drink, and I paid her the additional fifty credits. The drink tasted like lukewarm battery acid.

  The front and back doors of the bar had been propped open, a feeble attempt to generate some kind of cross breeze. It didn’t help, and a haze of blue smoke hung in the air. Someone smoked dream crystals at a booth in the back. The bittersweet smell mingled with the stink of sour wine and rotting garbage drifting in from the alley. I left my drink unfinished and climbed back up to the street. The sun had set and the temperature had dropped. A cool breeze ruffled my hair, drying the sweat on my face. The walk back to the metro core and my hotel was almost pleasant.

  Jak, the Rigian rat, looked like a resourceful little shit. Let’s see if he was worth the money I paid him.

  ◆◆◆

  I made a few more inquiries of my own while I waited for the Rigian kid to get back to me but came up empty. It wasn’t like I could stick Corin’s face on a billboard asking ‘Have you seen this woman?’ My patience had worn a little thin by the time my com-link buzzed a week later.

  Jak had an address for me.

  When I got to the bar, the Terran barmaid slipped a grubby piece of paper to me as she brought me my drink.

  “Here,” she muttered. “Now how about rest of the money you promised.”

  “My arrangement was with Jak,” I said, glancing at the paper. “Not with you.”

  “I’ll see he gets what’s comin’ to him.”

  I’ll bet.

  I dropped an envelope onto the table. She scooped it up and stuffed it into the pocket of her apron.

  “Nice doin’ business with ya,” she said with a sly grin.

  I watched her slip through the crowd toward the bar. When I reached the street, I hailed a hover cab and took out the address again.

  Time to see if Lady Delaren was home.

  The cab pulled up in front of a block of warehouse apartments a dozen or so streets north of the bar. Orange sunlight flashed in the upper windows and I glanced up as the interplanetary shuttle rumbled overhead. The street was busy, but not as crowded as those further south—this was a residential area, not the squalid commercial district just off of the metro core. Families lived in these buildings, and children’s laughter carried to me from further up the street.

  I paid the driver and the cab pulled away, then I looked back to the building. If this was the loft apartment Delaren had hidden me in, I seriously doubted Wynn still lived here—he would have moved her as soon as possible after the incident with the Androsian secret police. He had told me his wife was never unguarded, but I didn’t see any obvious sentries. Or unobvious ones either.

  Yeah. She was probably in the wind.

  I scanned the street, my gaze sweeping the small park and playground, coming to rest on a white panel van half a block down. Its windows were tinted and my instincts twitched. I made a mighty fine target standing out here in the open, maybe it was time I went inside.

  I pushed the front door open and stepped into the dim foyer. Stairs rose to my right, stopping at a second floor landing before ascending toward the third and fourth floors. The warm air smelled of sour cabbage and old wax. I climbed the stairs, stopping on the landing to draw on my gloves. There were old bloodstains on the carpet in front of the apartment door.

  This was the place. I knocked twice.

  No answer. I didn’t really expect one, but you never knew. Even if Wynn no longer lived here, somebody else might.

  I drew my blaster and tried the doorknob. It turned easily and the door swung open. The apartment was empty.

  Shock and surprise.

  The setting sun bathed the room in orange light and dust motes danced in the air. There was no furniture, no nothing. Just a big empty room. I remembered the loft as I had seen it last.

  The table and chairs, the low couch, and vid-link.

  There was old blood on the wall next to the door, a match for the stain on the carpet outside. From when I’d killed the intruders the night before I left the planet. Judging by the layer of dust that covered the counter top and window ledge, Wynn had been gone for quite some time.

  The downstairs door banged open and heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs. I stepped into the apartment and pulled the door almost shut, peering into the hallway. Technically, I suppose, I couldn’t be charged with breaking and entering since the door was unlocked, but I didn’t need to waste time explaining my presence to whoever lived upstairs.

  Four men emerged from the stairwell, weapons drawn. I strode to the window and looked down into the street—that white van was parked at the curb. The apartment door crashed open and I whirled, firing. One man went down with a grunt, but his three friends had me outnumbered and outgunned.

  “Lose the weapon,” said a skinny Sorrellian. “Or I’ll forget my orders and drop you where you stand.”

  The odds were three to one against—my only way out appeared to be with them. Or in a body bag. I dropped my weapon. They came into the loft, two of them dragging their dead friend out and down the stairs.

  “Someone wants to talk to you,” said the Sorrellian as he scooped up my weapon and removed a stun-lance from his belt. “About a job you left unfinished last time you were here.”

  “My name is Jack Dennis, you obviously have me confused with somebody else.”

  The Sorrellian smirked. “I don’t think so.”

  He motioned toward the door, indicating that I should proceed him down the stairs. Once in the street, he opened the side door of that white van. I turned just in time to see the stun-lance come up
, then my head exploded in a brilliant burst of red and black that carried me away into the dark.

  ◆◆◆

  I woke to darkness and the certain knowledge that I was in very deep shit.

  Light crept under the door of the windowless room and muffled voices came from outside. I sat up slowly, closing my eyes against the ache in my head and shoulders.

  Someone had sold me out. Probably the waitress in the bar. Jak the little Rigian rat was probably rotting in the alley along with the garbage while she spent his cash.

  I listened through the pain in my head, trying to figure out where they’d taken me, but the voices outside the door weren’t dropping many hints. Apparently the Guilds had elected themselves a new Grand Poobah, and I was at the top of his shit list.

  Shouldn’t I be dead?

  The heat and stale air in my windowless cell weren’t doing much to help alleviate my headache. The lock rattled and I looked up as the door opened. Skinny Sorrellian stood over me with a canteen that he tossed on the floor in front of me. I thought about asking him where I was, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood for conversation. He shut and locked the door without speaking. I opened the canteen and sniffed then took a tentative sip.

  Water.

  Another hour or so passed and I dozed, jerking awake when the lock rattled again. Skinny Sorrellian was back. “Get up. The master will see you now.”

  I got to my feet and he led me from the room. I wouldn’t want to keep the master waiting. I was led into a large, spacious room furnished with expensive Terran antiques and hand- blown Lyrian crystal. A log fire burned in a black marble fireplace; above it hung a watercolor painted by a renowned Rigian master five hundred years dead. A massive rosewood desk sat in the center of the room, and a man stood before the French doors leading to a stone paved terrace. He was stout. Rigian. About middle age. The cuffs of a gray shirt emerged from his dark blue suit and silver streaked his yellow hair. He didn’t turn as I was brought in, just continued staring across the darkening lawn.

  “You disappoint me, Hunter,” he said at last. “Is there no honor at all among murderers and thieves?” I didn’t reply and he turned to face me. Muddy brown eyes blinked from behind rimless glasses. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  I considered, for one second, continuing the ‘Jack Dennis’ charade, but that lie wouldn’t save me. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Artur Melardis. I am the Guild Master. I believe you were acquainted with my predecessor. You seemed to have no trouble at all taking the money he paid you to eliminate our esteemed president.”

  I shrugged. “My shot went astray. Sometimes it happens.”

  “An interesting argument; it is not often that an assassin pleads incompetence. You took our money and reneged on your contract. A rather substantial sum, provided in good faith, with the expectation of results. There are those within our organization who scream for your head, but I believe that would be...unproductive. You owe us a death.”

  “Who did you have in mind this time?”

  “Master Delaren is learning, to his frustration, that transforming a system like ours is rather like trying to bail a sinking ship with a thimble—a valiant attempt, but in the end, an exercise in futility. He has made some modest gains, I will admit. Members of the civilian security patrol are less inclined to accept Guild direction and financial benefit. The general population no longer fears us as they once did. These things are inconvenient, but will be overcome with time. His constitutional amendments, however, are making potential business associates very nervous. Several have already cancelled rather lucrative contracts. This, I cannot allow. Since you are directly responsible for inflicting him upon us, it is only right that you correct your mistake. Kill him, and your debt to the Guilds will be cleared.”

  There had to be more to it than that; they’d never make it that easy. “I don’t suppose refusing is an option.”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Melardis moved to the desk and switched on the com-link. “Bring in the boy.” He looked back to me. “Equally unfortunate is the fact that we find ourselves unable to trust your word. Once burned, you understand.”

  The door behind me opened, and Skinny Sorrellian came in carrying Jak the Rat. The boy’s hands were bound, and an angry, purple bruise decorated his left cheek. Skinny Sorrellian dumped him in a semiconscious heap on the carpet at my feet.

  “A friend of yours, I believe,” said Melardis.

  Fury churned in my gut, but I kept my face carefully neutral as I looked from the boy back to the man behind the desk. “Let him go, he’s no threat to you.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible, he is our guarantee of your good conduct. Once Master Delaren is dead we will release him to you, and you both may be on your way.”

  They’d release us all right. Into death.

  “You will spend tonight as my guest. In the morning Oren will drive you back to the city. I expect to hear of our esteemed president’s death within the month. Otherwise, I fear, your young friend will meet an unfortunate end.”

  Skinny Sorrellian picked Jak up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The boy moaned and struggled feebly, and a shot of guilt joined the anger bubbling in my gut. The Sorrellian drew his weapon and motioned for me to leave the room ahead of him, passing Jak off to a man standing guard outside the door. A nudge in the back with his blaster told me he expected me to proceed him down the hallway.

  I glanced back in time to see the other guard carry Jak through a doorway at the end of the corridor.

  Fuck.

  I knew I shouldn’t have come back here.

  Chapter 17

  I didn’t see where they dragged Jak off to, but I knew I had to do something to get him out. The little shit was in this mess thanks to me.

  The guest room they showed me to was on the second floor at the back of the house. They made sure they locked me in.

  Gee, if I didn’t know better, I’d think they didn’t trust me.

  I looked out the window, taking note of the twenty-foot drop to the lawn. Armed sentries patrolled the perimeter. Moonlight glinted on the weapons they carried, and a streak of professional curiosity shot through me.

  What make and model of weapons? What range?

  I sighed. Jesus, Gage, who the hell cares? Try to climb out the fucking window and they’ll kill you dead, no matter what make or model. Christ, how hard did they hit you with that damn stun-lance, anyway?

  I turned from the window and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Shake the cobwebs from that aching head and think.

  Artur Melardis could play at being the lone voice of reason within the Guilds. He could even pretend to be the civil host and have his goons trot me back to Dasrajhi in the morning, but I had no illusions as to my actual value. Once I’d outlived my usefulness I’d be dead pretty quick. And Jak’s life was worth less than mine. I had to find the little shit and get us the hell out of here.

  The cell they’d dragged me out of was in the cellar; maybe there were more like that down there.

  One step at a time.

  Step one. Get out of this locked room.

  A com-link sat on the table next to the bed. I switched it on. “Hey, anybody there?”

  A brief burst of static was rapidly followed by an irritated male voice, “What is it?”

  “What does a guy have to do to get something to eat around here?” I demanded in my best pain-in-the-ass voice.

  A brief pause. “Food will be brought to you shortly.”

  “Thanks.” Prick.

  I switched the com-link off and looked around for something I could use as a weapon. Preferably something large and heavy.

  An antique lamp sat on the table next to the bed. It had an ornate brass base and a fringed tiffany shade. I removed the shade and hefted the base in my hand as I tested the weight. Solid enough to do a fair bit of damage to a guy’s head.

  Works for me.

  I tried to control my
impatience as I waited to hear the key in the lock. When it came, about twenty minutes later, I hurried to stand to the side of the door. It opened slowly and a man came in, carrying a loaded tray. Another guy followed a step behind, his weapon drawn.

  I kicked the door shut, slamming it on the arm of the guy holding the gun. He screamed as his wrist snapped and the weapon dropped to the floor. I swung the lamp like I was aiming for the backfield fence, it connected with the tray guy’s head and he crashed to the floor amid the wreckage of what was supposed to be my dinner. I scrambled for the dropped weapon and shot them both—the whole thing was over in less than a minute. I relieved the gun man of his keys and com-link and listened for the sound of approaching back up. Gun guy hadn’t gone quietly, and he and his partner wouldn’t be the only peons in Melardis’ employ.

  The com-link in my hand crackled. “Is everything all right up there?

  I kept my voice muffled. “Idiot spilled coffee on me.”

  The voice on the other end chuckled. “I’ll notify the infirmary.”

  You do that, fuck head.

  “How’s our guest?”

  “Fine. Crying for more coffee.”

  “Shall I send some up?”

  “Don’t bother, asshole Terran can do without.”

  Another chuckle. I turned the com-link off and cracked the door open. The corridor outside the guest room was deserted. I left, locking the door behind me.

  Now to backtrack back to the cellar and spring Jak.

  I hurried toward the staircase at the end of the corridor. It descended to the foyer on the main floor where Melardis’s office was situated. I couldn’t go down that way—too many Guild peons to trip over. I knew better than to think I could avoid them all, but I could look for a route that bypassed most of them. A door led to a wooden stairway that descended into darkness. Lucky for me just about every old estate house on every planet had back stairs and secret passages.

  Couldn’t have the lords of the manor tripping over the help as they schlepped about, now could they? How tacky would that be?