by Jessie Kwak
Manu takes another sip of shitty whiskey.
He’s gonna have fun busting this place up.
Manu doesn’t need to be watching the door to know when Willem Jaantzen walks in. The whole energy of the place shifts, gets thin and sharp as a razor. There’s two Arquellian girls a few seats down the bar, laughing too loud to hide their nerves, racking up stories of slumming it in Bulari to tell their friends back on Indira. They notice the hush but don’t mark its meaning; the one closest to Manu glances towards the door and raises a catty eyebrow before turning back in a cascade of black ringlets to whisper in her friend’s ear.
Manu shifts like he’s checking her out and sees Jaantzen walk past, all broad shoulders and barrel chest. He’s dressed more stylishly than Manu’s used to seeing, like a man taught young which social cues others respect and who’s now able to afford it. He’s got two silver earrings in his right ear, two silver rings on each hand — bright glimmers against his rich brown skin.
Jaantzen ensconces himself at an empty table, though he doesn’t seem possessive about it, not like Manu expects from a man at the head of one of Bulari’s most up-and-coming crime rings. It’s not the best table in the house, but it’s in the corner with a decent view of the door. And a proximity to the stage Manu’s sure Jaantzen will regret when the singer comes back for his next set.
Jaantzen’s not traveling with bodyguards, this deep in his own territory, but he does have companions. Manu recognizes them: a brother and sister pair a lot of Bulari’s bosses work with, the Lordeurs. They’re bankers, kind of. Laundering big takes and fencing stolen goods. Tossing money out and reeling it back in with fat fish like Jaantzen attached.
He hesitates now. You never know when you might need a loan — plus, the Lordeurs’ve got a lot more friends than a loner thug like Jaantzen. Manu wonders if he’ll ever need their services, decides probably not. And anyway, the whole bar is tagged at this point. If he walks away now he’s never getting another chance — and he’s out a small fortune in hornet tags.
Manu ignores that nagging, rational voice telling him that the smart thing to do is to walk away.
The singer’s gone back up onstage; Manu catches Jaantzen’s frown of annoyance at the first warbled notes, catches the singer’s furtive glances at Jaantzen’s nearby table. The boss is in the house tonight, and this guy knows he’s not getting invited back for another gig.
Manu pushes his glass back towards the bartender and waves off the raised eyebrow asking if he wants another drink. He slips his little transmitter underneath the bartop and clicks the sequence to arm it. Feels it pulse faintly under his fingertips to tell him it’s good to go.
No safe return now. Not until he kills Jaantzen.
Manu pushes off to the bathroom, a touch of whiskey sway to his shoulders and a sloppy nod to one of the Arquellian girls. She gives him a dirty look.
He’s counting, and as he draws level with Jaantzen’s table — a fraction of a second after he hits twenty — the bar shatters. The front of the glasses case blows off its hinges in a rush of smoke and fire. The long mirror beside the bathroom hallway and the picture window beside the front door both shatter, cascading shards of glass hitting all the high notes over the sound of screaming. At the back of the stage, the singer’s backpack explodes. That’s where that tagged coin ended up; Manu lets the thought slide past.
His attention is entirely on Jaantzen.
The Lordeur siblings have ducked to take shelter below the table — the little blasts from the hornet tags sound like gunshots, and all around people are diving to the floor.
Willem Jaantzen is not diving to the floor.
He hasn’t registered Manu as the enemy yet — Manu dropped like the others in the chaos. As Jaantzen turns away to scan his bar, weapon in hand, Manu takes his shot.
Jaantzen must have heard something, seen a flash. Anyway, he’s fast for such a big man, and as Manu squeezes off a second shot, Jaantzen kicks the pistol out of his hand.
No worries, Manu’s got a backup gun.
He draws it, springs back to his feet and away as Jaantzen charges him, feeling the situation slip. Had to be flashy to impress Sylla, he thinks. Had to be an idiot.
His third shot is an inch too low, hits square in Jaantzen’s body armor rather than in the throat, and Jaantzen only grunts, catches him with an elbow to the sternum, a meaty hand to the throat. Jaantzen lifts him off the ground by his collar, those dead shark’s eyes searching his, and all he can think is that he’s seen this scene in gangster vids, and it does not end well for the guy with his feet dangling over the glass-strewn bar floor.
Jaantzen lifts his chin to someone behind Manu, and a blast of pain hits him between the shoulder blades.
Game’s over.
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Acknowledgments
Sometimes writing seems like a lonely process, but even with a book this short, plenty of people were involved in the making.
First, I want to thank Elly Blue for creating her fabulous feminist bicycle science fiction anthology series, Bikes in Space — and particularly for purchasing my short story “Bikes to New Sarjun” for the second anthology. Were it not for your email nudge asking why I hadn’t submitted yet, I may never have discovered the Durga System.
Thank you to my husband, Robert Kittilson, for letting me ramble at you for hours upon end about my story problems, and for your often ingenious solutions. I promise I’ll put a bike messenger in the next one.
A HUGE thanks to Andrea Rangel and Kathy Kwak for being willing to read my first drafts. To both of you, your feedback is invaluable, and your bluntness is greatly appreciated. Also, mom, thank you for teaching me letters and words and all that good stuff!
Thanks to Jackson Tjota (tjota.daportfolio.com) for the gorgeous cover art and to Fiona Jade (fionajaydemedia.com) for the cover design. You guys rock!
And, finally, a hundred million high fives to the spectacular Kyra Freestar (Bridge Creek Editing) for your phenomenal editing work on this.
About Jessie Kwak
Jessie Kwak is a freelance writer and novelist living in Portland, Oregon. When she’s not working with B2B marketers, you can find her scribbling away on her latest novel, riding her bike to the brewpub, or sewing something fun.
Connect with me:
www.jessiekwak.com
[email protected]
Also by Jessie Kwak
It’s been years since the Ramos sisters have been close, but when Patricia is accidentally possessed by Valeria’s dead boyfriend, Marco, they have one last shot at working out their differences. But with a drug smuggling gang hot on their heels, will they have time to heal their relationship?
From Razorgirl Press. Available in print and ebook on Amazon.
Manu Juric is a mediocre bounty hunter. But he’s damn good at reading people and creating unexpected explosions — and that can take you a long way in this business. Just not far enough, he learns when he tries to take out one of Bulari’s most notorious crime lords: Willem Jaantzen.
Available in print, ebook, and audiobook on Amazon.