Battleship Raider
Page 2
Macready was sitting on the corner of the desk. There was a chair off to the left and I wanted to slump into it, but that would be a display of weakness. I didn’t want to show my hand too soon. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The office had a dry dusty smell. The role of prison warden apparently didn’t merit air-conditioning. Keeping my eyes down I shuffled sideways so that I could see out through the open door.
Warden Macready had skinny arms and legs and a potbelly. He looked like a thin kid trying to shoplift a bowling ball. His bushy eyebrows were a natural sandy brown but his thinning hair was a flat orange colour out of a bottle. The white shirt and tan slacks he wore were clean and freshly pressed every day but by mid-morning they had that wilted and dusty look.
“Judge will be here day next Thursday,” he said.
I nodded. I knew this already. It wasn’t why he had asked me into his office. He waited for me to say something but I chose to disappoint him. I wasn’t worried about going up before the judge. Either I’d talk my way out of it or I’d escape after he’d sentenced me. This wasn’t my first small-town rodeo.
“Got a message for you over the interstat,” Macready said. He was pretending disinterest but he was obviously curious. Who was I to be getting messages from off-world?
“Yeah?” I said. I was pretending disinterest too, but in reality he had me worried. No one was supposed to know I was on this squit-hole planet.
“Old friend of yours asking to be remembered to you. Says he’s planning to visit. O’Keefe. You know who that is?”
It must have been obvious from my reaction that this was bad news. I saw a flicker of a smile on his lips. But the warden evidently had no idea who O’Keefe was and I wasn’t about to tell him.
“Like the message says, just an old friend,” I said.
The warden watched me, wanting to know the truth. But what could he do? He couldn’t have the guards beat it out of me. Not until I’d been up before the judge.
A movement in the yard drew my attention towards the open door. The warden couldn’t see it from where he was. I made it look as though I was eager to make my exit. I saw Paulie Pickles approach Officer Grainger. They carried out a brief muttered conversation and the little man surreptitiously pressed something into Grainger’s hand. Either a message or a bribe, I couldn’t see which.
“That’ll be all, Randall,” the warden said, still dissatisfied.
I walked back across the yard and Grainger came from the opposite direction. As we passed, I stumbled and bumped into him. “Sorry, boss,” I said.
“Shouldn’t drink if you can’t handle it,” Grainger said, his lips twisted in a sneer.
Moving away, I looked down at the folded paper I had lifted from Grainger. A hundred dollar bill. That was quite a bribe. I wondered what it had paid for. I could have taken Grainger’s pistol when I’d ‘accidentally’ collided with him, but that would have been spotted quickly and we’d all have been lined up and strip-searched while the guard in the tower pointed his big gun at us. Sometimes you have to take a subtler approach.
I turned and watched Grainger disappear into the warden’s office and close the door behind him. Perhaps he had been paid for his absence. That meant something unpleasant was about to happen. Paulie Pickles was up to something. I’d have to keep a close watch on him until he made his move.
I didn’t have to wait long.
There was a flash of sunlight on metal and Paulie was standing behind Jack and had a shiv pressed against his throat. The little prickly man was standing on tiptoe.
“You and me is going to have a little chat, Jackie boy,” Paulie said.
I hadn’t seen how he managed to get the jump on Old Jack, I was over at the water barrel near the warden’s office. Augie was standing behind Paulie, making sure no one thought about coming to Old Jack’s rescue. I sat down with my back against the barrel trying to come up with a plan that didn’t involve me facing off against a thug with biceps bigger than my head. I came up with nothing. I should have taken Grainger’s gun. I pulled off a boot and tugged at my slightly damp sock, making sure there wasn’t a hole in the toe. Then I reached for one of the white-painted pebbles from the cactus garden. I looked down at it and then swapped it for a bigger one. There was no way this was going to work.
“Augie and me heard you and your bed-mate last night,” Paulie rasped. “That was some mighty interesting pillow talk.”
Paulie Pickles and Augie were in the cell next to ours. With the drink taken, it was possible that Old Jack and I had spoken more loudly than we thought.
“It was just talk,” Jack said, “just a made-up story to pass the time.”
“I don’t think so,” Paulie said, pressing the improvised blade into Jack’s weathered skin. “You’re going to tell me where that wreck of yours lies – or I’m going to start cutting bits off you with this... this...”
“It’s a spoon,” Jack croaked, looking down cross-eyed at it.
“I spent a long time sharpening it for you,” Paulie said. He slashed a thin red line across Jack’s neck to prove it.
“You don’t have to hurt me,” Jack wailed. He was looking in my direction, hoping I’d intervene. I should have told him I wasn’t the hero type. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!” Jack said. “Just don’t hurt me.”
Maybe someone had told him and he was now appealing to my criminal nature. I’d have to rescue him if I wanted to stop him giving away the secret of the hidden treasure. I cursed him, pulling my boot back on. It felt clammy against my bare foot.
I hurled one of the white pebbles towards Augie, sending it over his left shoulder and just missing his head. While he was distracted by this, I started whirling the pebble in the sock round and round over my head and giving the sort of scream I imagined a suicidal warrior might give. I ran towards the big man.
The pebble hit Augie in the side of the head with a loud hollow thok! Everyone in the prison yard winced. Apart from Augie. He hardly seemed aware that he’d been hit. As I started swinging the sock again, he reached for it and clasped it in one of his massive hands. Before I knew what had happened, he pulled me towards him and wrapped an arm like a tree trunk around my neck and the sky started to go dark.
Up close, he smelled like a horse. I had a better view of his tattoos. On one arm was a harsh-looking woman in a provocative pose – his mother maybe. But the best image was on his right arm: a highly detailed skull with a snake threaded into its eye socket and out of its mouth. The work on the serpent’s scales was some of the best I’d seen. If I didn’t do something soon, it might be the last thing I ever saw.
“Hey, gorgeous, don’t hug me so tight,” I croaked.
“I’m going to kill you and scrack you while you’re still warm,” he growled.
“You’re a silver-tongued devil,” I said.
“I’m your worst nightmare.” His breath was warm in my ear.
“Actually, I have been dreaming about you,” I said, “ever since I saw you in the shower.” The arm around my throat relaxed – just a little.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It means I’ve been wondering how it would feel to have your arms wrapped around me.”
“That so?” His grip relaxed a little more and I managed to squirm around and look up into his face. He was frowning. “You hit me with a rock.” His lower lip stuck out, big and wet and pink.
“A love tap to get your attention.”
“You already had that,” he said. He leaned down and planted a wet kiss on my forehead.
“He’s pretty – can I keep him, Paulie? Can I?” Augie mocked.
“Have you two lovebirds finished?” Paulie snapped.
Augie ignored him. “I bet you’ve never been with a real man.”
“I never met anyone quite like you.” I stroked the front of his sweatpants.
“I’m not wearing anything under them,” he whispered.
Under different circumstances this might ha
ve been fun. I grabbed his scronies, squeezed hard and twisted. Augie cried out in surprise and it became a bellow of pain. He went down on his knees and I went down too, not daring to let go. If he got free, he’d break my neck.
“Don’t move,” I warned. I held a knife close to the bulge of cloth and scronies that I was holding on to. It was a big hunting knife, bright and with a sharp edge. I’d lifted it from Grainger when I took his money.
Augie had tears in his eyes and he was looking at me like I had betrayed him. He was lying on his back now with his arms above his head in surrender.
“Sorry, handsome,” I said. I looked over to Paulie Pickles. “Drop the blade or Augie sings castrato.”
Paulie hesitated.
“Drop it,” Augie squeaked.
There was another moment’s hesitation, then Paulie dropped the shiv. Old Jack bent and snatched it up, grinning triumphantly.
“You shouldn’t bring a spoon to a knife fight,” I said.
Paulie spat at me.
I looked at Augie. Sweat streamed down his face and he looked like he was on the verge of puking. I didn’t think he’d give me any trouble if I released him. At least for a little while. I let go and backed away, still keeping the knife ready. Augie just lay in the dirt clutching his groin and making weak groaning noises. I felt for him, every man in the yard did.
“Maybe you can bribe Grainger to bring him some ice for the swelling,” I said to Paulie.
“My eggs hurt,” Augie wailed, “I think he broke them.”
Paulie scowled. “You know what you are?”
“A smart guy with a big knife?”
“You’re a dead man!”
“Say something nice at my funeral.” I turned my back on him and walked away. Old Jack scurried after me.
“You never said he’d hurt me,” Augie whined.
“They’ll kill you for this,” Jack said, “the first chance they get. You’ll have to watch your back. And I’ll watch it for you. I won’t forget what you done for me, Quin. You’re a good man.”
“I’m not worried about them,” I said. “But O’Keefe is a different matter.”
“Who’s O’Keefe?” Jack asked, confused.
“Trouble.” If O’Keefe arrived I’d be facing worse than a charge of taking a sand yacht without consent. I found myself scanning the layout of the prison. “I’m going over the wall. Tonight,” I said.
“That’s crazy!” Jack protested. “The guards will shoot you before you’re half over. And even if you make it, they’ll hunt you down with dogs.”
“They have dogs?” I asked.
“They always have dogs.”
There were no hounds at the prison, we would have heard them. Maybe they called in a hunter from outside. I’d worry about that if – when – I got that far.
“I have to go,” I said.
“O’Keefe?”
“A bounty hunter. There’s a price on my head. A big one.” Old Jack didn’t seem surprised by this, which was flattering in a way. “You coming with me?” I asked.
Jack thought about this and then shook his head. “I’ll take my chances in here. But I’ll help you. Tonight you and me will be drinking and talking and singing like we did last night – only this time I’ll be playing both parts. I’ll give you as much time as I can.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“You’re a good man, Quin,” he said again, nodding to where Paulie and Augie were huddled against the prison wall watching us.
“Just helping out a friend,” I said.
“If O’Keefe is coming for you, you’ve got to get away,” Jack said. “Off the planet.”
“If I had money for passage off this rock, I’d have been gone long before now.”
“Maybe I can help you with that,” Jack said. “I’ll give you my map.”
“Hidden treasure?”
“Lots of it!”
Chapter Three
This wasn’t my first prison escape. I’ve broken out of some pretty high-tech jails in my time. But this place was distinctly old-school. Old-school as in bars at the windows, human guards, and big rusty locks. This didn’t necessarily make escape easier, but it did require different skills.
Technically I wasn’t a convict. I was being held pending an appearance before the circuit judge and he might decide that I had no case to answer and let me go free. But he wouldn’t. One look at my record and he’d have me extradited back to civilisation to answer for my many crimes. Once there, I wouldn’t live long enough to see trial. There were people I’d upset who would have me killed within hours of learning my location. And it wasn’t likely to be a quick death. It’s a long story but the moral of it is never steal from the big bad guys. I’d done it by mistake but they don’t take mitigating circumstances into account.
The judge’s arrival in Margotsville was still a few days away, so I had believed I had plenty of time to plan my escape. During the seven days I’d been behind bars I’d already gathered some of the equipment I might need. I had an old torch and some batteries; I’d made a set of crude lockpicks, and accumulated some bits of wire and tinfoil. I’d also managed to make a couple of skeleton keys; one from a flattened spoon and the other from a piece of iron I took from the shower block. I didn’t have a laser cutter so I had to file the metal the old-fashioned way. The way that gives you blisters on your fingers and rust under your nails.
I had been making slow progress, but I hadn’t felt any need to hurry. Until the warden told me O’Keefe was on his way. This was bad. Very bad. How had he found me? The reason you hide out in the ass crack of the universe is so no one can find you. I needed to escape – and quickly.
But before I could break out, I needed to break in. I had to get into the warden’s office to retrieve my gun, my computer, and my leather jacket. I don’t usually get sentimental about possessions, but these three things were important to me. And I didn’t want to leave them behind for anyone else to find.
It was twilight when I slid my home-made key into the lock of our cell door. I turned it slowly. I’d tested it before so I knew it worked, but I also knew the lock made a grinding noise and a loud click when it was opened. I muffled the sound as best I could and then waited a few minutes to see if it had alerted any of the guards. Hearing nothing, I pushed the cell door open.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I whispered.
Old Jack lay on his bunk. He shook his head. “Thanks, lad, but I’ll take my chances here.”
I’ve heard that some prisoners spend so long behind bars that they’re afraid to leave, even when their sentence is served. Had Old Jack been here that long? I had tried all day to persuade him to come with me, but he said he’d only slow me down. “Come back and buy me out of here when you have the money,” he said. And he pressed the map into my hand. I told him I would come back for him. I liked the fact that he trusted me when I said that. And I liked the fact that I was actually telling the truth. You don’t make many friends in our business. I waved goodbye and locked the door behind me.
The setting sun was turning the sky the colours of flames and the breeze still felt warm on my face. This was the best time to break-out, I had decided, because it was dark enough for the shadows to conceal my movements but not so dark that the guards turned on the searchlights and set them to automatically sweep their beams around the prison buildings and along tops of the walls. The guards would also be more interested in their supper and with sneaking an evening drink than in patrolling the grounds. If I did run into any of them, I would rely on the element of surprise and a swift blow to the head from the sock full of sand I was carrying.
Although Old Jack was covering for me, there was still a slim chance that one of the guards would discover that I wasn’t in my cell. I didn’t want them searching the prison building for me, so the first thing I did was lay a false trail for them to follow.
I had a piece of wood that I’d pried from the top of a doorframe. I planned to use it to lift up the wire on top of th
e wall, high enough that I could crawl under it and not get zapped. But when I got up onto the wall on the east side, I could tell that I wasn’t in any danger from high-voltage electricity. There were no insulators separating the wire from the metal posts that held it up. And there was also no buzzing sound from the wire. Another giveaway was the dead animals hanging on the wire. Saphira is home to some odd critters, but I know for sure that none of them are knitted. Maybe the warden’s wife made them. Heck, maybe he buys the wool and knits them himself.
I lifted the wire, propping it up with the wood and then dropped a knotted rope down on the outside. I climbed down the rope and walked away from the wall, leaving clear footprints in the dirt to a point where the dust was disturbed by lots of other prints from passers-by. The street was deserted at this hour. Then I walked backwards in my own footprints, back to the wall. I climbed back up the rope and into the prison. I left the rope dangling there.
I had expected to have at least one near-miss with a prison guard, but I saw no one. Maybe it was someone’s birthday and they had cake. Keeping to the shadows, I made my way across the prison yard to the warden’s office. I used the spoon to unlock the door.
It was dark in the office and it smelled of warm dust and cheap aftershave. I found my old leather jacket hanging in the warden’s closet. When I slid my arms into the sleeves the familiar weight of it felt good. My gun-belt was hanging on the same hook and I spun the chamber to check that the pistol was still loaded. I buckled the belt and settled it into place – and I felt like myself again. I’d never killed a man, but the mere presence of a heavy revolver loaded with explosive rounds serves to ward off all sorts of trouble. Everyone wears a gun on Saphira, it’s that sort of planet.
My computer was in its slot on the left shoulder of the jacket. I brushed my thumb across the computer’s casing to activate it and popped the earpiece into my ear. I called it my box of tricks – Trixie for short – even though it was more of a stubby cigar shape than a box. Trixie played a jolly start-up jingle – because she knew it annoyed me.
“It took you long enough,” her voice said in my ear. She had a sort of sexy schoolmarm voice. I’m not sure what that choice of persona reveals about me.