“Get up.”
Logan groaned for a minute, then the lights came back on; it was the kid from the street, a gun in his hand, pointed right at his head. An older guy had Anna at gunpoint in the corner; he was busy leering at her. The kid was the problem.
“This planet is going to hell. Everyone's pointing guns at me.”
“Maybe people just don't like you.”
Time to measure angles. The kid was standing in a straight line between him and the window, but he wasn't going to get time to rush him.
“What do you want? Perhaps we can settle this without the need for bloodshed.”
“The picture. We want the picture. Give it to us, and we'll let you live.”
“What picture?”
Anna knew. That was certain. Her eyes flickered briefly when the kid mentioned it. Another piece of the puzzle dropping into place.
“Don't play dumb. You must have the picture.”
“You've searched this place, and I'm working for your boss now, so you can drop this dumb routine.”
That confused him. He looked at his companion, and there was the window of opportunity. Knowing he had only one chance to make it work, Logan rolled to the ground, drew his gun and fired in one quick motion. Accuracy was of no consequence at this point, it was effect that he was going for.
“Don't move!” he and the kid yelled in unison.
“I've got you covered. And there are two of us to one of you.”
“That will look fine on your gravestone, kid. The pauper's graves are full of kids like you.”
“I mean it. I'll get you.” His gun was shaking in his hand, his voice getting more and more shrill. Either he was going to start shooting wildly or he'd burst into tears, even odds as to which. His older companion seemed to be made of sterner stuff, digging his gun into her ribs.
“Kid, just back away and leave. No harm, no foul. We can all get out of this.”
The older guy spoke for the first time, “Give us what we want. Or I'll take it out of her.”
Logan shook his head and sat down. “No, you won't. This is getting silly. I'm guessing you aren't working for Kohut?”
They looked at each other, confused.
“So there are more people looking for this picture than I thought. All you've managed to do is give me a rather nasty bruise, tear a hotel room apart, and it's accomplished nothing at all.”
The kid advanced on Logan, gun looming menacingly. Even he couldn't miss at this range. Then there was another noise, and somehow Anna had the older guy's gun – obviously he'd made a stupid move. What Logan did not expect was that she fired it, a good sound shot, right into his shoulder. He collapsed to the deck.
“To coin a phrase, kid, now there are two of us to one of you. Get your idiot friend, and go tell your boss that I know more than he does, but that he won't get any more by sending idiots like you.”
The kid looked around; defeated, he tucked his gun into his pocket, and grabbed his colleague, propping him up as they left the room. Logan closed and locked the door behind him, opened the windows, and picked up the phone.
“Send up a half-bottle of vodka, two glasses, all in ice.”
Anna had dropped the gun on the floor, and was shaking; Logan quickly retrieved it and slid it into his pocket, then sat her back down on the crumpled bed.
“I think you need a drink.”
“Thanks. Are we safe here?” she said, choking back sobs.
“They got what they were looking for. At least as much as they are likely to get. We're fine for the moment, though I have no intention of spending the night here. I just hope the storm blows out by then.”
The window was rattling from the wind; dust blotting it out, completely obscuring the dim red sun. He pulled the curtains again, shutting out the weather. There was a knock on the door, and he pulled his gun out underneath his jacket.
“Come in, it's open.”
A woman came in with a tray; the vodka, glasses, even the ice. She placed it down on a table, looked around with amazement at the mess, and quickly scurried out again. Likely there would be a report to the manager before too long. Logan poured two drinks, making sure to give her a fuller measure.
“It's about time you told me what was going on, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“People keep turning up and wanting to shoot me. I haven't been this popular with that class of people since the Colchean Revolt. So...what's actually going on?”
She looked at him, flashing those deep blue eyes once again. She shook her head, and collected herself.
“I didn't lie to you Logan. But I didn't tell you everything.”
“I knew that much last night. Don't worry, it doesn't necessarily matter. But I need to know what's going on. What was Helena working on?”
“I'm not sure. Though I know it was a picture. We met on Zemlya, three years ago. I was studying at the university, she was teaching a class; I think to make use of the research facilities, mostly.”
“What in?”
“History of Ancient Art. We met at a party, and hit it off. Six months later she took off, and I went with her.”
“Going where?”
“Mostly in the Demilitarized Zone; Colchis, Tyrannia, Caledonia. Always a few months at each, long enough to go through the planet's libraries. I worked our way through, picking up some money while she did her research.”
Logan stood up, and took a deep sip of his drink.
“Then? Something obviously changed.”
Anna looked down at the floor again. Logan placed his hand gently under her chin, and raised her eyeline to face his.
“What changed?”
“She found it. She started talking about some sort of deal, apparently she had a backer.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. Lena wouldn't tell me. After three years, Logan.”
“That would be like her, alright.”
Anna gulped down her drink in five measured sips; Logan topped up her glass, and his for good measure.
“She chartered a ship and left. I didn't even know where. We had the last fling, she told me that it had been good, but that it was over. Dumped me on Caledonia.” A trace of anger crept into her voice. Logan smiled, wryly.
“It was right here, for me. Three years ago. All of a sudden there was some big prize, something she'd read about. She'd bought something on Colchis when we were running guns to the rebels, I never did know what. Left me a note, said she'd be back if she could.”
“She dumped you?”
“We have that in common,” Logan smiled again. “What brought you to this hellhole?”
“She'd mentioned this place a few times, so I managed to get together enough money for a ticket, then I worked my way from Zemlya to here.”
“Don't tell me; my name had cropped up.”
“Yes. A few times, she'd told me some stories. When I found out she'd been killed, I didn't know where else to go.” She broke down in sobs, and collapsed onto his shoulder. Logan placed his drink down on the table, and reached around her. He was still shaking his head.
“Anna, what do you actually want?”
“I spent three years following her around. She always said that when she found the picture, we'd be rich. Logan...I want to be rich. Can you blame me?”
“No.”
“Will you help me?”
“Let's say my fee has gone up slightly, but I'll be willing to take a percentage cut.”
“Can I pay some of it in kind?” She reached over with her other hand. By the time Logan got back to his drink, the ice had melted.
Chapter 5
A couple of hours later, Logan excused himself to go to the bathroom. Same mess as the bedroom had been in; he closed the door and ran the shower. Last thing he wanted was to be overheard,
at least not accidentally. He pulled out his phone and called Boris.
“Logan, Kohut left as soon as we released him. Walked right into the storm, so obviously not going far. I couldn't put a tail on him.”
“No problem. He's no threat, at least not now. I need another favor.”
Boris snorted. “Another one. What is it this time?”
“Have you found out how Helena arrived, yet?”
“Funnily enough, I had. Came in on a tramp freighter, the Even Odds. Two crew, both Antillian; pilot Chloe Santana, navigator Silvio Rosario. She wasn't on the manifest, but the engineer my deputy saw matches her description.”
“When did it leave?”
“It hasn't, ship's still down. They've been down for a week, Santana got herself whacked by a couple of gangers, mugged and beaten to a pulp. I have naturally upgraded her death from 'asking for trouble' to 'suspicious'.”
“What about Rosario?”
“Last address said he was at the palace.” Pre-empting Logan's next question, “I'm sending you his photo now.”
“Thanks, Boris.”
“I know you'll cut me in for my usual share, Logan. Even if that just turns out to be an amusing story over a couple of drinks. Be safe, my friend...this one smells worse by the minute.”
Logan put down the phone, quickly ran the shower over his hair and snatched a towel to dry it. Anna was waiting outside, her belongings all packed. She'd managed to find time to change into a deep blue dress, which if anything hugged her curves even better than the last one.
“Everything together?”
“I think so. I can't find anything missing.”
“Good. I'll carry your bag, and now I need your help.”
“My help?” she said, slipping back into faux-innocence.
“You'll see.”
He picked up the bag, surprisingly heavy, and headed out into the corridor, gun in the other hand. Left and right, no sign of anyone. Instead of heading for the elevator, he headed for the stairs.
“Safer this way. More places to run,” he said, answering her quizzical expression.
They made their way down the stairs, all five flights, without interruption; he holstered his gun before entering the lobby. It was almost the same as before, the same bored employees killing the company's time. A couple of people were sitting around, obviously sheltering from the storm. Logan nodded at the attendant behind the counter, and made to kiss Anna on the ear.
“Distract him. For as long as you can. I need at least a minute at the computer,” he whispered. She nodded in reply.
Logan hefted the bag, and slowly ambled over to the counter, but every eye in the room was on Anna. She stalked across the room, walked straight up to the attendant, and started asking questions about room service, room upgrades, anything. Liberally pouting as she did so, accentuating every one of her natural distractions.
Logan, meanwhile, looked over the counter at the computer, and looked up at the security camera. He placed Anna's bag on the counter to cover, and quickly tapped 'Rosario' into the search. It came up quickly, as Room 331. A double, luxury suite. He grabbed the bag, and headed off into the bar.
He was halfway through his second drink when Anna came in. She sat down on a table with a pained look in her eye, a piece of paper in her hand, which she hurriedly crumpled up and dropped down on the table. Logan waved his hand, and another vodka appeared next to his, brought by a bored-looking waitress.
“Don't make me do that again. I got the contacts of the attendant, the porter and one of the people sheltering from the storm.”
Logan laughed out loud at the pained look on her face.
“I mean it, Logan.”
He studied her again, a more serious look on her face.
“Fine, Anna. Never again. That's a promise. You can keep your seduction outside business hours.”
She brightened up, and began to sip her drink.
“Did you find out what you wanted, at least?”
“The navigator of the ship Helena arrived here on; he's staying in this hotel. In one of their best rooms, no less. I couldn't afford to stay on the couch, so I have a feeling someone has paid him off. I'm going to pay him a short visit.”
“Just you?”
“Just me. You can come along if you want to.”
She smiled. “I feel safer when you are around.”
“Finish your drink.”
Logan left a ten kopek note on the table to cover the drinks, and the pair made their way up the stairs once again, to the third floor this time. Even if he hadn't had the room number, Logan would have known where to go – loud music and laughter were billowing out of 331, the door slightly ajar. He could smell at least three different forms of narcotic, and at least six different types of alcohol.
“Keep an eye on the corridor. Call out if anyone comes and I'll be there in a flash. I won't ask you to try and be inconspicuous.”
“I can keep a low profile!” she insisted, in an exasperated tone.
“Not without a change of clothes, and we're not going back to the room.”
Logan pushed open the door, puffing himself up to make the grandest possible entrance. He made sure that both his guns were in evidence in their holsters. Inside, a tall man with long, shaggy hair and an ill-kept beard was laying on the bed with a pair of expensively fake, leggy blondes. An array of bottles were stacked around the room, and he had a large cigar in his hand.
“What the hell is this?” he shrieked. He reached over to his left, fumbling for his coat; Logan took three strides over and pulled it away, extracting the gun from the pocket.
“You Silvio?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I was a business associate of Helena Wynne.”
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screamed. The girls looked at him, surprise on their drug-addled faces.
“Calm down, for god's sake. I'm not going to kill you. Probably.”
He took a deep breath of his cigar, and seemed to calm down a little. Probably laced with something.
“I can't tell you anything. I won't tell you anything. I can only die once – either you'll kill me, or they will.”
Logan stepped forward, rousing himself to anger. “I can kill you in a very unpleasant way.”
“So can they!” he screamed. “You think you are big and tough? You aren't! Santana was a dumb shit, she got greedy. I got paid, I get to live!”
“Greedy? What about?”
“Damn it, leave me alone! I'm not going to tell you a thing, because I don't want to die!”, he was shouting, almost manically.
Logan shook his head, and was about to remonstrate with him again when he heard a scream from outside. Anna. He ran out of the room, to find an empty corridor. No sign of struggle. No sign of anything. Before he could go any further, he heard a shot from the room, followed by a pair of screams. He already knew what he was going to find before he went in there, but for form's sake he looked anyway. Silvio was dead, a bullet right through his throat. A marksman's shot. The girls were screaming.
He barely felt the blow to the back of his head that sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
Chapter 6
Logan came round, slumped in a chair. The décor of the room suggested that he was still in the Palace, and a familiar looking figure was pointing a gun at him; the kid, now with a beaming smile on his face. Both Logan's holsters were empty, he could see both his guns on the table. His left pocket was still heavy, however, so he was still armed.
“He's awake, boss,” the kid said. A door slid open and in walked a tall, bald man with the swagger of effortless power. His white suit shone, not a mark on it. Not even the ubiquitous purple marks on the bottom of the trousers.
“Mr. Winter, I presume.” The bald man laughed.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr...”
“Orlov. Though you may call me Maxim if you wish. Klaus, you can wait outside.”
“One thing.” Logan reached into his pocket, and placed his other gun on the counter. “You might want to return this to its owner.”
The kid looked down sheepishly at the gun; Maxim looked at him with a vicious scowl, then looked back at Logan with a beaming smile, before releasing a bellowing laugh that filled the room.
“I should hire a better quality of bodyguard. But one simply cannot get the staff in these desperate times. I am curious, would not the gun have been an ace in the hole?”
Logan smiled back, “Not in the least. You are armed, and the way in which you carry your guns suggests you are a good, practiced shot. The gun I was carrying was not holstered, so had I tried to draw it, you would have had a significant advantage. And I do not tend to shoot people that I am hoping to enter into a business arrangement with.”
Maxim laughed again; it was actually slightly painful. “By damn, I like you. Always thinking things through. You may have your guns back; they are insignificant to our conversation.”
“Thank you.” Logan reached over, and placed his pistols carefully back in his holster, noting by the weight that they were no longer loaded.
“You are an associate of the late Ms. Wynne, are you not?”
“I am. In a manner of speaking.”
“You are aware that I contracted her to obtain a certain item, are you not?”
“I know that she went off on a wild goose chase to find something; I recently learned not only that she had found a backer, but that she had found the painting she was looking for. However, that is the extent of my knowledge. A question for a question. Where is Anna?”
“She is also insignificant to our conversation. Women like her are two a penny on the right market. The portrait, sir, that is one of a kind. Do you know of its provenance?”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tales from the Vault Page 4