by Jake Bible
Etch winced. He thought for sure that Guska was about to get flayed alive. But Gants only smiled and finally turned to look at her.
“The glowing skinny guy that gave you the shots,” Gants said. “His name is Schigg. He’ll take care of you from here on out. Don’t ever speak to me again unless I tell you to. Forget that rule and I will chop you up and make a smoothie out of you.”
Guska squeaked and stumbled a couple of steps back from the table. The two thugs that had escorted her over appeared and escorted her away from the booth and over to the bar across the Club.
“I’m doing you a huge favor, Etch,” Gants said.
Etch frowned.
“I’m sorry?” Etch asked.
“Really, I should kill that Lipian whore,” Gants said. “Roommates are security risks. But Dark tells me you are fond of her. And I think Dark is fond of her as well. That right, Dark?”
“She’s a hard worker and smart enough to not ask questions,” Dark said. “And dumb enough to be happy with her lot in life.” Dark smirked. “And she’s got a regular that works in the GV Squad. I’m hoping that plays out.”
“Good, good,” Gants said. “That true, Etch?”
“I don’t know about any GV connection,” Etch replied, who was busy keeping his face blank from the news.
“No, I’m asking if she’s happy with her lot in life? Come on, tell me about the Lipian? Is she happy?”
“She seems happy,” Etch said.
“No crying in the lavatory when she gets home? No pounding stim sticks in her closet when she thinks you aren’t paying attention?”
“No, she’s solid,” Etch said. “I wouldn’t live with her if she wasn’t. I know how to calculate risk and she is a low one.”
“Calculate risk… Yeah, that’s what we’re really here to talk about,” Gants said. “You ready to step up to the big leagues, Etch?”
“If you think I’m ready,” Etch replied.
“Ha! Good man! Good man!” Gants guffawed and shook a finger at Dark. “You told me! You told me he was a good one!”
“I did,” Dark replied, eyeing Etch. “He’s a good one. He’ll be even better when we get rid of that Kalaka problem. Until then I’m not sure he’s ready for the next—”
“Shut up,” Gants snapped. “I didn’t ask what you thought. Kalaka is a little bitch that can easily be dealt with. How about you start on that, Dark?”
“Wait, what?” Dark asked. Her mandibles clicked with obvious irritation. “You want me to leave?”
“I want you to get back to work instead of sitting here doing shots on my dime, Dark,” Gants said. The cold, flat tone was back. “Make sure Kalaka understands his place.”
“If you insist,” Dark said.
“I only ever insist, Dark,” Gants replied. “Etch? Move your scrawny halfer ass and let Dark out of the booth. The woman has a GVD to get rid of.”
“Get rid of?” Dark asked as Etch stood up to let her out of the booth.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Gants replied and snapped his fingers. “Pay attention!”
He put his head in his hands and sighed.
“Just go, Eight Million Gods dammit,” Gants said almost too quiet to hear.
Dark shot a look at Etch then disappeared into the dancing crowd. Etch watched her go for a second then realized that Gants was staring at him.
“Thanks,” Etch said. Gants’ eyebrow ridges went up. “For getting rid of Kalaka. He was going to be hard to shake and probably would have ruined my game.”
“I know,” Gants said.
He stood up and pointed at Etch to do the same. Etch did.
“Follow me,” Gants said and walked off.
The crowd parted for the man like he was wearing a force shield. Etch stuck close so the parted people wouldn’t close back in and cut him off. They approached the bar and the glowing skinny bartender that Guska had mentioned was busy mixing a cocktail while chatting with a Tcherian woman that had her skin turned to a swirling mix of every color known in the galaxy.
“Yes?” Schigg asked without looking at Gants.
“We have the guest list yet?” Gants asked as he leaned against the bar. “Hey there.”
The Tcherian gave him a bored look then obviously realized who he was and perked up. She licked her lips and stuck out her chest.
“Maybe,” Gants said to her. “Stick around.” He pointed at Schigg. “Her drinks are on me.”
“I know,” Schigg said. “I’ve been keeping her here just for you.”
The Tcherian looked a little uncomfortable at that comment, but she didn’t move from her stool.
“Guest list?” Gants asked.
“In the office,” Schigg said. “Where it always is.”
“Can’t you access it from your implant?” Etch asked.
Schigg finally focused on Etch, his ember eyes burning with irritation.
“If it was available on his implant, then I would have said so, Mr. Knowles,” Schigg responded.
“Right. Of course. Sorry,” Etch said. “My mistake.”
“Was it?” Schigg asked.
“What?”
“A mistake. That was a very specific inquiry. A question with an agenda. There any reason you want that guest list to be available via implant? Would it make it easier for you to steal?”
“Steal? Why? Mr. Gants is about to show it to me,” Etch responded. “Right, Mr. Gants?”
“That’s right, Etch,” Gants said. “But I always appreciate Schigg’s caution and healthy paranoia.”
“I appreciate the fact you appreciate that,” Schigg said. Someone shouted for a Whiskey Burnout. Schigg rolled his fiery eyes. “I need to get back to work. Third drawer.”
“Thank you, Schigg,” Gants said and patted Etch on the cheek. “Come on, tile player. I’m about to assign you homework.”
19.
It was well after three in the afternoon when Etch finally dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen area of the apartment. He scratched everything he could reach and shook his head to wake up as the liquid caff dripped into his mug at a rate that would have made evolution look speedy.
Once mug was in hand, and Etch was able to down a few sips, he sat on the couch, activating his comm as his ass sunk into the lumpy cushions.
“Should I even say good morning?” Angie asked. “Because I didn’t see you crawl back home until well past dawn. Was it a productive night?”
“It was,” Etch said and sipped more caff. “I’m in.”
Angie was quiet for a few seconds. “Say that again. Please say that again.”
“I’m in,” Etch said and finished his caff. He rolled his head on his neck and scratched at his scalp. “I saw the guest list. I know who’s playing in the game Gants has been prepping me for. Big whales and some serious pros are coming in next month.”
“Next month? This is great, Etch!” Angie nearly cried. “We are right on schedule.”
“I doubt S’lunn thinks so,” Etch said. “He gave me a list of snitches to avoid. What he didn’t give me was the name of one corrupt as shit Galactic Vice Detective named Kalaka.”
“You sure he’s corrupt?” Angie asked. “Maybe he’s working it undercover like you. Could be playing a role. I’ll ask S’lunn.”
“Don’t,” Etch said. “Dark is handling Kalaka. And maybe S’lunn isn’t as clean as we think.”
“S’lunn? He’s clean, trust me.” Angie chuckled. “I’ve used every trick in the book to trip him up and he hasn’t even blinked. The guy is cleaner than the two of us put together.”
“You sure?” Etch asked. “Because Kalaka was pretty open about his own corruption. Hard to believe that S’lunn doesn’t know Kalaka is dirty.”
“I’ll still talk with S’lunn about this Kalaka guy,” Angie said. “He could be the Squad dipshit that everyone simply tolerates. Not clean, but not really dirty. A piece of shit no matter what. Every Squad has one of those. You know how it is.”
“T
rue,” Etch said, not sounding convinced.
“What’s up with your Lipian?” Angie asked. “She didn’t come home last night. Do we need to be worried?”
“Yes and no,” Etch said and filled Angie in on the entire interaction between Gants and Guska at the Club. “She’s far from safe, but she’s exactly where we want her to be. I’ll try to see if I can talk with her soon.”
“She’s not coming home?” Angie asked.
“That’s the impression I got,” Etch said. “I think once you’re recruited to work at the Club, you stay at the Club. Makes sense considering how Gants acts. And also how that Schigg guy acts. Control freak of the weirdest order. Not sure he’s sold on me. If we have a problem with my cover, Schigg will be the one to find out.”
“Schigg? Hold on,” Angie said. Etch waited patiently, knowing Angie was checking her files. “The bartender? You’re worried about the bartender?”
“He’s not a bartender,” Etch said. “He’s way more than that. From what I could tell, he’s Gants’ consigliere.”
“His what? Knowles, do not make me look a word up.”
“Counselor. It’s an old slang word you hear the syndicates pass around. I had to ask someone once what it meant and got a ration of shit for days. You’ve never heard it?”
“If it’s Earth slang, then Hells no. Bad luck using any crap word from that trash planet.”
“Whatever. Schigg is dangerous and I’ll need to watch my ass around him.”
“I’ll go over everything again. I’ll make sure your cover is buttoned tight. Can’t have a loose end this close to the finish line.”
“Finish line? Don’t get ahead of yourself there, McDade. I haven’t played a single big game yet. It’s going to take a few of those before I am allowed even a peek behind the true curtain.”
“I know, I know,” Angie replied. “But we’re a trillion times closer than we were before last night. Excuse me for being happy at progress, Knowles.”
“This optimistic McDade is freaking me out,” Etch said and laughed. “Listen. I’m getting off the comm. Gonna sonic and clean up. Maybe head out and eat some food. I’ve been going from tile house to here and back to tile house for months. I need a change of scenery. Any recommendations on where to eat?”
“Recommendations? I’ve been eating carry out and box noodles this whole time, Knowles. What the fuck do I know about recommendations?”
“Thought I’d ask. Never mind. I’ll figure it out myself. We done?”
“Yeah, we’re done,” Angie said. “Go get cleaned up. What’s the plan tonight?”
“Playing in a regular game with some of Gants’ people at the Club,” Etch said. “Gonna be another late night. Probably like this until the big game.”
“Take care of yourself. Don’t burn out,” Angie said. “Not when we’re this close.”
“Copy that,” Etch said. “Chat tomorrow.”
He killed the comm, stood up, stretched, and headed for the lavatory.
Etch stripped down and stepped into the tiny sonic. He really wanted a full steam, but the sonic wave shower would have to do for the moment. Getting a real steam of H2O was one thing he was desperately looking forward to when the op was done. As he stepped into the sonic, he tried to remember the last real steam he’d had. Months? Eight Million Gods, had it been over a year? Probably.
The sonic waves stripped the sweat and grease off of Etch’s body, leaving him feeling clean, but not very satisfied. He laughed to himself as he stepped out and got dressed. Story of his life: clean, but not satisfied. Etch realized he wasn’t going to be sad when his undercover days were over.
He was tugging his shirt over his head as he left the lavatory. If his right arm hadn’t been up at that moment, then he probably would have been dead from the first blow.
“Fuck!” he yelled as pain exploded in his right forearm and he was knocked back against the lavatory’s door frame.
His instincts told him where the next blow would be directed, and he was right as he turned his body to the left and let his right shoulder take the next hit. What his instincts didn’t tell him was to watch out for the second attacker on his left. Those blows nailed him in the ribs, the stomach, then the side of the head as he doubled over.
Etch was falling then not falling. Someone had him by the back of the neck and was squeezing hard enough that his vertebrae ground against each other, pain shooting down his spine and into his legs. Legs that were weak and wobbly after the blow to the head. Ribs he had broken more times than he could count. Same with arms. But a hard rap to the temple wasn’t anything anyone ever got used to. The brain was funny that way.
“You think you can get our friends killed and nothing would happen, halfer?” a voice snarled into his right ear. Etch struggled to get his eyes to focus, but everything was a blur of fuzzy pain. “Bet you didn’t think we’d find you. But we did, halfer. We found you and now you pay.”
“Ain’t finding any chits, Morgo,” someone shouted from across the living room.
“Keep looking,” the voice by Etch’s ear, Morgo, snapped. “Tile players have chits. This fucker is gonna have a lot after the streak he’s been on all these months.”
The grip tightened and the hand shook Etch’s head like it was a child’s bobble toy. The world grew dim and dark then brightened once again. Etch wasn’t sure the brightness would stay much longer. Not the way his head felt.
“You hear that, halfer?” Morgo snarled. “I’ve been watching you. Waiting. Biding my time.”
“Biding? What’s that mean?” a voice from Etch’s left asked.
The second attacker. Etch was aware enough to realize at least three beings were in the apartment. The one holding him, Morgo, the idiot that didn’t know basic vocabulary, and the sucker trying to hunt for Etch’s bankroll. Three. Etch liked those odds if his head would only clear up for a minute or two.
“Being patient,” Morgo snarled. “You’re such a fucking moron, Gosby.”
“Never heard the word, so what do I know about biding?” Gosby whined.
“Where are your chits, halfer?” Morgo growled and shook Etch again by the neck. “Tell us quick and I’ll make this hurt a lot less than I want you to hurt. Hear me, halfer? I’m being kind.”
Gosby snorted.
“You got something to say, jackfuck?” Morgo nearly shouted.
“Calm down, Morgo,” Gosby said. “Never heard you and the word kind used in the same sentence. That’s all. I know what kind means and I don’t think it describes you.”
“What is your fucking problem, Gosby?” the searcher’s voice called from what Etch guessed was the kitchen area of the apartment. “Morgo was making a point, you dumbass.”
“You’re the dumbass,” Gosby whined.
Footsteps then a hard slap to the cheek. Etch realized the searcher had approached him and was crouching down to look in his eyes. Etch must have blacked out for a few seconds.
“Where’s your chits, halfer?” the searcher asked.
Etch let out a small snort. The guy in front of him was a genetic mess. Mottled skin that was partly scaled and partly slimed. Two different eyes. Ears that stuck up straight from the top of his head like a nuft. Teeth that were sharp as any Cervile’s.
“You broken, halfer?” the searcher asked. “Can’t talk anymore?”
“Don’t call…me…halfer,” Etch grunted.
“Don’t call you…?” the searcher looked to either side of Etch and shook his head. “You guys hear that? The halfer is offended. Oh, poor halfer.”
“Fuck you…mutt,” Etch spat.
The searcher’s two different eyes went wide then narrowed to almost nothing.
“Listen, halfer, Morgo here wants me to find your chit stash,” the searcher said. “Morgo gets real angry when people don’t do what he wants.”
“You better fucking believe it,” Morgo snarled.
“I wanna keep Morgo happy because he has the hookup to the best stim on Jafla,” the searc
her continued. “That means I need your chit stash. Where is it, halfer?”
“Have you checked…?” Etch started, but stopped halfway through.
The searcher leaned closer.
“Have I checked where?” the searcher asked.
“Have you checked…?” Etch repeated.
“Have I checked where?” the searcher shouted then stood up.
“Your guts,” Etch said.
He yanked his left arm free from Gosby’s grip and slashed out at the searcher’s belly, Cervile claws ripping through the stained and soiled shirt the man wore. Then the claws found flesh and Etch dug deep, plunging his fingers into the man’s guts, twisting, ripping, flicking his fingers back and forth, slicing intestines into ribbons.
The searcher screamed. Gosby screamed. Morgo roared. Etch laughed as he yanked his hand free and flicked gore from his claws.
Etch was being lifted off his feet by the back of his neck. He could feel Morgo’s grip tighten and he knew the twist and snap was going to be any second. Etch struck fast, but not hard. His strength was ebbing. It had taken everything in him to disembowel the searcher. He didn’t have much fight left.
But what fight he did have, he gave it his all.
Morgo roared louder, but in pain not rage. Although there was plenty of rage too.
Etch struck again and again and Morgo finally dropped him as he retreated away from the deadly claws. Etch rolled himself into the lavatory and slammed the door closed. He tapped his comm.
“McDade!” he gasped as he braced his legs against the door and his back to the sink. The lock was long busted on that lavatory door, so Etch’s only hope was leverage. “McDade!”
The comm chirped and Angie came on, “Knowles? What’s up?”
“I’ve got a stim junkie problem,” Etch said as someone threw themselves against the door. Etch grunted as pain shot up his legs and into his back. “Friends of the alley junkies. Don’t know how, but they found me.”
“Shit,” Angie swore. “Shit shit shit!”
“Call someone, Eight Million Gods dammit!” Etch snapped.
“I am! I am!” Angie said. “I put in a call to the local precinct! But I can’t tell them you’re GVD, so they aren’t going to make this a special case, Knowles! They’ll get there when they get there!”