"Maybe." The vicious little bastard was perfect. Ratt punches my ticket, I take the ride on the Chill Express, and no one has to make room for an annoying ghost. The Burger Maker would simply grind on. "I want you to stay close, understand?"
"Why?"
"I got a case I want you to handle in a few days. First we nail the Hand and finish the payback on Anna Tane. Once that's out of the way, I'm going to need you and I don't want to have to chase you down."
"What am I supposed to do until then?"
"We still got cops to do. You can either help me out or go play with yourself, I—"
"You greaseball eatin', chili pepper suckin' sack of snake shit! What'd you mean by that?" Ratt's face was bright red, and he left me teetering on my one good leg as he stuck the muzzle of his auto against my throat. With Yani Comini in between loyalties and the Razai preparing to get overrun by the Hand and Iron Lee's mob, it was not a good time to have my melon splattered. There were a few Razai who took time out from the dancing to ask if they should interfere, but I waved them off.
"What did I mean by what, Ratt?"
Ratt turned the auto nut clockwise, and growled at me through clenched teeth. "Go play with yourself!" The kid shoved the muzzle hard into my neck. "You got some smart comment to make, pigfuzz, you go right ahead and make it. I'll cut off your god damned head!"
I held my breath, took my thumb and index finger, moved the rifle away from my throat, and said to Ratt, "I don't see the Burger Maker anymore. All I see is a crazy little punk who knows the law well enough to understand that poking this thing in my throat and threatening to cut off my head could buy him the max."
Bright tears came to Ratt's eyes and the kid lowered the weapon. I pulled him behind Nance's wagon where we weren't so much in view. I grabbed onto the wagon as high voltage seemed to work its way up my left leg. Holding down my chow was getting to be gray and grim. When I opened my eyes I again noted the bumps that shouldn't be there if Ratt was male. Maybe he wasn't a he. "Are you a girl?"
Ratt glared at me and spat on the ground. "No."
I didn't want to offend someone hung up in an age or gender thing. "A woman, then?"
"No."
"Why'd you get so pissed about me saying go play with yourself?"
Ratt's voice became very hushed. "I am not male. I am not female."
"Ratt, if you're some kind of super gay, it doesn't make any dif—"
"I am not gay!" Ratt shouted. Seeing that we were attracting some more attention, the kid talked in an angry, gravelly whisper that made him sound like a pit bull getting ready to square some old accounts. "I am not male, female, gay, straight, or anything like it. I am neuter."
I frowned as I tried to remember how Cuter Neuter's voice sounded at the Caravan Group's meeting. The voice seemed to be a little different. Maybe it was just that Ratt was crying now. If Ratt was Cuter Neuter, that meant that he already knew about me thinning Prophet. Then again, it might not've been Ratt at all. Sometimes that anonymity thing left you in doubt about where you stood with other sharks.
"This neuter thing, Ratt." I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering why I felt so old. "Did you have a bad accident? Get your wiggly whacked off?"
Ratt's eyebrows went up in exasperation. The way the kid's fingers gripped the rifle, I wondered if he was going to cut off my head anyway. "My only accident, Nicos, was getting born. Like you were born without a brain, I was born with both male and female organs. Happy now?"
I shook my head. "I don't get it. You mean you have a pecker and a pussy?"
"Yes," growled the pit bull. "That's what I mean. Neither one of them are very well developed, but they're both there."
Talk about your masturbation fantasies. When it came time to burger Bando Nicos, Ratt wouldn't hesitate for a millisecond, particularly if crude old Bando made some lewd crack about him or her being a person of many parts.
Suddenly it didn't seem so funny. Ratt had spent his life listening to the jokes that only carried one clear message: you don't belong. I'd gotten my own copies of that message when I was Ratt's age. Maybe why he was on Tartaros was one joke in the locker room too many that had resulted in a burgered football team.
"Okay, Ratt, what do you call yourself? Male or female?"
"Neuter."
"Is that a him or a her?"
"It's an it." Ratt looked at me with wet unblinking eyes. "Am I still an RC?"
"Sure. We got all kinds of popcorns in the cops." I poked him/er in the chest. "Remember something, though, Ratt."
"What?"
"The very same second that you lay the dark ride on someone who makes a crack about your crack, the burger machine'll become burger. I'll put you straight into the maggot trough. You got me?" I didn't want the kid executed for murder before h/she had a chance to send Bando Nicos to the Big Toaster.
The kid's face looked like murder in a microwave. "I understand."
I grabbed its shoulder for a crutch and headed for the steps to Nance's wagon. "Watch the door and keep an eye on the Hand jobs near the wagon. Then let's see if we can put the brakes on a maggot convention."
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Fried Ice
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Inside the sled, Martin Stays and Habran Indimi were seated at the table. Nance was stretched out on one of the built in couches. Ratt helped me to a place at the table then took up his place at the door.
I looked at Nance. She was on her back, her right forearm resting across her closed eyes, her mouth hanging open. Her breathing was steady. I swung my gaze until I had Stays tracked.
"Watson. What's happening?"
"Many things. The universe is full of mysteries."
"How about narrowing it down to Carlo and his big deal."
Stays seemed to drag his thoughts back from some private nightmare. "Carlo?"
"Yeah, Carlo. Carlo T? The Hand? The war? Free the slaves? You remember. It was in all the papers."
Stays steamed a bit, then his anger fell through the cracks in his head. Whatever they'd been talking about had depressed the hell out of him. He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and shrugged. "It's past me. The whole thing with Carlo stinks. Maybe the offer's genuine, but my gut is sending up flags. I still remember Pau Avanti."
"If the son is a snake, chances are the father has a curve or two to throw," said Margo.
"If the bait's too ripe," I said, "why not toss it back in the boat?"
"What if it's a genuine desire to avoid a fight?"
"The last genuine desire Carlo ever had was for mother's milk."
"Bando, a lot of our people believe. Just about everybody wants to bite. The news is spreading out there faster than a free parole giveaway."
Indimi nodded his bald head in agreement. "They've heard about nothing but the Hand's half million rifles since they set foot on the grit," said the Colonel. "A way around the fight is news they want to hear. This Carlo is offering a way around the fight."
"You don't buy it?"
"The same way I don't buy fried ice. With the numbers the way this Carlo has to see them right now, he has no reason to fear the Razai. So why deal?" The Colonel scratched his chin and frowned. "They haven't offered us everything we want. Always supposing they did release their slaves, there isn't any provision in the offer for going after their rape and murder perps." He raised his hairless brows at me. "There is especially no mention of letting us settle the Anna Tane hash. They don't even admit she's there."
"You heard about that, huh?"
"Anna Tane hiding out with Carlo is just one more thing about this smell from the east I don't understand. In any event, Carlo doesn't want the law, and I don't believe for an instant that his future plans include accepting anything like it. As soon as the Hand comes under the law, Carlo, his goomba fantasy, and his whole way of life is done past."
The Colonel fixed his gaze on his intertwined fingers resting in front of him on t
he edge of the table. "Maybe what they do want is to saddle us with a couple hundred thousand slaves and then land on us with their army."
I nodded approvingly at the Colonel. He was shy on a few details, but he had a head for first class crowbar thinking. Stays looked at Margo then at me. "What about you two?"
Margo held her nose and I shook my head. When Margo lowered her hand she asked, "What about Nance?"
Stays nodded his head in her direction. "She's whipped."
"Don't you wish," said Nance. She stayed stretched out on the couch, her arm across her eyes. "Carlo is packed. Go on," she ordered. "I'm listening."
It was silent in the compartment until I spoke. "Here's something to brighten your day. Me and Margo caught a bit of a whiff out there on the grass. We checked it and found the body. Your boy Yani Comini is a ringer. His whole army bongs."
Stays and Indimi looked wide eyed and on the zap. "How can you know?" Stays demanded.
"I know." My dizziness was on the increase. I held my head with both hands until the compartment stopped spinning.
Nance turned her face to the wall and muttered, "Son of a bitch." After a moment she lifted her arm, looked at Margo, and asked, "You absolutely sure?"
"He's running an inside job on us, Nance. It's part of a larger plan to suck us in and catch us between the Hand and the Iron Lee gang. Once they attack, Yani Comini's men are supposed to strike us from inside." Margo nodded toward my lap and held out a clean rag. I looked. My leg was bleeding again. The blush was dribbling down the chair onto the floor.
"We talked to Comini," I added as I took the rag and wrapped it tightly around my leg. I was panting for air. "He admitted the whole thing. I think he's going to bet his chips on the Razai, though." I gave the ends of the rag a hard tie and knotted it. I had blood all over my fingers. I tried wiping it on my pants.
Stays pointed at me. "Shouldn't you have someone look at that leg?"
"Later. Right now Comini and his squats are supposed to be cranking up for the vote on what side they're on."
Stays snorted out a laugh. "What do they do if they vote to stay with the Hand? Shoot their way out?"
I eased back in my chair. "Don't sweat your lobes over it, Watson. Better than anyone else they know the difference between the law and Carlo. They'll vote the right way."
Colonel Indimi folded his arms and leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. "How am I supposed to rely on Comini or his men for anything? It'd always nibble at me. Who's he lying to: Carlo or us?"
Stays nodded. "Carlo has their families, right? Who would you lie to?"
I closed my eyes and pulled Yani Comini's face back from my memory. Courage was in there, steadiness, fear, concern. Even some shame at getting caught trying to dust us. Either he was arrow straight or he was the slickest confidence artist without a law degree in the galaxy. "Right now Comini is culling out the known ratfinks in his ranks and having the rest elect refs. When he's finished, someone," I cocked my head toward Nance, "someone'll have to read Comini's refs the join-the-Razai-or-die thing so they can take it back for the vote."
Indimi rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Margo. "How many soldiers does this Iron Lee have?"
"Comini says over seven hundred thousand. They're supposed to be split into two groups that will bite into us like a couple of jaws at the same time Carlo T. hits the front and Yani does his thing on the inside. I believe him, Colonel. The guy isn't slick."
"Maybe that's what makes him slick." The Colonel rubbed his eyes, passed his hands over his bald pate, and rubbed his eyes again. "This alliance with Iron Lee. Did Comini say why?"
"The bosses see the Law and the Razai as some big threat," I answered. "What's going on, Colonel? You look like somebody farted in your moustache."
He drummed his fingers on the table. "Another whiff." His fingers stopped the tap dance. "It goes back to when Kegel's big column came after us. It didn't make any sense then, and it doesn't make any sense now." He held out his hands. "Getting scavenger patrols wiped is nothing more than the price of doing business on the desert. It happens a lot, and from what I've learned from the Hand jobs and Kegeleros we have in the Razai, there's never been a war over something as small as the loss of a patrol that bit off more than it could chew. Yet, Kegel sent his big column after us. How come?"
"Kegel's done past, Colonel," said Stays. "Those who aren't dead are with the Razai. Why smoke your head about it now?"
The Colonel brushed at his moustache with the back of his right hand as he glanced around the room and then shrugged. "A bad feeling. What my dear grandmother used to call an unanswered question. She used to say that every unanswered question is an enemy battalion awaiting its orders." Catching the expression on my face, Indimi smiled and said, "My grandmother was Lieutenant General Ifili Indimi, the great Butcher of Rhovan Di."
I had heard of the Butcher of Rhovan Di. Back in the Mihvihtian Civil War, it was claimed by the rebels that her soldiers had slaughtered the two million defenders of the main rebel mountain stronghold city. When the vid reporters managed to chase her down, she disputed the rebel claim. "The number of dead was closer to three million," she said. When the reporters said that she was being called the Butcher of Rhovan Di and asked her for her reaction, she smiled and blushed at the compliment.
I couldn't see the point in answering that particular unanswered question. It was all I could do to keep from passing out and planting my face in the table top. "Kegel is done past, Colonel. There's no point in chasing him now. I figure the problem right now is Carlo T. and his new chums Anna Tane and Iron Lee."
Indimi chewed on his thoughts for a second, then said, "If the numbers you got from Comini are true, we're outnumbered better than two to one and back to five or six of their rifles against every one of ours." He smiled, shook his head, and clasped his hands behind his head. "And I'm letting being tired get the better of me. We still have the edge."
"The edge?" I laughed, perhaps a shade on the hysterical side. I was tired, too. "They got more armed and mounted soldiers than we got men, women, boys, girls, critters, and wet-assed babies put together. Anna Tane's already told 'em about the automatic rifles, so there's no surprise there. Even if they didn't know, each one of those autos would have to take out dozens to come close to evening up the odds."
"Training and tactics." The Colonel held out his hands. "By fighting Kegel we learned how every army on this continent fights. The sheets out here work their unit tactics almost like street gangs in a slashout. With the exception of a few pros like Comini, there's almost no chain of command and no organization that doesn't break down as soon as the shooting starts. Directly applied overwhelming brute force is all they understand, because that's all they're allowed to understand. Comini and people like him know better, but to have an effective chain of command, you have to be able to trust your number two. Carlo and the rest of his kind can't do that. They don't vote; they play king of the mountain, and the smart king never lets anyone with ability get too far up the mountain. On top of that, they haven't learned how to make one soldier do the work of ten. Every time they attack they cut their forces by three quarters simply because the rifles in the rear can't fire without hitting their own men in the mob close to the action. Sarah and I've seen it a hundred times fighting Kegel's column. Although they may know about the autos, they have no idea whatsoever about how to attack or defend against properly deployed automatic fire."
"Add to that," said Stays, "soon after we reach the mountains, Bloody Sarah should be there with Jak's army."
"How many rifles?" I asked.
"Jak said a hundred thousand mounted soldiers within three to five days. Another two hundred thousand five days after that, if everything goes according to plan."
I reminded myself that Jak even having an army depended on him getting the old Kegeleros to follow him against the Hand. It might not be such an easy thing. He and the law were an obvious improvement over Kegel and his gut stringin' sweetheart, but if the Han
d was all that easy to take, Kegel would've wiped the goombas long ago.
At one point I felt myself slip away. By the time I was back, the war talk seemed to be at an end. I looked at Nance as I tried as hard as I could to keep my head from weaving. "Nance, I got to talk with you. Alone."
She glanced at me, then looked at Stays. No words were exchanged. Stays got to his feet, nodded toward the door, and Margo and the Colonel strolled on out, pushing Ratt out ahead of them. When everyone was out, Nance asked, "Are you still going after Anna Tane?"
"Is there sand in the desert?"
Her arm covered her eyes again. "I thought you were getting ready to rabbit on me."
"No."
"Before you do anything else, Bando, get Mercy Jane to patch up that leg."
"I'm all right." Suddenly my lips were very dry. "I got something in my gut, though. It's something I need to get straight about with you."
Nance was dead silent.
"Back there on the trail," I continued, "when Kegel and Anna Tane let me go, I wasn't the only one. Prophet—"
Nance sat up and swung her feet to the floor, her dockers hitting the boards with a bang so loud it made me jump. She lifted her arm and pointed at me. "Bando Nicos, you shut up!"
The words jammed in my throat. Nance was still sitting there, her eyes looking in the direction of my chest, but not focused on it. A small squadron of grass wasps buzzed in the dusty half-light. She seemed to relax just a bit.
"We've come a long way together, Bando. A couple of chili pepper yard eagles."
I shrugged, leaned back in my chair, my head dizzy with issues, wounds, pains. "A ways." She was nibbling around the edges of something. It looked like it was something maybe I didn't want to put to jaw music. "Nance, there's something I have to say."
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