Kami chewed her lip. “Is that your final offer?”
“All the way to the bank,” Taylor said. “Or not. That’s up to you.”
The Sirra’Kan aimed a pensive stare at her whiskey glass then bellowed a hard sigh. “All right, Chief Van Zant. I think we have—”
“Not yet, you don’t!” a male voice announced.
Jack palmed his face as a collective groan swept across the table. “Oh, you’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”
Had Taylor not been paying attention, he might’ve thought Frank had left his post on the Osyrys to join them in the pit, what with the New York accent and all. Alas, he knew better. “Hey, Paulie. Funny runnin’ into you here today.”
“Is it really, though?” A silver-haired human swaggered toward their table wearing green fatigues of a strikingly similar shade to those worn by the Eagles and the toothy grin of a Great White shark.
“Colonel Paul S. Torrio, I presume,” Kami said. “You’re late.”
“Two perks to bein’ the boss, sweetheart. You’re always right, and a dramatic entrance is always on the table.” Torrio collapsed into the booth with a second man wearing captain stripes and aimed a smirk at Taylor. “What? You didn’t honestly think you’d be the only outfit in line to make a run at the Vuhov’s payday, did ya?”
“Not at all.” Taylor stifled a choke on the colonel’s cologne. “The only human outfit from Jacksonville, North Florida, maybe, but not the only bidders.”
Kami’s eyes drifted from one human commander to the other. “So, I’m gonna step out on a limb here and guess you two know each other.”
“Unfortunately,” the colonel said. A native of Queens in his late-fifties, Paul Torrio sported a wiry build with a beak nose and wrinkled, owlish features that had elicited no shortage of Human-Buma offspring jokes around town. Some might’ve viewed such humor as mean-spirited. Unfortunately for Torrio, none of those folks were seated at his current table.
Man, that’s a lot of hair gel. Taylor inspected the colonel’s pompadour, specifically the silver pinstripes that made his sideburns look like landing strips.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Billy extended a hand to Torrio’s companion. “Major Billy Dawson, executive officer, Swamp Eagle Security.”
“I know who you are,” the captain said. He was younger than Torrio, with a rock-solid build, sharp, pale features, and a full head of burr-cut raven hair. He did, however, speak with the same accent as the colonel.
“Oh, right,” Torrio said. “Van Zant, Dawson, this is my new XO. He’s fresh off the boat from the old neighborhood up north.” He glanced back to the captain. “Mike, meet the Eagles. Now do me a favor and go track us down some drinks. I’ll take my usual.”
The captain nodded, then took his leave while his CO settled in at the table, the latter catching eyes with the Farts as he sat down.
“Jack, Stan,” Torrio said flatly. “How you boys been?”
“Great, Paulie, thanks.” Jack didn’t look up.
“It’s colonel now, remember?” Torrio corrected. “And I’m great, too, thanks for askin’. I sincerely hope that don’t come as too much of a shock, given all the faith and kindness you gents showed me during my brief time on your payroll.”
An awkward silence descended on the booth.
“So, Colonel Torrio. How are things across town at—” Billy cleared his throat. “The River Hawk Defense Group?”
Jack and Stan traded eye rolls over the name.
“Boomin’,” Torrio said proudly. “Hell, beyond boomin’ even. I’ll tell ya right now, Billy Boy. Leavin’ Swamp Eagle Security to strike out on my own was hands-down the smartest career move I ever made. I mean that. Ever since I pulled the trigger on the River Hawks, me and my crew have been swimmin’ in credits! Even with contracts stopped, we’ve found other ways to get business.”
“Three cheers for the North Florida tax code,” Jack grumbled. “Just don’t screw up our state like you did your own, and we’ll all live happily ever after.” That earned him a smirk from the New Yorker.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” Kami cut in. “I think I can safely speak for everybody here when I say no one traveled all this way for a piece-measuring contest—tactically, anatomically, or otherwise. It’s all about credits, is it not? Let’s simmer down and get back to that.”
“No objections here,” Taylor said. “Colonel Torrio, you good?”
The silver-haired merc muttered a curse. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Excellent.” Kami spent the next few moments bringing Torrio up to speed on the Vuhov’s change in contract strategy. “The Eagles and I have tentatively agreed on a rate of 18.2 million credits with a combat bonus of 5 million per engagement for up to four occurrences. We have not, however, delved into the logistics of how they intend to fulfill their obligation should my clients elect to formalize an agreement.” She turned to Taylor. “Chief Van Zant, what say you?”
Taylor outlined the Eagles’ advanced prep measures and asset projections, along with their expedited timeline to rapid-deploy from Earth to Emza.
“A 12-hour turnover?” Kami raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite ambitious, given the resources your company is pledging to mobilize for this mission.”
“Ambitious, sure, but not impossible,” Taylor said. “Kudos to Major Dawson for that. He’s the one who birddogged this thing from the start, then laid the groundwork back home to facilitate our timeline.”
Billy saluted his CO with his ale mug.
“Oh, please.” Torrio snorted.
“I presume River Hawk believes it can do better?” Kami asked.
“For 18 credits?” The colonel guffawed. “You bet your sweet little tiger-striped rump we can. And then some.” He pointed across the table. “These morons sit here and prattle on about their 12-hour timetable like it’s some sort of crowning accomplishment. Well I got news for ya, sister. It ain’t shit. Know why?”
Everyone waited.
“It’s because they’ve still gotta transition back to Earth from Karma,” Torrio said. “That’s twelve hours plus a week right there. Add to it the two extra transitions it’ll take them to reach Emza post-deployment, and by my count, that’s almost a full month of transit time before a single Eagle boot touches down in defense of your clients.” The colonel eased back in his seat and folded his arms. “Call me nuts, but rapid ain’t exactly a word I’d use to describe that sort of timeline.”
Kami seemed to consider her next words. “Forgive me, Colonel, but you’re an Earth-based company just like the Eagles.”
“So what?” Torrio said.
“So that makes the issue of transit time irrelevant, since you’ll both be making the same number of transitions to reach Emza.”
The colonel’s grin widened. “That’d be true if we were deploying from Earth. We’re not.”
Taylor furrowed his eyebrows.
“Award my company the Vuhov contract and we’ll deploy from right here on Karma, tonight,” Torrio tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “That puts us on Emza just under two weeks from now, easy peasy.”
Billy sat forward. “Are we to understand that you brought the entire River Hawk fighting force with you to this negotiation—troops, hardware, supplies, and all?”
“Bravo, Cornpone.” Torrio chuckled. “You always were the brainy one in this bunch.”
Kami’s gaze narrowed slightly. “That’s quite the bold move, Colonel, especially given the expense of hauling that amount of resources this far out with no guarantee of a contract.”
“Consider it a demonstration of River Hawk’s commitment to your clients,” Torrio said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Colonel, but are you sure you’re up to this?” Taylor asked. “Last I checked, River Hawk’s entire operation was barely the size of Swamp Eagle’s Atlantic Company. Match that against the hostile numbers the Vuhov reported from their last encounter, and you’ll have zero margin for error if things go sideways.”
Torrio flo
pped up a hand. “What can I say? We’re small but mighty.”
“This ain’t a joke, Paulie,” Jack snapped. “The chief’s right. You put a crew your size on an island like this—with support from the Goka, no less—and you’re in real danger of outkickin’ your coverage. That’s how people get killed.”
The colonel heaved a sigh as his companion returned with a pair of pint glasses. “Wanna know what really fires me up about livin’ in Jacksonville, Ms. K’Nami?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re about to tell us,” Stan muttered.
“Here’s a hint,” Torrio continued. “It ain’t the beach or the sunshine, or even the low taxes. It’s wakin’ up every single day knowin’ my only competition for peach jobs like yours comes from a city full of dumbass rednecks who think they know everything because they’re from the South and I’m not.” He elbowed his subordinate. “Mike, gimme the thing.”
The captain reached into his vest and produced a slate, which he handed to Torrio. The latter swiped the device active, then presented it to their host.
“As you can see, miss,” the captain said, “our outfit has secured a three-month subcontract with the Buffalo Bills to provide full transport to and from Emza, plus tactical support from two additional troop companies for deployment on the ground. That’s CASPers, ordnance, supplies. The whole nine yards.”
Kami swiped at the screen, perusing the data. “What happens if the threat to my clients hasn’t been neutralized after three months?”
“Then we’ll stay longer,” the captain said. “If you’ll swipe to page 13, you’ll see near the bottom where Colonel Torrio negotiated a ninety-day extension into our agreement with the Bills. This way, if we need to stick around, we’re free to do so, with full support via the contract rider.”
Taylor whistled. “My hat’s off to ya, Colonel. That’s one helluva pitch. Although I’d sure hate to see the interest rate on the loan you took out to pay for all that extra hardware.”
“Think whatever you want.” Torrio grunted. “Some of us didn’t have the luxury of landin’ a free pass to financial bliss from a washed-up old merc has-been to launch our business. Speakin’ of Ron Carnegie, I hope that backstabbin’ bastard is rottin’ in a gutter somewhere like the decrepit old turncoat he is. Serves him right for the way he walked out on his people.”
Kami swiped off the slate. “And you can verify all this?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the captain said. “We’ve got the Bills’ ship captain standing by on comms if you’d like him to stream down a manifest.”
“Forget the manifest. Let’s get to the kicker.” Torrio clasped his fingers. “Not only will the River Hawk Defense Group provide everything he just said and more—in two weeks—but we’re also prepared to do it for 18 million flat with no combat bonuses.”
Kami blinked. “You’re serious. No bonuses.”
“Not a one,” Torrio said. “Simply put, we’ll go where your clients want, when they want, however many times they want—no questions asked—until their problems with these hostiles are history.”
Kami gave a slow nod, then turned to Taylor. “Without combat bonuses, his proposal represents a potential swing of 20 million credits back to my clients’ account. They can’t not consider that. I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask the Eagles to counter-offer.”
Taylor glanced to his XO, who shook his head.
“Ha!” Torrio clapped his hands. “What do ya say, sweetheart? Should we make this official now and sign on the dotted line, or do you require some extra shmoozin’…say over a private dinner and drinks in my quarters? Because I’d do that for you.”
Kami’s earlier posture of professionalism morphed into one that said, touch me and you’ll be dead before you hit the floor. “Nothing is official until my clients make a formal selection on who to hire. You both make a strong case. Expect their decision by the end of the day.” With that, she fired down the last of her whiskey and rose to go. “Colonel, Chief, Husker. I’ll be in touch.”
The humans stayed behind, while the Sirra’Kan left for the exit.
“Well, I reckon that’s it, then,” Taylor said. “Regardless of how this shakes out, Colonel, I wish the best to you and your crew.”
“Go to hell, Van Zant,” Torrio said with a snarl as he got to his feet. “As far as I’m concerned, you and your entire inbred crew can take your sanctimonious platitudes and shove ‘em up your swamp-rat asses. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got shit to do.” He motioned to the captain. “Let’s go.”
The Eagles stayed seated in the booth as their human counterparts stormed out of the merc pit.
“What a waste,” Jack mumbled.
“It truly is,” Billy said. “Logistically speaking, Paul always did have a solid head for numbers. If he could’ve just found a way to keep his mouth in check, he might’ve made a decent addition to the Eagles.”
“I’m pretty sure my partner was referrin’ to the beers.” Stan pointed to the pair of half-full pint glasses that’d been left on the table. “For the record, I’m inclined to agree. Paulie was assigned to our unit after the Eagles took over Steeldriver. Did he show some potential? Sure. He was a bona fide loose cannon, a fact borne out by his own personnel file, courtesy of Steeldriver’s former HR director.” The Mississippian took a pull of his drink. “Me personally, I’m glad that Yankee prick took his attitude and his Aqua Velva ass on down the trail. We’re better off without him.”
Taylor sipped his beer and considered what might’ve been for the River Hawk’s commander as a member of his own company. He’d read the file Stan had mentioned, and the Fart was right. Ron Carnegie’s own people had referenced Torrio’s lack of temperance on more than one occasion. Conversely, they’d also cited no less than a dozen instances where Torrio had excelled in the line of duty while in service to the company.
Part of Taylor had hoped to keep the brash New Yorker on staff a while just to see where things went. Inevitably, though, no amount of olive branches had been enough for Torrio to stick around.
We all make our choices. Taylor spotted a server bot rolling across the floor and tossed the machine a wave. “Another round please?”
* * * * *
Chapter 5: Distracted
The next five hours on Karma Station drew out like molasses as Taylor and the others waited out Kami’s call. For kicks, they tried any manner of ways to pass the time, most notably over cards while drilling the XO over his history with their Sirra’Kan host.
“Ah, c’mon, Major,” Jack groaned. “Out with it already! Were you two a thing back in Panama City or not?”
True to his gentleman’s reputation, Billy didn’t budge. He just sat there in his seat, grinning away like the cat who ate the canary from behind a trio of aces while the others went on spinning their wheels in search of answers.
Incoming communique from Eutowa K’Nami. Taylor keyed his pinplant comm and spoke aloud. “Hey, Kami. We were just talkin’ about you. What’s the verdict?”
“The Vuhov are going with River Hawk,” the Sirra’Kan said. “I’m sorry, Chief Van Zant. I swear I did everything I could.”
Disappointed though he was, Taylor didn’t doubt that. As Kami had noted in the pit, the final decision on who landed the Zuparti garrison contract had rested with her clients alone. This meant the aliens had every right to sign on with the outfit who’d promised to save them 20 million credits in combat bonuses if they so elected. Taylor just hoped it didn’t come at the expense of his fellow North Floridians.
Happy huntin’, Paulie. Keep your head on a swivel, and we’ll see you home soon.
With the Vuhov contract off the board, the Eagles shifted focus to their secondary option, a nine-week cadre contract with a group of Duplato out in the Jesc arm. Granted, the job didn’t pay nearly as well as the Zuparti gig. It was, however, a prime opportunity for Billy to shake down his final list of candidates to crew the EMS Stargell moving forward. The XO deployed from Earth 10 days later with Smitty and Quint for
support, leaving Taylor, Frank, and the Farts to shore up other business around Jacksonville.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Taylor, but I gotta go.”
“Rita, wait.” Taylor put out his hand to stop his sister from leaving, but it was too late. Her mind had been made up. Seconds later, he found himself standing still on the tarmac, thoughts racing a million miles a minute as her cruiser lifted from its platform into the clear Jacksonville sky overhead.
Please don’t go.
A cascade of light crashed through the ship like a fireball.
“Rita!”
Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop.
Taylor snapped out of his daydream and dove for a nearby cubical as a wave of laser fire sheared off the barrier above his head.
“Intruder!” the first of two Zuul announced.
So much for the element of surprise. Taylor got to his feet and returned fire with his JXR-14 carbine. Both aliens fell before either could render another protest. Four shooters down, three to go.
“Rebel to Tomahawk,” Stan’s voice chattered in Taylor’s head. “What in the hell’s goin’ on up there?”
“Sorry, Reb,” Taylor answered. “I ran into a few unwanted guests on level 13.”
The Mississippian grunted. “Yeah, well, kick it in the ass. I’ve got the lead mutt’s attention for now while we talk demands, but I can’t keep him on the line forever.”
“How much time do I have?” Taylor asked.
“Five minutes, tops,” Stan said. “I might can buy you an extra 10 if I grant the Zuul’s request for an armed transport, but my gut says the hostages won’t be invited on that trip. One way or another, they’re comin’ out of that office complex tonight. Whether it’s on their feet or in zipper bags rests entirely on you. So hurry.”
Now squarely immersed in a renewed sense of urgency, Taylor duck-walked to the hall’s end and found a stairwell entrance beside a painting of the Atlantic surf that ostensibly led upstairs to the tower’s east wing. According to Stan’s intel, that’s where eight hostages were being held in an executive suite just off the main atrium.
The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12) Page 4