Drake grinned. “Never go to a new place unprepared.”
“Well, you won’t get any here that you don’t bring with you, friend. You’d better leave that behind.”
“You know how much this damn thing cost me?”
“Yeah, well, you let us worry about that. No one steals from this lot.” He hefted his rifle to punctuate the point.
Drake sighed. “Are you sure I can’t bring it in?”
“If you’re wanting to get through the door, I am.”
With little choice in the matter, Drake removed the weapon and set it on the passenger seat. He still had a knife on his belt that hopefully would be allowed. Even so, he did not like going in without either his sword or the P37. The runner would certainly recognize him. Not that capturing him here was the plan.
He approached the entrance, and after a quick search was allowed through. To his relief, they did not seem to care about the knife.
Inside was nothing more than a large tavern that was currently about three-quarters full. A bar lined the rear wall, with tables and chairs scattered about randomly. To his left was a stage where three scantily clad girls were dancing for a line of appreciative men, most of whom were busy slipping them notes to grab their attention. The relentless beat of the music mixed with the dim lighting created a seedy atmosphere, further enhanced by the sawdust covering the floor and the smell of stale beer and old whiskey hanging in the air. Several armed men walked around the edge of the room, their eyes constantly scanning the area for any sign of a disturbance.
Drake spotted the runner sitting at a table with three others in the far right corner. After buying a mug of beer at the bar, he walked casually up and pulled a chair from another table.
“Mind if I join you?”
All four men leapt from their seats. Drake did not flinch.
“How the hell are you alive?” Varish demanded, his hand drifting beneath his jacket to where he no doubt had a weapon hidden.
“I wouldn’t do that,” remarked Drake, nodding toward the patrolling guards.
Varish glared. “You must be insane coming in here.”
Drake shrugged and took a sip of beer. “Maybe. I just thought I’d give you a chance to hand yourself in before any more of your friends get hurt.”
“You’re the one who’s going to get hurt,” snarled the man on Varish’s left. “You think you can just walk in here and nothing will happen? This is our place.”
“Here’s what I know,” said Drake. “I know that before any of you are able to stop me, I’ll have gutted your friend. And if you’re stupid enough to try me, you can join the others back at the warehouse. I think Barnaby should be finding their bodies just about now.” He could see the rage building in the runner as well as his companions. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. I came here to talk, not to fight.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” said Varish.
“I think you’ll find we do. I promise, once I’ve said what I came to say, I’ll leave.”
There was a long, tense pause while the four men exchanged glances.
Finally, Varish sat down. “Fine. Just remember, I’m not coming with you.” He looked to his friends. “Give us a minute. But stay close.”
Drake waited until the other three had moved over to the bar, their eyes still fixed firmly on him. He could not help but admire these men. Loyalty and friendship were rare things, especially in the provinces. That they were sticking with Varish despite what had happened at the warehouse was a testament to their character.
“It seems to me that you are in quite the predicament,” he began.
Varish sniffed. “Look around you. I’m not the one in the predicament.”
“You think if I die, I’ll be the last one he sends after you?”
“He can send as many as he wants. I’ll kill every one of you bastards.”
Drake shook his head and blew out a long breath. “You’re not very bright, are you? The only reason you and some of your friends are still alive is because I’m the one who came after you. Most hawkers would have simply destroyed the warehouse with all of you in it. I wanted to take you alive. I still do. Don’t you care about what happens to the people protecting you? You don’t want more to die, do you?”
“My friends, as you like to call them, are not protecting me,” he shot back. “They’re protecting what I know.”
“And what is that?”
“You think I’d tell you?”
“It really doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you know. I don’t care why my client wants you brought in. All I care about is the bounty. You, on the other hand, should care about living.”
Varish furrowed his brow as realization dawned. “You don’t even know who you’re working for.”
“It doesn’t matter who it is. All that matters is that it’s legal.”
It wasn’t unusual for a client to remain anonymous; there could be any number of reasons for it. It made no difference. So long as the magistrate authorized the bounty, he was in the right.
“Legal?” Varish echoed. “There’s nothing legal about it. Not a damn thing. Are you so stupid you don’t see that? I haven’t done anything. They just want me because of what I know. That’s the only reason. I’m dead the moment you turn me over.”
“If the client wants you dead, why not send an assassin? Why bother bringing you in?”
“To be sure I’m dead, of course. If I die, what I know dies with me.”
Drake looked over to the three men. “What about them? They know, don’t they?”
He shook his head. “They think they do, that’s all. But I’m the only one I can trust with this.”
Drake scrutinized him carefully. He wasn’t lying. But so what? Drake still had a job to do. Hawkers who failed didn’t last. “I’m sorry, but this has to play out,” he said. “Last chance. If I walk out of here, I can’t promise you anything.”
Varish sneered. “It doesn’t sound like you’re promising me anything now.”
“I promise to deliver you alive. You won’t get that kind of offer from any other hawker.” He stood. “Your choice.”
“See you around, hawker.”
“Count on it.”
On the way to the door, Drake was half expecting a bullet to strike him. But it didn’t. Back in his car, he went over the plan. Varish must know he couldn’t keep running. He had no choice but to fight. He would think by killing Drake, he stood a chance. Sadly, everything he had told Varish was true. Most hawkers wouldn’t bother about trying to save lives; they would just wait until they had a clean shot and then take him down without warning.
Without doubt, Varish was an unusual man. And Drake believed what he was saying – the man genuinely imagined he knew something vitally important. Something worth dying for. Drake couldn’t help but be curious. It was true that the client had specifically sought him out to do the job. That opened up several intriguing possibilities.
He drove just a short distance and parked Cal near the recycling plant. After taking out the parts and tools he’d need from the trunk, he leaned his seat back and began repairing the P37. Varish would wait until nightfall before making a run for it again. This time Drake would not be able to spare anyone.
From where he was, he wasn’t able to see the bar exit, but he did have a good view of the car park. They would be expecting him. They would be ready. At least, they would think they were.
It was well after dark when he spotted Varish and the three men who had been with him earlier entering the lot. He wondered where the rest of those who had escaped the warehouse had gone. Run off, most likely. There was only so much courage any person had, and most couldn’t find the resources to push themselves beyond that limit. He’d often wondered what his own limit was. He had never reached it, though he was not so arrogant as to think he didn’t have one.
Lowering Cal’s top, Drake fired the engine.
A few minutes later a dark-colored van pulled out and headed north, tires sque
aling as it swung onto the road. Drake chuckled at seeing them push their vehicle faster. They knew he would be watching and were hoping to outrun him. They were dreaming. No one outran Cal.
With no side roads for several miles, the road they had taken was a poor choice. Drake waited for a short time just to be sure that the van wasn’t a decoy, and then stepped on the accelerator. He loved the feeling of being forced back into the seat when he did this, particularly with the top down. The man who had built Cal was unquestioningly a genius. It was as if he had known precisely what Drake had wanted…had needed. There were times when he felt sure he could sense far more than mere gears and steel around him. Had he been a man prone to flights of fancy, he would swear Cal actually had a soul.
Right now he was aching to push her much faster. But he wanted to be well out of town and away from Barnaby and his deputies before he made his move. This was going to get messy.
He turned off his headlamps and eased the speed up a bit. He doubted that the van could go much more than one hundred. This was confirmed when a set of tail lights soon appeared in the distance.
Drake kept well back for another few miles and then began closing in. When only a few yards behind his quarry, he picked up the P37 from the passenger seat and turned on his headlamps to full glare. As expected, the van swerved wildly. With the vex crystal in his chest burning red hot, he raised the gun over the windshield and fired. A stream of blinding white light flew out, striking the rear of the van and then wrapping itself around the vehicle like a blanket. Drake fired again. The already dazzling light intensified to a point where Drake had no choice but to shield his eyes. The van careened off the road, its tires digging deep into the soft earth on the verge. It tilted heavily, and for a moment was balanced on a single front tire before it finally crashed down on its side and slid several yards, kicking up chunks of dirt and gravel along the way.
Slamming on Cal’s brakes, Drake jumped out and ran over to the stricken van. He could hear several loud moans coming from within. Rounding the front end, he saw a young man he did not recognize behind the wheel. Sitting beside him was Varish. Both were badly dazed, and blood was pouring from a wound just above the runner’s left eye. But he was alive. And that was what mattered.
Two short bursts from the P37 easily shot out the van’s windshield. In the rear, he spotted the other three men, none of whom were in any state to cause trouble. As for the driver, Drake guessed that he must have been waiting for them in the car lot. Bad luck for him. Even worse if he was able to fight back, though from his moans of pain, that looked to be unlikely. Holstering the P37, Drake drew his knife. In one swift motion he slashed through the safety belt and dragged Varish out of the vehicle by the collar.
When they were a few feet away from Cal, Varish suddenly jerked to life and began to struggle quite violently. A sharp rap on the back of his head with the hilt of Drake’s blade instantly quieted him down. Using two straps taken from his pocket, Drake then tied the runner’s hands. Moments later he was secure in Cal’s trunk.
Just as Drake was opening the driver’s door, he heard a weak voice calling from the van.
“Father,” he cried several times in anguished tones.
A chill shot into Drake’s gut. The young man was Varish’s son. He hated when family became involved. But then, Varish should never have used him this way. Firing Cal’s engine, he swung her around back toward town. As he pulled away, he saw the son crawling onto the road.
But it was too late. It was over.
* * *
Drake settled onto the cot, his arms behind his head.
“All this for that pathetic excuse for a man?” Barnaby remarked from just outside the cell door. “I sure hope the money was good. You killed a lot of men back there.”
“Yeah, and every one of them was legal. Sorry to disappoint you, Barnaby.”
“You’d better hope so. The body count is getting pretty damn high, and we’re still digging them out. Oh, and one of those guys in that van you ran down has died too.”
“What about my runner? Hadn’t you better treat his wounds? I don’t want him dying on me.” Drake knew Varish had been put in the next cell along shortly after they arrived.
“He’s fine, no thanks to you. And he’s not your problem anymore.”
“If you think I’m leaving here without a transfer writ, you’re stupider than you look.”
Barnaby huffed. “You’ll get your damn transfer writ soon enough, hawker. Then you need to get the hell out of my jurisdiction.”
Drake grinned. “You want to get rid of me? I thought we were friends.”
Offering only a scowl in reply, Barnaby stomped off back to his office.
Getting out of his jurisdiction was a fine idea, Drake considered. And with this latest payday, he could afford to relocate. It was about time, anyway. His face was becoming far too recognizable in this area, and it was making each job ever more difficult.
“My son,” croaked Varish from the next cell.
“He’s alive,” Drake responded. “He’s banged up a bit, but otherwise he’s fine.”
“Thank you for not killing him.”
“I don’t get it. Why would you involve your own son in this?”
There was a long pause. “I didn’t know they had contacted him.”
This raised Drake’s opinion of Varish somewhat. He had no children of his own. Even so, the thought of a parent intentionally endangering their offspring was repugnant. Sadly, he had seen it happen many times. Some people could be completely self-serving and were willing to sacrifice literally anyone to save their own skin, irrespective of how dear that person was. Or at least, how dear they should have been.
“Can you do something for me, hawker?” Varish asked.
“What?”
“Contact my son and give him this.”
Drake heard a grunt and groan of pain. A few seconds later, a tiny blue marble rolled in front of his cell. It was a holorecording – one of extremely high quality and nearly impossible to watch without the correct code. Such a thing would be exceedingly expensive. Far too much for your typical province dweller.
Reaching through the bars, Drake picked it up and held it to the light. Mana pulsed dimly within the facets. “What’s on it?” he asked.
“You’ve sentenced me to death. All I ask is this one thing. Please.”
Drake was hesitant. He wasn’t about to get involved in someone else’s troubles. “Unless I know what this is, I'm not doing anything. Besides, I still think you’re wrong. My client doesn’t want you dead.”
“You don’t know him. The man’s an animal.”
Drake thought for a moment, then rolled the sphere back over. “I can’t help you. Not unless I know what I’m carrying.”
“I’m begging you. You have to do this. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?”
“No one will ever know the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“About Vale...about Troi...about everything. Nothing is what you think it is.”
“And that’s why my client wants you? Because you know the truth?”
Drake had heard this sort of nonsense before. Lies that said there was some sinister plot being hatched by the nobility. That food and resources were not as scarce as people were being told. Some dissenters even said that Vale itself was a lie, and that the world outside the barrier was not the barren wasteland it was believed to be.
But Drake knew better. He had once been a part of the very system that these people thought was working against them. And though it could be selfish, and life truly was unfair, there was definitely no plot. The high mages were working hard with the nobles to make the land whole again. What's more, he had seen the wastes beyond Vale with his own eyes.
“I know you don’t believe me,” Varish said. “But it’s true. And what’s on this will prove it.”
The sphere rolled back in front of Drake’s cell. He heaved a sigh and picked it up. “Why trust me w
ith it? Why not just turn this over to the magistrate? Or the royal guard?”
“I don’t trust you. But you can’t open it. Not without the code. As far as the magistrate or the royal guard…I can’t be sure who among them is a part of the plot.”
Drake could hear the desperation in his tone rising. Oh, what the hell, he thought. None of it was true anyway. The guy was insane. What could happen?
“Fine,” he said. “How do I find your son?”
Varish whispered the location he thought his son would make for. It was a small town, a day’s drive to the west. Not far out of his way, at least. Drake had done favors for runners in the past, though usually it was to let someone know they were in trouble. And usually he was paid for the service.
Drake shoved the holorecording in his pocket and lay back on the cot. In spite of his disbelief, he was more than a bit curious to know what was on the recording. Probably some image of government corruption or a noble embroiled in scandal. When the conspiracies began to fly, it almost always started with something of that nature. People would hear about it, then blow the story way out of proportion. Soon what had started out as a lesser noble getting caught up in a black market scheme got turned into a vast conspiracy to starve the people to death. He felt the sphere in his pocket. Almost certainly, this was something similar.
Varish was quiet for the rest of the day, which suited Drake; he had no interest in making conversation. The following morning, Barnaby returned and opened his cell.
“The magistrate says you can go.”
He stretched and yawned. “That was fast. I figure you boys must have spent the whole night digging.”
Barnaby tossed over a folded piece of paper. “Here’s your transfer writ. Now get the hell out of here.”
Drake took a moment to be sure that the writ was correct before shoving it in his pocket. “See you around, Barnaby.”
Cal was exactly where he had left her outside. None of the deputies had the skill to get past her security, and he had made sure they knew it would cost them a hand at the very least if they were stupid enough to try. After retrieving his P37 from the trunk, he took a slow look around. The shabby buildings and empty lots strewn with refuse brought a frown to his face. Seven years, and still he couldn’t get used to it.
The Runner (From the World of The Vale) Page 4