by Jake Bible
“How…?” Roak whispered.
“That blast of yours blew their bodies halfway across the jungle,” Mott laughed. “Some fungus farmer found them hanging from one of his spore trees. Shit himself right there on the spot. Then he called me.”
“You know what, Mott?” Roak said, turning his wrists in the restraints that still bound his hands together.
“What?” Mott asked.
“I made a promise to someone that I’d kill you when I returned,” Roak said. “Normally, I’m not really the killing type. Prefer to live and let live. Keeps thing simple that way. Less chance of a blood feud chasing me across the galaxy.”
“But you’re gonna kill me anyway?” Mott laughed.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” Roak replied. “Not because I made a promise to do it, but because I damn well want to now. I’m going to enjoy snapping your neck. I wish your death could take longer, but the situation doesn’t really allow for leisure. Because I’m not only going to have to kill you, but kill those idiots you hired for deputies. I have to pace myself this evening.”
“This evening?” Mott asked, laughing some more. But the laugh was strained and the lawman couldn’t help but glance at the stun dart guns up in the corners of the cell. “You gonna finish your dinner first?”
“You think that’s funny,” Roak stated. “I don’t.”
“Maybe you just don’t have the right sense of humor,” Mott replied.
“That could be,” Roak said. “I should kill you right this second. I really should. But I have a couple of questions to ask first.”
“Oh, you’ve got questions?” Mott chuckled. He looked at the cook. “You can leave.”
“No, stay,” Roak said.
“Leave,” Mott ordered. The cook hurried from the cell.
Roak was a little annoyed at himself. He could have used the cook as a shield. But he’d have to make do when the time came.
“What’s your damn question?” Mott asked.
“Questions,” Roak corrected. “First is, where do you keep the eighteen million chits you’ve squirreled away? Not having to search this whole building will really save me some time.”
“Because you’re in a hurry and will have to kill my deputies,” Mott responded. He clapped his hands together. “You are something. Can I just call you Roak? That’s your name, yeah? Roak? Calling you Bex Klo doesn’t seem right any longer.”
“I’m not sure you’d know what right is,” Roak said.
“What’s your next question?” Mott said.
“Not going to deny the eighteen million chits?” Roak laughed. “That’s bold. I’ll give you that.”
“Next question,” Mott snarled.
“Answer my first one,” Roak said.
“You walked right by it,” Mott said. “That’s all the answer you’ll get.”
“Fine, I can work with that,” Roak said. “Next question is, do you have any last words you’d like to go on record before I kill you? Any statement or confession you’d like to make? Those eighteen million chits didn’t just fall into your lap. Perhaps you’d care to give a hint as to who has been paying you off and why so much.”
“I didn’t get trusted with eighteen million chits because I tend to blab about who I work with,” Mott said. “So, no last words. How about you?”
“How about me what?” Roak asked.
“Any last words of your own?” Mott asked.
“Shouldn’t I save those for tomorrow at the gallows?” Roak responded.
“I think we both know you aren’t gonna make it through the night here,” Mott said.
Neither man moved then it was a blur of motion and violence.
Roak slipped free of his restraints and threw them at Mott. The lawman ducked and went for a small box on his belt. But before he could grab it, Roak had both of the severed heads in hand and threw them right at Mott. The lawman shrieked and dove out of the way, his face stricken with horror.
Roak picked up the dinner tray and put it between himself and the closest dart gun. There were four tinks, and Roak glanced at the needles poking through the tray before he turned and defended himself from the opposite corner.
Mott was back up and pushing a button on the small box on his belt over and over. Far off in the building, a shrill alarm sounded. Mott was calling for reinforcements.
Roak dove under the cot as the last of the darts flew through the air. Mott cried out and Roak saw him grab at his thigh, two large darts sticking out from his leg, bobbing back and forth as their needles pumped the lawman full of chemicals.
Roak took two deep breaths, letting each out slowly. He could hear the deputies coming for him, their heavy boots clomping down the hall, their voices filled with anger and alarm as they called out for their boss.
The first deputy caught three darts in the neck as he stepped into the cell. The second only caught one. The two men dropped hard, collapsing over Mott’s still form. The third and fourth deputies slid to a halt at the cell’s door, but it was already too late for them.
Roak was out from under the cot and grabbing for a stun baton that one of the fallen deputies held. He spun up onto one knee and jammed the baton into the thigh of the closest deputy. The man cried out and fell to the ground. Roak gave him a second jab in the temple, killing him instantly.
The last deputy standing actually went for a small blaster he had on his hip. A big no no on Ligston. Roak threw the stun baton at the man, knocking the blaster from his grip. The deputy cried out and tried to dive for the pistol, but he caught a hard, fast uppercut for his trouble and his head rocked back as his body collapsed forward.
Roak got to his feet and surveyed his work. Five men, only one dead. It was way easier than he thought it would be. He grabbed up the small blaster pistol and a stun baton, tucking the pistol into his belt and using the business end of the baton to flip Mott over onto his back.
He tapped Mott on the cheek several times, but the man was out from the darts. Roak realized he could take his time with the man after all. Not that he was sadistically minded that way. It was just good to have the man at his disposal in case he ran into trouble finding the chits.
Roak shoved the deputies, including the dead one, against the far wall of the cell then dragged Mott out into the hall. He closed the cell door and locked it tight. The deputies wouldn’t be bothering him during his search even if they woke up. More than likely they’d be freaked out by being locked in with the corpse of their comrade. Even the toughest of assholes tended to lose their cool when locked in a small space with a dead body.
Grabbing Mott by the back of the collar, Roak began to whistle as he dragged the lawman from the back of the building and out into the reception area.
“Okay, let’s see here,” Roak muttered as he let Mott go and started to turn in a slow circle. “I passed right by it, did I? Hmmm.”
36.
It took Roak about thirty minutes to figure out where the vault was hidden. He was actually surprised at the creativity that Mott showed. He honestly had the man pegged for a wall vault hidden by some stupid painting or drapery. But the room didn’t have either of those. It wasn’t until Roak had grown frustrated and stamped his boot on the floor that he realized he was standing right on it.
Fifteen minutes more to find the control panel, and Roak watched as the office furniture was levitated up off the floor and pushed to the side by a very expensive grav modification system. The floor tiles clicked and clacked out of the way to reveal one of the more secure vaults on the market.
Well, not so much on the market as on the black market. No legitimate business could buy one of the vaults that Roak stared at. It would take away the criminal underworld’s advantage.
“Hessa?” Roak called.
“I’m here, Roak,” Hessa replied over the comm. “What are we dealing with?”
“Off catalog Champa Consolidated. Thirty-seven model,” Roak said. “Older style, but still a bitch and a half.”
“Can you get me a l
ook?” Hessa asked.
“Hold on,” Roak said. “Let me find a holo vid.”
“It would be easier if you allowed me to install more implants in you,” Hessa said.
“I didn’t allow you to do anything and one is already too many,” Roak said. “Which you’re going to remove as soon as I get back to the ship.”
“Am I? That would be a shame,” Hessa replied. “Didn’t you make it through security without the comm implant being detected?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Roak said.
“And what is?” Hessa asked.
“Consent,” Roak said.
“Do the targets you hunt consent to being captured or killed by you?” Hessa asked.
“That’s different,” Roak replied as he found a tablet and activated the holo vid protocol.
“Is it?” Hessa replied.
“Are we going to spend our time together constantly debating philosophical issues that I could really care less about?” Roak asked, aiming the tablet at the floor, sweeping it back and forth so he captured a full holo of the vault.
“Philosophy is important to my continuing improvement as a consciousness,” Hessa said, moving on before Roak could respond. “Oh, this won’t be hard at all. Is there by chance any explosive putty close by?”
“This is Ligston,” Roak said. “I doubt there’s any explosive putty on the whole planet.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot,” Hessa said.
Roak rolled his eyes. No she didn’t. She didn’t forget a damn thing.
“Hessa? I’ve cracked these vaults before,” Roak said. “You’d be surprised how many targets lock themselves inside their own vaults with air tanks and stores of food and water. It’s like they think I won’t look in there.”
“And you have a solution that doesn’t involve explosives?” Hessa asked.
“I think I do,” Roak said. He dragged Mott over to the vault interface and placed the man’s hand on the scan panel. “Hey! Wake up!”
Roak gave him several hard kicks to the ribs. He distinctly heard one snap just before Mott’s eyes came open, his mouth forming an O of agony.
“You want to live, Mott?” Roak asked.
“Wha…?” Mott mumbled.
Roak crouched down and got right in Mott’s face. “Do. You. Want. To. Live.”
“Yes,” Mott whispered.
“Good,” Roak said. “Open the vault and you get to live.”
“Didn’t you make a promise to kill him?” Hessa asked. Roak ignored her.
“You won’t let me live,” Mott said.
“I will,” Roak said. “I swear to the Eight Million Gods. You open this vault and I let you live.”
Mott’s eyes swam in his head and he fought to focus them on Roak. When they finally stopped rolling, he squinted and frowned.
“Why?” Mott asked.
“Eighteen million chits,” Roak said.
“They’ll track you down,” Mott said.
“Maybe,” Roak said. “But I doubt it. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. A lot that will deter quite a few of the syndicates from messing with me in the future. So, open the vault.”
Mott sighed. He looked down at the vault interface and where his hand was placed on the scan panel. He started to pull it away, but stopped at the last moment. He sighed again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mott said.
“What doesn’t?” Roak asked.
“If you let me live or not,” Mott said. “I open this for you and I’m dead anyway.”
“Probably,” Roak said.
“No. Not probably,” Mott said and pressed his palm flat against the scan panel. He leaned forward and the hatch opened so a line of green lasers could log his retinal patterns. “There.”
Mott tried to move back, but he cried out as the bones of his shattered ribs ground together. Roak had to laugh. He’d been there.
Grabbing him by the back of the collar again, Roak yanked Mott away from the vault as the door slid open and a set of stairs clicked into place, one at a time.
“You’re coming with,” Roak said as he descended the staircase, dragging Mott with him. The lawman cried out as his body jolted against every step, all the way down. “Shut up, you baby.”
Roak’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the neatly stacked chit trays that lined the vault. He did a quick calculation and realized that Hessa had been wrong. Not eighteen million. More like thirty.
“Hessa?” Roak called.
“Yes, Roak,” she replied over the comm.
“I have an idea,” Roak said.
“Do you?” Hessa asked. “What is your idea?”
Roak told her, and after some tangential philosophical debate, she agreed.
“Good,” Roak said. “Now, time to keep my promise so we can get to work.”
“I will see you when you return to the Ligston Station,” Hessa said. “I do have to say that Commander Nimm’s techs are being very respectful of my personal space.”
“How many have you shocked into submission?” Roak asked.
“All of them,” Hessa replied.
Roak laughed as he leaned over Mott.
“Time is up,” Roak said.
“What?” Mott exclaimed. “You said you’d let me live!”
“I did say that,” Roak replied. “And I did. For these few extra minutes.”
Roak kicked Mott in the temple then placed the heel of his boot on the man’s throat. Stunned, Mott barely had the strength to grab at Roak’s ankle. While the man’s face turned bright, bright green, which was the color a halfer like Mott’s face would turn as he slowly choked to death, Roak couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was going a little too far.
Then Mott’s windpipe crunched into nothing under Roak’s boot and the feeling went away as he thought of what the man had done to Ally. He’d gone just far enough.
37.
Ally stopped halfway down the stairs, a look of surprised amusement on her face.
“It’s a little late in the evening for a social call, don’t you think?” Ally said, continuing down the steps and over to the table where Roak sat with his feet propped on a second chair. “I’d think you’d be fast asleep since you have a hanging scheduled tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to look tired and haggard for the holo vids.”
“I keep strange hours,” Roak said. “I also decided I didn’t want to go through with the hanging. I hope that doesn’t ruin folks’ entertainment plans for the day.”
“There will be some disappointment, but people will get over it,” Ally said. “Although, they aren’t as likely to get over the fact you nearly burned the town down before you left.”
“You can’t please all the people all the time,” Roak said.
Ally placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned over, kissing him gently. She stayed that way, her chest directly at eye level. Roak raised an eyebrow and gave her a smirk.
“That was nice,” he said.
Without looking away from him, she cocked her head towards the table. “What do you have there?”
Roak looked at the table and the covered platter that sat in the center.
“A promise kept. Sort of,” Roak said. “Open it.”
“Is it Mott’s head?” Ally asked. “Did you actually bring me Mott’s head on a platter?”
“I’m not going to say anything or risk ruining the surprise,” Roak said. “Open it.”
Ally stood straight, watched Roak for a couple of seconds, then turned and lifted the cover off the platter. She frowned in confusion.
“Those are stacks of chits,” she said.
“Three hundred thousand, to be exact,” Roak said. “All yours. And that’s only half of the payment. I just need you to do me a favor.”
“You tracked down the chits you were owed,” Ally said. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, not quite,” Roak said. “Come on. I need to show you something.”
“Z!” Ally said, calling to the bartender. “Lock thes
e up, will ya? I’ll be right back.”
Z grumbled from behind the bar as Roak led Ally to the tavern’s airlock.
“Where are we going?” Ally asked.
“To show you where the real promise kept is,” Roak said.
They donned their rebreathers, and Roak walked Ally out into the night and through the streets until they stood before Mott’s office.
“You taking me to jail?” Ally laughed.
“Better,” Roak said. “Come on.”
Inside they went and Ally gasped as she saw the open vault in the center of the room.
“That sneaky son of a bitch,” she snarled. “I knew he had a vault. I knew it!”
“It gets better,” Roak said. “I’ll show you.”
Down the steps they went. Ally couldn’t even muster a gasp as she stared at the trays of chits. Then she saw Mott’s corpse and she began to laugh.
“I’m looking at close to what? Thirty million chits? Yet that’s not the best part of this place,” Ally said. She moved swift and sure. The toe of her boot hit Mott right between his dead eyes. She laughed at the heavy thunking sound it made and at the fact the back of her head didn’t light up with pain. “That is!”
“Looks like his death severed the link to your inhibitor chip. He’s no longer your problem,” Roak said. “But, all of these chits are. That’s the favor I need from you.”
“Huh? I don’t get it,” Ally said. “What do you need me for? You just paid me off. Take your chits and go.”
“Yeah, I think we both know these chits are more trouble than they are worth,” Roak said. “At least out in the wide-open galaxy. If I were to be stopped, they’d be hard to explain. Yes, I could grease some palms, but eventually, word will get out that I have thirty million chits on my ship and every single thug in the galaxy would be looking for me. Not to mention the syndicate, or syndicates, they belong to. I don’t really know. Now, if they were to stay here on the planet…”