Bounty Hunter: Dig Two Graves

by Rachel Aukes

  He smiled. “Great. How about I stop by at, say, six tomorrow?”

  “Six sounds good.”

  “Oh, and I’ll have Thor come and stay with Nick and Romy, if you’d like,” he offered.

  “That’s very generous of you.” She glanced at the kids. Both were shaking their heads and silently saying, no. “Yes, I’d appreciate that.” The kids let out exasperated moans.

  “Good. I’ll see you then.” He left, and she spent the rest of the night feeling better about herself…and then realizing that she had nothing to wear except for the clothes on her back.

  First thing the following morning, she placed a call to Lucinda.

  When Artie came to her door, the kids were hiding around the corner of the wall, giggling.

  She answered the door, and his mouth fell open. She blushed and ran her hands down the slinky dress. “Sorry. Did I dress up too much? It’s just, this is what Lucinda sent, and—”

  “No, you look great. More than great, actually. You look really pretty,” he said.

  “You look really pretty,” Nick echoed in a sing-song voice, followed by more giggles.

  Artie tipped his head and peeked over her shoulder. “What are those children up to?”

  “They’re skulking,” Sara said drily.

  “Thor should be here shortly. He’ll see that the kids have dinner,” Artie said.

  “Thank you.” She turned to the kids. “Come here and give me a hug.”

  They ran over to her, throwing their arms around her, oblivious that they were wrinkling the green fabric. “I’ll be back after dinner. You two behave and don’t do anything brash while I’m gone.”

  “Us? Never,” Nick said.

  Thor came jogging up, sweaty and panting. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Law. The deal took a longer than I expected.” The teen stepped past Sara and into the room.

  Artie held out his hand, she accepted it, he looped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and led her into the hallway. As the door closed, she heard Thor say, “How’d you like to learn how to knock out a guy twice your size?”

  She stiffened and hoped she returned to find the kids in the same condition she’d left them.

  As they strolled, she said rather coolly, “Thor mentioned a deal. Is it safe to assume that he sells drugs for you?”

  “Thor is a jack of all trades. He sells a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

  “Artie, if you aren’t going to be honest with me, I believe our date is over.”

  He sighed. “Thor was referring to a drug deal, yes. It’s one of my enterprises—not one of my finest, but it brings in revenue, some of which is returned to Far Town through the food pantry and shelters.”

  “Recycling a small portion of your drug money back into the community doesn’t make you a good person,” she said. She hated drug dealers. She’d seen what drugs and violence associated with the drug industry had done to people, and wanted to see all drugs eliminated. That Artie was a drug dealer tarnished the image of him she’d had in her mind. She supposed that was a good thing. She was disappointed in him but was also relieved to have a glimpse at one of his imperfections. When she’d met him, he’d seemed too good to be true. Now she knew he wasn’t.

  “I try to be a good person, but I’m not an inherently good person. Not like you. But what I’m good at is business, and while you may find some of my enterprises distasteful, I know that if I didn’t run them, someone else would, and that someone would likely be a lot more despicable than I am.”

  Sara, like many others, wanted a world without drugs, but she was also a realist. If Artie didn’t sell them, someone else would. But could someone be a drug dealer and still be a decent person? Artie seemed to be a decent man, and she knew she’d spend a lot of time considering that dichotomy, and wasn’t sure if she was going to be comfortable with what she decided. She bristled. “I never said you’re despicable.”

  He stopped. “No, but it’s clear you don’t approve of me or my business. If you’d prefer to return to your room now and call it a night, I understand.”

  She started walking, pulling him with her. “I may not approve of your business activities, but I’d still like a chance to get to know you.” She felt him relax.

  “And I want a chance to get to know you.”

  He led her to a restaurant in the hotel that was empty except for waitstaff.

  “Did you reserve the entire restaurant for us?” she asked as a waiter showed them to a candlelit table in a corner.

  He smiled. “Well, I do own the place.”

  She’d expected to worry about the kids during dinner, but the conversation with Artie made the time fly by. They spoke of passions, the children, the dangerous world, and even of Nick, the only man she’d ever loved.

  After dinner, he surprised her by asking her to dance, and they did. They swayed together to a slow song in the middle of a dimly lit restaurant. She’d expected him to be clumsy since he was burly.

  “You’re a surprisingly graceful dancer,” she said as the song ended, and they parted.

  “Thank you. I’ve always enjoyed dancing.”

  “Me, too. But it’s been ages. The last time I danced…” Her words trailed off.

  “Was with your husband,” he finished for her.

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’d like the opportunity to dance with you again, if that’s agreeable to you.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Roderick, you are a disgrace to the MRC. You’ve been given access to the MRC’s military resources along with my support, and you’ve squandered both with your greed. And yes, I know that you were diverting MRC resources for your own use rather than for the security of the Midlands. I’ve seen the notices you posted. How could you betray the MRC? I’ve taken control of all remaining tanks and ground troops still stationed in the Midlands; they no longer take orders from you. Effective now, I’m stripping you of administrator status. You are now a private citizen with no MRC privileges,” President Darville said.

  “You can’t do that. I’ll have no protection. They’ll kill me.”

  “You made your bed—sleep in it, Mr. Sloan. You’ve broken laws, including murder, extortion, bribery, and theft, to name a few. I’m giving you three days to surrender yourself to Captain Stolichov. After that, I will sign a warrant for your arrest. I’ll have a squad escort you here to stand trial for your crimes.”

  She disconnected the call. When he tried to call her back, he discovered that his tablet had been deactivated. He couldn’t believe she had taken away the troops, not to mention his rank. How was he supposed to escape the Midlands, let alone the wastelands, without MRC credentials?

  His fingers trembling, he pulled out the other tablet and placed a call. His faceless friend answered two long minutes later.

  “What it is, Mr. Sloan?”

  “I need your help. Darville’s taken control of the tanks and ground troops. She’s sending them to arrest me. I need to get out of the Midlands right away.”

  “Then you are of no use to me.” The call disconnected.

  Sloan redialed, but the tablet went blank. He tried to power it back up, but it was dead. He threw it across the room.

  “Boris!” he screamed.

  His captain of the guard entered a moment later.

  “I know it was you, you sniveling rat,” Sloan sneered. “How could you tell Darville our plan? You ruined everything.”

  Boris pressed his lips together. “It was always your plan, not ours, and you failed. Accept the fact,” he said grimly.

  Sloan glared. “I failed because you betrayed me.”

  “Betrayed you? You forget, my loyalty has always been with the MRC. I work for the MRC; I don’t work for you.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re on your own from here on out. While I won’t hunt you down, I won’t stand in the way of justice.” With that, the captain left.

  “Boris!” Sloan called
after him, but he never came back.

  Sloan considered his options for two minutes. His plan had failed, and there would be no support from the other administrators. He had a safe room in the basement of the mansion. He could ride out a brief siege, but knowing Darville, she’d leave a squad posted outside until he was forced to come out. He could try to make a run for it, but he wouldn’t get far without getting caught by murcs or, worse, bounty hunters. He could probably make it to the silo, but the current occupants were his escaped workers, and they’d kill him while he slept. There was only one zone in the wastelands that was outside MRC’s control.

  He grabbed a loudspeaker and strode out the front door to face the troops. A squad waited on the porch, as he’d expected. That Boris was nowhere to be seen surprised him. His fingers trembled worse than before, but he held his head high as he walked past them to the courtyard, where the remaining troops were mobilizing to move out.

  “Attention,” he said into the speaker. “By now, you may have heard I’ve been relieved of my command.”

  A few of the soldiers stopped to listen. Most kept working.

  “I would like to hire your services, not as an MRC administrator, but as a private citizen. One thousand credits per day to each man who remains to serve as my personal protection for a period of three days, after which time you may return to MRC Central within their expected timetable.”

  Nearly everyone was listening now.

  “That’s more than you make in a month working for the MRC, and you don’t have to resign your position in the MRC. All I’m asking is for you to delay your return trip to Central for a few days while you escort me across the wastelands. You won’t even have to wait for payment. I’ll pay you each one thousand credits every day you work for me, plus five thousand more when our business concludes.”

  He’d be an outlaw in three days, but he’d reach the Wilds by then, where the murcs in his employ couldn’t enter without breaking the peace treaty, conveniently sparing him from having to pay their bonuses as well as preventing them from going after him. He’d only be able to carry a fraction of his wealth, but he’d built a fortune once; he could do it again.

  A trio of soldiers stepped forward. “We’re in,” one said. More followed. Before long, every murc on the farm was standing around him.

  Sloan smiled. “Excellent.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Val burst into the cafeteria where Joe, Kit, and Rex were eating. “Something’s going on at the farm.”

  Joe paused with a bite in midair. “What?”

  She took a seat. “My scout says the murcs are packing up. She also saw a transport backed up to the house, and they were moving boxes and artwork into it.”

  Kit frowned. “Sloan’s moving out?”

  “Or, they’re preparing a giant tank attack on the silo. Maybe they’re just getting stuff ready and waiting for the other tanks to arrive,” Rex said.

  Joe shook his head. “Sloan wouldn’t be packing to leave if he was planning an attack. If he’s getting ready to run, something’s up.”

  “Yeah, like a giant MRC tank attack headed our way,” Rex said.

  Joe turned to Val. “What would make Sloan abandon his farm?”

  She thought for a moment. “All his wealth is there. His land, factories, slaves, all of it. I really don’t know what would make him run.”

  “So if he’s running, the tides have turned against him,” Kit said.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Joe said.

  “You think the MRC finally had enough of Sloan’s shenanigans?” Kit asked.

  Rex rubbed his hands together. “If Sloan’s running, then that takes care of it. Sloan’s no longer our concern.”

  Val shook her head. “You’re wrong. Sloan’s a blight on the Midlands. As long as he lives, the refugees won’t be safe; the same with the slaves still on his farm. He has contracts for all those people. The only way to protect the people is to eliminate Sloan.”

  “But if Sloan’s running, that means something’s either coming for him, or something’s coming this way that he doesn’t want any part of.”

  Rex sighed. “Like a giant tank attack, like I’ve been saying.”

  “Rex, do you still have access to the Haft Agency systems?” Joe asked.

  Rex stuck out his chest. “Of course. Unlike you two fugitives, I’m still a bona fide bounty hunter, not to mention the sole owner of the Haft Agency, the most reputable bounty hunting guild in the Midlands.”

  “You mean the only guild in the Midlands,” Joe clarified.

  Kit frowned. “I thought that guild was defunct after Cat killed or poached all the hunters.”

  “Nope. Reuben Tally bequeathed the guild to me when he died.” His brows knitted together. “I also inherited a lot of debt with it—the list of smart decisions the lad made is shorter than the lifespan of a squirrel scared of heights.”

  Joe sighed. “Have you seen any tickets for Roderick Sloan, Boris, or any of his posse?”

  Rex stole a slice of bread from Joe’s tray, which got his hand slapped. “Not yet.”

  Val set her hands on the table. “We know Sloan’s getting ready to run. We need to go in and take him down before he’s gone.”

  “Hold up,” Kit said. “We’re here to protect the refugees and free the rest of the people being forced to work on that farm. If Sloan’s fleeing Clearwater, then everyone will be safe. I say we let him go, and the problem goes away. Literally, in this case.”

  “No,” Val ground out. “Sloan will not escape his crimes.”

  Kit held his hands up. “Hey, I’m not saying I enjoy seeing criminals go free, but in this case, we’re outnumbered and outgunned. We don’t know where those other tanks are right now. If we go after Sloan, there’s no telling if the tanks will show up and blow us all to hell.”

  Joe leaned forward. “Kit’s right. Before we knew Sloan was getting ready to run, we knew we needed to go after him quickly to beat the tanks. But if Sloan’s running, chances are he’s scared, and since he only cares about himself, that means that things have turned sour for him. I say we let the rat jump his sinking ship. Then we go in and free everyone still stuck on that farm.”

  “There’s a problem with that,” Rex said. “You free the slaves—and that’s assuming Sloan doesn’t have them slaughtered on his way out of town—and you’ll have twice as many refugees to protect from the MRC, who seem to think these scrawny folks are dangerous rebels.”

  “Even with Sloan out of the picture, we still have to deal with the MRC and convince them to lay off the refugees. If they don’t know about the silo, they’ll find out soon enough,” Kit said.

  “Sloan’s taking himself out of the picture, so the refugees and the Swintons won’t be in his crosshairs,” Joe voiced his thoughts aloud. “But there are still the murcs to deal with. I think it’s safe to say President Darville isn’t going to forget about two of her tanks being destroyed, so we’ll still have to deal with her.”

  “If you want to split hairs, the two tanks we destroyed were under Sloan’s command at the time, so we didn’t really go against the MRC. Besides, we didn’t even destroy both tanks. That fancy Z-team took care of one of them for us,” Rex said while he chewed a mouthful of food.

  Joe steepled his fingers as he thought. “I bet the MRC would be intrigued to learn that Sloan had come across an active Zenith silo—one still protected by Zenith troops—which he tried to take over without consulting with his bosses first,” he speculated.

  “You’re making a pretty big assumption. For all we know, the MRC ordered him to take the silo,” Kit said.

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so. If the MRC wanted that silo, they would’ve either sent all the tanks in to lay siege or sent spies to learn what they could rather than the half-assed attack Sloan sent. There was no military strategy to the attack. It felt like it was just Sloan—a rich guy with no military experience—being reactive. We never would’ve stood a chance if the attack was ha
lfway coordinated.”

  Kit narrowed his eyes as he watched Joe. “I can tell you have a plan.”

  “I think we reach out to the MRC—someone above Sloan’s head—and negotiate with them for the refugees’ freedom.”

  “There’s a problem with that,” Kit said. “I think you’ve vastly overestimated the MRC’s willingness to forgive.”

  “We don’t need them to forgive. We just need them to cancel all the indentured worker contracts Sloan’s holding in exchange for proof that Zenith is operating in the wastelands,” Joe said.

  “We give them the silo,” Kit said.

  Joe eyed Val. “And everything in it.”

  She stiffened. “It’s not our silo to offer.”

  “Will that be enough to stop the murcs from hunting down the refugees like they’re rebels?” Kit asked.

  Joe shrugged. “It’s the MRC. They might renege on any deal, but I think it’s our best shot at protecting the refugees.”

  “Sloan deserves to die. What you’re proposing lets him off without any punishment,” Val said with venom.

  “Sloan does deserve to die. But this way, the slaves and refugees will be free, and that’s what all this has been about,” Joe said.

  She shook her head. “All of this assumes that Sloan is no longer affiliated with the MRC because if he is, they’ll accept whatever story he spins over ours any day.”

  “If he’s getting ready to run, my guess is that he’s had a falling out with his MRC protectors,” Joe said.

  “Then why are there still dozens of murcs on the farm who also look to be getting ready to move out?” she countered.

  “Maybe he hired them. He’s rich. Money almost always trumps loyalty,” Kit said.

  Rex laughed. “You’re saying they’re murc mercs. Get it?” He slapped his leg.

  Joe and Kit both rolled their eyes.

  Joe sighed. “So are we in agreement? We go in as soon as Sloan and the murcs cut out, and release everyone he’s still holding as slaves. We go to the MRC with an offer to negotiate—which, hopefully, takes place before we have a dozen tanks shoved down our throats.”