"About now, darling," he drawled, snagging a half-full lowball of whiskey from the platter and lifting it in salute to a table of smiling businessmen. He grimaced as he swallowed the potent brown liquid in a single gulp and pushed away from the bar.
Walking across the worn wooden planks of the bar, he made his way to the swinging wooden doors. The spurs on his dusty cowboy boots rang out as the bar quieted, all eyes on him.
"I got a coin, can yah hit it, Jimmy?" The chubby businessman, whose drink Jimmy had taken, asked excitedly.
"Worst thing could happen is I fire early and plant one between your eyes, doughboy," Jimmy replied, standing next to the doors and looking back over his shoulder.
The man jammed a hand into his pants pocket and extracted a replica silver dollar, holding it up for Jimmy to see. His hands a blur, Jimmy drew a shiny pistol from the holster at his waist and fired at the coin, still in the man's hand. The coin jumped into the air and Jimmy followed up, drawing a second pistol from his left and tagging the coin in midflight.
He knew something was wrong when he looked back to the table. The man was screaming and holding his hand in front of his face. Blood ran down the man's arm, ruining the bright white shirt he wore.
"Dammit, Jimmy," Dolly swore over the commotion. "I told you not to shoot inside the bar anymore."
"You shot me!" the man complained.
Jimmy holstered his weapons and walked back toward the table where the soft businessman sat, his smile now replaced by tears.
"Nah," Jimmy said. "You're not shot. You were holding the coin too hard."
Jimmy leaned over and picked up the coin from where it had landed on the floor. A snowman shaped hole through the center was evidence of two slightly off-center hits. He frowned. Their centers were nearly six millimeters apart and he'd been only five meters away.
"I'm so sorry," Dolly said, setting a small medical kit on the table and reaching for the man's bleeding hand. "Jimmy!"
Jimmy flicked the coin to the businessman's companion. "You'll want to get a kit on that and come out. Show's about to start."
"He's right, Dan. There are two holes in the coin," the man who caught it said, holding it up for his friend to see.
"You just lost a little skin," Dolly said, wrapping a medical patch around the man's finger. "You'll be okay, darling." She brushed a cool hand along the man's cheek.
Jimmy grunted in appreciation of Dolly's easy way with the bar's patrons. Personally, he held the soft tourists in disdain, even as they handed over credit after credit to see the Wild West show of which he was the star. He set his pistols into a security cabinet by the front door and equipped himself with nearly identical prop guns.
"An, there he is!" The bright voice of the show's center-ring barker intoned over the public address as Jimmy stepped through the saloon doors and onto the dusty wooden porch. "The infamous hero of Blakely Ridge. Defender of the righteous. A crack shot with the reflexes of a cobra. I give you … the one, the only … Jimmy Bang!"
There was a smattering of applause and Jimmy looked out to the small crowd sprinkled in the stands directly across from the bar. He counted eight people. In the beginning, the show had done well, but now they barely sold any tickets for the afternoon show and creditors were tightening the noose.
From his right, three cowboys approached with black ten-gallon hats, chaps on their legs, and bandannas around their necks.
"Sheriff Bang, I'm calling you out." The center man had a scruffy beard and makeup had been applied to give him a sinister look.
"Joe Bob, you need to move along." Jimmy recited his line, leaning on his thick Texan accent. The man's real name was Dennis Chambers, a down on his luck actor from Los Angeles, but he made a convincing enough cowboy.
A shrill scream from the bar caused Jimmy to turn to the side. Framed by the bar entrance, Dolly stood with her head tipped to the side. The man standing next to her was holding a fistful of Dolly’s hair and had a knife at her neck.
"Dodge City ain't big enough for the two of us, Jimmy Bang," Joe Bob called back. "You're gonna drop those guns and vamoose or I'll tell Jep to stick the pretty little woman, there."
"You're making a mistake," Jimmy said, backpedaling so he could see the two groups. "I don't want to kill you today, Joe Bob. You make a move and I'll be forced to put you down."
On cue, a gust of dusty wind blew down the narrow street and Joe Bob reached for the pistols at his hips. In an often-practiced move, Jimmy drew the prop guns and shot each actor in turn before any of them could level a gun. A splatter of paint ricocheted on the dusty street and splashed on the silver trim that covered the point of his leather cowboy boots. He looked up at Joe Bob's falling form in appreciation. The man was definitely getting better on his draw. In the future, Jimmy might have to shoot the lead villain first, instead of saving him for last.
To the crowd's applause, he lifted his light brown hat and bowed in response. And so went the next thirty-five minutes of sharp-shooting exhibition and quick-draw demonstrations.
"I convinced the man you shot not to sue us," Dolly whispered harshly, setting a lowball glass of whiskey on the table in front of Jimmy. "You said you weren't going to shoot up the bar anymore."
"Danger's what they're looking for, Doll," Jimmy said, leaning his chair into the wall behind him.
"There's someone who wants to talk to you," she said. "Smells like old money."
"Oh?" Jimmy's eyes were drawn to the elegant middle-aged ebony woman who approached. She was flanked by a compact man wearing an overly formal black suit, complete with a bow tie.
"Dorian Anino. You have a lot of nerve hunting me down after all these years." Jimmy leaned into his accent as he challenged the woman's approach. Like a depth charge, he took measure of her as she received his words.
She smiled and shook her head. "Jimmy Bang, that's quite a show you put on."
"You want to make something of it?" he said, feeling suddenly defensive.
"Not at all," she said. "I often wondered what you were up to."
"Whatever it is you're selling, I don't want any part of it, Dorian," he said.
"I need your help, Jimmy.”
He nodded to a chair as he sat forward and picked up his whiskey. "I thought we agreed to part ways."
"We did," she agreed. "Can we talk in private?"
"It didn't work out so well for me last time."
"What's this about, Jimmy?" Dolly asked. "Who is this?"
"An old friend, Dolly, from before the show," he said. "She was just leaving. Right, Dorian?"
"Five-hundred thousand for a single mission," she said.
Jimmy watched the quiet man who'd accompanied Dorian; his pupils dilated slightly at the mention of the sum.
"Five hundred thousand credits?" Dolly asked, shocked.
"Dammit, Dorian," Jimmy said, standing. "Back room now! And leave your pet behind."
Dorian nodded to Victor as she followed Jimmy across the bar and into a room filled with western stage props in varying condition.
"What's going on, Jimmy?" Dolly asked, trailing behind.
"Doesn't concern you, Dolly," he said, grabbing the woman by the elbow and leading her back out to the bar.
"We're partners, Jimmy. It sure as frak does concern me," she said, wrenching her arm free. "We're holding on by a thread."
"This is between me and her," he said and closed the door in Dolly's face. "Trust me. You don't want any part of it."
Dorian raised her eyebrows at the angry stream of expletives that were poorly muffled behind the door.
"You can't just come back to Earth and toss my life upside down." He spun on Dorian. "I got out."
"One mission is all I'm asking for."
"In case you've forgotten, my team is dead," he said.
She closed her eyes and took a long breath, then spoke softly, "Someone is building an army using Project Evergreen."
"Sounds like you live in a glass house." He shrugged.
"Tha
t's not fair. I've never forced anyone to do anything."
"I seem to recall that being a fine line," he said. "Remember, my team was the first. I know all your bull."
"I'm up against a clock here, Jimmy. What's it going to be?"
"I don't even know what your mission is," he said.
"Simple rescue mission," she said. "I've lost an operative. I need him back."
"Well shit. That's a change," he said. "What happened to 'we'll deny ever knowing you, if you get caught'?"
"The price is too high," Dorian said, allowing her cool façade to slip. "Too many people have died."
"You say that now? What about my team? What about when Slow Poke was being tortured? Or when Belle got snagged by the Carthians? You never sent help. We couldn't count on you. Soldiers need to know someone has their back," he said.
Dorian's eyes grew red and she nodded tersely. "I was wrong," she whispered. "I'm sorry. You're right, Jimmy. The price was too high. Help me. I have too much blood on my hands. I need you."
"Well, hell." Jimmy shook his head. "I'm going to need help with Dolly."
"She seems nice," Dorian said, recovering. "Is she more than a business partner?"
"Someday. Maybe."
"You're only into the bank for twenty thousand," Dorian said. "You're not in that bad of shape."
"Most of my debt isn't with traditional organizations, if you get my drift. Banks don't see us as a good investment."
It was Dorian's turn to shake her head. "How deep in are you?"
"Sixty thousand."
"I'll extend your troupe a line of credit for a hundred thousand," Dorian said.
"I thought you said you were in for half a million."
Dorian smiled tightly. "I pay for results. Finish my mission first."
"If I don't make it back, you forgive the loan?"
"Done," Dorian said, extending her hand.
He accepted her hand and they shook. "I'm going to need equipment and a team."
"What you need is a team leader," she said. "My ship leaves in twenty minutes. Make sure you're on it."
"Where are we going?"
"Mars."
Dorian eased back the throttle controls as Little Deuce dropped from hard burn a hundred thousand kilometers from Mars. Even at such a great distance, the number of ships within sensor range was considerable. Nimbly, her hands flew over a virtual keyboard as she programmed a navigation path that would bring her to one of Mar's free trade zones in the city of Puskar Stellar.
"James Bang requests bridge access," her AI intoned.
"Granted," she replied.
"Is that gravity system your only security for the bridge?" Jimmy asked, flopping into the backup pilot's chair next to her. The system he referred to amounted to a gap in the floor of the bridge that opened to the passage below. When bridge-authorized personnel crossed beneath, the gravity reduced to zero, otherwise it remained at a consistent .75g for everyone else.
"It kept you out, didn't it?"
"Someone with powerful enough AGBs (Arc-jet Gloves and Boots) might be able to overcome it," he said.
"That is possible, I suppose," she said. "My engineers assure me the AI would make that a most unpleasant experience. I believe it is capable of up to fifteen gravities."
"Coffee, Mr. Bang?" Victor asked, appearing from nowhere and offering a tray that had mugs of coffee and pastries.
"Ooh, you are too good to me, Victor." Jimmy grabbed a spill-proof mug that sported a small gravity generator in the bottom, virtually ensuring that even during combat maneuvers no liquid would be lost.
Victor beamed. "The pastries are whole wheat cranberry with an orange glaze."
"Any chance for a finger of Wild Turkey?"
"We're on mission," Dorian chided.
"We are so not on mission yet," Jimmy said, stuffing a pastry into his mouth and following it with a swig of scalding brown liquid. Talking around the food in his mouth, he continued. "And don't be judgmental. Of all people, you know how fast my metabolism burns off alcohol. You made me that way."
The burn of whiskey coated the back of his throat and he gave Victor a conspiratorial wink.
"You should not speak of your enhancements openly," she said. "If the North American government knew what had been done to you, they would have restricted your freedom long ago."
"You didn't tell me why we had to come all the way out to Puskar Stellar," he said, changing the subject. "Surely we could have found a few more team members on Earth."
Dorian punched out a sequence on her keyboard and the forward bulkhead melted away, showing a full view of Mars below. Still traveling at high velocity, they whizzed past a multitude of ships, often by only dozens of meters — the equivalent of a cat's whisker in space.
The ship shuddered as they entered the upper atmosphere, and fire appeared in their view of Mars as the ship continued to slow.
"You're ignoring me," Jimmy said when the turbulence settled.
"I prefer to focus on important tasks instead of making small talk, Jimmy," she said. "We have come to Mars to complete the extraction team. Just as I was careful to choose you, I have been equally careful to choose the remainder of the team."
"You've overshot," he said as Little Deuce raced toward the surface of Mars. "You're going to miss Puskar Stellar by twenty kilometers."
"Have I?" Dorian set the ship down in a grassy field a hundred meters from a weathered old house.
Jimmy's enhanced vision fell on a forty-kilogram feline that had flattened out in the waving grass, no doubt hiding from the ship's approach.
"Victor, take the shuttle to town. I have a list of provisions," Dorian said.
"Yes, Madame," he nodded and excused himself from the bridge.
"You hired a farmer?" Jimmy asked, following behind Dorian as she made her way off the bridge.
"There were no crops in the field," Dorian said, flatly. "And try not to be annoying."
"There's a large cat in the field, forty meters from our position," he said.
"Leave the cat alone," she said. "It's domesticated."
"It's the size of a pony," Jimmy said, as they worked through the hatch and walked out onto the hard-packed red Martian soil.
"Trust me, you don't want to harm the cat." Dorian strode through the grass to the back of the dilapidated farmhouse.
Between his highly enhanced vision, musculature and reflexes, Jimmy wasn't overly worried about the cat. "Here, kitty, kitty," he called as Dorian raised her fist. The screen door rapped against the frame as Dorian struck, making a sort of double-tapping sound as she knocked.
A lithe woman with light-brown hair appeared at the screen door. Her appearance was so abrupt that Jimmy took a step back. It was unusual for someone to get within his sensory range before he expected it. Her skin-tight black leather pants and white silk shirt showed a very well-defined muscular physique.
"May I help you?" she asked, looking past the pair to the ship that sat in the field.
"I believe we have an appointment," Dorian replied, offering a polite smile.
The smaller woman pushed the screen door open, held it with her foot and offered her hand. "Natalia Lizst," she said. "My friends call me Tali."
Chapter 12
Mostly Dead
"Jimmy Bang," Jimmy said, taking Dorian's lead and offering his hand to the small, albeit intense woman.
Jimmy's jacked-up instincts told him of the problem well before he could rationalize what was happening. Tali, instead of shaking his hand, had avoided it and was instead going for his weapon. Instantly he responded, turning into her attack and bringing his left hand across to strike her wrist, to deflect her ill-prepared attempt to disarm him.
In the blur of motion that followed, Tali Lizst utilized the inertia of Jimmy's strike and spun around behind him. A grin started to form on his face as he felt her lift the pistol from its holster on his left hip. The little nymph's grab for his right-hand pistol had been a ruse to elicit exactly the reaction he'd
given. He was dealing with one of his own and wouldn't underestimate her a second time. He’d never met anyone who could outdraw him — from their holster or his own. With the preternatural speed given to precious few in the galaxy, Jimmy brought his right pistol out and level with the woman's heart. "Bang, bitch," he whispered just as his other pistol's grip crashed into his cheek, knocking him to the floor.
"What's the meaning of this?" Dorian asked in shock, turning to the skirmish that had taken mere seconds to complete and left her hero on the ground.
Jimmy slapped away Tali's offered hand and rolled easily back to a standing position. "Dog-gone, sweetness, but you've got some moves." He spun his pistol and slid it into its holster. "Although, in my experience, dead girls don't have quite the left hook you sport."
Tali nodded in agreement and handed him the pistol she'd taken. "I'm not big on nicknames and the shiner's for calling me a bitch."
"Ms. Lizst?" Dorian asked, her ire growing, not used to being ignored.
Tali turned to Dorian. "You're here because you have a job no rational person would take. You brought your hero to my house, a man I've never worked with and have only heard of through legend. A man, might I add, that is presumed dead. Like yourself, Ms. Anino, I'm a business woman and despise wasted time and effort."
Jimmy leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms, smiling like a cat who had swallowed a canary.
"Attacking him was a matter of efficiency?" Dorian asked, still annoyed.
"I know of one, maybe two women who can best me in hand-to-hand combat."
"Whoa there, darling." Jimmy gestured to his nether regions. "All bull here."
"That's right, James," Tali said. "Men have too much mass to be effective at the level in which we fight. If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have left your gun in your pocket and driven my finger through your eye or into your nasal passage, throat, beneath your solar plexus, or any of several other life-altering locations. I don't question my capabilities. I needed to know if you were indeed that legend."
On a Pale Ship: A Privateer Tales Series Page 13