Gray Panthers Captain Short Blade

by David Guenther

  The inside walls were all tagged with graffiti and most of the windows were broken. The machinery had been vandalized, and Guns was sure the missing parts were no longer available.

  “The place is more wrecked than I thought it would be. I’m just wasting our time here,” he told the agent.

  “Oh, but the upstairs is untouched, Mr. Wright. You might change your mind once you see it.”

  The agent led Guns to a door in the back and unlocked the heavy padlock so they could access the stairs. At the top of the stairs they stepped into a huge storeroom. Military uniforms in various states of completion were strewn in a corner. The remainder of the room was filled with gigantic rolls of camouflage material and other fabrics.

  “I’m not interested in the building or the machinery. I’d consider taking the camouflage material, even though it’s at least thirty years out of date. Throw in the other fabric and make me an offer. Let’s see what we can agree on,” Guns proposed, realizing he was looking at ten times the amount of material Short Blade wanted.

  “Sir, I can’t do that. The contents and the building have to be sold together.”

  “How much do you want for the building, then?” Guns stared at the floor as he waited for the boot to drop.

  “The asking price for the factory, with everything inside it, is nine hundred thousand dollars.”

  “You can call the owner and let him know there’s black mold growing throughout the building. Judging from the extent of the mold I can see, it would cost at least a hundred thousand to clean it up, and once you start tearing out the walls and pulling up the floors, there’s probably twice that much. We both know that a building inspector will demand that the mold be eliminated before the building can be sold. If I don’t buy it, I wouldn’t be surprised if the city just happened to find out about the serious health hazards here. They’d condemn the property—or worse. Call the owner and tell him I’m offering three seventy-five.”

  The agent walked to the far side of the room to make the call. Guns pretended not to watch as the man paced back and forth, gesticulating angrily while he tried to keep his voice down. A few minutes later he walked back to Guns, red in the face and obviously doing his best to appear calm.

  “Mr. Wright, the owner will sell for four hundred thousand. Not a penny less.”

  “Get all the paperwork to me within an hour—and I mean one hour—and you have a deal,” Guns said. He held out his hand and the agent shook it, unable to hide his disbelief.

  “How will you be paying for the factory, sir?”

  “I was thinking I’d pay in gold, if that works for you.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be back in less than an hour with the papers.” And then I’ll call the city and file an anonymous report of a dangerous building, you bastard, he thought gleefully.

  After the agent scurried off to take care of business, Guns acted quickly, starting with contacting the shuttle’s AI.

  “Phoenix, please find a scrap metal dealer who can meet me at the factory in an hour and a half. I have a lot of high-quality metal to sell. Then, see if you can find a buyer for two-hundred-year-old bricks. Last, I need a general contractor here as soon as possible.” Now, I wonder what I missed that’s going to come back and bite me in the ass, Guns thought as he looked over the old factory. He remembered one important task.

  “Comm, Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy here.”

  “You done with your tasks, buddy?’

  “Close as I can be for now.”

  “Great. Get a moving truck and some muscle and meet me here at my location. We’ll also need a storage facility—twenty-by-twenty should do it.”

  “On it, Chief.”

  The real estate agent showed up a half hour later. The brick buyer picked that time to show up as well.

  “Mr. Wright, are you ready to sign the papers?” the agent asked, his smile lacking any warmth.

  “I certainly am.”

  The two sat at a dilapidated old industrial sewing machine table that was flaking paint and Guns went through the half-inch stack of papers. He smiled when he saw a release form for any pre-existing conditions, and then signed it. Reaching into his backpack, he removed forty gold coins.

  “I expect you want this then,” Guns said as he set the coins on the table. “Forty one-ounce gold coins. The current rate today is ten thousand an ounce, so I guess this completes our business.”

  After brushing the coins into his briefcase, the agent grabbed his copies of the paperwork, shook hands, dropped the keys on the table, and left as quickly as he could.

  Guns got up and approached the brick buyer, who was wearing a suit that Guns could appreciate but would never buy for himself.

  “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he said as he held out his hand.

  “Not a problem. I’m Jacob Wilcox. I was informed that you have a large quantity of very old bricks. I’m interested in using them for a restaurant I’ll be building.”

  “The bricks are all around you, Mr. Wilcox. I’m expecting a contractor in a little bit to go over salvaging as much of the building as we can.”

  “I can tell you right now, you might salvage thirty percent if you’re lucky. Plus, it can be a real pain to remove the mortar on projects like this. Would you be interested in selling the building as it is?”

  Guns did his best to hide his shock at the prospect of selling the building so quickly.

  “I would, but I can’t in good conscience. The place is one huge colony of black mold. It’d be cheaper to tear it down and build new.”

  “Who gave you that load of crap? Listen, the mold you have may or may not be dangerous, but just look at this building. Brick mortar and two-hundred-year-old exposed lumber. Strip everything out and you have an outstanding building for a restaurant or nightclub—especially being so close to the highway exit.”

  “Does that mean you want to make an offer on the place? I have a scrapper coming in to remove all the machinery, if that helps any. If you want to imagine this place empty. The upstairs has a large area, too.”

  Wilcox studied Guns for a moment before he replied. “You’re not much of a salesman, but I could use this for my restaurant. The location is good, and you’re about to offer me a price I can’t resist.”

  “No, sir, you’re going to offer me a price I can’t resist.”

  Both men laughed at the joke and Jacob looked Guns s over thoroughly.

  “I need to get my partners involved. We won’t go over a million.”

  “Are you sure you can’t go one point five?” Guns asked, hoping to sound desperate.

  “No. One million, firm,” Wilcox said adamantly.

  “All right. You have a deal. I just need to clean out the second floor. I’ll have the scrapper work with you so you can decide what you want to keep and what’s to be scrapped.”

  Guns couldn’t believe how easily everything was falling into place. Jimmy showed up just about then with his hired muscle, and close behind them were the contractor and scrapper.

  “Jimmy, take your guys upstairs and start removing the rolls of material,” he said, pointing to the door that led to the stairs. Turning to the other two men, he introduced himself and Wilcox, explaining that Wilcox would be the new owner.

  “I plan to turn this into a restaurant,” Wilcox told them, “so I’ll need the larger pieces of machinery gone, but I want to incorporate some of the existing features into the new decor.” Both men listened closely and took notes as they followed Wilcox around the lower floor.

  While Jimmy and his workers hustled to get the fabric out to the truck, Guns was communicating with Phoenix.

  “I need a real estate agent and an attorney who specializes in commercial property transactions to meet me here as soon as possible. I have a buyer for the factory and will need the attorney to act on my behalf, since we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  Back at the Orient, Short Blade was beginning to worry. Neither of the old chiefs had reported in yet. He thought about cal
ling them, but he decided not to interfere with whatever fun they might be having. Let them enjoy their last day on their home planet, he thought. A half-hour in the hot tub, and I’ll call it a night.

  “Captain, I have an initial report for you on Jane Smith, the woman who said she was from Lunar Tours,” Phoenix commed.

  “Go ahead, please.”

  “She works in the United Nations’ Special Operations Group. I suspect they’re planning to take over the facility on the moon, now that the Gray Panthers have practically stood down. Their only problem is they don’t have any way to get there. Your shuttle was their only real chance, since every other type of transport has an AI that wouldn’t let them get any type of force to the moon.”

  “Give your report to Hercules, the Gray Panthers’ central AI. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the information, if they didn’t know already.” I wonder if Dan Daniels will drop a rock on the UN building? Short Blade mused. Oh, well. Not my problem.

  Jimmy sat back in the truck seat and checked his wrist computer. It was already eleven. He and the men he’d hired had just finished loading the material into the moving truck. As the last of the men climbed into the truck, Jimmy started the engine and headed for the shuttle.

  Guns was still inside the building, wrapping up his meeting with the attorney and the real estate agent.

  “Gentlemen, I honestly don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ve signed all the paperwork, so the rest is up to you. Just please make sure that all fees and taxes are paid—and be sure to get receipts. Now, would either of you care to see my shuttle? It’s parked over by the stockyard.”

  Both men jumped at the chance to see for themselves if there was an actual space shuttle. They made wisecracks as they rode in the back of the limo, thinking it was all a great joke.

  “And here we are, kind sirs,” Gun announced as they pulled into the stockyard. “That is the Phoenix.”

  It was hard to tell which of the men was more stunned. Guns flashed them a lopsided grin, got out of the limo, and walked over to join Jimmy, who was standing next to the moving truck near the shuttle’s main hatch.

  “How much were you able to fit into cargo bay two?” Guns asked, looking at all of the fabric that was still in the truck.

  “It was a bitch, but we got about half of it loaded around what was already in there.”

  “That’s a real spaceship?” Guns turned around and saw the attorney and the real estate agent staring into the hatchway.

  “If I had the potassium iodide tablets, I’d invite you aboard for a tour, but the captain keeps them locked up.” Both men took a step back at the implied warning. “Well, it’s been fun, and I look forward to making lots of money with you. I have to get back to work now. Thank you for all of your help.”

  As the two men headed for the limo, Jimmy had to laugh.

  “Guns, that was a slick trick to get rid of those shoe clerks. Now let’s lock it down so you can help us store the rest of this crap you bought.”

  “Hey, man, can we keep some of this shit?” one of the hired hands asked Jimmy. He’d pulled on an old camouflage shirt from the pile. Disgust rose in Jimmy’s throat at the sight of a civilian wearing the same uniform he’d worn for thirty years.

  “You can if you want, but the stuff is infested with lice and crap. You didn’t see the warning on the box? It’s supposed to be burned.”

  Jimmy suppressed the urge to laugh as he watched the man do the fastest strip of his life. The hired men climbed into the back of the truck and Jimmy got in the front with Guns.

  It didn’t take long to dump the last of the material in the storage facility. The hired hands weren’t used to working so hard. They just wanted to get done and get paid. They had also noticed that both of the old men were loaded.

  “Hey, Gramps,” the largest of the men said to Jimmy. “Now that we’re done, don’t you think we should get a bonus? You worked us hard, and we did a good job.”

  “For many, that’s reward enough. It will be for you, too,” Jimmy replied.

  “Screw this! Just give me what you’re carrying,” the man said as he started walking toward Jimmy.

  Jimmy pulled a little .32 automatic from his back pocket as the giant advanced on him.

  “You mean this?”

  The man instantly froze. Jimmy’s eyes hardened. Guns walked over to the other three men, paid them, and suggested they call it a day. They vanished into the night, leaving their colleague to face Jimmy and his little automatic all by himself.

  “Guns, you know what? I don’t think I loaded any bullets in this old antique,” Jimmy said as he tossed the weapon to Guns. He now had only his physical strength and his mental abilities to rely on as he faced the giant.

  “Okay, fat boy. Mano a mano. Aww, for chrissakes, are you really that much of an ignoramus?” Jimmy looked at the baffled behemoth in disgust.

  Guns walked over and handed the man his pay.

  “Go home, big boy. You did a good job, and no one died. Isn’t that good?” The man still looked confused, but he stuffed the money in his pocket and left to find the others.

  “Jimmy, you should work on your temper. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “You’re right, Guns. I just hate a bully. Let’s take this truck back and then get back to the hotel. I’m hungry, and it’s making me ornery.”

  When they arrived at the hotel, Guns and Jimmy realized that all of their possessions were still on the shuttle. They didn’t even have a change of clothes. The hotel staff was instantly suspicious of the grungy old men.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Guns said to the front desk clerk. “I believe you’re holding keys for us. We’re part of the Short Blade party.”

  The young woman gave the shift manager a questioning look, and he decided to handle the problem.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I wasn’t given any word of your arrival. At this late hour, I would prefer not to disturb Mr. Short Blade.”

  “Not a problem, sir,” Jimmy said. “You can just tender your resignation in the morning when Short Blade has no crew for his departure. We’ll make your last night here a little easier. We’ll each take a suite.” Turning to Guns, he said, “Nothing personal, but you snore.”

  Turning back to the manager, Jimmy looked him straight in the eyes. “I don’t have a card on me, but I think this’ll cover everything,” he said as he tossed a gold coin on the desk. “I’ll expect my change when we check out in the morning.”

  A flurry of activity followed and a man who’d been standing off to the side stepped forward and whispered something into the manager’s ear.

  “Are you sure?” the manager asked him. “Of course you are.” Addressing Guns and Jimmy, he said, “I apologize, gentlemen. Mr. Smith here is with hotel security. He remembers meeting you, Mr. Wright, at the shuttle when he picked up Mr. Short Blade. Here is your coin back. I’ll have your room cards in just a minute.” He began to sweat as he tried to hurry the staff along.

  “No worries,” Guns told him. “It would be nice if you could send up a couple of steak dinners with french fries and an assortment of beers. It’s been a long day. And you have laundry service, right? Our luggage was lost on Mars on the trip here. I’m guessing you have those nice fuzzy white robes and slippers?” he asked, smiling broadly.

  “That won’t be a problem, sir,” the manager assured him. “Here are your room cards. Just give your laundry to the server when your meals are brought up. One of our guest service clerks will bring it back after it’s been cleaned”

  Guns smiled again as he took the room cards and headed toward the elevator with Jimmy in tow.

  “Lost our luggage on Mars?” Jimmy said with a laugh. “Where do you come up with that crap?”

  “Aw, you gotta give these people something to talk about. It’s bad enough they gotta wash your shorts.”

  “Screw you. Give me the room card.”

  Jimmy opened the door and they both took a moment to drink in the opulence. The main room was enormo
us and offered a magnificent view of the city. On one side of the room, two doors stood open, each leading to a separate master bedroom and bath. The door on the other side of the room was closed. The men looked at each other and smiled at the slight rumble of animal noises coming from behind it. Obviously Short Blade was already snoozing away.

  The men walked over to the wet bar and examined the beer selection. Jimmy opened one and took a long swig. Guns decided he was going to wait until the food arrived, which didn’t take long. Jimmy was about to open another bottle when there was a soft knock on the door.

  “Come on in!” Guns hollered.

  Jimmy poked him with his elbow. “Man, Short Blade’s sleeping. Have some consideration.”

  The server entered with a cart loaded with half a dozen or so trays and a small ice chest filled with a variety of beer.

  “Sirs, I was told you had some laundry that needed a rush turnaround?”

  Jimmy and Guns grabbed the plastic bags the server held out and headed to their rooms. They returned dressed in oversized white bathrobes, holding the laundry bags at arm’s length as if they were toxic.

  “It was amazing,” Guns said with fake astonishment. “As soon as I took my clothes off, they just started to reek.”

  “Yeah, that’s amazing, all right.” Jimmy laughed as he handed his laundry and a fifty-dollar bill to the server. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

  When Short Blade woke up, he saw that he’d beaten the alarm by five minutes. Eager to get back home to the ranch, he hopped out of bed, opened his small travel bag, and put on his flight suit. Opening the door, he saw Guns and Jimmy asleep at the table, which was covered with bottles and food. I’m glad someone had a night of fun, he thought.

  “Good morning, guys,” he said loudly. “Are you about ready to hit the road?”

  It was probably best that the slurred grumbling he received in response was indecipherable. He gave them a few minutes to get their wits about them before he continued.

  “Did you have any problems completing your tasks?” he asked apprehensively.