by John Bowers
“Marshal Walker! What a pleasant surprise! I was just thinking about you.”
Uh. Uh.
Nick stopped in front of the desk, his eyes on the holo-window behind Farrington. The gorgeous splendor of Mt. Shasta was still displayed in all its glory.
“How much does something like that cost?” Nick nodded at the picture.
Farrington smiled smugly. “Seven million terros, including transportation and installation. There isn’t another one anywhere in the Asteroid Belt or the Outer Worlds, and only two on all of Mars.”
Uh. Uh.
Nick nodded. “Very impressive.”
Without another word, he reached under his left arm and drew the Ru-Hawk .44 Magnum. Taking deliberate aim, as Harvey Farrington’s eyes widened in dawning horror, he fired one round into the holo-window. The display exploded in a flash of electronics and compressed gas; smoke boiled along the wall and flame flickered around the edges. Farrington gaped in shock, all the condescension gone from his eyes. He stared at the smoking wall for ten seconds, then turned back to Nick, his face flushed with fury.
“You motherfucker! Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
Nick drew back the hammer on the .44 and took a step closer to the desk. Without a word he carefully laid the pistol on the desk, hammer cocked, the barrel pointing at Farrington’s chest.
“I wouldn’t make any sudden moves,” he said casually. “That thing has a hair trigger. Almost blew my own foot off before I got used to it. So…if you even bump that desk…”
Farrington’s mouth clamped shut. He stared at the .44 and swallowed hard, all the flush fading from his cheeks. Nick drew his laser pistol, pulled up a chair, and sat down. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Let’s talk about Agua Solar.”
Farrington looked stunned. “What about Agua Solar?”
“You acquired their operation by fraudulent means. Same with Ceres Creek and Ceres Ice. You arranged accidents. People were killed.”
“That’s a lie! I never did any such thing.”
“I’ve been talking to Stanley Cramer. He told me everything.”
“You’re lying! Stan would never—”
“Tell the truth?” Nick grinned. “Do you honestly think he’s loyal to you? For all his apparent sophistication, Cramer is just another felon. Just like you. He’ll do or say anything to save his own skin.”
Farrington sat staring at him, blinking uncertainly, his jaw rotating rapidly back and forth.
Uh. Uh.
Nick continued. “For example, it was Cramer who provided the startup capital for your takeover. Once he drove their stock prices into the sewer, it didn’t take that much cash to purchase those companies, because they were already ruined. You got the operations and all their assets for nine cents on the terro, all of it for just a few million terros. Quite a bargain, I have to admit.”
Nick was fishing, but Farrington’s expression said he had guessed right.
“You’re delusional, Marshal. You’ve been here less than a week and you know all this already?”
Nick shrugged. “They say the eye is attracted to motion. If you don’t move, you don’t get noticed. But since I’ve been here all I’ve seen is Farrington Industries in fast forward, everything from kidnapping to prisoner abuse to murder.”
“Murder! What the fuck are you talking about?”
Uh. Uh.
“Oh, didn’t Cramer tell you? He ordered me killed. But he missed me and got Misery Allen instead.”
Farrington looked truly surprised. He shifted in his chair, but Nick held up a hand.
“Don’t…make any sudden moves.”
Farrington froze, his eyes snapping back toward the pistol on the desk, which still pointed at him. His tongue snaked across his lips.
“I don’t know anything about any murder,” he said slowly.
“We can come back to that. We have a lot of other things to discuss.”
Farrington’s eyes returned to meet Nick’s. “Like what?”
“How did you manage to persuade Monica Maynard to work for you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did you order Judge Boxner to be shot in the back, or was that Cramer’s doing?”
“I was as shocked as anyone when Boxner was killed.”
“Were you? Was Cramer shocked, too?”
“I didn’t talk to Cramer about it.”
“Well, I find it very interesting that Monica Maynard was a member of your legal department before the killing, and jumped straight to Federation judge afterward. On Cramer’s very influential recommendation, I might add.”
Farrington shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to him about that.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s not here.”
“I can see that. Where is he?”
“I’m not my brother’s keeper.”
Uh. Uh.
“Tell me about Nikki Green.”
“Who?”
“Nikki Green. Where is she?”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“No? How about Jessica Garner?”
“Are these people prisoners? You’ll have to talk to my brother about that; he oversees the lockup.”
“So he does have a function. What’s his title?”
“He doesn’t need a title. He’s my business partner.”
“You run the business, he runs the prison?”
“Something like that.”
“And you give him a free hand?”
“Why not? He’s my brother. I trust him.”
“That lockup generates twenty-three million terros a year. I would think you’d want to know what goes on down there.”
“I’m touched that you’re so concerned about our operation.” Farrington’s eyes glimmered with returning humor; he was starting to enjoy himself again.
“It doesn’t concern you that Henry rapes and tortures women in lockup?”
“If such a thing were true, it wouldn’t concern me a bit. I have my appetites, Henry has his.”
Uh. Uh.
Nick smiled. That sounded suspiciously close to an admission, though it fell far short of admissible evidence.
A door opened at the far end of the room and Henry Farrington stepped through, a wine glass in his hand. Nick swiveled toward him, covering him with the laser pistol; Henry walked unconcernedly toward his brother’s desk, showing no surprise at Nick’s presence. One eyebrow was elevated, his cynical sneer stamped across his face. Then he saw the ruined holo-window and his eyes widened in shock.
“Ghastly!” he breathed. “What the fuck…?”
“Marshal Walker decided to do a little redecorating,” Harvey said with a smirk.
Uh. Uh.
“You goddamn bastard! That’s going to cost you!”
“Don’t worry,” Harvey said, “when we finish suing the Federation we’ll attach Walker’s wages. He should have it paid off by, oh, the end of his life.” He looked at Nick again and burst into a bray. Nick winced as the decibels washed over him.
“Take a seat, Henry.” Nick waved his pistol at a chair. “You can join our little chat.”
“I need a chat with you like I need a hole in the head.” But Henry pulled up the chair and sat down. Nick shifted his own chair slightly to keep them both covered. He caught a whiff of vinegar from Henry’s wine glass.
“Harvey doesn’t know anything about Nikki Green,” Nick told Henry, “but I’ll bet you do.”
Henry didn’t even blink. “What about her?”
“Where is she now?”
“How the hell should I know? She did her time and was released.”
“Wrong answer.”
Henry shrugged, his lip curling in a sneer. He sipped his vinegar. “If you already know the answers, why did you ask?”
“She was never logged in as an inmate. Which tells me you kept her off the radar.”
“Why would I do that?”
�
��So you wouldn’t have to release her when her three months were up. She’s a real looker, isn’t she? You like them young and hot, don’t you?”
Henry smirked, arrogance and amusement in one easy expression.
“I don’t fuck niggos.”
Nick shook his head in reproach. “Tch tch tch. You’re such a racist, Henry. To your way of thinking, people who aren’t white aren’t really people, are they?”
The twins exchanged glances, sharing their amusement. Nick could almost see the data stream that passed between them.
“Where are you headed with all this, Marshal? What do you hope to gain here?”
Nick smiled again. “Oh, that’s easy. I’m going to put you out of business. I have enough hard evidence and eye-witness testimony to lock you both up forever and ever.”
Harvey Farrington brayed loudly.
“Good luck with that, Marshal! The Federation Colonial Commission will never let that happen. If we go out of business, twelve million people on the Outer Worlds will die within a matter of weeks. We are an essential industry.”
Nick shook his head. “I’ve already been in contact with the FCC. They’ve dispatched a receiver to take over your operation. He left Mars yesterday.”
The brothers exchanged looks again, this time with considerably less amusement.
“And Carmen Castillo is with them,” Nick finished, completing the lie. “She will take the reins and make sure the water shipments continue…until the receivership is lifted and she regains control of Farrington Industries.”
Henry’s face turned ugly. “That wetback bitch!”
Nick shrugged. “Seems only right, doesn’t it? You stole the company from her father, so she’s the perfect candidate to return it to.”
Henry’s eyes were blazing, but suddenly Harvey brayed loudly again.
“Relax, Henry! He’s bluffing. If there really was a receiver on the way, Walker wouldn’t tell us about it until he got here. It’s all bullshit.”
Nick felt a flush creep into his cheeks and was annoyed with himself. He was searching for another gambit when he heard the oaken doors creak behind him.
“Keep telling yourself that, Harvey,” he said. “You two can discuss it in your jail cell. Looks like my backup is here.”
He stood up and turned to look, fully expecting Marshals Milligan, Murray and Beech. Instead he saw Turd Murdoch, followed by Monica Maynard and Stanley Cramer. Murdoch was grinning; he held a laser pistol pointed straight at Nick’s heart.
Chapter 30
No one spoke for a long moment. Nick stared at Turd’s pistol, his own still aimed generally toward Henry Farrington. Turd was grinning. Monica Maynard appeared to be in minor shock, eyes wide and mouth open. Stan Cramer skirted the room to keep himself out of the line of fire while he flanked Nick.
Fred Ferguson came in the door, almost reluctantly, and stood a few feet behind Turd. His ear wound had been sprayed with LiquiSkin, which left it an orange color.
Nick’s mind was racing. He tried to calculate whether Turd would shoot or wait for orders. He slowly turned to face him, bringing his own laser around.
“You better put it down, Marshal,” Turd said, his eyes bright. He snapped his fingers at Ferguson. “Get his gun, Fred.”
Nick lowered the weapon but still held on to it. He shifted his eyes toward Ferguson, who came slowly forward.
“Looks like you got bailed out, Fred. How’s your ear?”
Ferguson’s cheek twitched as he made eye contact and then broke it. He reached for the pistol and Nick handed it to him. He backed away, holding it awkwardly.
“Be careful with that,” Nick said. “It has a sensitive trigger. You could kill some girl with it very easily.”
Pain registered in Ferguson’s eyes. It occurred to Nick that Ferguson really did regret Misery’s death. He decided to push the needle a little.
“Killing a girl is bad enough, but killing a U.F. Marshal is a whole lot worse, legally speaking.”
Ferguson’s tongue flicked across his lips. “I didn’t want to kill anybody. I just did what I had to.”
“Shut up, Fred!” Cramer bellowed. “Nobody needs to hear from you right now.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nick raised his arms half way. “I know that Fred only set that shower bomb because he was afraid of you, Cramer. He knew you’d have Turd kill him if he didn’t follow orders. I think a jury will take that into account, when the time comes.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Cramer glanced at his watch. “I have something to take care of. Turd, you know what to do.”
With a meaningful glare at the grungy gunman, he turned and went out the door.
Nick turned to Turd. “Well, there goes the party. I guess this is the part where the killing starts, huh?”
Turd Murdoch grinned malevolently. “Yeah, this is the part. But it ain’t gonna take very long, since there’s only one person to kill.”
“So…you go from committing life-in-prison crimes to death penalty crimes. Sure you’re up for that?”
Turd frowned; his eyes clouded. “Shut the fuck up!”
“It’s like I was telling Fred,” Nick continued. “No jury in the system will let him skate for killing a lawman. On the other hand—” He smiled. “—if he were to kill someone while defending a lawman, that would be justifiable homicide.”
Turd Murdoch’s eyes turned flat with confusion; he glanced at Ferguson. Ferguson stared back at him, then at Nick; his eyes were wide with comprehension and not a little fear. Nick merely smiled.
“It might even make up for killing Misery Allen.”
Monica Maynard gasped in horror. “Misery Allen is dead?”
Ferguson’s eyes sprang even wider, his mouth open in indecision. He panted under the stress. He looked at Turd again, then swung Nick’s laser pistol toward him. Turd saw his intention and turned to meet the threat.
“You fucking little weasel!”
The laser chirped as Fred shot him in the stomach. The pistol was still set to needle beam, so the bolt only made a tiny hole, but Ferguson pulled the trigger three times; Murdoch jerked in shock as each beam struck home. Before he could pull his own trigger, Nick was moving. He covered the ten feet between them in three steps and launched himself; Turd collapsed under a flying tackle with Nick on top. Nick ripped the pistol out of his hand and slugged him in the face with it.
At the same moment, Harvey Farrington leaped to his feet with excitement and bumped the desk with his thigh; the .44 roared explosively, recoiling halfway across the room. Monica screamed and so did Harvey, though the bullet barely grazed his shirt; Henry Farrington stared at the smoking pistol for a brief second, then dived for it, spilling his vinegar.
Nick spun to face Henry just as he came up with the weapon, and ducked as Henry fired. The .44 was heavy and Henry’s aim was poor—the slug snapped past Nick’s left cheek and exploded in the wall behind him, but the Ru-Hawk’s recoil slammed the gun back into Henry’s forehead and knocked him out cold. Nick got slowly to his feet, his heart beating hard, and motioned to Ferguson with his head.
“Keep an eye on Murdoch. If he wakes up and tries anything, shoot him in the eye.”
Wide-eyed and trembling, Ferguson nodded and hurried forward to stand over Turd. Nick advanced a few steps and picked up the .44; Henry lay moaning, a trickle of blood spreading from his forehead. Harvey Farrington had dropped back into his chair, shaking like a leaf. Piss dribbled onto the floor.
Monica had stopped screaming and was now sobbing. Nick walked over and put an arm around her.
“Settle down, your Honor.”
“Is it true? About Misery?”
“I’m afraid so. Your friends are very thorough.”
She clung to his hand, tears streaming from her eyes. “You don’t understand, Nick! It isn’t what you think!”
“Oh, I think the evidence is very clear.” His eyes bored into hers. “You’re a corrupt judge. Bought and paid for.”<
br />
“But—”
Nick spun as motion caught his eye. The door to Henry Farrington’s office had opened and a small boy came out. He took a few steps into the room and stopped, staring at all the people with wide, innocent eyes. He looked about eight years old, tall and straight, with dark curly hair and chocolate skin.
“I heard a gun!” he said.
Monica spun toward the voice. “Charley!”
The child’s eyes lit with excitement. “Mommy!”
He raced past Henry Farrington and into Monica’s arms. She swooped him up in a desperate hug, turning in a circle. Nick stared in utter astonishment.
Monica, still holding her son, saw Nick’s expression and blinked away her tears.
“They were holding Charley hostage,” she explained, “ever since he was a baby. I had no choice.”
Nick was still digesting that when a third door swung open as if kicked. A new voice bellowed through the room.
“Everybody freeze! U.F. Marshal!”
Guns drawn, Marshal Milligan strode into the office, followed by Murray and Beech.
* * *
The paramedics took Turd Murdoch to the hospital in Government Annex. Russ Murray left to search the rest of the top floor, including the Farringtons’ private quarters. Both Farringtons sat on the floor with hands E-cuffed behind them, and Milligan lectured Nick Walker sternly.
“I thought you were in the Star Marines!” he bellowed.
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“Didn’t they teach you anything about teamwork?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Unit cohesion, deployment in depth, covering fire?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then what the fuck were you thinking! You don’t walk into a situation like this without backup! We had to scramble to get here when we did, and then we went the wrong way because I thought you were going into the lockup!”
“Sorry, Marshal. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not!”
As Milligan glared at him Nick felt like a raw recruit again. After a moment Milligan’s expression softened a little.