by John Bowers
“She betrayed me.”
“Did she, now? I thought she worked for you. I thought she was on your payroll.”
Cramer smiled from behind his dark glasses, his teeth small and uneven.
“Exactly. But when push came to shove, she decided to save her own ass.”
“Isn’t that what you did to the Farringtons? Abandon them to save your own ass?”
“Those worthless twits! They don’t have three brain cells between them. Why should I care what happens to them?”
Nick shrugged. “Good point. They aren’t very bright, are they? They took you at face value.” He glanced down at Monica, who appeared to have passed out. Her breathing was shallow and irregular. “Before we go any further, Cramer, if you want my help you’re going to have to get her some help. If you just let her die, then I won’t lift a finger for you.”
“Marshal, the only reason you’re alive right now is because I need you. If you refuse, then I might as well kill you where you stand.”
Nick shrugged. “You have that option, but killing a U.F. Marshal is an automatic death sentence. Have you ever seen what happens in a vacuum chamber?”
Cramer’s cheek twitched. “They have to catch me first.”
“That’s right, they do. But they have the exits covered, so they will. You said yourself that you need my help to get away.”
Cramer grimaced. He glanced at the woman bleeding on the floor.
“So you’re suggesting we call in the medics for her? Then you’ll help me?”
“It’s the only way I’ll do it.”
“Right. So let’s see…we just stand here like this while the medics come, and when they leave they won’t say a word to anyone about the man with the gun holding a U.F. Marshal at bay? You and I will continue our chat and no one will be the wiser?” He shook his head grimly. “You’re a fucking idiot, Walker.”
Nick smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not the one who stole three corporations, murdered dozens of people, and got himself cornered by the U.F. Marshals. Who’s the real idiot?”
“Let’s move into the other room. It stinks in here.”
“If she dies, you’re cooked.”
“In the other room! Now!”
With a last glance at Monica, Nick preceded Cramer into the living room, stepping around the blood on the floor. His eyes scanned the suite as he walked slowly toward the kitchen. Apparently Monica had been cooking when Cramer arrived—the smell of breakfast hung in the air; the coffee smelled especially good.
“That’s far enough. Take a chair.”
Nick turned—Cramer was still ten feet behind him, pistol in hand. He was pointing at the dining table. Nick pulled out a chair and sank into it.
“You and I can move this conversation somewhere else, Cramer. Call the medics…we don’t have to be here when they arrive.”
“We’re going to talk now.”
“I’m not listening.” Nick placed both hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and began to babble, comedian style.
“Yadayadayadayadayada—”
Cramer banged a fist on the table. Angrily.
“Stop it!”
Nick opened his eyes and lowered his hands. Cramer’s hand was shaking.
“Okay, here it is—Airlock Authority has been alerted. You can’t get on a passenger ship even with me as a hostage…and even if you did, the authorities on Mars will be waiting for you. There’s no other way to get to Sirius without first going to either Mars or Terra.”
Cramer’s eyebrows lifted. “Sirius? Who said anything about Sirius?”
“Henry Farrington told me you’re a Sirian citizen. I’m guessing you’ve moved all your money to SiriusBank, and since the Federation exiles criminals to Sirius—or used to—there is no extradition treaty that would send you back.”
Cramer’s lip curled at the edge. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. Well done, Marshal!”
Nick spread his hands. “Makes no difference. You’ll never make it to Sirius. With or without me.”
“Oh, but I will. Because I’m not taking a passenger ship.”
Nick frowned. “You’re not?”
“No.” Cramer chuckled. “Not as smart as you think you are, badge boy. I’m taking a water freighter.”
“A water freighter? To Sirius?”
“No, you fucking idiot! To Titan.”
Nick stared in utter disbelief. All his theories tumbled down around his ears.
“How will that help you? There’s no passenger service from Titan to Sirius any more than—”
“Why are you so fixated on passenger ships? Once I get to Titan I’ll hop a freighter for Sirius.”
“A freighter…to Sirius…from Titan?”
“That’s right. The Outer Worlds buy half their grain and beef directly from Sirius, which produces more meat and produce than North and South America combined.”
Nick shook his head numbly. His fatigue was flooding back in. “I didn’t know that. Even so, how do you plan to get away with it? If you slip the net here, every world in the Federation will be alerted and on the lookout for you.”
“That’s where you come in, Walker. Once we get to Titan I’ll make for the Sirian Consulate, and you’ll be my hostage if anyone tries to stop me.”
Nick shrugged. “Then you’ll be a prisoner in the consulate. Unless you’re extremely lucky and there’s a Sirian starship in orbit when you get there. How often do those ships arrive?”
Cramer frowned. “Don’t concern yourself with any of that. I have it worked out, and I have contacts who will help me. Your main concern is to get me off Ceres.”
Nick laughed. “And how in the name of crap am I going to do that?”
“We’ll leave the hotel together, with me as your prisoner. Only you’ll take me to one of the B Terminals while your friends are watching the A Terminals.”
Nick stared blankly. “With you as my prisoner.”
“That’s right.”
“With your hands E-cuffed behind your back.”
“I never said that. I’ll be armed, you won’t. We’ll avoid people as much as possible, and you’ll take me directly to the B Terminal.”
“And why would I cooperate with that plan?”
Cramer smiled cruelly.
“Because your niggo friend isn’t getting medical attention until I’m on board a ship.”
Chapter 35
Nick rubbed his face with both hands, to get the blood flowing. He looked up at Cramer with red-rimmed eyes.
“Okay, let’s say I decide to go along with this—”
“You don’t have much choice.”
“I haven’t slept for nearly thirty hours. Can I at least have a cup of coffee before we start?”
Cramer considered for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, why not. I could use one myself.”
He walked past Nick into the kitchen, still holding the pistol. Without turning his back on Nick, he pulled down a pair of cups and took them to the table, then returned with the coffee pot and filled them.
“Where are Nikki Green and Jessica Garner?” Nick asked.
Cramer glanced at him in surprise. “Why would I know that?”
“Because you broke into Mrs. Garner’s apartment last night and kidnapped her.”
Cramer returned the coffee pot to the warmer. “Who said so?”
“Aw, Christ, Cramer! You’ve already admitted to enough crimes to keep your bones in storage for several centuries, so why deny this? If it wasn’t you, then who was it? The Farringtons are in custody, Turd Murdoch is in the hospital, and nobody has bothered Mrs. Garner for two years, yet suddenly last night she goes missing? Who else could it be?”
Cramer pulled out a chair and sat down, the gun resting on his knee. He sipped his coffee.
“Why would I kidnap Jessica Garner? I just want to get off the rock.”
“Maybe you figured to use her as a hostage. Now you’ve got me, so you don’t need her anymore.” Nick sipped his coffee. It had been sitting awhil
e, was bitter, and scalding hot.
“You have a theory for everything, don’t you?” Cramer shook his head. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t really need the bitch now. I kept her on ice for two years just in case, but you make a better hostage.”
Nick eyed Cramer narrowly. “You kept her on ice? Is that why Farrington furnished her apartment and paid for her groceries? As a bargaining chip in case you got caught?”
“Sure, why not. No criminal enterprise lasts forever. No matter how good you are, or how carefully you plan, everything eventually gets uncovered. If you don’t recognize that going in, then you’re a goddamn fool.”
“Like the Farringtons?”
Cramer dipped his head. “Case in point.”
“You always knew you’d get caught?”
“Always. I figured we might last three to five years, max. I paid off the right people, finagled my own judge, killed whoever had to be killed, and damned if it didn’t work for nearly thirteen years!”
Nick’s eyes were wide with wonder. “I suppose it didn’t hurt that the Outer Worlds depended on your company for survival.”
“That was probably what did it.” Cramer smiled, relaxing a little. “But I always knew someone would come along who would smell a tripod rat. What was it that tipped you off?”
Nick sipped more coffee. “Some of the felons you hired to run your prison enjoyed their work a little too much. I spotted prisoner abuse and went looking for that. I had no idea about the rest.”
“Um. Always a weak link.” Cramer shrugged. “Anyway, I figured you were trouble the minute I heard you stood up to Turd Murdoch. So I sent Fred Ferguson to eliminate you.”
Nick peered at him bleakly. “So you admit to killing Misery Allen?”
“Not intentionally. The shower was meant for you.” Cramer scowled. “Don’t you ever bathe?”
“Yeah, every Saturday night. So where is Jessica now? You never told me.”
Cramer took off his glasses and laid them on the table. His own eyes looked as red and bleary as Nick’s.
“She’s safe, right here in the hotel. After we’re gone she’ll come out. You don’t need to worry about her.”
“And Nikki Green?”
“With the Garner woman.”
“And where did you keep her for the last two years? No one in the prison remembers seeing her.”
Cramer stared at him a moment, then smiled faintly, as if with a fond memory.
“She was in my apartment most of that time. Hottest thing I ever laid my hands on.”
“You didn’t beat her? Torture her?”
Cramer shook his head. “That’s Henry’s idea of fun, not mine. You don’t take a beautiful work of art and scar it up. You treat it gently, preserve it, and then you can enjoy it again and again, forever.”
Nick drained his coffee cup. “I need one more cup if I’m gonna save your worthless ass.” He stood up. “You want another?”
Cramer’s gun came up, but the question was innocent enough. He nodded.
“Okay. So you’re going to do it?”
Nick walked to the coffee pot and carried it back to the table.
“Only because I don’t think it will work,” he said, pouring coffee into Cramer’s cup. He poised the pot over his own cup, but held it while he finished the thought. “We might make it off of Ceres, but I seriously don’t think you’ll ever get on board a Sirian starship. The Titan authorities will get you.”
Cramer smiled. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“I guess we will.”
Nick smashed the coffee pot down over Cramer’s head, shattering the glass and drenching him with near-boiling liquid. Cramer screamed in agony. Nick grabbed his gun hand and slammed it onto the edge of the table, breaking his wrist; the gun chirped loudly as a bolt of light slammed into the floor, then the gun skittered across the carpet.
Still screaming, Cramer bolted out of the chair to escape the scalding coffee that still soaked his hair and shirt. His good hand floundered about his head, trying to brush away the pain, but Nick put a knee into his spine and forced him to the floor, hauled both arms behind his back, and E-cuffed him. He stood back, breathing hard, trembling like a leaf. It was over, at last. He had the bastard.
He picked up Cramer’s weapon and hurried into the bedroom, where he knelt over Monica. She was still alive, but drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Monica! Hang on, I’m calling for help right now.”
“Cramer?” she mumbled.
“In custody. He’s done for.”
“What about…Charley?”
“In my room. He’s safe. Just hang on, don’t let go.”
* * *
Marshal Milligan was still having breakfast in the hotel lobby when Nick reached him by pocket phone. He arrived three minutes later, right behind the medical team. As Monica Maynard was wheeled away on a gurney, they stood over Stanley Cramer, boiled and bedraggled, and gazed at him with contempt in their eyes.
“So you got him,” Milligan grunted.
“Actually, he was waiting for me. Made it a whole lot easier.”
“Did he admit to—”
“Pretty much everything. The only thing I don’t know at this point is where he’s holding Nikki Green and Jessica Garner, but he did say they’re alive and in good shape.”
“You believe him? He’s a pretty accomplished liar.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t see why he would lie about that. We already have more on him than he can ever explain away.”
Milligan grunted again. “You know, you could save the Federation a whole bunch of taxpayer money if you just pushed this fuck out an airlock.”
Nick stared at Milligan in surprise. Milligan returned the gaze.
“You have a streak of the vigilante in you, Walker. You seem to enjoy hurting people.”
Nick let his breath out slowly, not sure whether to be offended.
“Only people who hurt other people,” he said. “After what he did to Misery Allen? This is only a fraction of what she suffered.”
“Well…” Milligan gazed at the prisoner again. “Maybe he deserves the airlock.”
Nick nodded slowly, his pulse picking up speed—the idea was intriguing. “I guess I could do that. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you, sir?”
“Who would I tell? I’ll be retiring soon.”
Cramer, whimpering in pain, sat with his head down. If he heard them, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“On second thought,” Nick said, “I think maybe I won’t. I hate injustice, and I hate people who practice injustice. When I get the chance to make people like that suffer, I want them to really suffer. Throwing him out an airlock is too quick. I enjoy hurting people too much to let them off that easy.”
Milligan shrugged. “Have it your way. Do you want to take him in, or shall I?”
Nick considered briefly. “You take him, Marshal. I need to check on Charley. He’s waiting in my hotel room.”
“Okay. See you back at the office.”
* * *
Nick unlocked his room and stepped inside. Charley was sitting at his kitchen table, eating a granola bar he’d found in the pantry. To Nick’s surprise, he was no longer covered in blood—his face had been washed and he was wearing Nick’s own bathrobe, though it was much too big for him.
The boy looked around with wide eyes. “Is my mommy okay?”
Nick nodded and cros
sed the room to stand next to him. “She’s on her way to the hospital. Charley…what happened to your clothes? Did you clean yourself up?”
Still chewing the granola bar, Charley shook his head. “Aunt Nikki did.”
“What? Who—”
Nick spun around. Someone had jerked the .44 out of his holster from behind. His eyes widened as he saw Jessica Garner standing six feet away, the .44 aimed squarely at his chest.
“You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone I talked to you!” she cried, tears running down her cheeks. “You betrayed my
confidence!”
Nick sighed wearily and raised both hands to appease her.
“They were already in custody,” he explained. “It was part of an interrogation.”
“If they were in custody, then how do you explain what happened to me last night?”
“Cramer got away. As soon as I realized you were in danger I went to your place, but I was too late.”
“Where is he now?”
“Back in custody, and I promise you he won’t get loose again.”
Jessica Garner stared at him with half-crazed eyes, the gun trembling in her hand.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Who else are you going to trust? I’ll tell you this much—you can leave Ceres now. The U.F. Marshal will pay for your passage to Mars, if that’s what you want.”
The gun trembled harder. She didn’t answer.
“That gun isn’t loaded,” Nick told her. “Pull the trigger if you don’t believe me.”
She stared at him for another irrational moment, then popped the cylinder to check for herself. She sagged slightly as she saw the six empty chambers, then handed the gun back to him. She backed across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I put Charley inside.”
“Cramer owns this whole rock. I think he has a key to everything.”
Nick frowned. “He put you in my room? Why?”
“He said he had business with the judge. He said to wait for him.”
“Why didn’t you make a break for it after he left?”
She shuddered. “If he saw me, he’d kill me. And he said he’d kill the child if I didn’t wait for him.” She put her hands over her face and began to tremble.
“Where’s Nikki Green? Cramer said you two were together.”
As if on cue, the bathroom door slid open and a figure appeared. Nick had never met Nikki Green but would have recognized her anywhere—two years in captivity had done nothing to erase her vid-star looks. She gazed warily at him as she strode slowly across the carpet. Her eyes were clear, but troubled; a permanent crease was etched into her perfect forehead, a sure sign of long-term stress.
“Nikki Green?” he asked.
She nodded. “You must be Nick Walker.”