One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

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One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 11

by Matthew S. Cox


  “You sure that’s not my dinner?” Kevin grinned. “I’m not paying for charcoal.”

  Bee stood up straight, turned to face the bar, and smiled. “Operational.”

  Tris lunged after the android to close the panel as it walked off with only a faint limp in its stride. Bee rounded the bar and hurried into the kitchen past the camo curtain. Tris slid onto the stool at Kevin’s left.

  “Can’t do much for that hip actuator. All the parts are worn out and dirty. Someone needs to take her apart and clean everything, replace that actuator, and put her back together. I think the frequent shocks are also giving her memory read errors, and her gyroscopic stabilizer is on its last legs.”

  Wayne leaned back, his upper lip twitching. “What in the hell language was that?”

  “Got me,” said Kevin.

  Tris leaned forward, speaking a hair over a whisper. “Wayne? Do you know anyone with any kind of high-tech gear? Someone who might be able to umm… There’s a data port on Bee. Standard interface connector.”

  Wayne drifted back two steps to fill a pair of mason jars with his homemade beer. “You mean like the one you got?”

  Tris sat up, lowered her hands to her lap, and stared at the bar. “Yeah.”

  Kevin moaned and rubbed his face.

  “Aw, relax.” Wayne set the drinks down in front of them. “Ain’t got no reason to stir up trouble for you two.”

  Bee reappeared with a plate in each hand, setting a burger and fries down next to each beer before speed-walking back through the curtain.

  “Great.” Kevin forgot all about everything when the smell of the deer-rat-something meat reached his nostrils. He battled his growling stomach’s urge to eat the whole thing in four bites.

  “So…” Tris lifted her head to look at Wayne. “Know anyone with the gear necessary to take data out of a cranial implant?”

  A light came on in the armory room past the bar, revealing a handful of rifles and shotguns on pegs behind a security cage.

  “One… if they’re still even there.” Wayne scratched at his goatee. “Pack ‘o Enclave dissidents supposedly set up shop under the south end of the Golden Gate.”

  At hearing ‘Golden Gate,’ Kevin drew a sharp breath, which launched a small piece of bread down his throat. He choked for a second before squinting at Wayne with one eye wider than the other and wheezing, “Fuck that.”

  “But―” said Tris.

  “He’s got a point. Area’s near Enclave H.Q.” Wayne glanced to his left as the light went off in the armory. “Even ignorin’ that, it’s a bad, bad area. The Boatmen more or less own it.”

  “If the area’s so bad, why would these people go there?” Tris ate a fry.

  “Keeps the Enclave away,” muttered Kevin past a mouthful of burger.

  Bee emerged from the curtain and set a pair of women’s jeans and a medium-sleeved shirt seemingly made of brown leather on the bar in front of Tris. Kevin chuckled.

  Tris put her hand on it. “It’s softer than it looks. What is this?”

  “Dust hopper,” said Wayne. “‘Less you want long-sleeved flannel in a man’s size.”

  Kevin surrendered to the wonderful flavor. His gut won, and he devoured the last half of his meal in two huge mouthfuls. This batch of Wayne’s beer had odd fruity notes. I don’t want to know.

  “Can you get there?” Tris picked up her burger as if she’d never seen anything like it. After a tentative sniff, she nibbled.

  “No point in goin’ there. There’s no way they put anything useful in that implant of yours. I’m gonna grab a run, earn some coins, and get the hell off the road while I’m still alive.”

  She lowered the food from her face, her expression mournful. “But you don’t―”

  “Wanna save the world? Pff.” He shook his head. “Better people ‘an me have tried, and we’re still fucked. Not my stone to haul.”

  Tris’s expression made her seem disinterested in food, but she kept nibbling on it.

  “Two for the charge. Six for the food.” Wayne twitched an eyebrow at Tris. “So, what’ll you be doin’? Might find a use for you ‘round here if you ain’t got plans.”

  “She still owes me a grand.” Kevin tilted his head back and chugged the beer. “She’s with me till she pays it off.”

  Tris rubbed her hand over her abdomen where the bomb had been. She peered past a drape of hair at him, her eyes sad sad, but a hint of a smile on her lips. “Yeah.”

  “Rooms.” Kevin started to reach for his pocket.

  Wayne held up his hand. “I’ll take it off the books.” He reached under the bar and held up two keys.

  Kevin took his, while Wayne set the other on the bar by Tris’s plate, as her hands were full of food. She glanced from the key to Kevin and shrugged.

  He slid off the stool to his feet. “I’m so damn tired, sleeping feels like work.”

  “That, my dear”―Wayne grinned―“is why he’s so set on gettin’ hisself a ‘house of his own. The hours be regular like.”

  “Hmf,” said Tris.

  “See ya in the morning,” Kevin muttered.

  He trudged across the room full of tables, went past the bathrooms, and dragged himself up a flight of stairs at the end of the little hallway. Ten rooms occupied the upstairs, five on either side, behind doors painted dark green. One small window at the far end let a feeble breeze in. A handwritten sign hung next to it on the wall reading: “No pissin’ out the window.” He went door to door until the key worked in the third on the left. Inside, a plain eight-by-ten-foot room waited with a single bed consisting of a naked metal frame, a mattress, and box spring with a tattered excuse for a sheet.

  Paradise.

  Door locked, deadbolt flipped, he shrugged off his armor and boots. Content, he let gravity take him face down on the bed.

  He didn’t even smell the mold.

  entle pressure on his left shoulder, accompanied by a series of light shakes, pulled Kevin from the depths of an exhaustive sleep. Tiny needles of pain stabbed his eyelids as they fought a seal of dried crumbles that glued his eyelashes together. Through the meager gap they afforded without the intervention of a hand to wipe crud away, he stared at a blurry bare breast hovering inches from his face. Interest died faster than the Infected from his dream. A black scuff mark to the right of the nipple gave away the owner.

  Bee.

  “Wayne told me to wake you before you gotta pay for another night.”

  As fried as he felt, the voice sounded almost human. Kevin moaned and worked his right arm out from under his weight to scrape the sand from his eyes. “Ngh. What time is it?”

  The android breast rose out of his field of view amid the whirr of electric motors. “Wednesday June 15th, 2072. 10:54 a.m.”

  He pushed himself over on his back, muscles leaden and stiff. “‘Nother hour.”

  Bee’s arms whirred as she crossed them. “Suit yourself, but past eleven, he’ll bill you for the room again.”

  Mercenary cocksucker. Kevin grumbled and reached an arm out. “Alright, alright.”

  “Good morning, Kevin.” Bee grasped his hand and pulled him upright, catching him by the shoulders when his balance failed. “Oversleeping is as bad as not getting enough.”

  “Yeah. So what’s for breakfast?” He rubbed his fingers around his eyes before snapping them open and taking a deep breath. “Smells like grease.”

  Bee tottered to the door. “Eggs, bacon, coffee. Two coins.”

  “Wayne can call it bacon, but cutting dust hopper meat thin doesn’t make it bacon.”

  Kevin snagged his armor and shrugged into it before taking the key from a small nightstand made out of an old footlocker on end. The stairs clonked and banged as he tromped down to the first floor and walked into a cloud of misery seeping out of the men’s. He clamped a hand over his mouth as his eyes watered and forced his way into the stench to relieve himself. Furry black something grew up and down the walls around the toilet. Kevin decided to work on long distance
marksmanship. After, he hurried down the short hall to the main room.

  Tris’s white hair grabbed his attention first. She sat at the bar, with her back to Wayne. Her new ‘rabbit-leather’ shirt fit quite well, though if her bust was as big as Bee’s, it would’ve been a second skin. The katana remained on her back. In addition to the jeans, she’d added a belt with a holster that held the Beretta. Only the black shoes remained from her Enclave uniform. Their all-terrain soles would likely be helpful, but Infected loved to grab ankles when a person went down.

  Nervousness melted out of her when she looked his way. The two men that had been there when they arrived seemed more interested in the last few crumbs of their breakfast than Tris, and the old man who suggested a striptease for a discount was nowhere to be seen. Kevin approached the bar, stared at the red LED clock behind it showing 11:01, and set the key down.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Wayne chuckled as he slid the key toward him. “Wasn’t gun’ta.”

  “Hey,” said Tris.

  Kevin glanced at her belt. “What’d that cost?”

  “Two.” Wayne hung the room key on its nail in the cabinet behind the bar. “She bought it herself.”

  “What?” Kevin glared at her. “You have money?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I used to.”

  “Paid her twenty coins for fixin’ up ol’ Bee. She’s been zippin’ ‘round here like almost new. Only seized up once all mornin’ so far.”

  Kevin climbed onto a stool, set his elbows on the bar, and held his head in both hands. Tris rubbed his shoulder. The scent of eggs and thin strips of unidentifiable meat came in from between them as Bee set two plates down.

  “I told him to put the other eighteen in your account since I owe you.” Tris eyed her plate.

  Wayne grinned at Kevin. “Took the lib’tee of assumin’ you’d be coverin’ her food again. She did wait fer ya ta be down.”

  Kevin teased a fork at the eggs for a few seconds. “No sense takin’ her last coin. She earned ‘em. We’ll work some kinda payment plan out.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  Wayne set a stack of coins, nickels and pennies, in front of Tris. “Sixteen. Two fer the belt, two fer breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” Tris collected them, shot a smile at Kevin, and kept eating.

  “Since H-Burg turned to crap on ya, figger you might be interested in an iffy little run that walked in the door an hour ago.” Wayne set his hands on the bar and locked his elbows. “Your cut’s two hundred and fifty.”

  Shock sent a few crumbs of egg down the wrong pipe. Kevin choked and pounded a fist into his sternum. “W-what is it?”

  “If your reaction to pay like that is any indication, probably too dangerous.” Tris picked up a piece of ‘bacon’ and sniffed it.

  “Eat it,” said Wayne. “S’good for ya.”

  “It’s only dangerous if you drag-ass. Do it quick and it’s easy money.” Wayne looked around before ducking and whispering, “Takin’ a box of void salt to Glimmertown.”

  Fuck me. “I told you I don’t touch that shit.”

  Tris smiled.

  Kevin slammed a fist into his chest and coughed. “Too much risk.”

  She smirked.

  Wayne stood and held up his hands. “Not forcin’ the issue. Two fifty on the hook. No one knows it’s here yet.”

  “That’s too much money for something so ‘easy,’ isn’t it?” Tris narrowed her eyes at Kevin.

  “Yep.” He folded an entire strip of ‘bacon’ into his mouth at once, chewing it slow like tobacco. Once it reduced to mush he could speak around, he shook his head. “Have anything with wheels comin’ after us constantly. They’re payin’ me two-fifty to haul it, so that means the shit’s worth at least two grand.”

  “Too risky,” said Tris.

  “In order for there to be risk, people would gotta know what yer doin’. I haven’t even posted the run on the board yet. Wanted ta keep it quiet an’ offer ya first dibs.”

  “How charitable of you, Wayne.” Kevin chuckled.

  “Well, you got a bad deal on that whole Harrisburg thing.” Wayne winked. “Least she’s easy on the eyes.”

  “Yeah, she’s a real blast.” Kevin stabbed his eggs.

  Tris hung her head.

  “There’s a story there.” Wayne rubbed his chin. “Not sure I wanna know.”

  “I’ll do it.” Kevin pushed the empty plate back to Wayne. “Leavin’ right away.”

  “I don’t like this.” Tris looked up at him. “Feels wrong.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Consider this your first paid job then. We should come to an agreement. Twenty percent of all payouts is yours.”

  “Twenty?” She poked him in the side. “I’m worth more than that. How many people out here you think could’ve made that upside down behind-the-back shot?”

  For an instant, the image of an Infected’s serpentine tongue inches from his face played back in his head. He shivered and scraped the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. “Okay, fine. Thirty.”

  “I’ll accept on the condition you agree to consider forty the next time I save your life.”

  “My car. You’re making runs easier, not possible.”

  Tris twirled some hair around her finger. “So all a girl needs is a car?”

  Kevin eyed her. “Hey Wayne, you got any rope?”

  She slugged him in the arm.

  Wayne laughed as he wandered into the back room. Bee hustled out to take a position behind the bar. The android winked at Tris. A second later, she stood rigid with a startled face that made Kevin think someone stuck a finger in an opening the android lacked. One spark flickered out of the exposed metal under Bee’s right eye, and she settled back to a normal human posture.

  “It is not perfect,” said Bee. “But I feel much better.”

  The clonk of boots on rickety wooden steps echoed from the back room. Wayne emerged from the curtain and set an eight-inch black cube on the bar in front of him. Four raised channels about as wide as his pinky nail glowed with cobalt-blue light in the middle of each face.

  “Jesus, Wayne. That looks like it came outta the Enclave.” Kevin leaned back.

  Wayne covered the box with a rag. “I wouldn’t try openin’ it. Look, just get it to Glimmertown and give it to Neon at a place called Cloud 9.”

  “Oh, this keeps getting better and better.” Kevin pulled his hand down over his face. Risk and reward battled in his head. The more time I waste hesitating, the harder this is gonna get. “Okay.”

  Tris made a face at him as if he were about to give away her pet dog. “That’s drugs, isn’t it?”

  “Relax.” Kevin wrapped the box up in the rag and stood. “What could go wrong?”

  Wayne groaned. “Never ask that. God’s an asshole.”

  “Heh, no shit.” Kevin headed for the door. At the window, he spotted a pudgy man in New regalia sitting on the Challenger’s hood by the charging cable. The man had a moustache as big as a dead sparrow, which twisted with the start of a smile. “Fuck.” He jogged back to the bar and handed Wayne the box. “Hold this for a sec. Gotta scrape some bird shit offa my car.”

  “Careful,” said Wayne.

  “Railing wasn’t me.” He jogged out, shoving the saloon doors hard. “Fatass. Off the car.”

  The porch bounced under him. Four more News, waiting on either side of the door, rushed at him. In his haste to get to the steps, he hadn’t noticed them. Kevin roared and threw himself at the closer man on the right, a thirty-something white dude with a scar down his left cheek. The man didn’t seem to expect the charge, and Kevin caught him with a fist to the jaw, knocking him into a stagger. The other man on the right, a muscular Native American with long hair, grabbed Kevin by his armored jacket and slammed his back into the wall.

  Tris flew in like a white wraith out of the corner of his eye. Her jumping kick connected with the tall, thin New they’d seen the other day, who’d been ru
shing at Kevin from the left of the door. He went over backward like a dropped plank. Tris ducked two punches from the stocky one before she caught his arm and flipped him over by it, dropping him on his chin.

  Long Hair cocked his arm back. Kevin let the shot hit him in the gut, trading it for an elbow to the man’s cheek. Scar snarled and wiped blood from his lip. He let out a roar and ran in. Kevin ducked and twisted to his left causing Scar to punch the wall. As the man doubled over cradling his wrist, Kevin moved to kick him in the face, but Long Hair again grabbed him by the armored jacket.

  The world blurred as his feet left the ground: ceiling, floor, ceiling, floor, and he smashed into the porch on his chest, seeing stars and unable to breathe. Tris screamed a war cry somewhere nearby. Kevin cringed, expecting the kick to the gut, but none came. Long Hair staggered backward. Tris grunted and snarled. Kevin pushed himself up.

  The huge Native American had Tris in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms. Scar, Stocky, and Wiry converged on her with murder in their eyes. Stocky held up a pair of black military-style handcuffs. Tris let her weight hang in Long Hair’s arms. Her legs vanished in smears of blue. They appeared solid for an instant with simultaneous meaty smacks, her feet stopped in the crotches of Scar and Wiry. The hit lifted Scar on tiptoe and Wiry a few inches off the ground. Before either man’s heels returned to the porch, she’d twisted and kicked Stocky across the face with her left leg, again knocking him into the railing, which broke under the force of impact and dumped him onto the street.

  Kevin sucked air into his lungs and jumped on Long Hair. Tris kicked and squirmed. Wiry curled fetal with his hands over his balls, whimpering. Scar seemed to experience a paradoxical effect from a kick in the nuts, going red-faced and enraged instead of stunned. He unwound a length of chain from his waist and spun it up to bash Tris in the head. Kevin let go of Long Hair to intercept, tackling the man flat.

  “Damn, this bitch is strong,” said Long Hair.

  “Get the fuck off me.” Tris snarled. “I’m not a fucking bounty.”

  “Don’t matter now,” said the man sitting on the hood. “You resisted arrest last time. Now you belong to the News.”

 

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