Dead Dwarves, Dirty Deeds

by Derek J. Canyon

MONEY IS EVERYTHING

  The dwarf limped from shadow to shadow, one hand grasping a crutch, the other hugging a metal case to his chest like a life preserver. The wet pavement glimmered under the streetlights. The neon billboards, shining brightly through the heavy rain, advertised everything from strip clubs to Kokastiks. The dwarf’s crumpled hat could not keep the water from seeping through his tangled hair to mix with the blood that covered his face and neck.

  Panting heavily, he stopped amid a pile of plastic crates and buckets heaped near the entrance to an alley. He stared back the way he had come, eyes straining through the darkness and rain. The streets were deserted, the rain persuading the grungy inhabitants of the Blackzone to stay indoors. Not even the patch-heads were out tonight.

  Grimacing, he fell to his hands and knees, the case clattering beside him. He coughed, spitting blood and rainwater, and put a hand to the sharp gash on his jawbone where Urgo’s knife had cut him. The bleeding was slowing, thanks to the enhanced clotting agents in the dwarf’s genetically engineered physiology. The pain of the wound, ranging from dull ache to penetrating throb, was the only thing keeping the exhausted dwarf conscious.

  Well, that and the money.

  He yanked a bloody rag from a pocket and held it against his jaw. A dog-sized, six-legged neorat stared at him from the alley, its long tail twitching. He pulled the case close to him again, smiling despite his current situation. No rat would stop him from getting away with the cash. Not the one in front of him or the gangers that pursued him. He’d find a way to come out on top. Just like he always did.

  A harsh noise assaulted his confidence, and he crawled deeper into the shadow of the crates like a hunted animal, dragging the case and crutch. The neorat stared at him with ravenous eyes but didn’t move.

  Two dark shapes moved down the empty street, entering the flickering sphere of light from the street lamp nearest the alley.

  The dwarf didn’t have to see them to know who they were.

  Red leather boots, spiked chains, wrap-around shades, headbands, dark jackets with neon flames. Pit Fiends. They weren’t the toughest gang in the Regional Atlanta Metroplex. But, to a crippled and wounded dwarf, that didn’t matter.

  Ever since the deaths of the two top crime bosses in a nuclear blast, the various gangs they had subjugated returned to violent warfare. Each gang was trying to carve out new territories and criminal enterprises. In this chaotic environment even a small gang like the Pit Fiends could profit from the sudden lack of leadership among the criminal syndicates.

  The dwarf had been a member of one of those syndicates, and that alone put him on any gang’s hit list. The contents of the case made him target number one.

  “Here, Bunny! Come here, little rabbit,” one of the Pit Fiends grumbled as they neared. “Where’d the gimli get off to?”

  From his hiding place in the crates, the dwarf peeked out to recognize a brutal neohuman rather inappropriately named Elmer. He’d been engineered to resemble an orc for service in a Lord of the Rings amusement park. Word was that he broke out of his accelerated growth vat three days ahead of schedule, killed two technicians, and escaped into the metroplex. He’d been terrorizing the unlucky inhabitants of the Blackzone ever since.

  “How the Hell should I know where he is?” answered the other ganger, a normal human. “If Urgo wouldn’t try showing off all the time, maybe we’d have the dwarf back in the Pit already.”

  “Dump that talk, Wiles!” Elmer grabbed his companion. “I’m sick and tired of you downloading the chief when he ain’t around!”

  As Elmer shoved Wiles hard against the lamppost he noticed the alleyway and his cyber-eyes narrowed. Rain dripped around his toothy sneer. He released Wiles and moved off toward the alley, unlimbering the AK-97 carbine from over his shoulder. The neorat in the alley scurried away.

  Bunny the dwarf shook in fear as the big orc neared. He tried as hard as he could to scrunch down inside a crate, holding the metallic briefcase in front of his knees.

  “I got you zeroed, runt!” Elmer guffawed, motioning for Wiles to move around to the other side of the alley. “Come out and bring the case!”

  His gimpy leg erased any hope of escape. Bunny realized he had only one card left to play. He struggled to pull his crutch out from under the garbage.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like we got the gimli, Wiles.” The orc bent down to peer into the darkness of the crate, AK-97 hanging in his hand at his side. “Get outa there, Bunny.”

  “Up yours,” Bunny whispered. Lifting his crutch onto the top of the case, he pointed it at Elmer’s face. He opened the hidden catch on the handle and pulled the trigger. The crutch boomed. Elmer’s head exploded in a splash of blood.

  “Crap!” Wiles stumbled back, covered in a gory spray of Elmer’s blood, brains, and gooey skull fragments. The headless body slumped to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

  As Elmer spilled bodily fluids onto the wet pavement, Wiles fired blindly into the pile of crates. He scuttled backwards, around the corner and off into the streets, howling.

  Bullets crashed through the crates and ricocheted off the wall behind Bunny. The dwarf, hiding behind the metal case, screamed as a round smashed into his shoulder. Bunny froze, holding his hand against the blood flowing from the wound. He slumped within the perforated crate, grateful to the armored case that had protected him from the majority of Wiles’ panic fire.

  He grimaced and looked at his crutch, surprised that the poor man’s James Bond stuff actually worked. It was now, however, quite useless as weapon or crutch, the metal tubing ripped and shredded by the .50 caliber explosive round it had fired into Elmer’s skull.

  Bunny had no time to dwell on concealed weaponry and luck. It wouldn’t be long before Wiles returned with all the Pit Fiends. Urgo would be even angrier now that Elmer’s eyeballs were dripping down the wall of an alley. Bunny had to leave. Now.

  He tossed his crutch aside and crawled painfully out of the punctured crate. He stumbled over to Elmer’s seeping body.

  “Ain’t hunting rabbit no more, Elmer.” Bunny smiled despite the pain. He picked up the carbine. It was heavy and difficult to handle the gun and the case, especially with his wounded shoulder. He limped off down the alley but soon collapsed against the wall.

  “Dammit.”

  It was too much. He could not carry both the case and the carbine. But if he abandoned the weapon he would be unarmed, totally unprotected from the Fiends or anyone else he met in the urban wilds of the Blackzone. Without the carbine, his life was in danger. Without the case, his life was worthless. He dropped the carbine and hugged the case to his chest with his good arm. It was his only chance, his only reason for going on. He pushed himself up against the wall and walked off into the rain, hurrying as fast as his exhausted body could push him, desperately seeking a phone.

  The neorat watched him go, then hurried over to chew on the orc’s twitching fingers.