“Fine.”
I snapped my fingers to Cupcake, in a bossy gesture. “Add up the wholesale value of all our larger trade items. In case I see something I want.”
I found Spy in my mind and located her general direction from the main office. Marty and I walked side by side, with Cupcake, Jagger, and Marty’s two armed men behind us. Of the six of us, I had a feeling that Cupcake could become the most deadly of us all. What the hell had happened to the weepy woman who had killed her first man yesterday? Had the nanobots restructured her brain into what she thought I needed within hours of the battle? That was a terrifying possibility.
We wandered. I pointed to container 427 and looked inside when Marty opened the lock. I mentally catalogued the contents, shrugged, and pointed to container 212, and then 386, with the same results. For each container, Marty used the same master key. That was stupid.
A tortie cat dropped from a height and landed in front of us, looked at me, and sprang back up high, but down a narrow pathway to the right. I followed. Marty whipped his head at the cat’s appearance, but said nothing. Cats kept down the rat population, and Marty likely had feral and stray cats all over. But this one was mine.
Down the narrow aisle, I saw a series of desert-camo-painted shipping containers, three of them six meters long, two of them twelve meters long. From the smell of fresh paint, lack of filth on them, and the deep truck-tire tracks in the dirt around the bases, it was clear these were new-ish. I wondered how Marty’s military network had been put together. He was crossing dangerous lines.
I pointed at the first container and watched from the corner of my eye as Marty hesitated. Cupcake jingled the jewelry bag, an enticement.
Marty opened the odd, heavy lock. This key was different—thick and bulky, with both a male-female and female-male center part. I had a feeling it also involved a laser. Marty had military locks. Marty had gone into the black market big time. That meant the Hand of the Law had been bribed.
A thought squirreled under my breastbone. Harlan was always looking for military scrap.
Harlan was dead.
The container opened, a squeaking black maw. I stepped in. “Well, well, well,” I said. “Marty’s got him some weapons.” My gaze swept over the military ordnance, counting. Twenty-five cases, each holding a minimum of three long-rifles capable of multiple-caliber projectiles, all with AI targeting and high-capacity mags. I heard multiple clicks from three different weapons, all behind me.
“Seriously, Marty?” Cupcake asked. “You’re going to have a shoot-out right here? You three against us three? Even if you walk away from a firefight alive, Amos has orders to blow everything into next year. You’ll get nothing, and your pretty new decorated office will be a pile of splinters.Andthe blast will bring law enforcement in from everywhere.”
“Put away the weapons,” I said, trying to sound grumpy instead of terrified. “No one is shooting anyone. I have customers who sometimes need military hardware. Now, I know where to send them.” I turned around to see Marty a meter away, still pointing a blaster at my middle, his finger on the trigger that would cause my blood to boil. He looked uncertain, on the edge, and I decided he needed a little push in the right direction. It was dark enough that he might not realize I was moving too fast to be human.
I ducked. Swiveled. Kicked. My heel whacked Marty’s hand. The blaster went flying.
He gave a yodel of pain.
Cupcake grabbed the blaster out of the air. Pointed it at Marty.
Jagger was suddenlythere, in the doorway, two weapons pointing at the heads of the armed men. All of us, faster than human.
“Really, boys,” Jagger drawled, his accent extra strong. “You don’t wanta do that.”
Marty flexed his hand. “You could have broken my hand.”
“Could have. Didn’t. Let’s move on. I’m not interested in fully automatic rifles, even if theydohave third-gen targeting systems.” I meandered outside and to container number 814. Stood in the agonizing heat, waiting. Eventually Marty unlocked the steel door. I stepped inside. Looked around, bored. Then I stopped. “Marty, is that a second-generation Tesla Lockmart IGP?” I bent into a squat in front of the box. “I might be interested in this little baby, assuming the price is right.”
Marty was suddenly the salesman again, holding his bruised hand, unctuous, and willing to do business. “Newest version of the Antigravity Grabber,” he said. “Half the size of the original model, with nearly twice the lifting power. Portable. Self-propelled, easy to pilot, turns on a dime. I got two of these beauties, and these babies can be run on multiple fuel and power sources. Idiot-proof operating system. Even come with battery backup, so you don’t lose whatever you’re holding during unexpected power outages. Both are for sale.” He patted the container and indicated a box behind the one I could see.
“Mmm. I can see how a portable one might come in handy. You ever used one?”
“I have one in the foundry. Useful lil’ sucker.”
I stood dusting off my gloved hands. “Yeah. Maybe. Let’s see some more.”
asuccessful bargain was based on the tickle and grab, or the bait and hook. It required a buyer to show just enough interest to make the seller think they might have a sale, then walk away. Then mention that item. Then walk away. It required the buyer (me) to make the seller (Marty) want to make the deal, make him think he’s pulling one over on me if I’m interested. Of course, the seller was playing the same game in reverse, but that just made it more interesting. Especially when there were weapons in play.
I made Marty show me all the other camo-painted containers, and I picked three different items, including a high-tech microscope that could be used for geological specimens, metallurgy, and biology, depending on the oculars and the digital software. I also found a top-of-the-line automatic-targeting scope I could mount on top of the office and tie into the security system, and a new refrigeration unit I could sell in a heartbeat. We dickered. We cussed each other a little, called each other names as we stood in the heat and sweated. Marty wanted easily disposable and transportable jewelry, but the three items together weren’t worth the ring. We agreed on four silver trays instead.
We headed back to my truck, me with a bounce in my step as if I had what I wanted. Marty a little slower, pondering his next negotiating move.
We watched as Marty’s men unloaded my scrap, the good-quality stuff and the worthless stuff that would go back on the truck to cover up my purchases. I watched as my three new items were placed and secured in the truck bed.
And then Marty, oh so casually, took the bait. “You still interested in that Tesla Lockmart IGP? A portable AG Grabber is worth its weight in gold.”
I nearly bit my cheek trying to hold in my victory grin. “I have plenty of gold. And I already have an IGP.”
