“She. Shesheshe—” He stopped suddenly, only now realizing how deep this pit of trouble was. Really,reallybad trouble. He licked his desert-dry lips. “She came by. Asked some questions. She—” he stopped again. “Ms. Smith, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I liked Harlan. She told me she just wanted to talk to him.”
“And you believed her,” I stated, my quiet tone mocking.
Wanda spoke up. “She showed up here a few months back. Marty knew what she wanted and what she planned. You let me go and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“And everything Marty knows?” Jagger asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I know everything he does.”
I smiled at Marty. Aimed at his gut. Pressed the blaster’s trigger. He stood there, uncertainty on his face, followed by confusion. He looked down at the weapon. Frowned hard. Coughed softly. Blood boiled from his nose and trickled from his mouth. Marty fell at my feet. Twitched. Died.
“You killed my friend,” I said to his corpse.
Killing Marty wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.
I aimed another blast at his head until brains bubbled out his ears.
“Asshole, you and Amos bring the men down, truss them so they can breathe a little. Put the living and this piece of crap inside. Wanda and I are going to have a little chat.” I walked over and took her from Jagger, shoving her against the door to the storefront. I searched her thoroughly and not at all gently, opened the door, and thrust her inside. She landed face down on the cool floor. I hauled her up with one fist and rammed her into a chair.
“You said you’d let me go,” she said.
“I didn’t say you’d have all your teeth.”
???
Marty’s keys in my pocket, I sat at the table where we had eaten a meal together, as the air conditioner cooled me. I sipped Marty’s good coffee in the silence, and watched as his body began to cool and grow stiff on the floor at my feet, his bladder and bowels loosening. The two men who had been ready to kill me from the roof were sitting close by the body. They squirmed and worried, hands secured behind their backs, a rope pulling their arms so high that struggling meant pulling their shoulders out of joint. Their expressions said they knew they were in deep trouble and had no easy way out of the mess they were in. They weren’t gagged, but neither of them spoke, their breaths panting, growing faster each time a cat curled up on them and rolled over on their crotches, looking up at them, showing teeth, hissing softly.
I thought it was funny, but I was beginning to think I might be slightly warped.
As I drank my coffee, Jagger and Cupcake secured the premises. Amos kept an eye on the two captives. Wanda, Marty’s right-hand man, watched me. Eventually, I turned emotionless eyes to her. Into the quiet, I said, “Talk.”
“A few months past—I have the date on the calendar if you need it—a woman calling herself Clarisse Warhammer showed up asking questions. She asked about Harlan and about crazy stuff, like spaceships and war weapons. She flashed around alotof money and brought a camo-painted container for trade.”
“Was she alone?”
“Two men, one with an eyepatch, but she was in charge. The three of them were still here when I went home for the day and were here when I came back the next day. He never said, but I know Marty. He slept with her and told her everything she wanted to know. The next time Harlan came by to do business, Marty coldcocked him, put him in a cage, and called Warhammer for a pickup. When she got here, the negotiations were totally private. I wasn’t part of them. But Warhammer brought in the rest of the camo-painted containers when she picked up Harlan.”
I poured more coffee. The trickle of liquid was loud in the silence. The cold air blowing up my back felt like heaven. Still quietly, I asked, “And you didn’t call the Law about a man sold like a piece of meat?”
“What would I say?” she asked bitterly. “The Law loves Marty. If I called the cops and Marty handed them a wad of cash and sent them on their way? Then what? I’m out a job and Marty has me killed and my kid gets sent to the city orphanage.” She went silent, watching me. Standing her ground. I found myself liking her. I wondered if Clarisse had touched her too.
I sipped and waited, letting the tension rise, my odd eyes on Wanda.
“I’ll get those papers.” She went to the computer and the file cabinet behind the desk. Amos maneuvered to cover her, a shotgun over the lip of the counter. He didn’t look smart, but he was. I was liking Amos a lot too. I had a feeling that my nanobots would like anyone I could control, and that was a bad thing.
Wanda searched for and printed out all the business and personal paperwork Marty kept on premises. She wrote a valid sales receipt to me, stating that the camo containers (specifying each one by number and location) and all the equipment in them were duly paid for by Smith’s Junk and Scrap. Yesterday. “It’s the least you deserve,” she said.
I didn’t reply.
It was blood money. Harlan’s blood money.
Wanda placed all my paperwork as well as Warhammer’s paperwork on the table by my coffee saucer. I looked at the small stack of papers. Then back up at her. She quailed just a little. Without comment, I flipped through the pages, spotted a few of Clarisse’s that might prove interesting, folded the stack one-handed, and shoved it in a jeans pocket. I’d use the weapons in the containers—weapons that had paid for Harlan’s death—to take Clarisse down.
Jagger made some calls and Marconi arranged for diesel rigs to haul away my containers. Cupcake and Jagger oversaw everything.
Wanda watched us for a while, and as the afternoon hours passed, she began to bring me more trade goods. The good stuff. The expensive stuff. I added them to the clinking bag. She told me everything she thought I might want to know and a lot that I had no interest in but might come in handy later. When she was done, I had gobs of info—one particular item invaluable. I stood, removed my gloves, and bent over the guards, holding my bare hands close to their faces. I felt no vibrations from Warhammer’s nanobots. I re-gloved.
I stood and turned to Wanda, asking, “Did Clarisse Warhammer wear gloves?”
