I picked the rounds out of my armor and inspected my bullet-shot clothes as I watched several of Hatfield’s men cuffing the other prisoners and carting them off. A larger group hauled Mayor McCoy to militia HQ for a speedy trial for spying, treason, and attempted murder. I had no doubt he’d be hanged. There had been a lot of witnesses to him shooting me.
The diner cleared out fast, leaving Beckett and my people. Asshole started whistling as he pulled on his interrogation gloves. Beckett paled as tears, snot, and blood coursed down his broken face. Amos had softened the man up for Jagger. I gavethem a half salute and walked out into the street. It wasn’t that I was squeamish, but I’d seen enforcers question people. No one could stay silent for long when a national enforcer got his fists going. It was effective but brutal.
I followed the others, watching as the conspirators were packed into the windowless, lightless container used as a jail by the militia. Two armed guards took up first watch, and the rest went into the mayor’s trial. It was very organized and I mentally applauded the militia.
The guards slid covert glances my way. My breastplate and abdominal armor was a calling card and a reminder that I was hard to kill. Though visibly curious, neither guard spoke to me and I wandered away.
When Jagger pinged that he was through with Beckett, I went back to the diner. Beckett was a mess and I shook my head, sighing dramatically under the watchful eyes of the cook standing in the kitchen, observing from the pass-through window.
It was close to lunch. To the cook, I said, “I see shine and fish and chips on the menu. They any good?”
“Devil Anse has a supplier who makes a run from the coast once a month with a load of frozen and fresh whitefish and we got potatoes,” the cook said. “Shine is excellent.”
I hadn’t had fresh seafood in so long I didn’t care what the fish was and placed an order for my people. Beckett wouldn’t be eating anything but baby food for the foreseeable future. As Jagger filled me in on what he had confirmed from Beckett—nothing unexpected—the cook dipped fresh fish in buttermilk, herbs, and peppers, dredged it in wheat flour, and fried fish and sliced potatoes in lard. My mouth watered as he dished everything up in old newspapers and slid it into the window. “Homemade ketchup,” the cook said.
I took a bite. It was so greasy and crispy it would clog even my nanobot-protected arteries. “Sodding hell, this is so good,” I said through a mouthful of fish protein and pig fat. My people dug in and Anse joined me at the bar, eating. The place filled back up as we ate, everyone ordering.
When my plate had been scraped clean, I surreptitiously unscrewed a tiny bottle, splashed a bit of water over my fingers, and wiped off everything I had touched. I pulled my gloves back on. Secreting the bottle in my pocket, I spun on my bar stool, my small jar of shine in one gloved hand. I sipped, and put my elbows on the bar behind me, all casual-like, watching more people enter, order, and eat. Beside me, Anse finished his meal.
Spy leaped to the bar and offered to clean the grease off his beard. Anse didn’t understand the cat’s nose butting, and Spy trailed herself around him. I pushed my greasy plate to her. The other two cats joined her, licking it clean. Anse figured it out and slid his plate over too, shaking his head as if arguing with himself about why he was helping a damn cat.
The diner was packed and reeking, the miasma of scorched coffee, fried fish, onions, peppers, and body odor bringing tears to my eyes. In spite of the dammed-up pond serving the hydro-plant, water was still scarce here, and showers were expensive.
When Anse clinked his fork down on the chipped China plate, those still eating crammed in the last mouthfuls and cleaned up with dry cloths.Water. Whoever controlled the water controlled the people.
I thought about the group at Four Corners Mine. They needed clean water.
They were not my responsibility.
Except they were.
Bloody damn.What was wrong with me?
And then it hit me. My nanobots still wanted to make a nest. I scowled mightily, and somehow, everyone in the room noticed. Most sat up straighter. A few shrank down into their seats. I made note of those.
Warhammer hadn’t been the whole iceberg; Warhammer had been only the tip of bigger problems. And the queen had left all her intel to me. Jolene had absorbed all of Warhammer’s information into her databanks, and we had made good guesses what she had been part of. Dark riders were involved.
Anse whirled on his stool and said, “Mayor McCoy was hanged by the neck until dead.” Every head turned to Anse and me. The crowded place went silent. Jolene murmured into my comms, “I got control of everyone’s morphone. I ain’t findin’ no more traitors in the group. I figure the quick hanging for treason meant anyone in the militia whose loyalty was waffling, is now completely on board with any plans y’all might make. But then, I think I’m becoming a cynic” the sentient AI said. “Go figure that.”
I grunted acknowledgment. Jolene continued.
“We got intel from militia scouts and from Mina and Jacopo. They found twelve bikes, two box trucks. A total of twelve bike riding shooters, two at shotgun, and two drivers.”
Sixteen. Manageable.
The brother-sister team entered the diner. Armored. Weaponed. Feral. Several militia stepped back as if they were wearing bombs. Which they were. The teens were walking death. I managed not to laugh at my whimsy.
Jacopo met my eyes and nodded.
Anse sighed. “How many?” he asked them.
Mina dropped metallic things onto the bar with little tinks. “Five listening devices were recovered from militia HQ. One from your scrapyard office. Two from the business where Eloise was taken. Your home was clean.”
The silence was so intense it had mass and weight.
Into that quiet Anse said, “We have enemies.”
The assembled sat up straighter.
