Walking the bike, I took a tight circle and gunned the engine enough to glide past the armed men, circle around so they could get a good look, and back up to Anse’s Pawnshop. I could have left the newish military-style bike and walked, but the armor and the bike spoke for me.This is who I am. Don’t think I’m an easy mark.
Mateo took a position in the middle of the intersection. Cupcake was right behind me in her quad. Jagger moved ahead, waiting near the pawnshop’s front door, his bike at the side, facing the street. He was smoking a cigar and smiled at me around the curl of smoke. My stomach did a little flip, and warmth settled low in my belly. This was the way I always remembered him, from the first time I saw him.Bloody hell.
The pawnshop had bars over the windows and a well-used, human-shaped target on the steel front door, its heart and head both nothing but tattered holes. Cupcake, still in her pink and sequins, and I parked and made our way inside between the two guards wearing sergeant’s chevrons who had been at Anse’s HQ. They both had shotguns on straps, carried with the butt at shoulder for quick firing, but aimed away from us. Cupcake strode ahead of me, passed them, opened the door, and took a position until I passed her, and Jagger took her position, his gaze on the guards.
Cupcake and I entered. Three cats dashed in at our feet. The cats explored, rushing here and there, leaping from the top of tall shelves to the light fixtures hanging above.
I sat at the long glassed-in counter at the front, diamonds and gems set into rings sparkling at us through the glass, Cupcake at my shoulder.
I heard Jagger and the two guards take up places at the door.
I let silence build. And then Amos threw open the door and walked in, the mountain-of-a-man stopping in front of the two guards. “Howdy boys,” he rumbled.
Spy jumped to the top of the glass case and walked along the top, leaving little smears of cat across the surface. Anse’s eyes followed her tracks, and he hid a frown. I felt her amusement at mussing the human man’s clean glass, like a signature of claiming. In the language of cats, she said, “Hhhhah mmm,” meaning “This is good.” The gray cat curled onto her side and lifted a leg into the air, proceeding to clean her nether regions.
Cupcake said, “Have your people load up Shining’s belongings. Including the med-bay and the blaster at your house.”
Anse’s face fell.
From my point of view, it was an auspicious beginning.
???
When the negotiation was done, I had won what I’d come for: the return of all the equipment that Anse had taken from the crash of the USSS SunStar; I had the blaster on my hip; I had an agreement for the return of the ship’s med-bay and lease-use agreement for a military med-bay and purchase of supplies at a profit to me. Before we left, Amos would be dismantling Jolene’sequipment and taking it all home, but trading for a newer med-bay and supplies. In return, Anse would get use of one set of military armor and a personal donning station for two years. He’d been a warrior. He knew how to use it, and he knew its worth. It meant a nice profit in the club’s pockets—and Jolene’s pockets, though wrapping my head around her wanting money was difficult. We also had an agreement that the enemy of one was the enemy of all for a period of one year, assuring assistance for defensive measures if under attack. It was a good deal. And since Jolene could tell me where the armor was all the time, and shut it down if needed, there was no way Anse’s enemies could kill him and haul his body off without reprisal.
Both of us satisfied, Anse stood and said to his guards, “Call Sawyer and ask for three grunts and the tow trailer to load up all the equipment.” They gave quick salutes, and we followed them toward the street.
Anse held open the outer door for Cupcake and me and said, “Sawyer is the man taking my place. His beard is close enough. He’s a little taller, but put a hat on him, and no one will know the difference.” Spy and her cat-mates raced out the door, the other two carrying mice in their teeth. Anse jumped a little. “I didn’t know I had mice. Any chance we could add a cat or two to the deal?”
“I’ll ask the cats.”
Anse gave me a peculiar look, and I showed teeth in what might charitably be called a smile. Anse shook his head as if the vagaries of women were beyond him. There were eight pickup trucks in the once empty parking area, all but one held together with bailing twine, duct tape, and hope, most with different colored side panels or doors or hoods, scavenged from a junkyard. I was proud of them. Their junk looked good and still ran in a time when regular transportation was scarce. The eighthtruck was fancy—diesel rumbling like silk, new paint job, nice upholstery. Had to belong to Anse.
The militia milled around—armed, tough looking people. Most of the men were hard bitten, bearded, tight eyed. The women were no softer, and just as familiar with their weapons as the men. We had more than twenty people with us. Anse would be in a command bunker—an empty house with rotten floors and busted out windows found by Mina during her recon. It was two streets over from the church, forty-five to fifty meters, not close enough for Anse to get to us in a hurry, but close enough to provide backup. And there was a clear line of sight to the front door of the church. I had no doubt Anse could take out the eye of a squirrel at that distance.
As if Jolene had timed it, Mina and Jacopo roared up the street, braked and spun in what was nearly front wheel wheelies, and up to us. “Everything’s in place,” Mina said.
The militia all stared at the strangers on the sleek bikes, and one woman asked what they were all thinking. “What’s in place?”
Mina let her eyes slide up and down the woman in evaluation. Finding her satisfactory, Mina said, “Your Christmas fireworks.”
I looked at the sun and checked my morphon. We barely had enough time to get all the people in place before the exchange. “Anse, my good friend, it’s time to rock and roll.”
“And get my daughter back?”
“Yup. Your stand-in ready to go?”
“He’s ready. And I thank you for the armor.”
It wasn’t as good as the military armor my team had, but it was better than Kevlar and Dyneema that cops and military used to wear, and it was thin enough to not show under clothing. It covered fake Anse from crotch to neck, front and back instead of only his chest, though if a shooter went for a head-tap, fakeAnse was dead, and he knew it. Standing side by side the two were clearly not twins, but set them a ways apart, I’d be hard pressed to say who was who.
I tapped my comms and said, “Jolene, align all comms to mine.” A faint click sounded, and the ambient noise rose. “Anse. You copy?”
“I do,” Anse said. “People, count down.”
One by one, Anse’s men and women said their last names, Sawyer speaking last, referring to himself as, “Anse Junior. Copy all that.” Anse’s men laughed.
My people checked comms. We were all linked via Jolene’s EntNu.
