On impact, p.19
On Impact, page 19
“Who’s the muscle?” Pierce asked.
“This is my friend, Grayson. Grayson, meet Pierce, the owner of this very fine establishment.”
The bartender shook Wright’s hand vigorously. “Nice to meet you, mate. Can I pour you a glass?”
“I was hoping we could talk to you for a moment,” I said. “In private?”
“It’s like you read my mind.” Pierce’s accompanying grin was infectious, and I remembered how easy it was being around him. “Let me get Jerry to take over. You go on back.”
Pierce jerked his head toward a swinging door behind the bar that led into a small kitchen. He called out to a skinny guy with a bushy mustache and receding hairline and walked over to talk to him. Jerry, I presumed.
“Boots?” Wright asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“It’s a long story—one I’m not about to share.”
“Mm-hmm. How did you say you know this guy?”
“I told you, I met him a few years ago working a case.”
“Are you sure we can trust him?”
“As much as we can trust anyone on this moon.”
Wright’s jaw clenched, and his right eye twitched.
“Unless you have a better idea on how to contact Ravi and DeAjamae?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Okay, then. We’ll see if Pierce has a way to get a comm off of here. Let me do the talking and try to be a little less … you. Maybe give smiling a shot.”
Wright’s lip curled up into a smile that sent a shiver down my spine that was equal parts nervousness and straight-up lust.
My foot caught on absolutely nothing, and I stumbled a half-step before regaining my balance. “Forget what I said. Nix the smile.”
Wright chuckled.
We walked past the picnic tables on our way around the bar. One group had ordered some baskets of greasy bar food, and my stomach rumbled at the hot, delicious smell of onion rings, fries, and crispers.
The galley-style kitchen was small. A little dirty but not unsanitary. Honestly, for a city with no ordinances, health inspectors, or law enforcement, it could have been a lot worse. Pierce had a refrigerator, a griddle, and a zapper for making simple bar food. To the left, a narrow, carpeted staircase led up to the living area and bedrooms. On the right, an alcove jutted out from the back wall, with a circular table and four chairs.
My lips quirked up in a half-smile. Something told me if I looked around, I’d find cards and poker chips nearby—and maybe a box of cigars from Avignon.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” Pierce said from the door.
“Neither did I.” I nodded to the table. “Are you still running your weekly game?”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. “Fancy a game? If I recall, you were pretty good.”
I tossed the cards back into the drawer. “Some other time. Unfortunately, this isn’t a social call.”
Pierce sized up Wright. “So I gathered.”
“We were hoping you might help us. Our ship crashed, and we need to send a message to our friends on Ritru-6.”
“Good thing you were in my neck of the galaxy.” Pierce grabbed a dusty bottle of whisky from the top of a cabinet and three glasses. “This sounds like a conversation best shared over drinks.” He looked at the swinging door to the bar. “Why don’t we go upstairs? Fewer eyes and ears.”
Up in his apartment, Pierce set the glasses on a coffee table made of empty liquor crates. He poured two fingers of golden liquid into each glass. Muffled sounds from the bar carried up through the floorboards.
“I assume you still drink Lonnie Powell,” he said, handing me the first glass.
“Is that the bottle I gave you?” I asked, taking it before sitting down on the couch.
“It didn’t seem right drinking it without you.”
Pierce handed Wright the second glass, then took the chair opposite us. Wright sat beside me, his arm casually thrown across the top of the couch. Not touching me, but not not touching me either.
I mentally rolled my eyes and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
Wright sipped his whisky, taking in the room. “Nice place you have here.”
It was nice. While the bar was furnished with cheap stools, cobbled-together shelving, and empty bottles for decoration, the upstairs had been painted, and he’d hung some art on the walls. The line drawings were one step classier than scantily clad women in impractical settings, but it wasn’t a big step.
“Pierce’s family were some of the original settlers on Valla,” I said. “They’ve been here, what? Four hundred years?”
“Closer to five hundred, but that doesn’t hold much water with folks these days. Most don’t stick around much more than a month or two. Those who do aren’t looking to compare family trees. Too much root rot, if you know what I mean.”
“How does it work on Valla?” Wright asked. “Without laws or government or a planetary network?”
Pierce sipped his whisky. “We keep to ourselves, don’t ask too many questions, and of course, LTs if you please.”
Wright drained his glass. “Why stay?”
Pierce relaxed into his seat. “Business is good. The scientists say it’ll be another twenty years before Newtown dries up. I figure I’ll ride it out until then, see how it goes. Besides, somebody has to make sure these lowlifes don’t go thirsty. But you didn’t come all the way to Valla to inquire about my little bar. What mess did you get yourself tangled up in this time?”
My glass dangled from my hand between my knees. I swirled the whisky while I gathered my thoughts and figured out how much I wanted to tell Pierce. “We’re tracking down a shipment of weapons. There’s a guy involved who used to run a gang out of Clava until he got run out. We think he’s hiding here.”
Pierce scratched his chin. “That describes a lot of people that come through here. There are always a few weapons guys hanging about. What are we talking about? Civilian? Military? Planetary- or space-based?”
I looked at Wright, who only raised one eyebrow at me. Clear enough. He was leaving it up to me to decide how much we shared.
It would be easy to dismiss Pierce because of his pretty-boy good looks and laissez-faire attitude, but that would be at your own peril. His dark-brown eyes studied me, not missing a single nose twitch or shift in my posture. It was what made him an excellent poker player. For as much as he bent the rules, he had a kind heart and strong moral compass.
I gave him the highlights. He listened, taking in all the information. I ended by describing the two people who attacked us in the jungle.
“All right, let me see if I got this straight,” he said. “You need to message your team, find a high-pressure pump, and track down these Ophidian and Sidewinder characters. That about sum it up?”
“And seize any of the prototype weapons we find,” I added.
Pierce whistled. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“I understand if you don’t want any part of this.”
“Now I didn’t say that, but we might have to get creative to get what you need. We stopped being able to transmit messages about six months ago. The tech was having a hard time getting through the atmosphere anyway, but then someone stripped the equipment for parts. You’d have a better chance using my zapper to send a comm than it.”
“So, how do you communicate with other people in the galaxy?” I asked.
He laughed. “Well, that’s a big assumption now, isn’t it? That we want to talk to other people or that other people want to talk to us.”
“That seems like an elaborate excuse for why you haven’t returned any of my comms.”
Wright muttered something under his breath that I refused to pay attention to.
Pierce grinned. “See, I knew you missed me. But as it happens, I have a friend who makes frequent runs to other systems for … well, let’s just leave it at reasons. For a fee, she takes comms with her and transmits them once she breaks orbit. She’d probably send yours, but I’d be cautious how you word it and who you send it to. I can’t guarantee it’ll be kept private. In fact, I pretty much guarantee it won’t be.”
“We can work with that,” I said.
Pierce finished his drink and poured himself another. “The pump is going to be difficult. People have been nicking any kind of scrap technology they can get their hands on. LAVs, ship parts, hovercarts, you name it. Spare parts are pretty scarce these days. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were the ones that shot your ship down. Salvaging has become a big business around here.”
Wright finished his drink and set the glass on the coffee table. “If you get a message to our team, they can bring the part from Ritru-6.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Prati got back from her last run a few days ago. She should be going again in a day or two.”
“I’ll write something up and address it to DeAjamae’s personal account to avoid any association with DECA,” Wright said.
Assuming this Prati could send the message tomorrow, it would take Ravi and DeAjamae at least another day to obtain the part and fly here. I didn’t like the idea of leaving the Soteria out in the jungle for that long, but we didn’t have a choice. Felix’s repairs would take that long to complete, anyway. Hopefully, he got the holo-emitters running for camouflage.
“Now, about this Ophidian character. I can’t say as I’ve heard of him, but some of my regulars mentioned seeing a few members of the Five Fangs gang sporting new hardware. Real high-tech stuff. I didn’t pay much mind to it at the time, but it might be a fit for the people you saw in the forest.”
Wright and I shared a look. “Five Fangs?” he asked.
At Pierce’s nod, I felt several pieces clicking into place. “Ophidian’s old gang is called the Seven Serpents,” I said. “Seven Serpents, Five Fangs. Not a big creative leap there.”
Wright tapped on his cuff and launched the holoscreen. He pulled up a holo of the tattoos on the people from the jungle and made a twisting motion to spin the image toward Pierce. “Is this their mark?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Ugly sucker, isn’t it?”
I wrinkled my nose in confirmation.
Pierce nodded. “They’ve set up shop somewhere on the outskirts of town to the east. Been there a year, year and a half. Pretty small potatoes. Keep to themselves. Valla’s got no shortage of potential recruits for an organization like that.”
“What else can you tell us about them?” Wright asked.
“Not much. My clientele lean more toward the don’t-play-well-with-other types. They’re in Valla to lie low for a bit, not make friends.”
Wright blew out a breath and shoved his hand through his hair, forcing the dark-blond strands to stand on end. “It’s not a lot to go on.”
“But it’s more than we started with,” I said, elbowing him in the side. “Thank you.”
“If you want, I could make some quiet inquiries,” Pierce offered. “Mind you, I might not find anything. For health reasons, people around here tend not to stick their noses in other people’s business.”
Wright’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “What makes you different?”
Pierce’s easy smile grew into something more mischievous as his gaze slid from Wright to me. “It’s been rather dull lately, and Boots here never fails to make things interesting when she’s in town.”
“Why don’t you prepare a comm for DeAjamae?” I asked Wright, attempting to change the subject.
“There’s a guest room down the hall, if you want some privacy,” Pierce offered. “It’s nothing fancy, but you can use it for the night. Boots is more than welcome to bunk with me.”
The wink he tacked on to the end of the statement sent a flush to my cheeks. I wasn’t embarrassed about the time we’d spent together, but I also wasn’t ready to pick up where we’d left off two years ago.
“It may be best if we keep the sleeping arrangements separate,” I said, standing up. Pierce and Wright followed suit.
“Ah, well. You can’t blame a bloke for trying, can you?”
Wright handed me my pack. “Boots can take the extra room. I’ll sleep on the couch, if that’s available.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Do you mind if I use your sonic shower to clean up and run my clothes through a cleaning cycle?” I asked.
“No problem. You know where it is. I’ll grab some towels for you.”
“Thanks. For everything. I owe you one.”
“We can discuss payment later.”
Wright retreated to the guest room to record the message for DeAjamae, and I hopped in the sonic shower. I would have killed for a hot water shower, but clean water was a luxury on Valla. Because of the toxins in the atmosphere, all water needed to be filtered and sanitized before it could be used. Without a functioning government, individuals had to handle the process themselves, and most of Pierce’s water resources went to supplying the bar. Still, the thin layer of soap and sonic waves vibrated off two days’ worth of dirt, sweat, and grime, leaving me feeling clean if not refreshed.
I found a comb and some styling products under the sink—Pierce spent more time on his hair than I did. I finished combing through some kind of gel when there was a knock on the door.
It was probably Wright wanting to know if I needed to add anything to the message.
“One second,” I said, checking the time on the clothes cycle. It still had ten minutes to go.
I wrapped a towel around myself and tucked in the end. It was on the short side, but all the important bits were covered. I cracked open the door to find Pierce, not Wright. He held a small pile of folded clothes. “I thought you might like these. They’ll be a little big, but I remember how much you hated wearing dirty clothes. These will be cleaner than anything you carried around in that pack through the jungle.”
“Thanks.” I took the clothes, which looked to be a pair of soft pajama pants and a t-shirt from a tequila company specializing in spicy flavors. It had a cartoon pepper on the front doing a rather suggestive act with a sexy lime.
Pierce looked me up and down, taking his time on my legs. “That offer to share a bunk is still good, if you changed your mind.”
“Sorry, but I do have another favor I’d like to ask you.” I pulled him into the bathroom with me and shut the door. I wished I was wearing something other than a towel.
His gaze slid down to my chest. “Have I ever mentioned how much I admire your negotiating skills?”
“You’re hilarious.” I lowered my voice to make sure Wright couldn’t overhear us. “While you’re out, could you get your hands on some Blue Lace?”
Pierce dropped the flirtatious banter. “Why do you want Blue Lace?”
“That implant I told you about? Well, I’m not handling it as well as I said. It has some unpleasant side effects if I use it too often. The Blue Lace helps keep them under control. If Wright finds out, he’ll say I’m unfit for duty and kick me out of the Department.”
“I don’t know, Boots. That’s some pretty wicked stuff. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He gave me a long look. “Then I’ll see what I can find.”
With one hand, I held my towel firmly in place. With the other, I gave him a giant hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Chapter 22
The next evening, I paced across the living room, waiting for Pierce to return. He left five hours ago to talk to his contact about delivering our message to DeAjamae. It was almost dark again. I couldn’t fathom what was taking him so long. How did Vallagorians function without a reliable comm system?
My head throbbed. The bar had stayed open until the wee hours of the morning. Not only had the loud music kept me up, but there had been about fifteen customers right below my bedroom wearing cuffs, playing trilliards, and throwing e-dice at the bar hoping to win free drinks.
At one point, I’d given up shutting down all the signals. That had been a big mistake. The things on those people’s cuffs weren’t things I wanted to know about. At least not in this situation where we needed to keep a low profile, and there wasn’t anything I could do. I’d held out as long as I could, but after the relative peace and quiet of the jungle, that many signals was overwhelming. So, banking on Pierce being able to get me more, I’d taken my last Blue Lace tab and drifted to sleep on the high it gave me.
It was less than fifteen hours later, and I already craved my next fix.
The downstairs door opened and closed, then footsteps jogged up the steps. Pierce’s lithe frame popped out of the stairwell with the energy of a collegiate athlete. Sometimes I had to remind myself that he was only twenty-seven. Growing up in the harsh reality of Valla matured him faster than most guys his age.
He set a cloth bag with groceries on the kitchen counter. “Where’s the buzzkill?”
“Wright’s pretty fun once you get to know him.”
Pierce unloaded the food. “Yeah, but you knew right away who I was talking about, didn’t ya?”
“Touché. He’s out for a walk. He wanted to scout the area. The latest map we have isn’t very accurate.”
“Right-o. If Valla prides itself on one thing, it’s being off the map.”
I grabbed a box of Clavan whole wheat crackers from the bag and raised it in a silent question. Pierce pointed toward a cabinet at the end of the row. I put it away, along with a container of cereal with freeze-dried hellaberries, also from Clava. “You trying to make me feel at home?”
Pierce laughed. “Nah, Prati just got back from a run to Brione-5. She loads up on supplies and flips them for a pretty profit. Greenhouses do well here, but grain’s been trickier to grow in large quantities. Thought I’d put that DECA money to good use.”
That morning, we’d agreed on a price for Pierce’s services and lodging. We’d talked about renting one of the tiny homes, but Pierce said we’d be too visible so close to the LAV lot. He didn’t want it getting out that he was housing law enforcement. So the guest room and couch it was.
Wright had come prepared to pay for local help in legal tender, although we’d planned on staying on the Soteria. Pierce may have been a friend, but this was business for him, and he drove a fierce bargain. After paying extra to get a message to the team, our reserves were running low.
