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in the morning! He had just started to pour, when the blanket was suddenly
whipped aside, and Trap found himself looking down the business end of Renn's
.75. "Surprise!"
To his credit Trap almost pulled it off. He threw the canteen in Renn's face
and did his best to whip the needle gun around in time. But fast as he was,
the slug from the .75 was even faster, and literally blew his head off. He
fell with a soft thump.
Wiping water off of his face, Renn remembered Boater's coffee cup bouncing off
his face, and smiled. He tried to stand, but found his legs unwilling to move.
He'd been lying there for about six hours and they were very stiff. So he sat
and exercised his legs. Finally, when everything was working again, he stood.
"Well, I see you ignored my advice and opted for the life of a hunter."
Renn whirled, the .75 coming up in a two-handed grip, his finger already
starting to squeeze, when he recognized Doc Fesker. The doctor was leaning
against a tree with his amis crossed in front of him. "And it seems you're
good at it, too." Fesker shrugged. "Even I'm wrong once in a while."
A few hours later they were aboard Fred, headed for Payout, with Trap's boat
bobbing along behind. Renn had just finished telling Fesker about Boater's
death, and the events which followed.
"So now I've got to find Cyclops and Knife."
Both men were silent for a moment, and then Fesker said, "Three for one is a
pretty good tradeoff. Why not just leave it at that?"
Renn shrugged. "I can't. Not after what they did to Boater. Besides, if I
don't go after the Clops, he'll come after me."
"Maybe," Fesker agreed reluctantly. "But killing him won't be easy."
"No," Renn said grimly. "It won't be easy."
Meanwhile, many miles behind them, dusk gradually edged into night, and
brought with it the small things which eat the dead. Like respectful mourners,
they gathered around Trap's body, and then little by little, the swamp took
back one of its own.
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One rotation later, Fred sat bobbing at the rear of Fesker's house as the two
men shook hands. "I hope you win," the doctor said simply.
Renn grinned, accepting the other man's outstretched hand. "I do too."
Fesker turned, climbed the short ladder, and disappeared into his house.
Renn double-checked Fred's mooring lines and went inside the cabin. Spreading
a blanket on the table, he laid out the .75, the hand blaster, and the little
hide-out gun. A rifle would be a hindrance in the close quarters of the Payout
Saloon. And that's where Cyclops and Knife would be.
According to Fesker, they arrived at the same time each night, drank steadily
for three or four hours, and staggered out. With that in mind Renn planned to
arrive towards the end of the evening.
If they were drunk, so much the better. He needed any edge he could get.
He cleaned and loaded each weapon, making sure he had a back-up energy pak for
the blaster, and extra magazines for the .75. Even so it was still early when
he finished. He tucked each weapon into its holster, killed the lights, and
forced himself to wait. Suddenly time slowed to a crawl, his belly began to
fill with cold lead, and his palms began to sweat.
It was noisy and crowded inside the Payout Saloon. People argued and swore in
loud voices, waiters shouted orders towards the bar, and a tired looking whore
stood on a tiny stage and tried to sing. No one bothered to listen.
From Marla's vantage point on the floor, the room was forest of human and
wooden legs.
Above and beside her sat Skunk. As usual, she was preparing to sucker a couple
of hunters just in from the bush. It always worked the same way. They'd see
Marla, pet her with clumsy hands, and ask
Skunk where the dog came from. Skunk would tell them one of three or four
lies, and mention
Marla's amazing ability to do tricks. Naturally they'd clamor to see the
tricks, and Skunk would agree, slyly suggesting a modest fee for each trick.
More than a little drunk, and starved for any sort of entertainment, the
hunters would agree, and Marla would perform. The whole process made her sick,
but she did it anyway, primarily because of the additional freedom it allowed
her. Most of the tricks were things like sitting up, rolling over, and
fetching Skunk a beer from the bar.
However, some tricks required her to make noise, barking three times when
Skunk held up three fingers, and so forth. This meant freedom from the
durasteel wire Skunk had previously wound around her muzzle. And, by unspoken
agreement, the wire stayed off so long as Marla refrained from speech. The
sight of Marla talking drove Skunk crazy, since some part of her burned-out
brain thought Marla was an animal, and believed animals shouldn't speak. Also,
if anyone saw Marla speak, they'd soon realize she wasn't a dog, and would no
longer pay to see her do tricks. Of course, some of the saloon's regulars had
caught on long ago, but they weren't about to tell the suckers anything, so
Skunk was living better than she ever had before.
So Marla endured. She had little choice. There was still some time left to
serve on her one-year contract, and Skunk had used some of her new-found
wealth to place an explosive collar around Marla's neck. Any time Skunk
wished, she could open the little black box strapped to her right wrist, touch
the button inside, and blow Marla's head off.
Needless to say Marla planned to kill Skunk at the first opportunity. Skunk
knew this, and was very careful. She used an elaborate system of safeguards to
make sure it didn't happen. The ironic part was that the attention to detail
had forced Skunk off the bottle. Marla hadn't seen her take a drink in months.
There was a sudden flurry of activity by the door, and from the hoarse
laughter and crude jokes, Marla knew Cyclops and his cronies had just arrived.
The one-eyed man thrived on his notoriety and loved to make an entrance. He
often came dressed in some outlandish manner, or in at least one case, dressed
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in nothing at all. Everyone would laugh, Cyclops would take a bow, and then
settle down to some serious drinking.
Of course there were other evenings too. Evenings when Cyclops arrived in a
foul mood, his good eye sweeping the crowd like a laser, searching for someone
to kill. But from the sound of it
Cyclops was in a good mood so everyone else was, too.
People scrambled to get out of their way as Cyclops and Knife headed for
Skunk's table.
The two hunters who'd been talking to Skunk suddenly took off, and she sighed,
resigning herself to the lost income. Marla didn't even bother to get up.
Cyclops and Skunk were friends, occasional lovers, and more importantly,
kindred spirits. He was therefore a regular fixture at her table.
Bending over, Cyclops gave Marla the usual pat on the head, along with a
hideous smile. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]