Three
for the Money by Jules
PART FOUR Sixteen The Dark Side Restaurant was named for its distinction of being the building closest to the part of the moon that never faced the Earth. In fact, the panoramic dining room window faced the darkness, giving the most famous view of nothing in Terra-Luna. Jack stepped through the front door that Riddick held open for her and let the attendant take the coat she’d worn expressly for that purpose. She’d been almost disappointed by the fact that there was no valet parking, here. Of course, the parking lot barely had ten spaces and those were filled mostly with limousines whose owners had gained special permission to operate them here. She wondered if one of them belonged to her dad’s new girlfriend or if they’d taken a cab, too. “You ready?” Riddick flashed a reassuring smile and offered an arm. The light in his eyes was subdued by tinted lenses. She wondered if it made him see just like she did or if it messed up the colors even more. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She took a deep breath and the arm and stared defiantly at the restaurant’s etched glass doors. “You?” He spread his arms and tilted his head in an “are you kidding?” gesture. “Let’s go get ‘em.” A waiter lead them to the table her father and Marlene already occupied. They’d decided that late would be far better than early. Early would have meant spending too much time together without the distraction of ordering and eating, something she desperately wanted to avoid. Too much time for small talk would lead either to things beyond small talk or nothing at all and she wasn’t sure which was worse. They had precious little to talk about in the first place. Or little that she wanted to. School? No. Work? No. Relationships? Not just no but hell no. Jesus, they were going to run out of conversation in ten minutes. Virge stood as they reached the table and held out a hand to Riddick, who took it and shook it with what must have been a too-firm grip from the briefly uncomfortable tinge to her father’s smile. He took Marlene’s hand, too. Softly, politely, uttering a few short, pleasant words of greeting and introduction. Riddick looked so thoroughly civilized just then, smiling as he pulled out Jack’s chair and touching her shoulders briefly with the backs of his hands as he pushed it in. She glanced at the napkin folded neatly beside his plate and nearly burst out laughing, but instead took hold of her own, shaking it out and spreading it on her lap. “I took the liberty of ordering the wine,” said Virge. “I hope you don’t mind.” “Thank you,” Jack replied. What she knew about wine wouldn’t fill a shot glass. Almost everything she’d drunk on the trip here had had more interesting names. She fought the urge to start out by asking for what had brought her here in the first place. Her mind was too wrapped up in guarding her tongue and she was afraid she would forget it by the time they’d finished, here. Riddick wouldn’t forget. The thought made her relax, but only until her father opened his mouth. “Thanks for coming,” he said. Then, more quietly, “For a while there I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.” Jack shrugged and picked up her menu, noting the ridiculously high prices with great satisfaction. “Dinner at a classy joint like this, on you? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said with a dry smile. He laughed. “I’m glad you came, Honey.” Though her smile faltered a little at the endearment, his look was boldly unapologetic. She supposed that his confidence stemmed from the belief that she wouldn’t have Riddick tear his arms off in public. She was better than that, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t. Not til after dessert, anyway. The waiter arrived with the wine, popped the cork at the table and poured a dash of something red into Virge’s glass. As he sipped it, Jack took the opportunity to dive headfirst into the potentially awkward small talk before anybody else had the chance. “So, how did you guys meet?” she asked with what she hoped was an amiable smile. Virgil nodded at the waiter, who filled their glasses and retreated. “Meet?” he asked. “You know, walking down the street, skydiving, ballroom dancing..?” “We met downside, on Earth, actually,” Marlene replied. Whether she smiled in remembrance of the occasion or in amusement at Virgil’s mild discomfort it was hard to tell. “I was there on business.” “Really? Where?” Virgil shifted in his seat, though the pleasant look he’d worn when they’d sat down remained firmly plastered on his face. Beside Jack, Riddick took a gulp of wine and watched her with his new, opaquely glittering shark’s eyes. The disturbing effect was offset by the small lines at their corners as his lips twitched into a smile. “Germany,” said Marlene, taking a sip from her glass as well. Her gaze flicked to Riddick but Jack wasn’t quick enough to catch the look in her eyes before she continued. “Some work for my father’s company.” “Germany?” Jack repeated, smirking into the face of her father’s faltering smile. Oh, this was too easy. “So, how’s grandma?” He actually blushed. Bright red. Like a damn tomato. God, this felt good. “She misses Dad,” he said quickly. “I’ll bet she’d love to see you.” Ada Weller had never left the Earth; not once in her whole, long life and it wasn’t likely she ever would. Jack’s grandmother was of the opinion that there were enough places to go without packing up and leaving behind an entire planet. In fact, she still lived in the city she’d been born in. Jack found it hard to imagine, especially now that she’d seen what was out there. One planet wasn’t enough to hold her, anymore. “I’ll have to go visit,” Jack said, lifting her glass. She took a small sip and smiled. Kind of dry, but not bad. She wondered if it would be tacky to take a look at the label, decided not to. “Maybe when we’re done here. Marty’s got family on Earth, too.” Pointedly glancing around, Virgil asked, “Oh yes, where is the other one?” “He’s holding a gun to a cabbie’s head so we don’t have to flag down a ride home,” Jack said flatly. At her father’s stunned look she added, “He’s got the night off.” Leaning her elbows on the table, Marlene linked her fingers and set her chin on them. “So how did you two meet?” “We were in a fiery freighter crash together,” Jack replied. She turned a syrupy smile to Riddick and patted him on the hand. He turned from perusing the menu and favored her with a fond smile of his own. “Very romantic.” Virgil nearly choked on his wine and for a moment Marlene couldn’t seem to decide whether or not she was serious, then, “That must have been something. You’re lucky to be alive.” Jack couldn’t disagree with that. She nodded and lifted her menu, prompting the others to do the same. “If you’re not opposed to it, seafood is always best,” said Marlene. “It’s the only meat they can grow up here. Not as much by-product. The rest of it comes up here frozen and isn’t nearly as good.” Raising an eyebrow at the apparent act of charity, Jack scanned the seafood page, far larger than the others. Of all the stuff they’d eaten on the long trip here, she was pretty sure none of it had ever mooed, clucked or oinked, no matter what it was called. Soybeans grew anywhere, even in fields that had never touched the ground, and most of the food on ships that traveled far from planetside suppliers used it as the base for damn near everything. Jack didn’t care where it came from or how long it had been in the freezer; the idea of meat that didn’t go ‘squish’ when she bit into it was almost enough to make her wiggle with joy in her seat. “What do you do, Richard?” asked Marlene. His name fell oddly on Jack’s ears. She wondered how it sounded to him. Nobody called him Richard except for Reggie in her vid messages. She’d never cared to give it a try, though. He just didn’t look like a “Richard” to her. She certainly didn’t want to attempt “Dickey”, either. Jack was pretty sure anyone besides Marty who called him that must have a desperate urge to see their spleen. “Security, mostly,” he replied with a genuine-seeming but wholly uncharacteristic pleasantness. Jack grinned. Oh, the irony. “Does it pay well?” “Extremely,” Riddick rumbled. Fortunately, he stopped short of winking at Virgil, who Jack imagined was already beginning to feel his cozy family get-together taking an odd turn. They wouldn’t let it go careening out of control, though. They needed this as much as her father seemed to. She wondered if he’d set this up with the hopes of Jack and Marlene getting along or if he was after the same thing they were. Information. Where to start digging? Digging. Durr. Good Jack, here’s a cookie. “You work for the Castor Corporation, right?” asked Jack, hoping the remark sounded as off-hand as she meant it to. “I do,” Marlene nodded, setting down her glass and smiling at Virgil as he refilled it. “Thank you, Dearest. I work in the Human Resources department. I help locate most of the miners, engineers and technicians who work for the company. The senior employees do the important interviews, which usually involves us shelling out an obscene amount of money to bring people up here or to the main corporate headquarters downside.” “When did you become a miner, Dad?” Jack smirked. “I work in the accounting office,” he said smoothly, thought Jack could see that little hitch along his jaw line that meant he was starting to grind his teeth. “That’s only temporary,” said Marlene. “Once your father graduates he’s going to apply for a position as an executive assistant.” “A secretary? Right on, Dad.” To her surprise, the tension seemed to melt away and he laughed out loud. The waiter chose that moment to drift back to the table and they paused, though the feeling that the air around them had lightened somehow remained. Jack snickered softly when Riddick ordered his steak rare. She glanced at him and he winked as he folded his menu and handed it to her to pass on. “What about you, Jackie?” asked Virgil. “Been thinking about school?” The subject had come up a few times, especially after Reggie left for the university at Haversham. Jack had never finished high school, but she didn’t see that as much of a problem. College, though, would mean tying herself down to one place for at least a couple of years. Of course, the same might happen if she managed to collect her inheritance. She frowned inwardly. They couldn’t expect her to actually run the place, could they? “I’ve thought about it, sure,” she shrugged. “Haven’t decided anything yet. Don’t know what I want to study.” “If you want to stay in the family business, my father’s set up all kinds of scholarships. Geology ever interest you at all?” Something was starting to happen in the back of Jack’s mind; thoughts putting themselves together to form something that she couldn’t quite see yet. It was right on the tip of her brain... “I don’t know much about it,” she replied. “But I suppose I’ll have to learn at least a little something if I’m going to take care of grandpa’s business.” “That’s true,” Marlene nodded. “I was meaning to ask you about that, Jackie. Do you have any plans for your shares? You could probably sell them off for a fortune.” Ding! We have a winner! Holy shit! That was why this woman was romancing her father. What had Marty said? The contracts not held by the Castor Corporation belonged to Weller M&D. What better way to get rid of the competition than to buy them out? Her inheritance entitled her to 55 per cent of the shares and would make her majority stockholder. If she sold out, then the majority would belong to them. Was that why her dad had been looking so hard for her? It made more sense than him trying to find her before she turned eighteen, Earth time. The will stated clearly that her age be measured in actual time elapsed, whether that time was spent walking and talking or shut up in a cryo-pod. Plenty of time had passed while she was traveling, though she hadn’t really been paying attention. That meant it was all hers provided that her dad dropped his dispute. But what if Marlene had been the one who advised him to do it in the first place? Her mind reeled with the possibilities. If he didn’t drop it, it would stay tied up until it went to court, whenever that was. Why tie it up if she wasn’t there to collect, anyhow? And why look for her to bring her back? Eventually she might have been declared delinquent, or hell, even dead... She suppressed a shudder, then kicked herself inwardly for being melodramatic. The truth was that he had looked for her, and even found her before her boys came to the rescue, allowing her to return on her own terms. Jack hadn’t realized the extent of her grandpa’s affection or she might have stuck around. Or at least stayed close enough to prevent things from getting out of hand. Living a block away just to piss off her dad would have been nice. But then she wouldn’t have Riddick, inasmuch as she did have him, or Marty, likewise. If she’d never left she wouldn’t have half the experience she did now. Some of them she could have done without, but they were worth living through to get to the good stuff. Jack nearly jumped out of her skin as beneath the table, Riddick set a hand on her thigh and patted it gently. Be careful, it seemed to say, though she had trouble seeing through her initial reaction. She hoped that between her makeup and the low lights no one would notice the sudden heat in her cheeks. And, she noted, every bit of her exposed skin. The hand moved, but the damage was done. “That’s an idea,” said Jack, trying to sound casual. “It’s not like I could handle a big business like that myself, anyway. Or even part of it.” “I’m sure there are some old-timers who could give you a hand,” Riddick offered, giving her leg another gentle squeeze. She wished he would stop doing that. Or didn’t. She wasn’t sure. “Offer up some shares, somebody will volunteer.” “Didn’t know you had a head for business,” said Jack, taking another sip of wine. “Not really,” he replied. “I’m just good with people.” She almost spewed the entire mouthful back into the glass. Swallowing deliberately, she nodded, “He really is.” Under the table, something played a short, shrill tune and Marlene rolled her eyes. Reaching down, she drew her purse up by the strap and pulled out a thin, silver phone. As she glared at it, she slid her chair back and glanced around the table with an apologetic smile. “Excuse me,” she said. “It’s work. I’ve got to take this.” She flipped open the phone and put it to her ear, holding a hand over the other as she crossed the main dining room and disappeared into the quiet lobby. “Personnel emergency?” asked Jack. “Christ, I hope not,” said Virgil. “Last time she had a work ‘thing’, she left me in the middle of dinner. ‘No, no, sweetheart, I won’t be long’, she says. I sat in the restaurant for an hour with this plate across from me, looking like an idiot, before she called and said she wasn’t going to make it back.” Jack laughed out loud. “Payback’s a bitch, huh?” “Okay, I guess I deserved that.” “Straight up yes,” Jack said. “And more.” “You’re right,” he agreed. “You’re absolutely right. Look, Jackie, I’d like to make every last bit of it up to you. Help you out with school, if you decide to go. Get you a place of your own, maybe. Where are you staying?” “In a hotel.” “Wouldn’t an apartment of your own be nicer?” he smiled. “It’s a really expensive hotel.” Virgil cast a nervous glance toward Riddick and leaned closer to whisper, “You’ve got your own room, don’t you?” “It’s a suite, Dad,” she smirked. “We’ve all got our own rooms.” “Just checking,” he said. “So who’s paying for that? Or does the hotel take IOU’s too?” “My sugar daddy’s got it covered, Pop. Don’t you worry.” He gave her a look and she laughed. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. I can’t tell whether or not you’re kidding.” “Works for me,” said Jack. “And don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time.” Virgil just looked at her for a while, until it began to unsettle her. She was about to say “What?!” when he spoke. “Are you sure you’re safe with these people, Jackie?” he asked. With a quick look at Riddick he tacked on, “No offense.” “None taken.” “Safe as houses, Dad,” she said firmly. “Safer. They take good care of me.” “What’s in it for you, Mr. Riddick?” Mister. God, that was worse than Richard. And what the hell kind of thing was that to ask in front of a big, scary man you didn’t know? Big, hot, scary, hot,...focus, Jack, focus. “Dad!” “That’s okay, Jack,” said Riddick. “He just wants to make sure you’re not being taken advantage of.” He turned to Virgil and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Right?” Virge nodded. “That’s right.” Containing the “yeah right!” that threatened to escape her, Jack waited, more curious about his answer than her dad could possibly be. “I owe her,” Riddick said plainly. “She saved my life.” His mouth fell open and he closed it quickly, but not fast enough to avoid Jack’s notice. That wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting, either. Of course, she was a couple down on that score. He’d saved hers more often. Virgil stared from one of them to the other a few times before he managed a small, “Oh.” She knew he wouldn’t delve to heavily into the subject of money unless he wanted another ripping into, and despite his direct questions she suspected he wanted to keep things as friendly as possible. Still no sign of Marlene. Jack craned her neck to peek through the archway that led to the lobby, but couldn’t catch sight of her. The waiter returned and carefully handed out plates as her father turned to do the same thing she’d just been doing. He turned to gaze forlornly at Marlene’s dinner, but seemed cheered somewhat by the sight of his own. Jack had taken the advice she’d offered and, inhaling the steam rising from the slab of fish in front of her, was pleased that she had. “Should we wait?” she asked, settling her hand over a fork. She wasn’t sure if it was the right one, but she was sure that at this table, it wouldn’t matter too much. Another glance back and Virgil shook his head. “No point in letting it all get cold,” he said. “I just hope she hasn’t left without bothering to tell me. Sometimes she gets a little wrapped up in her work.” Jack dug in, smiling at Riddick’s low rumble of approval as he popped a bloody chunk of meat into his mouth. She watched, suppressing laughter as he began to cut the rest into neat squares. He winked at her, chewing thoughtfully. “I saw Uncle Joe,” said Jack, contemplating how to maneuver the fish without dumping a mound of rice over the other side of her plate. “Yeah? How is Joe?” “Lecherous and alcoholic,” Jack returned flatly. “I feel so much better now that I’ve got the words to describe him.” “Jeezus,” Virgil chuckled, flashing her an admiring glance. “You’ve gone from thirteen straight to thirty.” “Feels like it,” she said, carefully balancing a stack of green beans on her fork and lifting it to her mouth. She chewed quickly and swallowed before adding, “Though there are some shortcuts I could have done without.” Jack looked up to see Marlene striding across the room. Sitting, she leaned down to tuck the phone back into her purse. “Crisis averted,” she said, leaning over to accept a peck on the cheek from Virgil. Jack raised an eyebrow at Riddick, who stopped for a moment, fork poised over his plate. She thought about trying her luck, but then considered that would definitely fall under “pushing it”. “I’d ask what the problem was,” said Virgil. “But then you’d tell me.” Marlene nudged him lightly. “Don’t be a shit, Virgil.” Smiling, Jack finally relaxed despite herself. That was couple talk. Easy, comfortable couple talk. The kind she shared with somebody she knew, she told herself with more than a hint of satisfaction. Under the table, she kicked off her right shoe and groped with her toes for Riddick’s foot, bursting into quiet laughter at the look on his face when she found it.
Seventeen Marty closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wall. The tile was a cold shock against his skin but eventually it warmed beneath the hot spray of the shower. The little man with the jackhammer inside his head had finally begun to let up. Everything hurt. He was pretty sure his hair did, too. It was like waking up with the mother of all hangovers, only without the benefit of getting pasted the night before. Oh, cruel fate. The water helped. He hoped it would stay hot for awhile. An hour would be good. A couple. All night. The effort of focusing through the post-attack fuzziness had wrung him out and now it was settling in again. It took too much work to keep it away. He probably wouldn’t bother until they came back. He was on his feet, after all. More or less. Thinking coherently; pretty much. Slow and in small spurts. Most of it made sense. To him, anyway. Simple was better, for now. The first few days always felt as though his mind were a filing cabinet; one of the old-fashioned kind that held papers and had drawers that pulled out on metal rollers. There weren’t too many folders, all marked simply with labels like “Hurts to Do” and “Doesn’t Hurt to Do”. As he recovered, they would grow to include thicker, more complicated files until finally the old cabinet was hauled off to the storage and replaced with a high-speed computer filing system. That time was...not now. Water good; headache bad. Food, too, maybe, though the thought of eating anything solid made his stomach spasm angrily. He forced his eyes open and looked at the chronometer strapped to his wrist. It wouldn’t be coming off until he got his head back. It was set to remind him what pills to take and when. He’d only forgotten them a couple of times and those few would serve just fine to make sure he didn’t do it again. He sighed. All this was supposed to be getting better. His stomach had recovered quickly enough, though his diet would never be the same as it once was. Probably for the better, that. His lost kidney wasn’t missed. Much. He fancied sometimes that he could remember the spot it had once occupied feeling differently though it wasn’t possible. What took up the space when things like that were gone, anyhow? Was it just a hollow in his innards? Thinking too much. Thinking hurts. Stop, then. He squeezed his eyes shut again, relaxing them gradually as he tried to empty his mind, or at least fill it with something pleasant. Reggie. He missed her. He’d never realized how much time they spent together as Not-Really’s until they were separated as Might-Be’s. Her last letter was filled with talk about professors and exams and roommates with bad habits, plus thanks for his permission to tell her would-be beaus that she already had a boyfriend, thanks, wanna see? The picture he’d sent her was about ten years old, featuring Marty and his buddy Danny Cochran at their gruff-looking best. They were clad in dusty desert camouflage, leaning against the gargantuan tire of an L-470 Nomad transport with heavy assault rifles over their shoulders. The truck was part of the Night Train, the picture taken only days before the mission that had ended his career. Career, he snorted. More than that. It was a couple inches to the right worth of good fortune that he could still piss standing up. Only half joking, he’d scrawled a note on the back of the photo stating “I’m the one on the left”. Ten years had done a lot to him. He wanted to talk to her. She had a way of explaining his aches and pains in terminology so complex that he’d usually forgotten about them by the time she was through. Maybe after she earned her degree she’d forego private practice or residency and take a job as a live-in nurse for a crusty old retired Marine. Not that he wasn’t grateful for his present company. It was good to be around someone who understood him and didn’t take advantage of his weakness the way some men might. And Jack was good for him. Good for both of them, really. She kept them from taking themselves too seriously. We’re big, we’re bad, we’re -- under your thumb, Sweetheart, whatever you say. How she managed to be a good kid and still keep pace with them boggled the mind. A rush of cool air puffed in under the door that led to the hall. What did that mean? Something. Marty frowned. Were they back already? He glanced at the chrono again. Not much time for dinner and a movie. He winced at the thought that things might have gone badly with Jack’s father and...whatshername. They would be talking, wouldn’t they? Unless they thought he was asleep. All the lights were off in deference to his aching skull. It didn’t feel like them, though even Marty couldn’t explain that one. The skin on his arms prickled and he raised his head from under the water to listen. His heart began to pound wildly; anxious or eager, he didn’t know. He couldn’t hear anything, but a familiar tingle was growing in the pit of his stomach and a voice in his head screamed too loudly -- Go! Go! Go! Marty left the water running and slid the door open slowly. He stepped out and started to grab for a towel, then stopped mid-reach and drew his faded, red sweat pants out of the pile on the floor. They stuck to his wet legs as he pulled them up and he shook them out while he leaned over to feel around under the sink. Taped neatly to the bottom was the mate to the small pistol Riddick carried. Paranoid bastard, you are, he told himself. Paranoid or not, he was comforted as his fingers wrapped snug around the black rubber grip. Please, for the love of God, let that be housekeeping with more towels. He checked the safety and chambered a round quietly as he could. Extending his arms, Marty tried to steady the gun chest high as he backed toward the other door. It led to his room, which in turn led to both Riddick’s and the hall. If there was no one covering them...This was stupid. What if it was nothing? It wouldn’t be the first time his senses had lied or his mind played tricks on him. He couldn’t fire without first confirming...what? That there was someone sneaking around the hotel room? He shook his head. There was a fine line between heroics and scaring the living shit out of the kid with room service. The barrel wavered and he was about to lower it when the door burst open and a hail of suppressed gunfire filled the bathroom. The shower screen exploded into shards that bit into his skin as he half-stumbled, half-threw himself though the door to his room. Made of hard plastic in place of wood, it didn’t splinter but instead came completely out of its frame, spilling him onto the floor. He rolled away and sprang up, regretting the rapid motion instantly as the room whirled around him. Staggering, he came up hard against the corner of the dresser and cursed softly. The door between this room and the hall was closed, his attacker likely standing just outside of it to fire into the bathroom. He glanced at the entrance to Riddick’s room. If he slipped through there he could cross the hall behind them into the open, common area. And what if that was blocked? Then bend over and grab your ankles, Buck-o, ‘cause you’re fucked. Screw it. He fired twice through the door to the hall and heard at least two voices respond with shouts of alarm. That door flew inward as he fled through the other. The room was dark and empty, but not for long. Two men tried to enter at once as he backed into the corner between them. The door on the left swung toward him as it opened and he kicked it, hard. It bounced off whoever was behind it and knocked him back out of the room. The other was only a few feet away as he stepped inside, leading with his weapon. Marty side-stepped a shot, swallowing his panic as the bullet breezed past. He slapped the weapon aside and rushed forward to drive an elbow upward into his attacker’s face with a gratifying crunch. Snagging an arm, Marty twisted it behind him in a single motion, preparing to force him against the wall. The man he’d shoved out burst in again, firing, and he changed direction, pushing his prisoner between them. The impact drove them both backward through the door and into the hall where Marty stepped from the line of fire and let the body drop. His breath was already labored and his muscles groaned in protest. This wasn’t going to go on for too long, one way or the other. There was nothing to identify the deceased, though he was beginning to feel certain that these people weren’t just bent on robbing the place. Thieves would probably have run, or possibly waited for him to come out of the shower and clubbed him like an unruly protester. Professionals would know about the red flag attached to their records when murder and assault were added to them. That kind of shit most of them didn’t need. Unless they were a totally different sort of professional. The fact that they hadn’t made any effort to hide their faces added to his uneasiness. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t been here long enough to piss anybody off. A sound drew his attention too late. There was a muffled, meaty crunch as something solid connected with his rib cage. The force of the blow nearly lifted him off his feet and he doubled, the gun slipping from fingers gone suddenly weak. Only falling to his knees kept the next swing from finding him, but his assailant quickly lifted a foot into his midsection, flipping him onto his back and leaving him gasping wildly to regain his breath. The hall light flicked on and his pupils spasmed painfully as, impaired by the load of drugs in his system, they shrank to pinpoints too slowly. Huge hands loomed in his vision. As their owner bent to grab him, one of his own hands thrust out and caught hold of two gloved fingers, bending them back and using them to haul himself to his feet. Too quickly. His eyesight wavered and he was forced to tighten his grip on his opponent, as much to steady himself as to keep him under control. The man let out a yelp and tried to pull away, hurling a clenched first toward Marty’s head. Ducking the swing, Marty tried to repeat his previous trick as the surviving gunman entered the hall. He didn’t fire this time, instead moving cautiously as he lifted his weapon toward them. Marty spared an instant to wonder if the guy cared who he hit. A couple of shots whizzed past his ear and he figured he had an answer. “Hold him still!” “Who the fuck do you think’s got who, over here?” This wasn’t going well. His gun was out of reach and the bruiser he had a hold of didn’t seem to be carrying one. Shit, that was almost insulting. If he tried to hold onto this guy, eventually he would lose, or the other son of a bitch would get smart and either try to circle around or decide that he didn’t give a shit and shoot them both. If he let go of Big Guy and ran, he wouldn’t make it to the door before he got nailed. Especially if he had to fight his way through the thickening fog in his head, which was beginning to feel like it was packed in three feet of concrete. And if there was anything besides dead that he didn’t want to get out of this, it was shot. Some things you could take a lot of and eventually grow immune. Bullets were not one of those things. In fact, despite the effort and concentration it required to keep a hold on Big Guy, he found himself casting glances of blank-faced terror at the barrel of the gun. In the hospital, he’d met all kinds of guys who had sustained life-threatening injuries. Most of them talked about drifting into a kind of trance state where they felt no pain. Even juiced out of his mind he’d never seen it. The only time he could remember feeling nothing was when they’d tucked him into the portable cryo locker and iced him into oblivion, and he hadn’t exactly been able to enjoy it, then. Not again, no way. He threw his weight into a forceful shove that sent the man stumbling and flailing down the narrow passage. Shifting his momentum, he dove for his dropped weapon, scooped it up and fired down the hall without aiming. One, two, three...Shit, how many did that leave? Four, five, six...plus two from before. One left. Shit. He scrambled for the common room as bits of carpet fluff and puffs of plaster filled the space he’d just left. The lights were still off, here, to his advantage. But there was no real cover and it seemed like the room was a kilometer across. Why the hell did they have to get such a big place? The table was round; wouldn’t do much good to turn it on its side. Jack’s roses occupied the center of it, faded back to their neutral white and standing in a tall, glass pitcher, the only thing he’d found to hold them. What color would they turn if he grabbed them, now? Brown, he laughed to himself. There was a time when this wouldn’t have been a problem. Just a couple of guys? They’d all be on the floor, spilling their guts about why they were here, who sent them and the test they cheated on in sixth grade. He was concerned more with hauling his carcass out of here under its own power. But still...were they here for him? For Riddick? Jesus, for Jack? The amount of sense that made served to intensify the nagging ache in his stomach. If it was true, getting out of here was suddenly a whole lot more important. His chest ached and his head throbbed so badly he could barely see. He wanted to go back to bed. Marty backed as fast as he could toward the front door, his eyes pinned to the arched opening they had to pass through to follow him. If a face showed before he was outside, it was getting drilled. As his back foot touched the small semi-circle of tile by the entrance, an arm poked out, gun in hand, and took several blind shots into the room. Ducking, he spun and grabbed the door handle. It moved under his hand. No chance in hell it was hotel security, riding to the rescue. The Galileo, like all of the structures on Earth’s natural satellite, was made solid enough to withstand the breakdown of the artificial atmosphere. Chances were, no one had heard a thing. On the plus side, they hadn’t heard bugger all from the honeymooning couple in the next suite. If it was reinforcements, he risked walking into a world of ouch. If Jack and Riddick had returned early for some reason, they risked being killed just walking through the door. Shit. Before the door could crack itself open more than a couple of centimeters, Marty threw a shoulder into it and slammed it shut, then dove behind the dubious cover of an armchair. His attackers dashed out of the hallway and into the open, apparently convinced he’d gone. He peeked over the side of the chair. They couldn’t see him. Aiming hurriedly, he fired the last shot at the smaller man’s head. He dropped. The door sprang open to reveal a tall silhouette that pointed a gun into the darkness. “He’s right in front of you!” bellowed Big Guy. Shit again. He scrambled back around the chair, rocked onto his back and kicked it hard with both feet. It rocketed into the new arrival, who fell over it and landed in a cursing heap. Marty swung a heel into the side of the man’s head and he felt silent. The door was still open. He rolled to unsteady feet and threw himself toward it only to be roughly intercepted and hurled to the floor. His ribs protested loudly and his right elbow cracked against the tile. Feeling in his arm was suddenly reduced to pins and needles. Dazed, he tried to bring the gun around before he remembered it was empty. A firm grip took hold of his arm and smashed it against the ground until he was forced to let go. The man flipped him over and he turned the momentum into a swing, driving his knuckles into hard bone. Withdrawing only slightly, his attacker grunted and rammed a knee into Marty’s stomach, using it to pin him while thick fingers sought a grip on his throat. Marty grabbed one wrist and wrenched it away, then shot an open hand straight for the guy’s unprotected crotch, squeezed, and twisted as hard as he could. Howling, Big Guy staggered up and away from him. Marty struggled to his feet, gasping and wheezing, then stepped forward and planted a fist in the softest part of his opponent’s midsection. As he doubled over, Marty brought a swift backhand down across his face, followed by an elbow to the back of the head. That just seemed to make him mad. “Fall down, you fuck!” he growled. “You first!” He whirled as the man behind him fired. The bullet bit into his thigh and struck artificial bone, jarring his leg violently from under him. He landed on all fours and felt something in a wrist crunch and grind together. A cry died in his throat as Big Guy surged to his feet and grabbed him by the neck. The other hand gripped the back of his pants and with a grunt of effort, he was hauled to his feet. He pried vainly at the rough fingers that pressed into his throat, cutting off his air. Blood pounded in his ears and the room started to swim as hot tears pooled in his eyes and then spilled over, searing narrow trails over his cheeks. His short nails dug into flesh as his wounded leg lashed out in a desperate surge of strength. He caught the man behind a knee but the adrenaline was fast draining away and he couldn’t put enough power into the blow to make it buckle. They were really going to kill him. Christ, what a stupid way to die. All done. No wife, no kids, no house on the coast, or visits with Mother on weekends. Worst of all, he’d let his friends down. If these people really were after Jack, he’d failed miserably at stopping them. At least his body might serve as a warning. Maybe it was meant to. Points of light burst in his vision and suddenly became fireworks accompanied by thunderous explosions and vibrations that shook him to the core. The floor came up to meet him and his breath flooded back in short, ragged gasps. He choked on something salty. Blood or tears, he couldn’t tell. Trying to focus, his eyes found a dark, blurry shape looming over him. What, more? Bring it on. I’ll bleed all over your boots you-- “Mr. Bender?” A man’s voice. He blinked. It didn’t help. “Are you alright?” It hurt like hell to laugh, but he did. Or he tried. The sound that came out of him was something like wind through dry leaves. “You know,” he rasped. “I called for room service like, an hour ago.” Then he sagged against the soft carpet and the figure blended into the darkness that overtook him.
Eighteen It was with a sense of mild disbelief that Jack watched her dad reach for the check. She considered opening her purse and feigning an interest in picking up their half of the meal, but the man she’d known would have jumped at the out and she decided to leave it alone. Without a glance at the small screen, Virgil whipped out his card and ran it through the slot on the side. Jack turned to look at Riddick, smirking. His eyes flicked from her to the check and back, and he flashed her a knowing smile. He’d been quiet, distracted, twirling his fork on its end and listening to the conversation -- or pretending to -- with a look of polite interest. Standing, he pulled her chair out, then slipped the phone from his pocket and checked it for the tenth time in the last half hour. “What is it?” she asked, leaning close to look at the screen. “Nothing,” he replied, slipping it back into his coat. Jack didn’t believe him. He was probably feeling as guilty as she was for leaving Marty alone at the hotel while he was still sick. She’d almost forgotten about him until Riddick’s constant fiddling with the phone reminded her. Some friend she was, especially given the panic she’d had when Riddick had dropped her off to get ready. She’d seen Marty, still and quiet on the couch, his eyes not quite closed, and thought for a single, horrifying instant that he was dead. It had scared the living hell out of her. But no. He was okay, just like Riddick had said. He was okay, she was okay, and Riddick wasn’t looking half-bad tonight, either. “He’s fine,” she said. “If you’re worried, why don’t you just call the room?” “Because he’ll laugh at me,” muttered Riddick. “And when we get home, he’ll do it right to my face.” “Wait until he answers and hang up. That way you’ll know he’s okay and he won’t make fun of your...maternal tendencies.” He pursed his lips and scowled at her. The look nearly made her burst out laughing, which would have been far from helpful. Jack covered her mouth and made a show of clearing her throat. His face said he wasn’t buying it. Virgil was watching them. So was Marlene, only she was smiling. Setting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, she drew his ear down to her mouth and whispered. Jack made a mental note. Now that was how a short woman handled her tall man. When she was finished, he shrugged at them and gestured toward the door. “Can we give you a ride back to the hotel?” “We’re going to catch a movie before we go home,” said Jack. “You guys are welcome to come along if you like.” Wow, she even meant that. She was itching to talk to Riddick alone, but dinner had been fun -- the real kind -- and she wanted it to last. The very idea shocked her. There was a time when she would have done anything to get away from her father and his continuous stream of ‘flavor of the week’ girlfriends. But Marlene had such a positive effect on him. Understatement. He seemed to have changed so completely that Jack could only pick out the good parts from what she remembered. She even had a hard time disliking Marlene, as she’d been determined to do. Marlene was intelligent and open-minded, with a wicked sense of humor. While Virgil steadfastly ignored the introduction of every potentially controversial topic of conversation, Marlene did just the opposite. She’d even gone on for a full half an hour about the ration of space-faring men to women in certain age groups and how it had led to the new norm of older man/younger woman pairings among travelers. Her dad had winced while Riddick listened, casting over an occasional glance to acknowledge Jack’s smug smile. “A movie?” Virgil lifted his watch and frowned. “At this hour?” Laughing, Jack replied, “It’s dark all the time. How do you figure ‘late’ around here? I mean, if I stay in bed all day tomorrow, this’ll be like daytime, right?” “You should try to work out an hours-on and hours-off system,” nodded Marlene. “Otherwise, your internal clock will go completely haywire. Well, you two have traveled a bit, so you probably know that, already.” Jack nodded, taking the arm Riddick offered as they headed out. “The first couple weeks on board a ship, I hardly slept at all. Then I slept all the time. Finally worked it out, though.” Gently disengaging from her, Riddick held the door and let Virgil and Marlene pass, then guided Jack through with a hand on the small of her back. Smooth moves. Where had he been keeping those? His touch was light and warm and when they’d stepped out onto the spotless sidewalk, he picked up her hand and set it back on his arm. Jack gave the muscles beneath his jacket a little squeeze and he smiled. Marlene motioned toward the small parking lot. “Let us save you the cab fare, at least,” she said. With a small shrug, Jack looked up at Riddick, who shrugged his big shoulders in return. “Sure,” said Jack, hoping that was what he wanted her to say. “Thank you.” As they left the sidewalk for the pristine, lined cement of the parking lot, Jack began to feel a nervous knot forming in the pit of her stomach. There was no reason for it that she could see. Just a few cars parked in neat rows beneath the lights-- --that were completely out. Four banks of floodlights had lit the area when they entered the restaurant. Now the only illumination came from the light in the small attendant’s booth that stood empty at the corner of the lot. Virgil and Marlene continued walking, and as Jack opened her mouth to say something, Riddick gripped her arm and brought her to a sudden halt. She was at once afraid of what had given him pause and exhilarated by the thought that she might have simply ‘felt’ impending danger as he did. “What--?” she began. He spun suddenly and tucked her behind him as two men stepped around the corner. They were dressed all in gray, with tight masks drawn over their heads to hide their features. Both were tall and their broad shoulders stretched at the seams of the fabric. Weird getup for muggers. Riddick seemed focused on the street beyond them, but when she followed his gaze, Jack didn’t see a thing. “Wallet,” one of the men said simply. Riddick’s head jerked a little. “And her purse. In a hurry, come on.” Riddick snorted and nudged Jack backward. “You didn’t say the magic word.” “Jackie, come here,” said Virgil from somewhere behind her. She made a dismissive gesture and held her ground. Without taking his eyes off the men, Riddick took Jack by the arm, swinging her around and into the cover between two parked cars. He waved her down, and she reluctantly obeyed, crouching as close to the side of the nearest car as she could. Craning her neck, she watched through the glass as one man moved suddenly. He reached behind his back and withdrew a small, metal object. She started to shout a warning, but Riddick’s hand shot out and closed around the man’s wrist and twisted hard, wrenching the knife from his grasp and twirling him like an unwilling dance partner. Riddick wheeled and slammed him headfirst into the nearest car. He went down as the other guy rushed forward. To her it looked like suicide but he swiftly flicked aside Riddick’s attacks with the borrowed knife and stepped in close, landing a flurry of blows before they parted again. They regarded each other for a brief instant before clashing again. This time, Riddick darted forward and snaked an arm around the man’s neck, then kicked the back of one leg, dropping him to his knees. He squeezed until the guy went limp, then let him fall in a heap. Shadows scurrying across the lot behind Riddick caught her eye, and this time she did cry out. “More!” she shouted, pointing. He spun, the blacked blade shining dully as he held it low beside his leg. The new guys wore the same gray clothing, and it dawned on Jack as Riddick’s gaze swept over them even as they drew close that their strange attire might actually have a purpose. “He can’t see them,” she muttered. “That’s just great.” One man engaged him while the other spotted Jack through the glass and skirted the fight, darting straight toward her. She dismissed the thought of running out into the open and instead ducked for the back wall and scrambled over the hood of a car. He dove after her, bouncing a huge dent into the hood as she leapt for the next in line. Where the hell were Virgil and Marlene? If at least one of them wasn’t on the phone to the cops right now, she was going to tear them a new-- A hand closed around her ankle and she started sliding backward. Jack shrieked involuntarily and kicked with her free leg, burying a chunky heel in soft flesh. The hand released her and she fell over the other side, banging a knee hard against the cement. Jack frantically began to scoot her way beneath the nearest car but big hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back out. She was lifted and slammed against the side of the car, kicking and swinging wildly as her captor pinned her with the weight of his body. “Hold still, pretty girl,” he said, fending off her blows with one hand and reaching behind him with the other. She wasn’t sure if that made her less uneasy than if he’d gone straight to the fly of his stupid, gray pants. He brought around a knife with a short, broad blade and Jack struggled harder. Caught between his body and the car, she was unable to cock her arm back far enough to get a good swing at him. With his left hand he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. Suddenly, he was torn away. A few strands of her hair went with him, clenched in his gloved hand. He seemed to float, weightless for an instant before Riddick finally came into focus, slamming him headfirst into a window and shattering it. As he yanked the man back again, Jack spied blood, black in the dim light, spattered on the glass. Riddick heaved the man back and forth and tossed him against both cars, leaving deep dents and ragged pieces of fabric and flesh. Jack watched, shrinking away into the darkest spot between vehicles until she could retreat no further. Finally, Riddick released him, flinging the broken body into the open center of the lot where it lay, unmoving. She heard a low murmur all around her and it took a moment before she realized that it was the sound of her own voice muttering over and over, “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod...” “Jackie!” her father’s voice, from somewhere nearby. She wanted to stand and find out where it was coming from. More than that. She wanted to stand up and run. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know. Seeing the words in print, even hearing them confirmed in his own voice, hadn’t prepared her for this. His actions were those of a man enraged, yet his features had retained an unbroken calm. He knew exactly what he was doing the moment his hands had found their target. The thought that he’d done it on her behalf only added to her growing terror and disgust. She stood and staggered forward until she could see the rest of their attackers lay motionless on the pavement. Were they dead, too? Would the man who attacked her be any less dead if he’d jumped Riddick while he was alone? Her eyes stung with welling tears and she tried to blink them away. Instead, they clung to her lashes and blurred her vision. Riddick became no more than a dark, featureless shadow looming over her and she waved him away even as her father’s voice echoed the words in her head. “Just back off!” he shouted. Riddick glared at Virgil, one eye glinting unnaturally where the smoky contact lens had been knocked loose. He glanced at her over Virgil’s shoulder and she swiftly lowered her eyes. When her father set a hand on her arm she started violently and jerked away. “--should get out of here,” he was saying. He took Jack’s arm again gently and led her from between the bloodstained cars and she drew herself together as tightly as she could to avoid touching them. “Jack--” Riddick began. “She’s coming with us,” snapped Virgil. Jack opened her mouth to protest but her father gently ushered her toward Marlene, who looked more than a little shell-shocked, herself. Nodding mutely to inquiries, Jack let herself be led quickly to a small, silver car on the other side of the lot. She didn’t dare look back, but she could feel Riddick’s gaze like a physical thing that had latched on and was trying to draw her back. Not now. Not until the image of her attacker’s torn and bloodied body had faded from her mind. She dropped stiffly into the back seat and squeezed her eyes shut, opening them only when the car bounced over the speed bump and pulled into the street. When she looked back through the tinted windows, Riddick had become nothing more than a tall, dark shadow with bodies littered at his feet. v v v Riddick watched the retreating tail lights through a haze. He’d let her go. No, that was wrong. She had run away from him. Jack had gone with the Enemy and he hadn’t made a move to call her back. The look of naked terror in her eyes had stopped him cold. It was for him. Because of him. She saw the real you, Buck-o, and she ran like hell. He looked down. The guy was dead, there was no mistaking that. For Jack’s sake he would have said that he didn’t mean to do it, but it was exactly for her sake that he’d done it. He didn’t give a shit that the man was dead, but the lack of control he’d experienced in the doing of it concerned him. No quick, elegant stroke of a blade, but a brutish, uncoordinated frenzy fueled by anger and fierce territoriality. The speed with which his amusement at the idea of being mugged had been overwhelmed by the force of raw emotion shocked even him. Not mugged. As he squatted to search them, soon-to-be bruises throbbed on his ribs and face and he could taste blood from a split lip. The kind of jackasses who robbed people in parking lots did not wear Epstein suits and sure as shit didn’t lay this many hits on him. Over-ambitious bounty hunters who hadn’t been called off? That didn’t sound right. Why would they go after Jack? Thieves wouldn’t have stopped to assault a victim when they could easily have snatched her purse and bolted. They knew what they were doing, just barely. Which was more than he could say for himself. He didn’t have a goddamned clue. He patted them down quickly and didn’t find much beyond a couple of black-bladed knives and black plastic cases that fit neatly in the center of his palm. Shock-boxes. One of these had nearly put him on his ass. His chest was still numb where the tiny metal pins had dug in and the muscles stretched over his ribs twitched involuntarily. In the end, it hadn’t served to do much more than piss him off. He continued his search, driven to greater speed by the sound of distant sirens. “Never a cop around when you need one,” he muttered. Whipping off each mask, he looked over the faces. No. No. No. That one looked familiar, but he’d seen so many damn people since they arrived here... This was going to look bad. His record had been wiped, but self-defense or not he’d committed a murder. No, he’d killed someone. There was, in fact, a difference. It still wouldn’t do any good to get caught up in the system and ruin all of Marty’s good work. The kind of favors he’d called in weren’t the kind you could get back if they didn’t work out. Marty. Shit. Riddick glanced around for the most likely escape route and dialed the hotel’s number as he ran. Up one dark alley and down another, he held the phone to his ear and left the sirens behind. It rang on, unanswered. Four... five... six.... Maybe he was asleep. Seven. For fuck’s sake, pick it up. Eight... nine... ten... He slapped the phone closed and shoved it in his pocket. Downstairs for dinner. In the shower. Fast asleep on the couch. Despite his mind’s reassurances, fear filled the pit of his stomach like a lead ball. What the fuck was going on? Was Jack safe with her old man and--? Marlene. The bad guys had ignored the lady in the $2,000 dress with the massive rock on her finger and made a beeline for Jack. Not muggers, not men after a bounty. What, then? More time to look them over would have made him feel better, but likely wouldn’t have yielded any tell-all clues. Unlike fiction, life rarely saw obvious connections made between henchmen and the villains they served. Fuck. Marlene. Involved. And he’d let the bitch take Jack with her. He reached a busy street and stuck a hand up for a cab before he realized that it was covered in blood. Wiping it hastily on the inside of his coat, he drew out the phone and called information. A Colonel Cab swerved out of traffic to stop beside the curb and the door hissed open. He blurted out the address to the hotel and returned what he hoped was a charming smile for the odd look he received from the driver. Shaking his head, the cabbie turned and pulled into the street as the door was still sliding closed. The phone was picked up after the first ring. “Yes?” Riddick could see straight through the anger in Virgil’s voice to the fear it was trying to cover. “Put Jack on the phone.” “She doesn’t want to talk to you.” It was probably true. The thought made his chest feel sore and hollow. He swallowed quietly and scowled as he continued. “She tells me that herself, I’ll hang up right now.” There was a pause, and brief, muffled conversation, then Jack’s voice came to him, faint and flat. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Just listen. If you have any feelings for me whatsoever you’ll leave me alone. I can’t talk to you right now. When I can...I will.” The connection closed with a small beep. He held the phone to his ear for a few moments, hoping she would return. Finally he gave up and dialed the hotel again. No answer. The cab came to a halt at the end of the street and Riddick felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He reached for the door handle and nearly bolted, but reason sat on his instincts and kept him in his seat. The street in front of the Galileo was filled with flashing lights and vehicles in the blue and white of the Terra-Luna Security Force. Armed cops flanked the hotel doorway, keeping onlookers at bay. As he watched, an ambulance pulled away from in front of the building, lights dark and sirens switched off. “You want to try another place?” Riddick barely heard as he slipped a wad of bills through the cash slot and opened the door. “Keep the change,” he muttered. He walked quickly, keeping to the opposite side of the street until he reached the thickest part of the crowd. Then he moved in behind them, doing his best to look like nothing more than an interested observer. Or better yet, to look like nothing at all. Part of him fought the urge to disappear into the night and find out later what had happened. Too many cops here, no matter what his new file said. Maybe this didn’t have anything to do with them. It might all be for some drunk-assed conventioneer that took a header down the stairs. His gut told him he was full of shit. Another ambulance turned onto the street, flashing its lights to part the crowd, but clearly in no hurry. Like the other one, he suspected it was nothing more than a thinly disguised meat wagon. They were here to pick up bodies. The front door was out of the question, even if his room key would gain him admittance. He passed behind the crowd, headed toward the narrow alley that lead to the Galileo’s parking lot. Before he slipped into the shadows, a hand reached out and settled on his arm. He pulled away and whirled, scowling at the face that greeted him. The guy was a touch shorter than him, with spiked blond hair and the evenly tanned skin of someone who spent enough time in space to live under a heat lamp instead of the natural light of a sun. Riddick had seen him before. He remembered where and he didn’t like it. “Your friend’s not in there,” he said. “They took him to the hospital about an hour ago.” The hospital, not the morgue. Riddick hadn’t realized how tightly wound he was until the thought made him relax ever-so-slightly. With a mixed feeling of relief and disgust, he noted that whatever Marty’s condition, it seemed to be the result of foul play and not his illness. Whatever lets you sleep at night, brother. And one more thing-- “Who the fuck are you?” With a tight smile, the man extended a hand. “Mackey,” he said. “Garvin Mackey.”
Nineteen Riddick took Mackey’s hand and squeezed. Hard. He jerked Mackey around the corner and slammed him into the wall.
Twenty Riddick let the curtain fall from numb fingers as his eyes relaxed into the gloom. It was a depressing little cubicle, with marred white walls and dim light. Machines huddled in a nest of wires in a back corner, beeping steadily and accompanied by the rhythmic click and whoosh of a respirator. Three monitors took up space at the head of the bed. He swallowed loudly. Why the hell did they need so many?
Jump to
Chapters LunarWeb Search RETURN TO ENTRY PAGE
Disclaimer:
|
