Three for the Money A Sequel to "The Faithful" by Jules PART SIX   Twenty-Six The waiting room on the neurology wing was bigger than the one in the ER. Nicer, too. The walls were the same soothing shade of pink as the hallway and the carpet wasn't nearly as worn. It gave a little beneath Riddick's feet as he strode across and fell into a chair. Soft cloth covers instead of vinyl. Less likely to get bled on in here. A fish tank reached from corner to corner on the wall to his right. Something about the idea of fish on the moon struck him as funny. Had they ever experienced weightlessness? Weightless underwater. How fucking redundant. Christ, he needed sleep. On his left hung a flat, black-framed television screen. Two women sat behind a desk mouthing words soundlessly as an endless loop of numbers and letters scrolled across the bottom of the screen. "Wonder how my stocks are doing?" Fenster said absently. The two men sat on either side of Riddick. Fenster slumped in his seat with his big feet up on the low, magazine-strewn table and his arms crossed over his chest. He was a picture of casual calm. But his right hand rested just under the edge of his worn, leather jacket and Riddick caught an occasional peek at the butt of a gun in a shoulder holster. Mackey sat straight, hands in his lap, holding a foil candy bar wrapper that was worn to shreds from constant folding and unfolding. "Stocks," he snorted. "Yeah, man," said Fenster, grinning. "I only catch bad guys as a side thing. I'm independently wealthy." Riddick raised an eyebrow. "You a cop?" "Oh, hell no," he replied. Jerking a thumb at Mackey he continued. "That was Superhero's gig. Nope. Government institutions pay me an extraordinary amount of money to do something every freedom-loving individual ought to be proud to do, anyway." "What's that?" "Keep guys like you off the street and away from the decent folk," Fenster said plainly. Mackey glared at him so hard it almost made a sound. "You know who I am?" Fenster nodded. "I do. Though according to the current database you aren't worth a thin chip so I don't give a hang." Riddick diverted a scowl into a thoughtful look. He hoped it was thoughtful, anyway. Fenster's comment had caught him off-guard and it was childish but he didn't want his surprise to show. His reputation had shaped him more than he'd ever shaped it. He wasn't sure if he could even distinguish himself from it. But he would have to let it fade if he wanted to become...what? An average Joe? If he pretended to be nobody in particular would people believe it? Was it that easy? Somebody gives the order to rescind his warrant and suddenly he's part of society, a free man with the same rights as everyone else? Sending out a memo doesn't change anything. Shit on toast. Marlene had already known who he was. And more. It hadn't dawned on him before but it should have. Stupid. The question was whether she knew because of the information Mackey had passed on to her old man or if she'd gotten it from somewhere else. Maybe Castor had another source. He hated to admit it but he was fucked in the middle of all this intrigue. He wasn’t accustomed to complicated, well-thought-out violence. For him it had always been purely straightforward. "How did you find out who we were?" Riddick asked suddenly. Fenster and Mackey turned to look at him. "A local source of mine had the information waiting for me." Mackey seemed on the verge of catching his drift. "I followed you from New Tangier to Sati Station and I still didn't have anything better than a picture of Ms. Weller and some grainy security photos to show people. Asking after two big guys and a young lady worked just as well. Not a lot of girls her age travel with their own muscle. "The information I received came from someone stationed at the Terra-luna port. According to the file they finally got a decent picture that worked to identify both you and Mr. Bender. Until then all three of you managed to keep your faces off-camera." They’d taken as many private, low-security flights as they could between here and Safi in order to do just that. Most of the ships they’d traveled on didn’t ordinarily take passengers but their captains were more than happy to take the money and give them a private space. "Did the file mention my current status?" Mackey shook his head. "No, but that information would be available to anyone who thought to look, which I did. Why?" “She knows I was pardoned. She knew before we picked her up this morning." "Her father indicated to me that he already knew who you were when I presented him with the information.." He wasn't even sure why all of this bothered him so much. It just did and at this point, that was enough. "How much about the crash was made public?" "I never heard a word about it beyond Port Safi, come to think of it," said Mackey, staring thoughtfully at his feet. "I'm sure the shipping company was notified. And families, I expect. But there was nothing on the news, even on New Tangier." All three men were silent for a moment. Riddick could almost hear the gears in Mackey's head turning. "Ordinarily," Mackey said finally, "I would chalk it up to the Lane Commission trying to keep a lid on an incident that could get their butts in hot water. According to the Captain of the Death Maiden, the ship had drifted so far out of the corridor that he'd never have found a chunk of it if it wasn't for the distress call." Riddick opened his mouth to ask another question but Mackey continued before he could get it out. "What bothers me is that there's no information on what brought the ship down. Or what sent it so wildly off-course in the first place. Not made public, not in the insurance records, not available from any, uh, other sources." "The wreckage was picked through and packed up before we left orbit. One of the pilots thought it might have been a rogue comet...?" A junior officer on a piece of shit freighter on a piece of shit route. Did Fry have a clue or had she just been talking out of her ass? “You don't remember anything?" "Just a shitload of turbulence." "There’s also..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slender, black case that held his electronic assistant. Her pretty face appeared as Mackey flipped it open. If Riddick didn’t know any better he’d have said she was watching him out of the corner of her digitally rendered eye. "Notes on the Captain Saeger interview, please, Lusci." She vanished, replaced by neat blocks of text. “Now, the Death Maiden showed up around 120 hours after the distress signal was sent--” Riddick shook his head. “They sent a heavy shuttle ahead with their medical officer and two other crewmembers. The ship didn’t reach orbit for another three days.” Mackey frowned. “They were further out than I thought,” he said. “And that matters...why?” asked Fenster. “When ships travel through deep space for long periods of time the crew is usually suspended. There’s a whole lot of nothing out there and it takes a very long time for a broad signal to travel to where it can be picked up. “So, what they have are these enormous DERs, Dedicated Emergency Receivers set up at every port. They can pull in a signal from hell and gone. Now, when a ship with a suspended crew becomes endangered, most systems will wake the crew so they can either take care of the problem, send a distress call, or both. “Since in several large, unpopulated areas of space it would take forever for a regular transmission to reach civilization, navigation systems pick out the nearest receiver and focus their signal on it. So, if the need arises a tight-beam transmission fires out to the nearest place help is likely to come from.” “There a point in our future, Mack?” asked Fenster. Mackey waved him off and continued. “After that initial call comes a broader signal that goes out in all directions to alert any nearby ships. The first distress call from the HG was incomplete and what little evidence I’ve come across indicates that the second transmission never went out.” Riddick and Fenster stared at him blankly. “The signal was fixed on Port Safi, the nearest receiver. It’s incredibly focused. The Death Maiden’s last known stop before Safi was the station over Callisto. It was behind them in the corridor. In the wrong direction. Unless they had their sweep set specifically in that direction at the time of the distress call there’s no way they could have picked it up.” Okay, there was the point. What did it mean? “What if they were really, really trying?” “Fenster, that’s what I’m trying to say. If they were right on top of the signal maybe they could have picked it up by accident. But since they were almost a week behind... They would never have caught that signal if they weren’t looking for it.” That sounded ominous as all hell. “Why would they do that?” “I don’t know.” “What if the Death Maiden wasn’t where it was supposed to be?” Fenster threw in. "You talked to the Captain," said Riddick. “Yes,” replied Mackey, scrolling through his notes. “And he specifically stated at least once that they came up /behind/ the Hunter-Gratzner in the shipping lane. Here. ‘They’re lucky we were right behind them’.” “That’s not much to base a... what? A conspiracy theory on.” "It’s something," Mackey frowned. "I didn’t have the chance to confirm whether or not the captain was telling the truth about the undocumented information because I wasn’t able to interview him face to face. He never came ashore at Port Safi and he made it perfectly clear that he didn't intend to let me come aboard." "I'd say he had good reasons for both." Mackey raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t exactly a smooth ride,” Riddick explained. “Care to elaborate?” “Not really.” Mackey glared. Riddick went on. “First of all, you’ve got ‘cop’ written all over you and he had a hold full of materials salvaged under questionable circumstances.” “That’s true.” “There was also some...” He paused, searching for the right words. Sex, violence and nudity? “There were some... personal problems.” “What he’s trying to say is that the captain’s girlfriend was a great, big skank,” said Jack. She dragged her feet over the carpet and dropped into a chair on the other side of the room. Riddick flashed her a smile. “Yeah, what she said.” Jack met his eyes and returned the smile. She’d stopped somewhere to fix her hair and wipe the dark circles of makeup from under her eyes. “So what are we talking about, boys?” Jack crossed her legs and leaned on the arm of her chair. All three men looked at her in silence. Riddick didn’t know where to start and he sure as hell didn’t want to hear Mackey go through it all again. “See now, if you clam up I’m just going to think that it was something really interesting and then I’m going to harass you until you talk. So you might as well spill.” “Have a good talk with Marty’s mom?” “I did,” she replied. “She’s a very sharp lady. Not hard to see where Marty gets it. Stop avoiding the question.” Riddick gave a short laugh. “We were discussing the inaccuracies in Captain Saeger’s story regarding your rescue,” said Mackey. “Cappy lied,” said Jack. “Whoo. Imagine that.” “Looks like there might be more going on than we thought, Jack,” Riddick added. “Fuck beans.” Fenster raised an eyebrow and gave a short laugh. “So let me get this straight,” Jack went on. “You talked to Cappy and you still didn’t know who ran off with me?” “He wasn’t terribly cooperative.” “Laila must have been more than willing to blab about something that would put our asses in a sling. Why didn’t she?” “Captain Saeger said she’d left the ship and not returned almost the instant they docked,” said Mackey. “In fact, the only crew he had remaining was himself and his first officer.” Mackey shrugged. “What would really help is to talk with another member of the crew. Mr. Bender would have been my first choice.” Riddick knew why. Mackey suspected that Marty’s presence on the Death Maiden was no coincidence. Riddick was sure that it couldn’t be anything else. Marty had said as much and Riddick believed him. Of course, the idea that the Maiden’s sensors had been pointed in the direction of the crash didn’t exactly help to cast him out of suspicion. Riddick didn’t give a shit. Marty had done some horrific things in his life but this involved civilians. And if anything was certain it was that Martin Bender only played with people who came willingly onto the field. That was it. God help Mackey if he brought the subject up again. “What about Reggie?” asked Jack. “We should be giving her a call, anyway. And Mani’s still on speaking terms with us. Of course, he’s a little far away...” “That would be extremely helpful,” said Mackey. Jack turned a slightly dimmer version of the smile she’d given Riddick on Mackey. “So what else have we got?” Her voice had dropped an octave, all business, now. Riddick shifted a little in his seat, suddenly very aware that parts of him greatly appreciated the change in demeanor. He glanced at Mackey. “What else have we got?” Mackey sighed. “We’ve got a ship that drifted off-course, cause unknown and not likely to be determined because one, the wreckage has already been salvaged and two, nobody seems to give a damn but us. “We’ve got the captain of the salvage ship that’s clearly hiding something and keeping an eye on a loosely charted and generally unexplored region of space. “We’ve got the incredibly improbable coincidence of that salvage ship having as a crew member someone you happen to--” Riddick flashed him a warning glance. “Okay,” said Mackey. “Let’s try from the other side. What we’ve got here is a wealthy businessman who has managed to keep his nose extremely clean suddenly involving himself in something that would not go over very well with either the authorities or the Mining Commission.” “I thought we already figured that part out,” frowned Jack. “I’m not sure we have.” Riddick fought the urge to sigh loudly and slump in his chair. Leaping to his feet and slamming his head into the wall sounded like a good idea, too. Maybe he’d try it later. “It doesn’t make any sense for Castor to go to these lengths when he hasn’t even bothered to contact you about purchasing the shares legally.” “Maybe he figured I’d say no. Then if bad things started to happen it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who was responsible.” “Marlene Castor shelled out a great deal of money to endear herself to Virgil.” “I don’t think it was the money,” snorted Jack. “With Ms. Weller--” “Call me Jack,” she said. “When you say that I keep forgetting you’re talking about me.” Mackey nodded, continued. “With Jack out of the picture it was safe to assume that eventually things would land in Virgil’s lap.” “Can one of those things be a really big rock?” Jack muttered. “So, they got him firmly under control. What made me wonder, though, was how Castor found out specifics of the will at all. It was read privately and according to the acting CEO of Weller M&D anything disclosed in the will that directly involved the company was not to be discussed.” “Like that would stop Dad from opening his big trap,” said Jack. “Pure and simple, he blabbed. He’s never been able to keep a secret for more than fifteen seconds.” “That’s a possibility,” said Mackey. He leaned forward in his seat. It was obvious that he was digging this. He could afford to. Wasn’t his ass on the line, after all. Riddick knew all this was important, he just wasn’t sure it was important right at this moment. He also wasn’t sure what they stood to gain from all this sitting around. Stood to gain. Well, shit. “Who would have ended up with it all if neither of them did?” he asked suddenly. Mackey sat back with the expression of someone who’s been tapped on the shoulder in an empty room and isn’t sure he wants to turn around yet. “Lusci,” he said flatly. The text fluttered and vanished and the woman’s face returned. “Malcolm Stroh. Acting CEO of Weller Mining & Drilling; male; causcasian; 73 years old; born Dresden, Germany; graduated with honors from--” “Thank you, Lusci.” Glances exchanged all around. “Lusci, how long has Mr. Stroh been employed by Weller M&D?” “Malcolm Stroh recently celebrated his fortieth year with the company.” “Holy shit,” said Fenster. “I hardly know what the hell you guys are talking about and I know that’s got to be bad news.” “The man’s worked for the company 40 years,” said Mackey. “Only to see the reins handed over to someone else,” Riddick finished. “Do you know this guy, Jack?” “Met him a couple of times. He was real good friends with Grandpa Jackson but I usually only saw him around the holidays. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Always brought me presents. So, we been onto the wrong guy?” She sounded hopeful. Riddick could see why. The Nice Old Guy Who Brought Me Christmas Presents seemed far less threatening than the powerful corporate monster they’d made Castor out to be. But they weren’t off the hook, yet. “The goons were Castor’s,” said Riddick. “They’re working together?” “It’s possible.” “Crap.” “That brings me to something else,” said Mackey. “I’m not convinced that the attack was an attempt to kill either of you. It would certainly serve the purpose as we’ve determined it but it seems a bit extreme. However, what purpose would simply frightening you serve if the threat wasn’t connected to Castor? I doubt a simple mugging would have made enough of an impact to send you running.” “You’re damn straight,” said Jack. “So what then?” “Castor knows who you are, Mr. Riddick. Maybe the outcome was intended.” “He sent those guys hoping Riddick would kill them?” “The cameras in the parking lot were not disabled,” said Mackey. “The whole thing was recorded.” Jack slumped. “Oh shit.” “The bad thing is that there’s footage of you beating a man to death,” he said to Riddick. “The good thing is that there’s footage of four men attacking you with deadly weapons and you acting to defend both yourself and Ms. Weller.” “Probably some great shots of my dad and Marlene hiding behind a car, too,” Jack muttered. “The fact that neither of you was seriously hurt might make your use of deadly force seem excessive but since only one man was actually killed...” He shrugged and let the sentence trail off. “Alright then,” nodded Jack. “So some guys attack us, Riddick kills one and gets busted.” “Would that distract you from dealing with what you came here to take deal with?” “Of course it would, but Mart-- Oh.” “With both of them out of the way and your father soundly under Ms. Castor’s control, you would have been at a severe disadvantage.” “Understatement,” said Jack. Riddick’s brow furrowed. “You said they would have killed him if you hadn’t broken it up,” he said. Riddick glanced at Jack, who was taking it all in with an expression gone suddenly flat and unreadable. He hoped Mackey would spare her the gruesome details. Like the fact that some bastard with hands as big as dinner plates had had one wrapped around his throat. “The shower was still running and the entire bathroom was torn apart by gunfire. If he’d have still been standing in the shower when those shots were fired, chances are he’d be dead.” “So they were trying to kill Marty?” asked Jack. “That’s the way it looks.” “I’m so confused.” “The amount of noise, effort and firepower put into all this,” Fenster offered. “They might as well kill someone. Ended up with a bunch of bodies, anyhow.” Mackey glared. Fenster shrugged. “Can either of you think of a reason why they would single him out?” Son of a bitch. “If I were them I’d have gone after Jack first,” said Riddick. He glanced over at her. She didn’t look scared, or shocked, now. She just looked... interested. “But they went after him first even though Jack was with you, Mr. Riddick. Why?” “I see where you’re going and you need to turn the fuck around,” said Riddick. “You should be prepared to consider every possibility.” “Not that one.” Jack’s voice echoed his thoughts. “He’s the one that happened to come across the paperwork. He suggested coming here to claim the inheritance,” Mackey shot back. “He tampered with evidence of the crash. He’s got friends in high enough places to obtain a full pardon for a man with a record as long as my arm--” “That doesn’t mean a goddamned thing!” snapped Jack. “Even if he’s not directly involved in anything,” Mackey said slowly, “I can’t believe he didn’t know there was something going on.” The room went quiet. Jack pouted at the floor and beside Riddick, Fenster continued to slouch in his chair, watching. “Well,” Jack said finally. “We sure as shit can’t ask him right now, can we? We’ll call Reggie, tell her what’s happened and see if she knows anything. Then we can go say ‘hi’ to Uncle Malcolm.” “So what do we do about the luggage in the trunk?” “Luggage?” Jack laughed. “Hmm. Can’t leave it in there for too long or it’s going to get ideas. We should take it to a hotel, leave someone to keep an eye on it.” “Fen--” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll handle it.” Mackey shrugged a question at Riddick. “That’ll work.” Fenster stood and caught the keys as Mackey tossed them, then slipped out of the room without another word. “Okay,” said Jack. “That takes care of our suitcases for now. Marty’s safe unless they decide to blow up the moon. There are enough badasses standing around this place to take New York. I say we call Reggie from the vidbank downstairs and then go see Stroh” Jack glanced down at herself and sighed. Riddick looked her over. Loose threads showed at the hem of her dress where it had torn a little and her knees were dirty and criss-crossed with tiny scratches. A broken strap flapped loose on one shoe and the black fringe that came to just above her knees was missing several strands. “Maybe a stop at the hotel would be good, too,” she said. “We’ve got a little time before regular business hours.” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “My dress is trashed.” Riddick smiled at her. “I hardly noticed.” “You’re teasing me.” “I might be.” Mackey stood. “I’m going to have another word with Detective Marks,” he said. “Will you be here?” Shit, but that was a loaded sentence. “Yes.” Mackey nodded and left. “Alone at last,” said Riddick, smirking. Jack didn’t laugh. “You really are serious about going to the police.” “Way I see it we’ve got a couple of choices,” said Riddick. “We can pack up and run, figure this out someplace else, which might lead to some legal trouble. We can stick around and try to figure this out, which might get us killed and lead to some legal trouble. Or we can talk to the cops, tell them everything and let them help us, which will definitely lead to some legal trouble.” He sighed. “Yes, I am.” She looked almost disappointed. He could fix things right now. No speeches, no warnings, no preaching. All he had to do was the right thing. Maybe she would still be waiting when he got out. “And if they arrest you?” “I killed somebody, Jack.” “I know,” she said. “But you didn’t mean to.” “Yes, I did.” She pursed her lips and glared at him but it didn’t last. Her expression softened and she swallowed loudly in the suddenly quiet waiting room. “It’s not fair,” she said. “Never has been,” replied Riddick. “You’ll get used to it.” Jack got to her feet to cross the room and settle onto his lap. “What I’m used to is having you around.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “I’ve gotten used to being here,” he said. “Kind of a new experience for me, getting used to a good thing.” His fingers found their way to the hem of her dress where they toyed with the fringe. “Sorry about your dress.” “Let’s get out of here and you can buy me a new one.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and she sagged against him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” “What about you, tough guy?” “Been taking care of myself for a long time, Jack.” He felt her warm breath on his cheek as the turned to look at him. “Then why don’t you let somebody else do it for awhile?” She set a hand on his face and guided it around to hers. Their lips brushed, dry and soft. “Have anyone in mind?” She nodded as she closed the short distance. Her mouth opened against his and her tongue played softly along his lower lip, sending a warm jolt through his body. A knock turned them both to the open door where Mackey stood, grinning slyly. “One of the men I shot just confessed to being hired by Donald Castor.”   Twenty-Seven There were several times in his daughter’s life that Virgil had thought he could have been a better parent but he’d never imagined it would come back and bite him in the ass quite this hard. It wasn’t about the little things, either. No kidding himself, there. Buying Jackie the bike she’d wanted in fifth grade might have made her like him a little bit more just for a while but it probably wouldn’t have kept her from threatening his life and locking him in the trunk of a car. No, this was about the kind of things he wasn’t sure he could ever fix, which meant he and Marlene were in some deep, deep shit. Virgil reached up smashed a fist against the lid of the trunk. He wasn’t sure why. It hadn’t made any damned noise the first time, either. “So help me, Virgil, if you elbow me in the back one more time I’m going to turn around and knock the crap out of you.” Virgil looked at his watch. It had been a full half hour since Marlene had spoken. What she’d had to say back then had been equally as sweet. The rational talk hadn’t lasted long before it devolved into a shouting match. The theme had been established early on.  This is all your fault, Virgil. Why can’t you control your daughter, Virgil? You believed every word they said, didn’t you, Virgil? Eventually she’d turned her back on him, leaving some things half-verified and others staunchly un-denied. At least she was keeping the trunk cool. “Sure you don’t want to ask Daddy to hire a hit man to do it for you?” She snorted and shifted beside him, stretching out her legs as far as they would go, which was a damn sight farther than his own. Too long to stretch, Virgil’s legs had become a solid cramp some time ago. When the lid of the trunk had closed he’d searched as best he could with his limited range of movement and a lack of cooperation from his trunk-mate. Not even a spare tire. No seams, no secret releases. No vents, he’d noted with a hint of anxiety. The trunk had a new car smell that the rest of the car hadn’t. He wondered if it had been recently redone. And worse, why? Virgil had suspected he would end this way. Right down to being locked in a trunk. The expected chains and blocks of cement were missing. Of course, there was no damned open water up here except the underground reservoirs and they were so carefully monitored that there was no point sinking a guy in there. Wouldn’t take long for a body to get stuck in one of the filters or a trace of something to alert the monitors to its presence. He stopped himself before his thoughts got into too much detail. No luck with women was what he figured it boiled down to. Jackie’s mother had been the first woman Virgil had really fallen for. One look at her had landed him flat on his ass. Nat was seven years his junior, sixteen when they met but every bit a woman. She was a complete knockout: legs up to here; breasts out to there; movie-star blonde hair always done up right. She looked good all the time, even when she was rolling out of bed at three o’clock in the morning to feed the screaming kid. She never came off as slutty or flashy, just plain beautiful. It had given him a kind of selfish pride that she hadn’t let herself go once they were married. Natalie should have been enough, but his unbelievable success had made him wonder. If he could get hooked up with one beautiful young thing, why not two? It had taken him a long time to realize it but she’d probably known he was stepping out on her a long time before he really started screwing up. She’d always been a quick one, though looking at her most people wouldn’t think so. Smart women. That was the real problem. Young, good-looking and smart. How could he have figured those things would turn out to be bad? If he got out of this with his nuts intact he was going to find himself an average-looking, 40-ish woman who had skipped college, pronto. That still didn’t solve the problem of what to do about the other young, pretty, bright girl who’d gotten him into this. Jackie Marie Weller. She was named after his father, Jackson. That would have been her name if Nat hadn’t put up such a fight. Name a girl Jackson? Over her dead body. He didn’t like Jacqueline, though. So Jackie it was, though he’d called her Jacks until she was old enough to disapprove of the cutesy nickname. Most of the kids in school had ended up calling her Marie. Another “Jackie” in her group of junior high school friends. Her friends had gotten a whole lot bigger since junior high. How much of a bastard must he have been if she thought she needed people like that to protect her? Even if that’s not what they were about he was sure she thought so. He hadn’t missed the moon-eyes Jackie had given the big son-of-a-bitch she’d brought to dinner. The convicted murderer she’d brought to dinner. To say that he’d always hoped she’d do better seemed ludicrous. He gave a sharp, humorless laugh and muttered, “Where did I go wrong?” Marlene echoed the laugh and added a touch of her own special brand of bitter. Virgil ignored it. Almost entirely. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?” She made a small, grumbling sound. It would have been cute under other circumstances. Now, not so much. “If I told you the truth, would you believe me, anyway?” He thought about it. Probably not. “I don’t know.” “The truth might not sound as good as what your little girl and her entourage have been spewing, Virgil. If you’re not going to give it a chance then don’t waste my time.” He made an exasperated -- and abbreviated -- gesture at their surroundings. “You going somewhere, Marly?” “Don’t be a smartass,” she shot back. “I can’t do anything if you’re not going to be honest with me.” “What are you going to do? That caveman your daughter is following around threatened to kill me. Are you going to stop him if he tries?” Holy Christ, what a thought. “All we have to do is figure out what they want,” she said. “I’d like to know what the hell you want,” Virgil grumbled. “I want to get out of the damned trunk, Virgil, just like you.” Somehow he’d gotten the feeling the list was longer than that, though as an immediate goal it sounded great. But they weren’t going anywhere until someone let them out and once they did... He wasn’t going to have a better chance than this to get something out of her. “Did your father have that man killed?” he said suddenly. “No.” “Are you absolutely sure?” She shifted until she faced him and her knee brushed the front of his pants. Virgil didn’t write it off as an accident. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness of the trunk but he was sure she was glaring at him. He and Marlene had only fought a couple of times since they’d met. Both fights had been minor and they weren’t very good at it. They hadn’t established the rhythm necessary for an argument to flow smoothly. It was all disjointed bitching and moaning and he almost wished they were at home in the kitchen where maybe she would just goddamn throw something at him. No fooling, he wished they were at home in the kitchen for a couple other reasons, too. He was thirsty. Cramped, too. And he had to pee so bad he could just about taste it. Are we there yet? “What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I’m sure. I admit, my father can be ruthless when it comes to business but he does not have people killed!” He wanted to ask her who she was trying to convince but it would only piss her off. Besides, it sounded perfectly reasonable. Sure, Donald had been known to do some heartless wheeling and dealing in his day. He laid off, bought out, dismantled. Mean and nasty, sure. But that didn’t make him a fucking gangster. Right? Right? “Did it ever occur to you that that was only mentioned to win your daughter’s confidence back?” “Sure,” he lied. “But it’s not the only thing that bothers me about this.” Understatement. “Oh I can’t wait to hear this.” “Well there’s--” And then he just snapped. Virgil had never been the kind of guy to yell and slam doors. Not and mean it. It hadn’t dawned on him earlier but he was angry. Angry at being fed bullshit for so long. Angry because he’d fallen for it. He’d even swallowed a hefty dose of his own bullshit, tonight. People had attacked Jackie and he’d convinced himself that it was all a mistake, that they wouldn’t have hurt her, all to keep from feeling like a goddamned coward for hiding in the shadows while it happened. Turning his suspicions on Riddick had seemed perfectly logical. The guy had killed someone right in front of him. Beat the son-of-a-bitch to death, in fact, but it had kept Jackie safe and Virgil just hadn’t seen it before. Or hadn’t wanted to. A murderer saves the day and it turns out that the woman who pulled him out of the gutter only did it so he could give her a higher boost. How could this much shit come down in one night? “Is there anything about our goddamned relationship that isn’t a lie?” His voice boomed in the small space. “What?” Her voice trembled. Marlene, off-guard at last. “You heard me. Did you know who I was when you cozied up to me at the bar? Did you have that little speech ready to talk me into rehab?” He pressed the tiny button that turned on his watch light. It didn’t give off much beyond a faint, bluish glow but it was enough for him to see her expression and boy was it a beauty. She looked scared, nearly as much as she had when it had become clear that Riddick was through fucking around with her. She was in danger of losing the very last buffer between herself and their captors. Without Virgil on her side, things might not go so well for her. He wasn’t willing to let them hurt her. He still had doubts, after all. And the smallest bit of hope that she might have done all she had to help him because she actually cared. Wanted to. Found him attractive. Any of those would do. Anything but the painful and paranoid thoughts that had begun to emerge as he’d stared at her back in the darkness. Not willing to let them hurt her. He didn’t need to tell her that. “What about school? And the job? Was that all part of the plan to make me feel like part of the family? Earn my trust?” Marlene didn’t answer immediately and he knew she was coming up with something. Best not to give her time to formulate one of those clever replies that could make him wonder if he had his socks on the wrong feet. “You’re hysterical,” she said finally. He couldn’t really argue with that. Instead, he just looked at her. It was a system Natalie had introduced him to. Stare silently at the guilty long enough and they’ll confess. Of course, this wasn’t about gambling or staying out late or feeding pizza with hot sausage to a three-year-old. “Fine,” she said. He had to stop himself from blurting out a surprised “really?”. “Dad hired an investigator to look into your background,” she began. “Your work history, credit history, school record and some personal things as well.” He swallowed. The regular, on-the-record things were bad enough but the rest... “That was how we found out about your attraction to much younger women.” The emphasis on the ‘much’ didn’t get by Virgil. The way she said it, he was almost disgusted with himself. But really, what was wrong with it? There just weren’t many women his own age that interested him. Granted, most women in their 40’s these days were hard to spot. Hell, with enough money a woman in her 80’s could still look pretty damned good. That was part of the problem. The older ones that looked good, they were too refined. Not that he didn’t like classy women. They were just so damned hard to please. Shit, that should have been his first clue. Marlene was born and raised filthy rich and she’d never seemed all that demanding. Virgil had been raised with money but that was different. He was a man. And besides, his money was all gone. Scratch that. The money was still there it was just someone else’s now. But it could be his again. Whatever she thought, he hadn’t really want to see anything bad happen to Jack. When she had picked up and run off in the middle of the night, he’d felt an odd sense of absolutely nothing. She’d always had a good head on her shoulders. No reason it would evaporate when she hit the street. Only later had the panic begun and he had to confess that most of it had been inspired by the contents of his father’s will. The kid could come or go but for fuck’s sake, not the money. He would like things peaceful between them but she didn’t seem to have much interest in that, herself. It should all be his, regardless of what his crazy old man’s will said. He would share. Why not? It would probably be enough to make Jack happy. He didn’t care what she did with it. She could buy her new boyfriend a leash and fucking muzzle for all he cared. The offer would be enough to get him out of the trunk and out of this mess. And Marlene? Maybe they could work it out. That thought about finding an ordinary woman wouldn’t have stuck, anyhow. Her pop would have to eat shit and deal with him. Like it or stuff it up his colon. Hell, he could even sell the company shares to some of the old guys on the board and let them deal with Castor. Was this what an epiphany felt like? When some-fucking-body finally opened the trunk he would ask for a word with Jack. He didn’t give a shit who stuck around to listen as long as he could convince her... “Virgil?” The floor began to vibrate softly. Virgil lost his grip on the watch as he was suddenly forced to brace himself to keep from sliding into Marlene. The light dimmed, probably stuck somewhere between them. “We’re moving,” she whispered. Double bounce. A speed bump? There were no gutters in Terra-luna but it felt like they’d pulled onto a street. The car accelerated smoothly, quiet as all electric cars were. A turn. Another. He didn’t know why the hell he was keeping track. He wouldn’t know where they were until someone opened the trunk and even then he wasn’t placing any bets. Heh, that was a first. The car stopped. “That wasn’t a very long trip,” said Marlene. “Doesn’t really matter when you don’t know where the hell you were in the first place, does it?” Virgil couldn’t see the glare but he could feel it. Didn’t matter. He was feeling good for the first time since the shit had hit the fan. He had a vision of Jackie’s scowling face. Her expression was one of real anger, not the pouty, almost cute look she used to get when he’d eaten the last cupcake or even the one she gave him when he’d staggered home at three in the morning smelling like a French whorehouse. I’m not going to let you get away with this, she said, deepening her accusatory glare. Hah! he thought at Angry Jackie. You and what army? The lid of the trunk popped and swung open. Sitting up slowly Virgil found himself face to face with the business end of three gun barrels. They stared back like black, lidless eyes. Behind them were three uniformed men with the flat expressions of guys who didn’t have to think too hard before they pulled the trigger. Oh, that one.   Twenty-Eight Jesus, he’s alive! Hot wind turned into a blast of cold air. Were the voices inside his head or out? Everything hurt and he was cold as hell but he couldn’t shiver. Instead his body was all locked up tight, every muscle tense and humming like wires. Cap? Light scoured the inside of his skull and he wanted to close his eyes but they wouldn’t go. Shifting shapes blocked it for a second but someone hiked up his eyelid and brought it blazing back in. No pupillary response. Says, you, sister. They’re altered. Look for a pulse. It’s weak. Being weak didn’t get you anything but stepped on, that’s what Dad always said. One sign of weakness and people would know they could take advantage of you. One moment of weakness could destroy your life. Dad always was an uptight son of a bitch. Probably what killed him. Get his blood pressure up. His mouth was getting as dry as his poor, naked eyeballs. People in Hell want eyes water. Hah. Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for The Company. The road to Hell is paved with rude contentions. Three o’clock and war is Hell. Only if you weren’t doing it right. Violence should be by invitation only. You came to the party and only took aim at the other guests. Otherwise things got out of hand. Caution: party games may result in death and/or dismemberment. Tom wasn’t playing, just standing around mixing bean dip or something but they got him, anyway. Out-of-bounds. Whoopsie poopsie, dead. That’s why Mum had taken so long to bring him downstairs for the first time. Marty? Because if a grown man could buy it that easy what chance did a kid have? Unless that kid was armed to the teeth, of course. Then he might do alright. It followed me home, can I shoot it? A small hand with scuffed knuckles and dirt under the fingernails pointed a gun at his face. Big clips and Starlights and rifles with long sights. That’s what little boys are made of. Can Marty come out and play? He wondered about that secret place on the Nightengale. The one nobody had known about but him and Curtis. Lying there on the cold metal had felt like sailing through the stars without all the freezing and gasping and eyeballs imploding. It was great. Was another pair of kids hanging out in that spot right now, cutting class or avoiding their parents? Hell of a shame if it went to waste. A goddamned waste of space is what you are, boy! Awful thought, the way he could have washed out of basic because of ruts and rocks and grass. What a fucking laugh riot they would have made out of that one back home. He who doesn’t get his ass shot off laughs last. Not many managed to outlive that split second of being unable to do anything but stare at their own death like a cow at an oncoming train. Did cows understand that they were born to die at someone else’s hands? Martin? His entire body was a dull, throbbing ache but his head was the worst. A tiny gang of miners had taken up in there, swinging their tiny picks in time and driving them into the bone. The little fuckers were even singing while they worked. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral... His throat clenched and burned and his breath came first in forced bursts of tasteless air and then not at all as he started to gag. His heart hammered, drowning out the little pick-swinging bastards and their song. Clumsy hands fumbled toward his face, wrapped around what they found there and jerked hard. The hurt only eased a little but he could breathe again and that’s just what he did for a long moment. The air wheezed loudly in and out but it felt good so he supposed that was all right. His eyelids fluttered and let in the light. Dim, soft, painless light. Thank God for small favors. “Martin?” He knew the voice. He opened his eyes wider and struggled to see through the burning, itching fog. His mother’s face came briefly into focus and she flashed a smile that was somehow sad and relieved at the same time. Mum always had a gift for that sort of thing. A “hi, Ma” died unspoken as the very hint of speech set his throat on fire. He swallowed gingerly and the pain only got worse. Suck it up, bedwetter. “Where?” he said simply. Or he tried. What came out was the creak of a rusted gate. And it hurt like a bitch, besides. “Don’t try to talk, Mr. Bender,” said a man’s voice. Thanks, asshole. He knew he was in a hospital. It wasn’t so much the pastel walls and the clean smell of air filtered to within an inch of being nothing at all as it was the way his mother was looking at him. Her expression held genuine concern and he was flat on his back. Not hard to put two and two together. So what was that? Nine? On his right a narrow, pasty face hovered over the collar of a white coat. Colored lights reflected in the doctor’s glasses, sliding away as he leaned closer, frowning thoughtfully. Marty remembered waking once to the sound of two men dressed just like this one debating whether it would be better for all involved if he was put down like a dog before he regained consciousness. Too late, shitbirds, and no. His hand twitched and clenched with the suppressed urge to raise it and crack this staring dipshit right between the eyes. “Mr. Bender, can you hear me?” Marty nodded and it made the room waver. “Do you know where you are?” Hospital. Good enough. Nod. “Do you remember what happened?” There was a moment of panic as he realized he didn’t. Not a lick. He remembered having a grade A case of the brain hiccups but he also remembered being upright and coherent afterward. More than usual, in fact. The new pills must be working. Maybe it was the little gray and white ones with the big, black F on one side for Fucked if I know Foster Pharmaceuticals. He could remember the name of the damned company that made his pills but not what landed him here. Wasn’t that just fucking rich? He tried hard but nothing came back. He nodded anyway. No point in getting a watered-down version from this guy when his mom was here to give him the real deal. Bless her, she’d been straight with him his whole life. If anyone would tell him to his face that he’d just lost his dick in a tragic farming accident, it would be Dear Old Mum. Wait. Naked in the rain. The shower. He was taking a shower. He had a sudden, ridiculous urge to look down and make sure he wasn’t naked. If he really was in a hospital then everyone and their Aunt Petunia had probably had a peek at the goods by now. Maybe he’d slipped on the soap and cracked his melon. Grenades, knives, bullets and man-eating showers. I am invincible! “Mr. Bender, if you feel up to it the police would like to have a word with you.” Shit.   Twenty-Nine CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS Two uniforms lingered down the hall as Riddick tore the bright orange caution tape away from the door to room 217.  Jack waited close behind with his dirty black suit jacket folded over her arm.  She hadn't strayed more than a step away since they left the hospital.  She moved up now and slipped the fingers of one hand under the waistband of his pants. "There's nobody left in there, right?" she asked.  "No people?" "They're gone," he said. "The scene is secure, sir," said one of the officers.  "If you'd like us to have a look around first..?" Riddick shot a look at the two thickly built bruisers Detective Marks had sent to escort them.  Both sported biceps so big he didn't think they could reach their own asses to scratch.  But big, fat muscles did not a badass make.  He tried not to think of how many ways he could have dropped them on the way up. "We're good," he replied.  He slid the key card through the reader.  When the lock clicked he pushed the door open until it was flat against the wall and stepped inside. The place smelled like blood.  Not the raw, metallic scent of a fresh spill but some of it hadn't had the time to dry.  There was another smell, too.  The stink of a guy who let go as he died and wound up getting packed into the meat wagon with a stain in the front of his pants or a load in the back.  Thoughts like that could inspire a man to live forever. The big dining table was overturned, the vidphone crushed beneath it.  Bright orange tape marked the position of four bodies.  Three were clustered together, the taped outlines overlapped like the dark splotches on the carpet.  The fourth was sprawled in the center of the living room, a wide, red circle around its head. "I can't see a damn thing," said Jack. "Are you sure you want to?" She nodded. "Lights on." They came on bright and he cursed, covering his eyes. "Lights to four!" said Jack. They dimmed and he looked up, blinking to clear away the spots of white seared into his vision. "Cops must have turned them all the way up," Jack shrugged. "Yeah.  Stay here for just a minute." She opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head and she closed it without speaking. "Okay." "Thank you." "If you hear me holler, get out and close the door behind you.  If you hear the blue boys in the hall holler..." He paused to gesture at the door.  "Make sure the bolt's shut." He watched her eyes sweep the room. "I will." He walked across the room and peered through the archway into the hall.  Whole sections of wall looked like they'd been chewed up and spit out in chunks on the carpet.  Right in front of him dim light glowed through two chest-high holes in the door to Marty's room. His own bedroom door stood open and the wall opposite it was spattered and smeared with blood. To his right what was left of the bathroom door hung on one hinge.  With a quick glance back at Jack he slipped into the hall.   The bathroom was trashed. The shower door was shattered and pushed off its track.  Jagged pieces of hard plastic littered the pale blue tiles.  The connecting door had come entirely off the wall to lay flat on the carpet in Marty's room.  Bending, he felt under the sink and pulled off three pieces of black cloth tape.  The gun it had held in place was gone.  The cops had found it empty on the living room floor.  He idly dropped the take in the trash can and moved on. Riddick searched the closet and checked under the bed.  He took a quick look at the holes in the door to the hall.  The shots had come from inside the room.  He tried to picture it as it unfolded.  A shooter positioned himself in the hall to fire through the bathroom door.  Marty had taken the gun from under the sink and gone around to try and plug him.  They must have overlooked the second bathroom door. Sloppy.  Stupid.  If Marty hadn't been slowed down a step or two or if you'd been here, Jackass he might have put an end to the party before it got started.  Healthy, Marty could have turned those guys into a can of smashed assholes.  Even under the weather he damn near had, anyway. It was possible Mackey hadn't put as much fear into Castor as he thought.  Or maybe, as Mackey had supposed out loud, the goons were supposed to die.  Or hell, maybe he was making things a shitload more sinister and complicated than they were.  A quickly organized, straightforward attack failed.  Big surprise.  All that stuff about directional emergency systems and conspiracies be damned. But there were the Epstein suits.  Riddick didn't want to imagine the kind of people who could get a hold of that kind of obscure, illegal equipment in a hurry.  The only use they had was to bypass security cameras undetected and to avoid being seen clearly by people with a shine on their eyes.  Shines were common for military personnel who engaged in a lot of night operations.  They were also common among career miners.   Miners.  He'd file that one away for later. He hadn't stayed long enough to rate ocular enhancement on the FSMC's dime so he'd had to pay for his own low-rate job.  That made a difference.  The job the Nebs rated would adjust to pick up the suits.  But those with less expensive forms of the surgery couldn't fine-tune enough to see them at all.  He scowled.  Just how much goddamned information did that son of a bitch Castor have? He made a quick sweep of his own room.  No one there and nothing missing as far as he could tell but then he had a lot of shit.  Most guys who had grown accustomed to few or no possessions would probably continue to keep things simple out of habit.  Riddick had started from scratch and bought just about every damn thing he liked.  He had a real wardrobe.  Continuous clean underwear, how about that shit? Around the bend in the hall was Jack's room.  They'd put her as far from the front door as possible for safety and privacy.  Her room had no adjoining door and she had her own bathroom.  The arrangement looked even better once she started setting out all that female stuff on the counter.  Wouldn't do to accidentally walk through a cloud of perfume and wind up smelling pretty.  If he was going to smell like Jack's perfume he was ready to go about it the old fashioned way. The room had been tossed.  The top was off Jack's small jewelry box and it was empty of everything but a tiny silver hoop.  The plastic crates they'd brought from Marlene's place had been turned over on the bed.  He pulled open a dresser drawer and found everything still in order.  Either the bad guys had done a half-assed job or they'd been forced to stop in the middle, probably to help put a lid on Marty. They might have been trying to make it seem like simple robbery was behind the break-in.  He wasn't sure.  The police had refused to let him speak to the suspects in the hospital.  They said it was an issue of safety.  The cops were right.  If he got within arms' reach neither of them would be safe.  It wasn't that important.  The important thing now was to make sure that Jack stayed safe.  His hand slowed mid-reach as he pulled Jack's big suitcase from under the bed. All of his thoughts were bent on protecting the people he loved.  He had people he loved.  Wanted to stay with.  Wanted was a new thing for him.  Needed was the standard.  Needed meant things that were forced on him.  Food.  Water.  Violence.  Wanted meant things he would fight like hell to get and to keep.  Acceptance.  Freedom.  Jack. What kind of badass are you? He snorted. Let someone try and take those things away and find out. v        v        v As Riddick disappeared into the hall Jack closed the door and put her back to it.  The cops outside could make of it what they would, she didn't give a damn.   Riddick had been released on the condition that he wouldn't leave Terra-luna until the situation was resolved.  It was fair enough.  And convenient because she planned to resolve it.  One way or another somebody was going to fess up to something.  The police were going to have a talk with Donald Castor who would naturally deny any involvement with the guys who had jumped Marty.  Some rented leg-breaker's word wouldn't be enough to convict him of anything but at least the authorities seemed willing to entertain the notion that he was up to no good.  They would be watching him.  So if he personally pulled out a gun and shot her right in front of the police she just might have a case. Her feet were killing her and the strap on one of her shoes was broken but she wasn't about to take them off and walk barefoot on the blood-soaked carpet.  Before she could stop herself she started to wonder which spot was Marty's.  She hugged the jacket to her chest. Riddick had sidestepped the specifics when she'd asked about what happened.  The details were all second hand anyway so she hadn't pushed it.  He must have gotten to Mackey, too, because he wasn't willing to say much, either.    It was different than she had imagined.  Not as bad.  The room was quiet, as if nothing so loud as a gunshot had ever gone off there.  Most of the furniture was upright and intact. She looked down at the body shapes and wondered who had made them and if people who were only hurt ever begged to be taken to the hospital before the jackass with the tape was finished.   She wandered over to the fallen table, avoiding the gore.  Her roses were scattered on the floor, some with their ends still in an etched crystal vase.  The thought of Marty slogging around half-crocked looking for something to put her flowers in made her smile.  Priorities. She put the table back on its feet and set the vase on top, then got to work plucking roses off the floor and dropping them back in.  The white petals flared pink as she picked them up then paled as she placed them in the vase.  The last rose had fallen clear over by the coffee table.  With a sigh, Jack shuffled over and scooped it up.  The stem was broken just a few centimeters below the leaves.   It blazed to life, colors swirling and fading into one another.    "I know just how you feel, buddy." In response it turned a bold, electric blue.  Something under the table caught the color and shined and Jack bent to retrieve it.  She pulled up a gold chain and held the pendant that swung from it up to her face for a look though she had the feeling she already knew what it was. An armored soldier with his sword drawn, mounted on a prancing horse.  St. Martin.  The chain was broken near the clasp.  She looked around for someplace safe to put it.  Dammit.  Finally she threaded the busted link back through its neighbor and pinched it together, then slipped the whole thing over her head.    Jack dropped the last rose in and lifted the vase, cradling it in one arm.  The whole lot was coming with them and the hotel could just frigging bill her.  Better yet they could kiss her lily white ass.  They were the ones who let a bunch of guys sneak up to the second floor and beat the living crap out of one of the guests.  It would serve them right if she swiped every towel, pillow and coaster in the place. Her legs ached.  Her eyes were beginning to sting from squinting in the low light.  Her back hurt where she'd been slammed against the car.  She didn't have the energy to run if someone happened to bust into the room shooting.  She could probably muster a swift kick in the nuts, though.  The night's adrenaline was wearing off.  Much coffee would fix it.  Had to.  They still had work to do. "All clear." Jack looked up to see Riddick in the archway to the hall, watching her.  The top three buttons of his dress shirt were undone and he was working on the fourth.  The patch of skin that showed looked warm and smooth and more than anything Jack wanted to touch it.  She shifted the vase in her arms and fiddled with the stem of a rose to keep her hands occupied.  The petals flared to life and turned deep red.  So that's what that meant. "Your room's trashed," he said. Correction, she thought.  The hotel's room is trashed and I couldn't give less of a shit and oh my god is that a bruise? "Oh." He started toward her as he undid the last button and let the shirt hang open.  He  took the vase from her and set it on the table.  He fixed his eyes on her with a fierce intensity mellowed by the crease in his brow and the way he chewed his lower lip.  Instead he gave off a kind of sweet uncertainty that made Jack smile.  There was something great about being able to make a man like him wear a look like that.   He set his hands on her shoulders and kneaded them gently as he kissed her on the forehead.  Jack slipped her hands under his shirt. She ran them over his skin, scratching lightly.  He was warm.  And soft like no man had the right to be. Her heart hammered as she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the purpled skin of his ribs.  He twitched a little and she looked up. "Did that hurt?"  "No." "Do you want me to stop?" "No." Jack toed off her shoes and kicked them aside, then stepped onto his feet.   She smiled and hooked her fingers under his belt, pulling herself up so the length of her body was pressed against his.  She kissed him hard, scraping his lips with her teeth and working between them with her tongue.  His tongue pushed its way into her mouth, the end curling behind her front teeth.  Jack nipped at it and Riddick growled low in his throat.   They pulled back and she saw a gleaming, predatory light in his eyes.  It sent a thrill through her as much as the growing hardness pressed between them. "You're asking for trouble, Jack," he rumbled. "Been asking for a while, now." For a long, silent moment they stood utterly still.  Even Jack's harsh breath seemed quiet though she could still feel it rushing through her.  Her skin was hot and tiny chills danced across it making the hair on her arms stand on end.  The air between them was warm and smelled of faded perfume and dried sweat.  It thrilled her.  She wanted to leave his clothes in tatters and sink her teeth into his skin.   Jack moved first, tugging at his belt while his hands slipped beneath the hem of her dress and ran over her bare skin.  Jack yanked the strap loose from the buckle and raised her arms to let him pull the dress over her head.  He threw it on the floor as she threw herself on him, knocking him onto the table.  He landed on his back with a grunt and she straddled him, delighting in the sound he made as she squeezed him with her thighs.  His shoulder hit the vase and it started over the side.  Riddick caught it without looking and reached back to set it on the floor. Jack threw his shirt open and raked her nails over his chest.  He wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her face to his.  Heat bloomed where their skin touched.  He pulled the ties from her hair and let it fall as he trailed wet kisses over her jaw and down to the dimple at the base of her throat.  His tongue traced her collarbones as she clung to him, scratching at the back of his neck.  He pressed his teeth to her throat and she drew in a sharp breath. "Do it," she whispered. His teeth scraped against her skin and she felt them dig in lightly, teasing.  His tongue played on the burning marks left behind as he tightened his grip on her hair and pulled until the roots stung.  Jack made a low, animal sound and squirmed against him.  She sat up and he let go, letting his hands slide over her bare shoulders and downward to grip the front of her bra.  With a quick twitch of muscle he tore it open and tossed it aside.  Jack flashed a wicked smile and ran her tongue along her teeth. "You're wearing too many clothes," she said.   She shifted, earning another ragged groan from Riddick.  She undid the button with one hand and steeled herself as her fingers gripped the zipper.  She wanted this.  More than anything.  She was ready for it.  Still... Time to see what all that banter's been defending. She eased the zipper down and slid the pants down to his knees.  Good God.  Was this all for her?  Why thank you so much, you shouldn't have.  She had no basis for comparison, of course.  Jack felt his eyes on her and looked up to meet them as she tried to squirm out of her underwear. "Allow me." He hooked two fingers under the cloth and whipped it away. "You've done that before," she smirked. "If I'm lucky I'll get to do it again." Jack sat on top of him, naked and smiling.  She wanted to ask if there was anything he wanted her to do but decided against it.  She'd read every trashy romance novel in Reggie's library but that hardly doubled for experience.  As far as most things went she didn't have a clue.  Reggie had explained that when it came to men and sex it didn't always matter what you did as long as you did a lot of it.  Right now she just wanted desperately to get past this last hurdle.  After that she knew there wasn't a damn thing he couldn't get her to try. "You're the luckiest man I know."   He held still for her as she lowered herself onto him slowly, not aware that she was holding her breath until it came out in a long, loud sigh.  A shock of warmth shot up from the base of her spine and made her scalp tingle.  Her insides twinged and stung as she pressed him into her as far as she could stand.  It wasn't all the way but that didn't matter.  It was enough.  She could tell that by the look on his face.  It hurt a little but not the way she thought it would.  It was good and that surprised her the same way it had when she tried squid for the first time and discovered she liked it.    She rocked slowly, but the sounds he made encouraged her and she picked up the pace.  She lowered herself to lay flat against him and stretched to run her tongue along his neck.  His hands tangled themselves in her hair and lifted her face to his.  He kissed her fiercely and began to move in time with her.  Each time his hips pushed against her she moaned softly into his mouth.  He was being gentle with her and she could feel what he was holding back like a force of nature boiling behind human skin.   She dug her nails hard into his shoulders and thrust her hips down.  She bit his lip until she tasted blood and his hands clenched and pulled her hard against him, deepening his stroke.  Jack broke the kiss and cried out.  He didn't stop.  She didn't want him to.  They bit and scratched until they were a thing of teeth and nails and twisted limbs, writhing and growling on the table.   A burst of overwhelming sensation came back to the base of her spine, making her shudder.  Jack wouldn't know a genuine, sex-induced orgasm if it bit her in the ass but this, this was a good thing.  Her legs quivered and cramped and her lungs couldn't seem to get enough air.  But they were wrapped tight around each other and taking in one another's breath and every ragged moan that came out of him was for her and don't ever let this stop... Her whole body tensed and shuddered and the thunder in her ears drowned out the sound of her own cries.  She collapsed on top of him and lay still trying to catch her breath.  Riddick's chest heaved beneath her, his heart pounding against her cheek.  She set her hands on the table and pushed herself up on trembling arms to look at him.  His eyes were closed but as she watched they blinked open and glowed up at her.  He started to sit up but she put a finger in the middle of his chest and held him down.   He lay back and smiled and it was like nothing she'd ever seen.   "What are you grinning at?" she said.  Riddick threw his weight over and rolled on top of her, pinning her against the table.  Jack squealed and held on.   "Brute." The smile broadened, showing teeth.  "Yes." "Animal." Jack grinned back. "I'm an animal?" He licked a drop of blood from his lower lip.  "You bit me." "Yes," she said. "Do it again."   Thirty Weller Mining and Drilling was housed in a three-story marble structure that seemed more temple than office building. Dark glass windows shone from beneath arched moldings and each floor had a narrow ledge lined with an ornate cornice. Fluted pillars flanked tall, wooden double doors and rose two stories to a platform where a pair of miners towered over the street, their picks frozen mid-swing while a third stood with his pick driven into a chunk of rough marble. It was built in the oldest part of town and had started as little more than a shack, expanding into what space remained around it as land was bought up and other businesses moved in. The original Weller building -- the first civilian structure erected on the moon -- still stood outside of town in the shadow of an immense warehouse. At the center of Weller M&D’s open, circular lobby was a large, squat piece of machinery mounted on two wide set wheels and a pair of spiked tracks. The driver’s seat was little more than an indentation in one side with simple controls mounted on a narrow dash. The front was flat with four headlights covered by wire cages. Between them was a chipped and faded yellow number 76. The number was misleading as a plaque in front of the machine called it the first ore cart ever used on the moon. Glass cases held artifacts from the humble beginnings of mining on the Earth’s satellite. Framed and mounted photographs took up the space between. Men in self-contained suits drove shovels into the ground for a photo op. Heavy machines rolled from the holds of freighters, dwarfing the men who stood beside them. Hernando Weller posing in front of the reinforced entrance to the Ilsa Franziska mine. At the far side of the lobby hung a larger-than-life sized portrait of the company’s late owner, Jackson Graham Weller. He had never been a handsome man and had never tried to be. But his back was straight and his gaze was clear and he managed to look serious without being severe. His eyes sparkled with humor and a touch of boyish impatience as though he couldn’t wait to get out of the pose to share an excellent off-color joke. At his feet was a broad reception desk where a woman dressed in a suit of muted browns and pinks held her hand to her ear and pressed a button on the switchboard. “She’s here.” v        v        v The receptionist in the lobby smiled too sweetly as she greeted them and asked if they would mind waiting just a moment. Mr. Stroh would be right down, thank you so very much. Jack wasn’t liking this already. She stood beneath the painting of her grandfather with her vaseful of roses hugged tightly to her chest. She tried to remember the features lively and happy to see her just like grandpa Jackson had always been. She was his only grandchild and he spoiled her rotten. Virgil had had two brothers but they were both gone, now. The eldest, Wendell, had died in a decompression accident before Jack was born. Ellery, the youngest, was killed when two ships collided off the coast of Norway. Jack barely remembered him and the thought suddenly made her sad. “He looks so young,” she said. Her voice was hushed like the one she’d used in church once upon a time. Maybe it was about time she went again. Praying didn’t seem like such a bad idea right now. Riddick stood beside her, their shoulders barely touching. She leaned into him and felt his reassuring warmth through the cloth of her shirt. He lifted his arm and let her lean against him, then set it across her shoulders. The close contact relaxed her but it wasn’t helping her concentration, any. They’d ditched the boss and bodyguard act for now. Jack wanted Stroh to think of this as a visit from sweet little Jackie and her new boyfriend and not a storming of the palace by all-grown-up Jackie and her badass-on-retainer. “How old was he when he died?” “Seventy-one,” she said. “Not very old, these days. The painting was done about twenty years ago when great grandpa Aldous retired and left him in charge of the company. Great grandpa’s picture went up to the boardroom, I think.” “How well do you know this place, Jack?” “Not very. I came here a couple of times when I was little and then later when we lived up here. Mostly I followed grampa Jackson around and waited for candy,” she smiled. “He always had a present for me, even when I surprised him.” Jack had thought it would bother her but it felt good to talk about him. Her grandfather had cared about her, she knew that. In fact, she was sure he was the only one who did until she’d found her new family. Jack’s mother had left and suddenly dropped her bid for sole custody, taking only money in the divorce settlement. Visitation rights were granted but Jack didn’t want a damn thing to do with her after that. What it amounted to in Jack’s mind was that Natalie Weller had sold her own child to a guy she couldn’t even stand to live with anymore. And Virgil, he was always more of a jackass, slacker roommate than a father. Grandpa had always been there for her, even when she didn’t know she needed someone. She gave him all the credit for making her at least a half-decent person. He would have approved of Riddick, probably even liked him. They would have appreciated one another’s directness. Jack stepped away and gave herself a quick once-over, smoothing her shirt and running a hand over her hair. “How do I look?” She wiggled her hips for him as his gaze sank below her waist. Riddick chuckled softly and ran his tongue over his lips. “You look good,” he growled. Malcolm Stroh came toward them, smiling broadly and holding out a hand. “Jackie,” he said. “Safe and sound. So good to see you.” She transferred the roses to one arm and gave the hand a firm shake, stretching her lips into a smile she hoped was convincingly open and friendly. “It’s nice to see you, too, Mr. Stroh.” “Oh please, please,” he said. “Malcolm.” Jack nodded. “This is my fiancé, Richard.” Without hesitation Stroh offered his hand to Riddick, who surprised Jack with an amiable smile of his own. His air was utterly unassuming but she could still sense the menace coiled underneath like a dozing snake. If Stroh felt it, he gave no sign. “Wonderful,” he said. “Wonderful. Congratulations. Best wishes to you both.” “Thank you, sir,” said Riddick. The transformation was unbelievable. Or rather, so believable it was scary. At dinner he’d put on a similar act for Virgil and Marlene but he hadn’t bothered affecting this charming, almost harmless demeanor. The eyes helped. He’d put in another pair of contact lenses that filtered the light and turned his eyes a warm, chocolate brown. Good God she wanted to drag him back to bed. Later. Must work, now. Concentrate. Eyes forward, hands to herself. Good girl. Stroh cast a curious glance at the flowers. Jack shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Didn’t want to leave them in the cab,” she said. He frowned. “I’ll arrange for a company car,” he said. “The taxi cabs in this place are outrageously overpriced. They need to pay for their running rights and such so they pass it on to the consumer. Besides, they’re not the least bit safe if you want to know the truth. Some things don’t change no matter where you are, unfortunately.” “That would be great,” she said. That was an understatement. It would be fantastic. At least it would be after they went over it with a fine-toothed comb and made sure there wasn’t anything wonky with it. “Are you planning to settle here or downside?” “That all depends on a few things,” she said. “Mr. Stroh... I’m sorry, Malcolm, do you know anything about the suit my dad has filed?” “I do,” he replied. His smile melted into a look of disapproval. “I absolutely do and it’s preposterous. If I had imagined he was capable of such an underhanded move I would have seen to it that our lawyers found a way to prevent it. Positively ridiculous.” “What can I do about it?” With the company’s legal department behind her she might not have to worry about whether or not Virgil still intended to drop the suit. There were options other than legal, of course, especially now that the Marines were involved. All it had taken was mention of the idea that Marlene and Virgil may have had something to do with what happened to Marty. To say that the soldiers had expressed extreme displeasure seemed mild. Stroh gestured back the way he’d come. “We can discuss this in my office, where I have access to the files,” he said. “Let’s see if we can’t find a solution together. Now that you’re here in person this will be a great deal simpler.” She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Despite the feeling that they were being led into the belly of the beast, they followed him past the reception desk to a small round room. The rough stone walls were set with chunks of faceted crystal that sparkled in the light from the lobby. The room was cool and moist like the inside of a cave. A narrow stream hugged the walls at floor-level, burbling over its rocky bottom. Jack scowled as she remembered her father yelling at her for throwing in a coin. He’d snatched it from the water before the elevator came and put it in his pocket. She snorted. Maybe he really was responsible for that particular wish not coming true after all. The elevator doors opened soundlessly and Stroh waved them in. Jack’s breath caught as she stepped inside. Except for the polished metal floor it was like standing on the untouched surface of the moon. Chalk-white hills and craters were projected on the walls, so realistic she was afraid to reach out and touch them for fear her hand would meet with nothing. As the elevator rose the ground grew farther away. The effect was a little disorienting and she set a hand on Riddick to steady herself. The shirt he wore was snug around the arms. She resisted the urge to squeeze. The doors opened on an ordinary hallway. The men waited for Jack to step out first, then followed. Stroh took the lead, walking them down the hall past glass-walled offices and nodding to their inhabitants. They turned down the second hallway on the right. Jack suddenly knew where they were headed and it made her stomach clench. They passed the desk where her grandfather’s secretary still sat. She flashed them an automatic smile that faltered as her eyes fell on Jack. “Jackie?” “Sheryl,” nodded Jack. Traitor, she added silently. Sheryl had been her grandfather’s secretary for five years before he died. He had hired her right out of college to replace her mom, Mindy, who had retired after thirty years with the company. Mindy’s other two daughters worked downside in the Munich office. Jack had known them her whole life but not well. She wondered if she’d have the chance to get anything out of her. If there was anything to get. On the narrow shelf behind the desk Jack spotted a faded bit of history and stifled a laugh. It was a wooden model of a factory, a puzzle, though it was hard to tell by looking at it. Jack’s grandfather had kept it on his desk and filled the small compartment at the center with candy or money or some other small thing that corresponded with what happened to interest her that week. Somehow he’d always known what would inspire her to work out the puzzle, which put together any of seven different ways. It really was an ugly thing. She wondered why Sheryl had kept it. She didn’t have nearly enough time to ponder it or appreciate Sheryl’s stunned look before Stroh opened the door to Jackson Weller’s old office and ushered them inside. The room was mostly as she remembered it. Glass cases like the ones in the lobby held more old mining stuff. Most of it looked like junk. Rusted, dented, well-used. Jack had always been fascinated by the things her grandpa kept in his office. They were proof that men had once chipped away at the Earth with their own hands. Picks and shovels were still in use but most of the work was done by machines and no one kept caged birds in the tunnels to see if the air was clear. What a shit job. The only way to do it right was to drop dead. Her grandfather’s modest oak desk had been replaced by the standard, tennis court-sized executive’s model in dark cherry wood. The old flat-screen monitor had been replaced by one set into the desk at an angle. The keyboard was beneath a piece of spotless glass, or rather it was an image projected on to it. It was a Touchtype 900 series, probably set under printless glass. Very nice, just like everything else that had replaced Jackson’s simple, quaint furnishings. Jack concealed an unhappy scowl behind what she hoped was the appropriate shade of thrilled. “Please,” said Stroh. “Have a seat.” Both men waited until Jack sat before taking their own seats. Riddick gave his chair a subtle turn to the side as he sat. The adjustment meant that he wouldn’t have to twist his neck around to see the door. Jack wondered if it was just habit or if he’d seen something to make him wary. She trusted him to take care of it and firmly faced the desk, leaning forward to set the vase on one corner. “I do apologize for letting things get so out of hand,” Stroh began. “The problem was compounded by your sudden disappearance. Without you here to combat the suit the likelihood that it would succeed rose considerably.” “Sorry about that.” She was, just a little. Running away had crossed her mind for a long time but the funeral had given her the final push she needed. Virgil had spent the whole time chatting up rich businessmen’s daughters. Jack frowned. She picked her brain, trying to remember if one of them had been Marlene Castor. Just about everyone who was anyone in the mining business this side of known space had attended. That would include the Castors. Were they scoping out her dad and hanging a target on her head back then? “It’s irrelevant now that you’ve returned,” he said with a small smile. “We’ve been able to prevent him from having you declared legally delinquent or deceased and now that you are clearly neither that will be impossible.” “What else is there to worry about, then?” “Virgil is contesting the will. Essentially, he is suing your grandfather’s estate for what he believes is owed him. In this case, a substantial amount of money and your grandfather’s fifty-two percent share of Weller Mining and Drilling.” Jack snorted. “He’s kidding, right?” “I’m afraid not.” “Huh. Pay him off and I bet he’ll drop it,” she said. “He doesn’t want to run the place, he just wants to have enough money to support himself and all his lowlife friends in the manner to which they’d like to become accustomed.” “I’m afraid it’s become somewhat more complicated than that.” “I’ll say,” she said. She bit down on the urge to spill it all and wait for an incriminating reaction. “For one, he’s taken a job at the Castor Mining Corporation. It’s relatively low-level employment but that’s not the extent of it. He has accepted an educational grant and moving funds from the company as well. In addition to that he’s involved in a relationship with Donald Castor’s daughter. It represents an enormous conflict of interest that may give our attorneys the power to have the suit dropped but should he happen to win...” Stroh paused and shook his head, clearly disgusted. “You’re afraid he’ll turn things over to the new father-in-law.” “It would destroy this company,” he said. “And I can’t allow that to happen. Weller Mining and Drilling has been in existence for centuries. It has stood through wars, epidemics and depressions. It has expanded to include offices and contracts on nearly every inhabited planet. Our employees outnumber the populations of several small countries and in your grandfather’s absence the employees have looked to me to keep things running smoothly. It is a tremendous responsibility for which I seriously doubt your father is prepared.” Jack had the feeling the speech wasn’t directed entirely at Virgil but at her as well. She was willing to bet money she knew what this was leading up to. “It was your grandfather’s hope that Virgil would take over the company when he retired. Barring that, his wish was for you to carry on in his place.” “I don’t really know very much about mining,” she said. “Or running a company. But I’m willing to try, Mr. Stroh.” Riddick had been so quiet and still that Jack had almost forgotten he was there. She cast a sideward glance at him and found him watching Stroh with the same neutral expression he’d held since they left the lobby. Only his eyes gave him away now, watching Stroh as though trying to see something behind him by burning through his skull. Stroh smiled and nodded. “I am pleased to hear you say that,” he said. “And I want you to know that I will be here to assist you in any way you require.” “Thank you very much, Macolm.” He held up a hand. “It’s the least I can do, Jackie. Your grandfather was a truly great man and I owe him more than I can hope to repay in one lifetime.” He smiled fondly and for an instant Jack felt like a total asshair for being suspicious of him. “If you’ll leave an address where you can be reached with Sheryl I will have the legal department draw up some papers and send them to you. Then we can see about getting ourselves out of this nasty business and on with our own.” He pushed his chair back and stood. As he started around the desk Jack made as if to reach for the flowers. Instead she bumped the vase and sent it over the edge. It hit the carpet and bounced. The flowers spilled onto the floor. “Oh jeez,” Jack fussed. “I’m sorry.” She dropped to her knees and righted the vase. Stroh bent to help and Jack tried not to look too interested in what he was doing. The first rose he touched was the one with the broken stem. It freaked out as it had when Jack picked it up earlier and she cursed inwardly. With a mild look of surprise he dropped it into the vase and reached for another. Jack held her breath. He might not touch it long enough for it to change. Even if he did it might not mean a damn thing. To hell with it, the flowers had done a pretty good job of blurting things out so far. Stroh scooped up a small bunch and let them fall into the vase just as the color began to bloom. Jack suppressed a growl of frustration and picked up flowers until all that remained on the floor were a pair near Stroh’s feet. Jack took the vase and stood, pretending not to see them. “Oh,” he said. He stood with the roses and regarded them with interest as he held them out to her. Black. Deep, dark, velvety black. This did not bode well for his apparent good will and helpfulness. She glanced at Riddick but his attention was on Stroh. His eyes shone with a predatory light the contacts couldn’t hide. His lips parted and his tongue ran lightly along his teeth. He was excited. The air around him was charged with it. Jack set a hand on his arm and as if by magic the pleasant, harmless look returned. He smiled and held his hand out to Stroh. “Thank you for all your help, sir.” “Think nothing of it, Richard.” They crossed the room and Stroh paused with his hand on the door handle. “There is another option for you to consider, Jackie.” Here it comes. Jack raised an eyebrow. She didn’t have to pretend to look interested, just surprised. “I realize that the prospect of all this is a bit daunting,” he said. “No one will blame you if you decide not to take on such an enormous responsibility yourself. Should that be your decision I would be honored to be the first to make you a generous offer for a small part of your stock in the company.” If the man kept digging he was going to come straight out the bottom of the moon. “Thank you, Malcolm, but my ancestors founded this company and there’s always been a Weller at the head of it. I really do want to give it a try.” “Truly commendable,” he replied with a tight smile. He swung the door in and let them out into the small waiting room where Sheryl sat with her fingers pressed to a button on the small earpiece she wore. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Stroh, but it’s Peter Knowles. He says it’s extremely urgent.” Stroh nodded and turned an apologetic look to Jack. “I really must take this call...” “That’s quite alright,” she replied. The sooner they got the hell out of here, the better. Just what the hell was going on? “Sheryl, if you would arrange for a car for these two fine young people?” “Of course, sir.” “Don’t forget to leave your address,” he said. “I’ll have the papers delivered via courier as soon as possible. So good to see you again, young lady.” Jack smiled. “Likewise, Mr. Stroh.” With a final nod he vanished into his office and shut the door behind him. When Jack turned back to the desk, Sheryl was standing behind it, the little puzzle factory her hands. “I saved this thing for you,” she said, holding it out. “They were going to throw it away and I knew Mr. Weller would have wanted you to have it.” Jack reached out with her free hand but Riddick beat her to it, taking the puzzle and tucking it against his side. “Thank you, Sheryl.” “I couldn’t get it to open,” she said, cheeks flushing. “You might want to check and see if there’s a petrified old piece of candy in there.” Jack laughed. “I hope I remember how.” The other woman’s eyes flicked from Jack to the office door and back again. “So do I.” Jump to Chapters 1-5     6-10   11-15   16-20    21-25   26-30   31-35 LunarWeb Search RETURN TO ENTRY PAGE Disclaimer:  The characters of Fry, Imam, Jack and Riddick belong to USA films.   No copyright infringement is intended. Everybody else is mine all mine.