Nimrod Squad

  A Havenworld Novel

  Bard Constantine

  Nimrod Squad is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

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  Copyright © 2019 Bard Constantine

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by J Caleb Design (https://www.jcalebdesign.com/)

  Other Books in the Havenworld Universe

   Havenworld

   Silent Empire

   The Troubleshooter: Four Shots

   The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

   The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame

   Vigil: Knight in Cyber Armor

  After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of humanity.

  However, the new age was not the type the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm resurfaced and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict that threatened to destroy the future envisioned by the Haven's founders.

  This is the world of a crew of dysfunctional outsiders: Cash Murdock, a former cop that trusts no one except Deejay, his AI partner. Mateo Lonergan, a mysterious young man with wide-eyed innocence and lethal combat skills. Jinx la Fox, a talented hacker with a bad habit of making powerful enemies. And Happy, a gun-for-hire with scars and secrets from a hidden past. They might be low on gas and low on cash, but when a bounty is posted, they're ready to roll.

  They are…

  $$

  Nimrod Squad

  Chapter 1

  Cash Murdock enjoyed killing himself.

  His Ultra Fit Exoskeleton served as an all-in-one workout machine. Tension rods and bands were strapped to his entire body from his neck to his fingers and toes, all tied into the y-shaped spinal support shaft. Programmed to provide the perfect amount of resistance to rip his physique as he engaged in his routine of excruciating reps. Sweat streamed, pooling on the padded floor mat. Teeth gritted, eyes bulging, chest heaving, he pushed his muscles until lactic acid nearly locked them into place.

  He loved every minute of it.

  Deejay's voice buzzed over the com. "Next stop, Tijuana. Time to put your work face on."

  "I'm on it."

  He tapped the RELEASE button on his chest, disengaging the UFE. It automatically unclamped, allowing him to step free as it rolled back, folding into place and returning to its charge station on the wall of the cramped compartment that served as a storage, workout, and locker room. Rust flecked the battered walls, reminding Cash of the ages-old resolution to get them resurfaced.

  He accepted a towel from the shaky, creaking arm that extended from a wall slot. "Do I have time to shower up?"

  "Why? You're more than likely going to be chased down and shot at. You want to smell nice for that?"

  "Good point." Cash grabbed his work clothes and headed for the door, dressing as he went. Scraping sounds followed him every step, metal on metal as the Battle-Cat glided over the battered earth.

  "When are we going to get the hover suspension system fixed? Might as well be on wheels if I gotta feel every bump and dip."

  "I don't know—maybe when you stop losing money as soon as we earn it."

  "Oh, yeah. Kick a man when he's down." He placed a hand on the wall for support as he passed the narrow sleeping quarters, crossed the tiny dining hall and made his way to the cabin of the Battle-Cat. The wide windshield displayed a view of Tijuana in all its glory as they approached the megalopolis.

  It was an oasis in the desert. Soaring skyscrapers glimmered, uniquely designed to reflect the nation's artistic heritage with domed spires, eagle ornaments, and a towering steepled pyramid that loomed over the city and housed the governing party. The buildings were ecologically designed, greenery and vines covering the structure; thousands of species of birds and animals coexisting with the colossal human population.

  Cash grinned. "I love coming here. Hard to believe this place was a dumpster fire of a city before the Cataclysm."

  The dash monitor winked on, displaying Deejay's face. Her bobbed hair was black with blue highlights, her eyes highlighted by heavy mascara, her lips painted black. Just like he remembered her.

  Her grin was lopsided, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yeah—that's what happens when millions of fleeing Americans cross the border with all of their riches. Ironic for its time because the opposite was always true. Funny how the end of the world changed things."

  Her voice wasn't as lively as the real Deejay, but Cash often heard it the way he remembered, so it didn't matter.

  "Yep. Now look at the place. It's a gold mine. This payoff is just what we need right now. After that bust-up with Beckett, we could use a break."

  "You mean after you let him skin you for everything we had?"

  Cash nearly winced but settled for scrubbing his mustache instead. "Look, how was I supposed to know he'd stab me in the back like that?"

  "Because he's a double-crosser. Always has been."

  "Yeah, but he never tried that with me."

  "Until he did."

  "Yeah, well…" Cash paused, realizing he didn't have an available excuse. "Look—all that's behind us. I'm through working with partners and crews. From now on it's just you and me, babe."

  "Sure it is. Approaching entry gate."

  The threshold was a massive entranceway, framed in glimmering liquid alloy and imprinted with pre-Hispanic cryptograms. Traffic flowed nonstop, the vehicles cleared and charged for entry miles before they arrived. The energy dome that covered the rest of the city was barely visible, shimmering around the structures. Cash glanced up as a shuttle roared overhead, shooting toward the stratosphere in a billowing plume of smoke and flame.

  He sighed, lighting a short cigarillo as the Battle-Cat slowed to a crawl in traffic. The cargo skimmer cruised alongside smaller hovercars, zip bikes, and rolling vehicles, all slowly working their way into the city. They passed through the first security gates, feeling the hum as their vehicles were scanned from top to bottom.

  "I think we're in the wrong business, Deejay. I should've been a shuttle pilot. Those guys are pulling in bank hauling blood shards. A lot less work than chasing bounties."

  Deejay rolled her eyes. "Unless you run into pirates, that its. Or trajectory malfunctions. Or the millions of other things that can go wrong on a trek to Mars."

  He grinned. "Don't kill my dreams, Deejay. They're all I have."

  "Better dream of a way to get Annmarie to the depot without someone sniping her. Word on the wire is she's made some pretty big-name syndicates upset."

  "Yeah, that's why the police want her in custody. She's in charge of accounting for some seriously bad people. The cops get her and they can nail the syndicates gunning for her."

  "You know the syndicates pay way more than the cops, right?"

  "And you know we don't work for the syndicates. You get in with them and you can't get out."

  Deejay tilted her head, studying him. "You sure that's why you're not going that route?"

  He exhaled a cloud of cheap smoke. "Of course I'm sure. Why—what ar
e you getting at?"

  "I think you're still holding on to the old Cash. Decorated detective, in the business of service and protection. You know—playing the good guy."

  "Good guy. Yeah, right." Cash chewed on the end of his cigarillo, spewing smoke into the air. "Those days are in the rearview, sweetheart."

  "If that's true, you should have dealt with the highest bidder. We're not in the charity business. We're in the Nimrod business. We chase bounties down and haul 'em in. Shouldn't matter to whom. Cops don't like dealing with our kind, and they don't pay worth the effort."

  He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Not from you. You want to call the shots, is that it? Think you can do a better job than me?"

  "I'm just saying, Cash. Remember, that kind of high-road thinking is what got me killed in the first place."

  He paused, momentarily stunned. "That's…not true, Deejay."

  "It is. But don't worry, I don't hold it against you."

  He smashed his cigarillo into the ashtray. "And don't go saying you got killed. You're not dead."

  On the screen, she raised her arms as if to demonstrate. "I'm not alive, either. Cash, it's been two years now. You have to get a grip on the idea that—"

  He raised a finger. "We're not having this conversation. I'm going to check on Annmarie."

  He stomped off, heading to the cargo hold. How could she say that? She's never brought it up before. She knows I'd give anything to change what happened. To take her place if I could. It should have been me. Not her. Me. He slammed a fist into the wall, chest heaving.

  No. Not going there again. He straightened and flexed his fingers, wincing. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the narrow hall until he entered the vehicle hangar, which also served as a storeroom, workshop, and temporary detention center.

  He forced a casual grin as he approached the cell that housed Annmarie. The photo that showed up on the Bounty Boards displayed her as a gorgeous, petite woman. The person in the cell was anything but gorgeous. The grotesquely overweight man looked up as Cash approached. Annmarie's face was a collection of sagging pockmarked flesh, rubbery lips, and watery, red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was a dark, tangled disaster, as was the thick beard that hid most of her face.

  Cash tapped on the cell bars. "Almost there, Annmarie. Got you here in one piece like I promised. And you said we weren't going to last a day."

  Annmarie didn't look relieved. "Just means the hit goes down today. You don't know these people. They won't stop until I'm dead. I know too much."

  Cash tried to hide his amusement at hearing her feminine voice coming from the bearded mouth. "Oh, I know the syndicates better than you might think. And you're almost right. Good thing you took all the precautions you could. Getting that flesh suit was a good move. Changed your looks and gender, albeit temporarily. How much did the alterations cost you?"

  "Too much. Didn't work, obviously."

  "Well, one thing you can't change is your DNA. And not your unique taste for the finer things. When I found out your drink of choice was Scorpion Kiss, it wasn't too hard to keep tabs on the three joints in the region that stocked the stuff. You took the precaution of having your bottles shipped, but that's easy enough to trace. Took a while, but I managed to narrow it down. Scanners finally picked up your DNA on a glass you send back to the hotel kitchen."

  She sneered, making her face even uglier. "Congrats, genius. I'm sure no one else thought of the same thing."

  "If they did, they didn't get to you in time. And for that, you should be grateful. You're only alive because of me; don't forget that."

  "Proud little man." She rolled her eyes. "You still don't get it. Why go through all the trouble of tracking me down when they can wait for some knuckle-dragging, misinformed, low-level misanthrope to deliver me like a gift-wrapped present?"

  Cash frowned. "Hey—who are you calling low-level?"

  Annmarie sighed, dropping her bushy head. "Let's just get this over with."

  Cash adjusted his stance as the Battle-Cat lurched to a stop. Deejay's voice crackled over the wall speakers.

  "This is it."

  Cash glanced at Annmarie. "Let's take a walk, kiddo."

  $$

  The heavy, rusty hangar doors rattled open, allowing gusts of hot, dusty wind and blinding sunlight. Cash pushed a pair of tactical shades over his eyes. The liquid crystal lenses adjusted the tint automatically, compensating for the glare. An interactive display opened across the surface, allowing a wider range of vision, automatic hazard detection, and an array of other options. He glanced at Annmarie.

  "Don't get any funny ideas. You make a run for it; you get shot in the leg."

  She sighed behind her thick mustaches. "Yeah, like there's any place in this city I can run to."

  They walked past his armored wheeler, a behemoth of alloyed steel plate and jumbo tires he called the Blunderbore. Annmarie glanced at it.

  "Wouldn't we be safer driving that thing?"

  "Maybe. Maybe we'd attract all the wrong kinds of attention, too. Plus, traffic is murder out there. We'd be sitting ducks if anything should go sideways."

  "So what's your plan—we walk all the way to the precinct?"

  Cash grinned. "Yep. It's only five blocks. We blend in with the crowds, and no one's the wiser."

  "So you're going to get me killed on foot. Fantastic."

  "I don't plan on getting you killed at all. The bounty's void if that happens. So keep your mouth shut and stick close to me. Time to see if that flesh suit was worth the money you paid for it."

  The clamor of the city engulfed them as they exited the Battle-Cat's interior. The hangar doors clattered shut behind them. Cash glanced at the helmeted tiger emblazoned on the floater's battered hull. He made a mental note to get it repainted. Like everything on the old cargo hauler, it was worn and faded.

  "Get me some eyes, Deejay."

  Her voice buzzed over the datcom inside his ear. "Up and away, Cash."

  Two tiny drones shot from the top of the Battle-Cat and soared upward where they hovered like electronic hummingbirds. Scanning the vicinity, running facial recognition and threat detect programs. The feed displayed inside Cash's sunglasses, where he could pick up on any alerts.

  They joined the throngs of people on the streets of Tijuana. Cash glanced around. It was easy to get lost in the crowd. People of all sorts went back and forth. Men and women in business attire, glancing at floating displays on their holobands. Many of the migrants kept their traditional styles of hijabs, turbans, salwar kameez designs, mosaic beads and prints. Mexicans proudly displayed their vibrant fashion, blending traditional with Midwestern styles. Young people strutted in loose and comfortable street gear. The place was a melting pot, and no one paid Cash and Annmarie any mind as they picked their way along.

  Tiny booths were crammed into every nook and hold on the roadside, where holographic sellers beckoned and called out their wares to the milling crowds, shifting languages to suit the nearest customer.

  "Cigarillos. Cigars from Cuba. Prime hash from Columbia. Coronas, blunts, hookahs, vapes. You smoke it; I got it."

  "Holobands. Jailbreak yours here. Get in and out the Havens without detection; completely foolproof."

  "Pleasure model synoids, hombres. Get your freak on; it's not cheating if she's not real. Got 'em with sausages for the senoritas, too. Whatever your pleasure. Free basement stalls for privacy."

  "Guns, pistolas. Gotta protect yourself out here. Got the latest military-grade specials. Bioguns, going fast. Get one before they're gone. Trust me; you don't wanna be the only one unarmed."

  "Brand new holovisors. VR with full sensory experience. You won't know what's real. And you won't care."

  "Tamales. Elotes. Tacos. Cold sodas. Best you ever had."

  Cash stopped in his tracks, looked at the vendor and held up two fingers. "Dos tamales. Gimme a Limon soda too." He glanced at Annmarie. "You want something?"

  Pure contempt flashed across her
chubby face. "You gotta be kidding me."

  He shrugged, accepting the paper plate from the smiling android behind the counter. His holoband buzzed, transferring funds when he swiped it across the payment sensor. "Hey—a man's gotta eat. Been surviving on ration bricks practically the whole trip."

  He peeled back the cornhusk wrapping and took a huge bite of steaming dough, spicy beef, and melted cheeses. His eyes squeezed shut as the taste exploded inside his mouth. "Oh, man. So good."

  Deejay's voice buzzed in his ear. "Now's not the time, Cash. Get moving."

  He wiped grease from his chin with the back of his gloved hand. "Yeah, yeah. Look, if a man can't enjoy the little things, what's the point of all this?"

  He continued, guiding Annmarie down a narrow avenue leading to the heart of the city. It was even more crowded, making it extremely hard to eat on the move. He did his best, trying to savor the taste even as he ate quickly as possible. In between bites, he continued making his case.

  "I swear, I don't know why you keep busting my balls. The whole trip you've been on my case about how we move, what routes to take. I haven't had a good night's sleep in days. And for what? This whole op has been a cakewalk."

  "So far."

  "Yeah. So far. We're three blocks away from pay dirt and you're still giving me grief. You gotta learn to relax if you're gonna make it in this business."

  "Hard to do when our drones just went down."

  Cash paused in the act of stuffing his mouth with more tamale. "What?"

  "Someone killed surveillance. I'm blind. Move your ass; we're compromised."

  "Damn it!" He grabbed Annmarie's pudgy arm with one hand, thrusting the other in his jacket for his handgun. Wheeling around, he scanned the bustling crowd. People streamed by, many giving him irritated glances for interrupting the flow of traffic. Others stepped warily to the side, recognizing trouble about to brew.

  He released Annmarie long enough to tap on his sunglasses. "Increase threat detection. Show me anyone within thirty yards who's carrying a firearm."