Nimrod Squad Page 6

  Cash lit a cigarillo. "I hate New Mexico."

  "Is it still called New Mexico? I thought it was renamed after Mexico annexed it."

  "Yeah, they call it Nueva Esperanza, I think. Doesn't matter. I still hate it."

  Happy stepped out the door with a sniper rifle balanced against her shoulder. She assessed the situation with a casual glance.

  "This piece of junk finally broke down, huh?"

  Mateo waved. "Hi, Happy. Did you sleep well?"

  Cash pointed a finger at her. "You did this. It was your explosive, wasn't it?"

  She clambered up the ladder to the top of the Battle-Cat. "If it was my explosive, we'd still be flying through the air right now. You should invest in maintenance. That's what people do when they want their mechanical equipment to keep running."

  "I'll make a note. What are you doing?"

  She knelt and peered through the scope, slowly scanning the horizon. "Getting the lay of the land. Could be a town nearby. If there is, I might want a cold beer."

  "Or a cold bullet. People aren't too friendly this far outside the Havens. Lots of roaming Tribes, too. They're highly territorial and don't like strangers wandering on their lands."

  "If you're scared, say so."

  He sighed, shaking his head. "What do you think, kid? Can you fix this thing?"

  Mateo lifted his perspiring face. "One of the anti-grav repulsors is completely busted. I can fix it, but not without parts."

  "Great. Where are we gonna find parts in the middle of the desert?"

  "There." Happy pointed southwest of them.

  Cash squinted. Something was barely visible in the hazy distance. He slid his shades over his eyes and adjusted the binocular focus.

  "Looks like a junker town."

  The place appeared as if the residents built their settlement from the remains of a scrapyard. The scattered buildings were battered and rusty, constructed from whatever odds and ends of metal and piping that were available.

  "Well, it might be dirty, haphazard and ugly, but at least it's there. Might get lucky and find what we're looking for. Get started taking the repulsor apart, Mateo. I'll take a trip to Rust City over there and see if they got anything."

  He looked up at Happy. "Whaddya say? Coming with?"

  She shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

  Mateo glanced up from examining the rig. "Why can't I come?"

  "I need you to keep working on the Cat. By the time we come back all you'll have to do is reassemble it."

  Happy leaped off the top of the rig, landing in a catlike crouch. "What he's not telling you is that he trusts you. Not me, which is why he wants me as close to him as possible. And who knows? Maybe things will go bad in the town, and he won't have to worry about me anymore." She winked her mechanical eye at Cash. "Right, bounty hunter?"

  He spewed a cloud of smoke into the wind. "Yeah, that about covers it. C'mon, we're wasting time."

  $$

  The cargo bay doors clattered open, and Cash drove the Blunderbore out into the heat and dust. The thick tread on the massive, all-terrain tires made his squat, armored-plated vehicle perfect for off-road travel. He bounced in his seat as he drove over the rocky terrain. Now and then he glanced sideways at his unwelcome companion. Happy sat in a cocoon of silence; posture relaxed, gaze fixed outside the window.

  "Nice rifle."

  Her eyes never moved. "It's a .388 ShadowKill."

  He took a closer look. "I heard of that one. Modifiable modes from a machine gun to a sniper rifle. Thirty-three hundred yard range, target locking, built-in GPS and weather tracking hardware. So you're ex-military, I take it? No, that's too easy. If I were to guess, I'd say ex-HSSC. Pretty sure your talents were put to good use in their kill squads."

  Her mouth tightened. "Kill squads? That's all you think we did?"

  "HSSC it is, then." He grinned. "Not too hard to figure out."

  "Not too hard to figure out you're an ex-cop."

  He swerved, narrowly missing a large rock formation. "That's just a lucky guess."

  "Call it what you want. You don't need to have a badge to still be a cop. You never quit being one. It stays with you. How you stand, the stress across the shoulders. The way you look at people. Weighing, profiling. I had you pegged the moment I saw you."

  "Is that right? You mean when you murdered my bounty head?"

  "No. When you came chasing after me like a cop. Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

  He chewed the end of his cigarillo. "Guess not. Old habits die hard."

  "Then you're in the wrong line of work, partner."

  "I'm not your partner. And what about you? Are you in the right line of work? What—you get a thrill out of killing people?"

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her scarred mouth. "A little. You have to like your job if you're going to be any good at it. But mostly it's business. Supply and demand. Nothing personal."

  He snorted a laugh. "Nothing personal, huh? Not like this guy in New Haven, right? That one sure sounds personal to me."

  "That one is. Near the top of my hit list."

  "Yeah? What's his name?"

  She gave him a suspicious glance. "He's ex-HSSC. You never heard of him."

  "I've been all around, partner. You never know. Go ahead. Shoot. Might get lucky."

  She stayed silent for a moment, watching the dusty terrain blur by. Finally, she sighed.

  "Mike. His name is Mike Trudo."

  Cash shook his head. "Nope, never heard of him. So, is he the one?"

  "The one who?"

  He gestured at her scarred face. "The one who gave you those."

  Her eyes narrowed. "That's none of your business."

  "Yeah, you're right. None of my business. Just trying for some casual conversation with the assassin that forced her way on my rig and put a bomb on it. You ever think about the morality of your occupation?"

  "Morality? You mean good and evil?"

  "I mean right and wrong."

  "Morality is a coin toss. Or worse, a coin trick. You believe what you're led to believe, but in the end it's just a cheap con."

  "Wow. So, all the people you killed just had it coming, is that it?"

  Her face hardened. "Everyone has it coming."

  He slowed the Blunderbore to a stop as they arrived at the entranceway to the walled-off town. A laser barricade barred the way, designed to short out the engine of any unauthorized vehicle. An overweight man stuck his head out the window of the rickety guardhouse. His face was smothered by a shaggy beard, his eyes covered by dark oversized goggles. Long matted hair stuck out from a worn leather cap. His smile was an unpleasant display of gums and a few lonely yellowed teeth.

  "Howdy-do, friends. My name's Tucker. You lookin' to get in, ain'tcha?"

  "Yeah. What's the name of this rust hole, anyway?"

  "Ain't got no name."

  "No name?"

  "Nope."

  "Why not?"

  Tucker chuckled. "Let's just say the legislative body changes a lot 'round here. Ain't nobody in office long enough to do things like give the town a name. Now, what's yer bizness today?"

  "Need to buy some parts."

  "What kind of parts?"

  Cash gritted his teeth. "The kind you buy. You letting us in or what?"

  Tucker leaned forward, dripping sweat onto the sill of the window. The reek of alcohol and body odor wafted from the confines of the cramped guardhouse. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. My job is to ask questions. That your skimmer out there a few miles off?"

  "Yeah. Got some men guarding it, too."

  Tucker giggled and tapped his goggles. "Got a boy guarding it. Seen him. He don’t look like no killer to me."

  "You'd be surprised. Got a few more waiting in the rig. Might wanna pass the word to any of your curious friends."

  "Friends? Whaddya think—I tip off ravagers or something? I'm just a man doing his job."

  "Then do your damn job. Open up the gate, will you?"

  Tucker p
aused, squinting suspiciously. "Wait a sec. You're a law dog, ain'tcha?"

  Cash frowned, ignoring Happy's amused snickers. "What?"

  Tucker nodded, face twisting up. "Yeah. You got that cop look about you. You think I'm gonna let a law dog up through these here gates? Ain't no law up in this town other than the Judge, mister. Better believe it."

  "I'm not a cop. Better believe that."

  "Well, you sure got that cop mustache." Tucker sucked his teeth in disgusting fashion. "Got guns on you?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Gotta leave 'em here. The Judge is right strict 'bout that."

  "The Judge, eh? Well, get him out here, and I'll run it past him."

  "He's a busy man. You wanna get in; you gotta leave your firearms here. I'll tag 'em and lock 'em up for the duration of your stay. You can pick 'em up on the way out."

  Happy leaned over so Tucker could see her. "I have a better idea. How about I shoot you in your face, drag your fat ass out of that outhouse, and open the gate myself?"

  He paused, looking her up and down. "Well, ain't no need to be rude. Just doing my job. Can't fault a man for doing his job."

  He leaned back in the gatehouse. A second later, the laser bars disappeared.

  Cash glanced at Happy as they rolled through the gate. "You sure got a way with people, don’t you?"

  She leaned back in her seat. "Yeah. It's called cut-the-crap mentality. You should try it sometime."

  They continued down the dusty avenue into the town with no name.

  $$

  It took less than thirty seconds for Jinx to break out of her cell.

  A simple electronic bolt lock. Not even a challenge. She inserted the tech comb back into her hair and strode to her Cayenne. Guess I should count myself lucky that Cash didn't take my wheels into town with him. She was sure he'd be back for it if the town turned out to have a pretty decent barter shop.

  Deejay's disapproving face flickered onto the wall monitor. "I figured you were taking this too easy. Cash didn't do a thorough search, did he?"

  "Nope. He's not all that great of a Nimrod if you ask me."

  "You noticed."

  "Sí." Jinx retrieved her cy-gear, sliding it over her hand like a clunky glove. "Too bad for him."

  Deejay tilted her head. "What are you planning to do?"

  "Oh, just crash your systems to make sure you can't tail me. Don't worry; I won't make it permanent. Got no beef with you. Just your boss."

  "My partner."

  "You're an AI. A highly advanced, intuitive program. You can’t be a partner. Only a tool."

  "I'm a bit more unique than that."

  "Fantástico! It's been a while since I had a challenge." Jinx slid her custom-built shades over her eyes. "Time to check out what's under the hood."

  Deejay shrugged. "I can stop you. But I don't want to make the damage permanent either."

  "C'mon. Your defense systems are garbage. You'd have a hard time getting rid of a mouse, much less a sexy, sassy lil' hacker extraordinaire like yours truly."

  "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  "I hear you." She used the cy-gear to remotely lock into the ship's computer system. "Bingo. See you on the other side."

  She jacked in, looking to gain root. The goggles winked on, immersing her into the digital circuitry of the Battle-Cats system. Looking around, she gasped. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Impossibly intricate. Uncomprehendingly complex.

  This is impossible. What is happening?

  Everything flashed brilliant blue; an electric storm blinded her, sizzling across her mind.

  $$

  "Deejay!"

  Cash's voice was raw, thick with panic.

  Jinx blinked. She was conscious of herself, but couldn't move. Couldn't react. She was trapped in a dream. Or a memory not her own.

  The bio-engineering lab was pristine and sterile; clean lines, minimalist glass and steel furnishings. An entire wall was devoted to assorted computer screens displaying data or video feeds— all pertinent to the groundbreaking research that had recently culminated in a revolutionary discovery.

  What the hell kind of a VR program is this?

  She was frightened. More scared than she ever felt in her life, but it wasn’t her fear. It was the palpable terror of a woman who discovered a terrible secret and was about to pay for it with her life.

  Cash walked in, oblivious to the precariousness of the situation. He was younger. Less careworn. Dressed in a heavy trench over a button-down shirt and askew tie. Looking every inch the crusading detective, except for the frantic look on his face.

  "Deejay, I gotta get you out of here. You were right. It was Doyle—turned out he was the Butcher all this time. I’m sorry I didn't believe—"

  He stopped in his tracks. Eyes wide, slowly raising one hand. Finally, he saw what it was that had her paralyzed. What caused her to be soaked with sweat and trembling in fear.

  The masked man with a gun pointed in the back of her head.

  "Take your gun out. Slowly." The voice was a rasping hiss in her ears, but the words were directed at Cash.

  "Okay." Cash carefully reached inside his jacket. "I'm taking it out. Nobody panic. It's gonna be all right." He pulled the gun out, holding it so his finger was nowhere near the trigger. "There's no need to do this. Understand? Your boss is dead. You're on your own now."

  "Dead?" Jinx heard the tremble in the man's voice, felt the gun muzzle jab her in the head. "No. You're lying. Set the gun on the floor. Do it. Do it now!"

  Cash knelt, placing the weapon on the tiled floor. He kept his eyes on the gunman. "I'm not lying. I know the Baytown Butcher was Doyle Vardis. My partner of the last four years. Or I should say, my late partner. Because he's worm food right now. And you'll be the same if you don't let my wife go and leave right now."

  "The game isn't finished. I was given instructions."

  "You don't have to play Doyle's game anymore. He's not alive to enforce his rules. It's your choice now. It's your life. You let my wife go, and you can walk. I won't even follow. I'll let you disappear. You have my word."

  The gun muzzled remained firmly pressed against Jinx's scalp. The man's moist breath wafted from his mask, coating the side of her face. His voice remained harsh but quavered with uncertainty.

  "Kick the gun away from you."

  Cash obeyed, eyes still locked on the gunman. "You have my word. Walk away. There's nothing in this for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by just leaving right now."

  The gun quivered against the back of her head. "I…have my orders."

  "Orders from a dead man."

  "No. You're lying. Trying to trick me."

  Jinx felt her adrenaline pumping. The man was going to kill her. She felt it. His rising panic would spill over; his finger would pull that trigger. It was up to her. She recalled what Cash taught her about disarming a would-be attacker. They repeatedly practiced until she got it right.

  Cash took one step forward. "Look at me. I'm not lying. Please. Let my wife go."

  Jinx felt the moment of hesitation, the slight relaxing of the metal against her skull. She ducked her head to the side and whirled toward the man, bringing her body out of the line of fire. One hand pushed the gun arm aside; the other slammed into the man's throat. He gurgled, staggering backward. The gun still in his hand. She made a panicked grab for it.

  A clap of thunder deafened her.

  It was Cash's scream that made her realize. There was no pain, not even when she toppled to the floor. The man stood over her; masked like a nightmare, clutching his throat with one hand. The other pointed the gun at her.

  The muzzle flashed once. Twice. Three times…

  $$

  Jinx sat up, gasping for air. The world spun around her. Rusted metal, the smell of grease and hot wires. The recollection slowly coalesced. She was in the cargo bay of the Battle-Cat. A recently escaped prisoner. She had tried to jack into the computer system…

 
; She ripped the goggles from her face, tore off the cy-gear. Trembling, she curled into a ball and let the tears stream down her face. She still felt the terror, the pain of bullets tearing through her flesh. She'd never experienced a VR so real. So indistinguishable from reality. She knew it had to be more. It had to be a memory. Deejay's memory.

  Light bathed her face. She blinked her eyes open. Deejay gazed at her from the wall monitor. She looked more than just some photo-realistic avatar. Jinx knew her. Knew what her last moments on earth were like. There was sadness in the woman's Goth-lined eyes. Anguish that only a human could convey.

  "I warned you. I'm a bit more unique than the average AI."

  Chapter 6

  It took only fifteen minutes for Cash to regret coming to the town with no name. The place looked even worse on the inside of the walls. The homes were ramshackle. The best still bore some semblance of their construction; the worst were practically unrecognizable. Scrap metal and pieces of junk were used instead of bricks and wood on most of the buildings. Everything was coated in brown dust as if the entire place was a sandstorm magnet.

  The people looked just as rough, reflecting the decrepit state of their town with patchwork clothes and jewelry made of gears, nuts, and bolts. Most of their unfriendly faces were partially obscured by creatively imprinted kerchiefs, wide-brimmed hats, and black-tinted goggles. There weren't many skimmer vehicles and no floaters visible. Most residents didn't seem to own a vehicle at all. They walked the dusty streets, leaping out the way when an ancient metal roadster or motorbike roared down the avenue.

  Cash parked the Blunderbore at a plaza where the junk seemed more arranged, a bazaar of sorts. He and Happy exited and looked around. Every face in the immediate area looked either suspicious or predatory.

  Happy pointed to a crumbling bar across the street. "Gonna get a cold one. You want?"

  He took another glance at their surroundings. "Be safer if we stick together."

  "Aw, you're worried about me now? Don't worry; I can handle myself." She propped her rifle on her shoulder and strutted off, moving with the grace of a natural killer. People who only a moment ago seemed dangerous scrambled to give her room as she crossed the dusty road and entered the swinging doors of the bar.