Lone Gunfighter of the Wastelands Page 5

  “All right, I have the funds transferred to your ticket. Now, onto Joe’s,” Reuben said. After he scanned the ticket, he frowned at Joe. “Did you shoot your target?”

  “In the leg,” Joe clarified. “I did not shoot him in the head, like the idiot to my right.”

  “Moron,” Rex countered.

  Reuben watched the pair. “I wonder if I made you two partners, if you’d both actually be better for it, or worse.”

  “Worse,” both hunters said at the same time.

  Their boss rolled his eyes. “Well, Havoc, you earned yourself a fifty percent deduction for bringing in damaged goods.”

  Joe tensed. “What?”

  “Evidently, the target needed medical care and can’t join the labor force until his wound is healed.”

  “That’s bull—I barely shot him. It was just a graze, didn’t even break the skin,” Joe said.

  “That’s not what they report.”

  Joe grumbled and suddenly felt like shooting something, too.

  “You should’ve shot him in the head,” Rex offered. “Same penalty, but you wouldn’t have had to deal with a live one.”

  Joe didn’t speak, knowing that under no circumstances could anything good come from agreeing with Rex on anything.

  Rex continued. “Besides, why are you complaining? You’re getting a bigger payout than me, and you didn’t have to deal with a biter.”

  Joe looked at Rex, head cocked.

  “Yeah, a biter,” he said as though he could read Joe’s thoughts. “The wiry little rascal about took a finger off, trying to escape.”

  “At least you’re getting paid. With what’s going on, you’re lucky to get jobs,” Reuben broke in.

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?” Joe asked as he checked his armlet to see that the funds had transferred to his account. He scowled. The credits wouldn’t even cover the cost of Monster’s repairs.

  Reuben waved him off. “Too much competition for too few tickets. The Iron Guild’s been dipping its toes into the Midlands again.”

  Rex snorted. “Those deplorables have always been jealous of us because we’re better than them.”

  “Whoa. Rex knows a big word. Did someone get a dictionary for his birthday?” Joe mused.

  “I know another big word: dillyhole,” Rex said.

  “I see you haven’t made it past letter D yet,” Joe said, then added, “Wait. That’s not even a real word.”

  “Things have gotten worse between the guilds,” Reuben went on, making a rather impressive show at ignoring their banter. “Wilco went off the radar yesterday, and we found her cutter demolished.”

  Joe frowned. “What happened?”

  “It looks like she was rammed off the road. No sign of her, so I can only hope she’s still alive,” Reuben said.

  Joe’s frown deepened. “Someone tried to run me off the road on the way back from Narrow Pass. You think the Iron Guild’s behind it?”

  Reuben nodded. “A day earlier, Wilco had been contacted by them. Seems that Cat is ramping up her recruitment efforts. Wilco rejected Cat’s offer, and I don’t believe in coincidences that Wilco disappeared less than twenty-four hours later.”

  “But Cat didn’t contact me,” Joe said.

  “Why would she want you? You’re sophomoric. Look it up,” Rex said.

  “Ah, so you did get a dictionary. That must make for some exciting times at the Rex residence,” Joe drawled.

  “You’re both sophomoric,” Reuben said in a rush. “Just keep me posted if Cat reaches out to either of you. She’s up to something, I know it.” Cat’s guild was in the Salt Flats. She and Harry had been friends who’d had a falling out somewhere along the way, and the two guilds had become fiercely competitive ever since.

  The door to Reuben’s left buzzed, and he tensed.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe asked.

  Reuben gulped. “We might have a problem. Phillipe left his goons outside to wait for him.”

  Joe shook his head at Rex. “Way to go, jackwagon.”

  Rex held up a finger. “I know a Jack, and he happens to be a very nice fellow who doesn’t deserve to be called that.”

  Joe turned back to Reuben. “How many are there?”

  His boss was watching his screen. “Three.”

  “Easy peasy.” Rex pulled out both blasters. “Two for me. One for Josey.”

  Unlike Rex, Joe took his identity very seriously, not for himself but for someone else. Reuben and Rex were the only two people in the Haft Agency who knew Joe’s real name, and he let it slide when they were alone.

  “You could pay them off,” Joe said. “They’re hired guns. Give them money, and they’ll go about their way.”

  Reuben grimaced. “My account’s running low.”

  “What have you been spending it on? Booze, gambling, hookers? All three?” Rex asked.

  “He’s too sweet for any of those,” Joe said and turned back to Reuben. “Things are that tight, huh?”

  His boss nodded. “This month has brought the fewest number of jobs of any month before it. It’s not like the world’s any better of a place, so I think Cat is convincing clients to head her way.”

  “More likely, the clients can no longer afford to pay guild rates and are going for the dark alley hunters instead,” Joe said.

  “Money’s tight. No problem. That means we go with my approach,” Rex said, holding his blasters higher.

  “Please, try not to kill anyone unless you have to,” Reuben said, brows pinching together.

  “I’ll try,” the hunter replied with a bit too much sarcasm in his voice.

  Reuben wasn’t cut out to run a guild. Joe didn’t want to discourage him more by telling him that the most likely reason clients were going to Cat instead of him was that she exuded strength and confidence while Reuben exuded the strength of a daisy and the confidence of a hummingbird.

  “Stay here, and don’t let in anyone who’s not us,” Joe said and joined Rex at the door that led outside rather than back to the bar.

  Rex stood, a blaster in each hand, staring at the door like a puppy trying to will it to open. Joe swiped his hand over the small screen, the magic combination. He let Rex jump outside first because he had no desire to take the first shots from Phillipe’s goons or get shot in the back by an overzealous Rex.

  The three goons jumped back. None had guns in their hands, which showed how inexperienced they were. At least one smelled like they’d wet themselves.

  Rex spoke while he pointed his blasters at the trio. “Hey, how’s it going, guys? I’m here to let you know that you’re officially unemployed, so you might want to check in at the unemployment office on Monday. Oh wait, Cavil doesn’t have one of those. Well, then I guess you’re just out of luck. Them’s the breaks.”

  Joe gritted his teeth. Rex was trying to goad the goons into going for their guns, and by the snarling expression one of the men wore—though it could’ve been his normal look—he was seconds from drawing his weapon.

  Joe jumped in. “What my friend’s trying to say is that your boss had a brain aneurysm. It was a bad one; I can assure you he didn’t suffer. You can see for yourself, but I warn you, it’s a bit messy.” He glanced at Rex, who was watching him with a cocked head. Joe continued. “While we had nothing to do with his death, we know that it can be downright frustrating having to find a new gig. If you feel like a drink at Harry Haft’s, the first round’s on me.”

  “O-okay,” a nervous-looking goon said.

  “No, we’re going,” the angry looking one said, eying his buddy who’d just spoken.

  “Suit yourselves,” Joe said. “I hope none of you are the sort to hold a grudge for the sort of thing where no one is to blame. If you don’t have a problem with us, then we don’t have a problem with you.”

  The angry-looking goon turned and pressed his two buddies forward, toward the open end of the alley.

  The nervous-looking goon stopped. “But we can’t leave Mr. Ger—”


  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him in a nice and respectable way,” Rex said, though the words came out sounding the opposite of what he’d said.

  The thug who’d spoken stiffened and hustled off with his buddies.

  After the trio left the alley, Rex started grumbling. “Why did you have to jump in with your nicey-nice talk? I had it all covered.”

  “By having it covered, you mean why did I stop you from goading them into a gunfight?” Joe countered.

  “You noticed?” he asked, and Joe knew he was grinning inside that helmet.

  “Of course I noticed.”

  A long second passed before Rex spoke. “An aneurism, really?”

  Joe shrugged. “Had to give them a sliver of doubt that he wasn’t murdered.”

  Rex chuckled. “The guy has a blaster shot to the brain pan. I think they’d notice.”

  “Nah. They were green. Phillipe was probably their first boss. They would’ve believed anything we told them because they wanted to.”

  “Good point, though the short guy seemed to have potential. He may have what it takes to be a hunter,” Rex said.

  “The one that seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah, that one.”

  Joe considered the danger of a person with a quick temper carrying a deadly weapon. Then he realized that described just about every bounty hunter he knew. “Yeah, he probably would.”

  “I think I’ll keep an eye on that one,” Rex said. “If he doesn’t try to kill us, I might get him an interview with Reuben.”

  “You do that.” Joe looked up to see the sun setting behind the bar.

  “Lying seems to be coming easier to you. The Josey I remember used to be more of straight-shooter,” Rex said.

  “Lying about how their boss died was just to prevent another goon out to kill us for revenge. It’s business, not lying.”

  “You also told them no one was to blame for their boss’s death. If I recall, I think I had something to do with it.”

  “You can’t help yourself, so it’s hard to blame you for being you,” Joe said.

  “I think you’re getting soft,” Rex replied.

  “Nah. I just didn’t want to have to deal with cleaning up the bodies,” Joe said. “Speaking of which, I think you and Phillipe have a date.”

  “Sure you don’t want to join in? Make it a threesome?”

  “Another time,” Joe said and wasted no time in leaving Rex to clean up the mess.

  Chapter Nine

  Joe returned to his cutter to find the dog chewing on the teddy bear again. He scowled, grabbed the bear, and tossed it onto the dash.

  “I told you before, that’s not yours.”

  She whined and then settled down on the seat.

  As Joe drove through Cavil, he tossed a glance at the dog every few seconds, each time finding her watching him back, as if judging him.

  “What do you want me to do?” Joe asked.

  She cocked her head and decided not to answer.

  Joe eyed a sign for a butcher shop, and he parked, returning a minute later with two packages wrapped in brown paper. The dog had the bear in her mouth again, and Joe took the toy away again. The dog licked her lips as she eyed the wrapped meat, so Joe decided to put the packages on the dashboard rather than on the seat between them. At least Joe didn’t have to deal with the dog scrutinizing him anymore since she was now wholly focused on guarding the packages as if they were about to run off.

  He drove to a modest area of the town where tiny domed stone homes were packed tightly together. After generations of living in tight quarters underground, it seemed that people couldn’t handle the open space the surface provided—not that the surface was in any way hospitable yet. He turned down an alley that led behind a row of homes and drove until he came to a pale-stoned building that looked identical to every other building in the area. It had a covered lean-to behind it, where he parked Monster.

  The man next door, the one Joe called Old Man Withers since he didn’t know the man’s real name, stood in his makeshift greenhouse watering his wilted plants. As usual, Withers paused long enough to give Joe his usual generous glare. Withers was a cantankerous sort that seemed to have long ago lost the ability to smile. As long as the neighbor kept to himself, Joe paid him no heed.

  Little Nick Swinton burst from the house and was running toward him before Joe had the cutter powered down. Joe grabbed the packages, opened the door, and turned to the dog. “Okay. You stay here until—”

  The dog jumped across Joe’s lap, grabbed the bear, and leapt out of the vehicle. Nick’s eyes went wide, then the biggest grin Joe had ever seen filled the boy’s face as the mutt bounded toward him.

  Joe hadn’t intended on bringing a stray with him to the Swinton’s home, but it seemed to have been the dog’s intent all along. He wondered if he’d just been played by a canine. He stepped out of Monster to come face-to-face with the excited nine-year-old.

  “Can I keep him, Joe?” Nick asked, his expression full of hope as he hugged the dog, which still held the teddy bear in her mouth.

  “That’s a question for your mother,” he replied.

  Nick looked worried for the briefest moment before his attention was drawn back to the dog. He took off running; the dog chased him, followed by Nick chasing her. Nick had inherited his mother’s deep brown eyes and dark hair, but he’d inherited his sense of adventure and carefree attitude from his father. Joe wished the boy had inherited more than just his mother’s features since it was exactly that kind of attitude that had gotten his father killed.

  Nick was looking over his shoulder, laughing at the dog when his mother stepped outside. She held out her arms to keep him from plowing into her.

  “Whoa! Be careful, Nicky,” Sara Swinton called after her son.

  “Sorry,” he hollered without slowing.

  Joe approached while she watched the pair play, her head cocked. She pointed. “What is that?”

  “A dog that decided to go for a ride,” Joe answered.

  “So, he’s not your dog?”

  “Nope.”

  “And he’s not someone else’s dog you’re watching while they’re away?”

  “Nope,” he said again.

  “So, he’s a stray.”

  “That’s a safe assumption, considering I found it in the middle of nowhere,” he said.

  She watched them play for a minute. A smile tugged at her lips, but it was covered by a scowl when she turned back to Joe. “You know he’s been asking for a dog for the past two years.”

  “Oh?” Joe said, but he remembered. Nick wasn’t exactly subtle.

  “I’ll never get him away from that dog now.” Sara sighed. “He looks filthy. How do you know he’s not rabid?”

  “The dog or the kid?”

  She grumbled.

  “The dog’s fine. Just a little dirty.” Joe spared a glance at the dog. “But it might have fleas,” he muttered under his breath.

  She grimaced. “That dog better not be a nuisance, or else there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be.” I’m sure it will be. The dog paused in its play to pee on Monster’s front wheel. If Sara could’ve seen Joe’s face, she would’ve noticed him mirroring her scowl.

  “What happened to your cutter?” she asked.

  “Came across a reckless driver,” he answered.

  “That had to be one reckless driver,” she said.

  “Mom! Isn’t he great? He’s the best dog ever,” Nick said while he jogged up to her. “Can I keep him, Mom? Can I please?”

  She glowered at Joe. “I told you.” She turned to her son. “You have to promise me that you’ll take care of him. That means feeding him, letting him out, walk—”

  “I promise!” Nick interrupted

  “You can start by giving him a good bath,” Sara said.

  “Okay!” He tugged the dog into the house, talking to him the entire time. “You need a name. What do you
want to be called? Fido? No, that’s lame. Buster? Frank? Scruffy? You do look really scruffy. No, wait, I got it. I’ll call you Champ because you’re a winner.” There was a split-second pause before Nick yelled, “Hey mom! His name’s Champ!”

  “That’s a nice name,” Sara said, and she turned back to Joe with a hard look.

  She opened her mouth to no doubt scold him more in regard to the dog, so he abruptly handed her the larger of the two packages. “Here’s a chicken for dinner. You know what they say, a bird in the hand is dinner.”

  She winced as she accepted the meat. She never did appreciate his fine command of the English language. “Thank you.” She saw the second package. “What’s in that one?”

  He handed it to her. “Scraps. I thought the dog—Champ—might be hungry.”

  “I’m sure he is. I’m sure they both will be starving after all that playing.” She turned and headed inside, and Joe followed.

  Once the door was closed behind him, he followed her through the domed ground-floor room and down the stairs into the main part of her home. He pulled off his helmet and placed it on the nearby counter, while Sara opened the package. While he stood there, he accessed his armlet and transferred over half of the credits he’d made on the last job to Sara’s account.

  “You look like someone tried to beat you up. What happened out there?” Sara said over her shoulder as she cut the meat.

  “Just the usual.” The fatigue of being awake for a full day, being rammed off the road, and fixing Monster…He cracked his neck. “I should probably get going. It’s been a long day.”

  She frowned. “You aren’t staying for dinner?”

  “Nah. I’ll grab something at home.”