Starbourne, page 32
“Try someone else. Cyrus maybe?” Nellie asked, adjusting the cloth.
“Guys, I can’t feel my arm,” Hoss said, blood now trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I kinda don’t wanna lose it, but I guess a robotic arm would be kickass, right?”
Nellie glanced to Hoss’ right hand, which lay in an unnatural position on the floor. Jaeden reached for the lifeless appendage and gently readjusted it to be more comfortable. As he maneuvered his friend’s arm, he could feel no reaction or resistance in the limb. Not a good sign, Jaeden thought. Hoss needed immediate care, but they were locked away, with a very perturbed Technologist on the other side of the door.
“Jae,” Hoss said in a hushed tone. “Before you go, take my gun, alright? I won’t be able to use it.”
“You’re coming with us,” Jaeden responded, confused at the man’s request.
“Yeah, totally,” Hoss said, once again trying to use his good arm to prop himself up. Both Jaeden and Nellie reached out to help steady the wounded Hoss, who was finally able to sit up with his back propped against the wall. “Oh and take these too.”
Hoss reached his good hand into a pocket. He searched around inside the pouch for a moment. When he pulled it free, he produced a handful of objects, which he presented in an open palm. Jaeden eyed the objects carefully before snatching them all up. The collection of items included a set of metallic keys; Jaeden recognized them as Hoss’ set for both the bar, his apartment, and his hovercar. Also included was a credit chip, an empty bullet shell, and a bizarre looking orange data drive.
“What’s this?” Jaeden asked, thumbing the data drive in his palm. “Dunno, probably… probably worth a few credits though, don’t you think?” Hoss said, a knowing smirk forming on his face. As if knowing Jaeden would ask a follow up question, Hoss explained further, “I got it from the scientist in the cargo hold. Bring it to Cyrus; he can probably fence it for you and get you enough money to get out of here.”
“Nellie, do you think you can lift him?” Jaeden asked, looking down at his friend. “My arm’s out of commission.”
“Is T around?” Hoss asked, his head rolling from one side to the other.
“She’s not here right now Hoss,” Jaeden said, clenching his jaw. He had no idea where she was. Nyx could have been lying about running into her, but maybe he wasn’t. Either way, Jaeden needed to try and find her next.
“Can you do me a favor and just look out for her?” Hoss started, “She’s a good kid. She deserves the world, and I couldn’t give it to her.”
“Can you call Teagen?” Nellie asked, looking up at Jaeden.
Jaeden looked down at his wrist jockey, the signal from his last call repeating the word ‘failed’. “I’ll try again.”
“Who am I kiddin’,” Hoss mumbled, “Without me holding her back, she’s gonna’ do great. Just you see.”
“Anything?” Nellie asked.
“She’s not answering,” Jaeden said.
Nellie sniffled, “Hopefully because she’s busy talking to Cyrus.”
“You guys should get out of here,” Hoss said in such a muted tone that Jaeden could barely hear his voice, “I’m just going to take… a breather…”
Jaeden watched in dismay as Hoss’ eyes glossed over and his head tilted back towards the wall. He crouched back down beside Hoss and placed his hand on the downed man’s shoulder. When Hoss didn’t react, he then placed two fingers on the side of Hoss’ neck to try and feel his pulse.
“Alex,” Nellie said, her voice thick with fear. “Alex, hon, you gotta’ stay awake, alright?”
Nellie gently shook Hoss, but the man did not react.
“Damnit all,” Jaeden said, clenching his jaw tightly and shaking his head. “You great fool, I told you to stay away from him. Why didn’t listen?”
“Alex?” Nellie croaked.
“He’s gone, Nellie,” Jaeden said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
A loud bang echoed on the other side of The Wishing Well’s metal barrier. Jaeden scrambled away from the shutters and rose to his feet. He watched as the shutters jittered from the impact. Nyx was still out there, and he was tyring to get back in.
“You need to get to Cyrus’ place,” Nellie said through gentle sobs, her head hanging low. “The shutters won’t hold them forever.”
“You’re coming with me; I’m not leaving you here alone,” Jaeden said.
“What about Alexander?” Nellie asked, looking up at Jaeden with red eyes and tears streaming down the sides of her face. “We can’t leave him here alone either.”
“They can’t hurt him anymore, Nel,” Jaeden said, reaching his hand out to help her up.
Nellie reluctantly took Jaeden’s hand and raised to her feet. Jaeden looked around the ground for Hoss’ pistol, which he had dropped during the firefight. He found the custom pistol amongst the debris of the bar and picked it up carefully. Brushing off some dirt, he turned the pistol over in his hand before tucking into his waistband behind his back. He looked back at Nellie, who was standing above Hoss, one arm wrapped around herself.
“Nellie…” Jaeden started. He hated himself for interrupting her grieving, but what little opportunity for escape they had was shrinking.
“I know.” She said, turning to join him.
Nellie clumsily walked towards Jaeden, her feet dragging carelessly under her as she wiped tears from her eyes. Jaeden reached out a hand and took one of hers gently. With his support, the bartender was able to pick up her pace, and the two moved towards the exit at the back of the building. As they left the room, Jaeden looked back one final time to his friend.
Hoss’ lifeless body lay on the floor of the pub, adding his blood into the business that he had already shed his sweat and tears for. Despite everything, Hoss almost looked peaceful with the ghost of a smile resting on the young man’s face.
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CHAPTER
TWENTY
Desmond Harrington sat in the back seat of his hovercar, holding a decoratively frosted glass of amber liquid. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The strong whisky pleasantly burned as it went down. He had taken his luxury model hovercar to The Wishing Well, a dive bar in a bad side of New Parora that his patsy Alexander Hoskins owned. Another vehicle of his men had escorted him to the establishment, looking to silence Alexander and his friends. Four of Desmond’s men stood on the sidewalk outside of the building, keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings.
His accomplice, Nyx, had gone inside the building to wrap up their dealings with the naïve scapegoats. Shortly after the Technologist entered the building, a commotion could be heard, followed by gunfire. A sure sign that things were going according to plan. The killing of the final two thugs would mean the completion of the corporate contract Desmond had made with his contact at RusaCorp. It had been an unusual job, but with this many zeros on his paycheck, he didn’t mind.
The broker took another sip from his cup as he surveyed the neighbourhood and more muffled gun shots rang out. Desmond hated the downtown cityscape. True, it was what he was most familiar with, but it was also a grim reminder of where he came from—a place he fiercely fought to escape. He had worked tirelessly to make a name for himself and to elevate to the next level of socio-economic standing.
A notification spread across Desmond’s vision, indicating someone was trying to contact him via cybernetics. The caller had their identity hidden. Unusual, since Desmond paid extra to have access to these types of things. He acknowledged the call and prepared himself for the connection.
“A mandatory update is requested. You need to report,” a voice echoed in his head.
“How about I report once I’m ready to report?” Desmond replied, not right away recognizing the voice but assuming the identity of the speaker.
“Depardieu’s, within the hour.” The voice said before the connection was terminated.
“Screw you,” Desmond muttered under his breath as he took another sip from his glass.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the street, startling Desmond. He looked back towards the dive bar to see Nyx laying on the street, covered in glass, as heavy metal shutters lowered over the exposed window. The Technologist rose and dusted himself off before ejecting an empty magazine from his gun and sliding in a fresh one. Desmond clicked a button on the door of his vehicle, and the window slid down.
“Get in,” Desmond said to his associate.
“What?” Nyx started, looking back towards the bar. “I still have—”
“We’ve got a dinner date,” Desmond said dryly, taking another sip from his glass. “And I don’t want to be in a room with this creep alone.”
Nyx nodded and holstered his pistol. He approached two men on the sidewalk and pointed back to the bar. “One’s been popped, the other unknown. There’s a woman in there too. Take her out.”
“No worries, we brought something that’ll make short work of the shutters.” One of the men responded.
Nyx motioned to the four other men to continue, each of which produced firearms and moved towards the bar. Nyx opened the door to the vehicle and slid into the seat across from Desmond.
“Let’s go,” Desmond said. His voice triggered the hovercar's automated systems, causing the car to lift off.
Desmond glanced out the window at The Wishing Well. He watched as his men offloaded a massive weapon from their vehicle and position it in front of the window. He smiled to himself and took another sip from his glass.
“So what did he say?” Nyx asked, as he poured himself a drink.
“The usual mumbo jumbo. Wants to know what’s going on.” Desmond said, turning back to his Technologist associate.
“And he can’t just wait to see it in the news vids tomorrow?”
“Evidently not. Quite frankly, I’d rather get in front of this with him anyway.” Desmond said, taking a sip from his cup. “After you nearly botched it down there.”
Nyx cocked his head to the side and his eye twitched. “Like I said. I work with the tools I have. I can’t help it if the amateurs we picked up can’t follow orders.”
“You selected them,” Desmond said, jabbing his ringed finger at Nyx.
“Trust me, these guys will be perfect for the fallout. It’ll even end up back with that dirk Cyrus.” Nyx said, waving a hand.
Desmond grunted his understanding. “What happened to what’s-her-name?” Desmond asked.
“Who?” Nyx asked, rubbing his chin.
Desmond gestured with his thumb back towards the bar. “The girl you took with you in there.”
“Ah, they fried her,” Nyx said dispassionately. “You get what you pay for. She should have been more careful. Either way.” Nyx said, shrugging. “It’ll all work out.”
“Let me ask you this; are you slipping?” Desmond asked, inspecting his associate.
Nyx sipped from his drink and lowered his head, as if to think about the question. “Sorry?”
“Your performances lately, they seem… distracted.” Desmond explained, “The whole scenario at the ship. And just now, with the kids in there. I’m surprised you didn’t cut them down quick.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Nyx asked. “I could have diced them into pieces, but that’s too quick.”
Desmond pursed his lips together and rubbed his ringed hand over his chin. “I just would have expected you to treat this assignment with the utmost seriousness.”
“Hey, it’s me we’re talking about,” Nyx said, patting himself on the chest. “I had it under control.”
“Right. Well, I need you to be on your A game with this suit tonight. Is that understood?” Desmond said, leaning forward.
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” Nyx said, sipping from his glass.
A short while later, Desmond and his men arrived at their destination; Depardieu’s, a run-down fine dining restaurant which had long been closed. At one point in time, it had been a focal destination for the downtown scene, but when the owners failed to make protection payments to a local gang, the building had an electrical fire. That alone shouldn’t have been enough to close down the business, but when the owner was found dead inside one of the kitchen’s ovens, that was the end of that.
The broker, his Technologist, and two armed men, one of which carried a large metal case, entered the inconspicuous building. As they spread out in the dining room, Desmond saw a lone man standing in the centre of the room. He wore a military stylized suit and stood motionless with his hands folded behind his back. Desmond gave a quick glance to his two-armed men, who understood exactly the unspoken command. In unison, they fanned out in the room, checking for any other hidden guests that may be lurking the premises. As his men searched, Desmond relaxed himself and regarded the executive that stood alone, Alton Gale.
Desmond Harrington didn’t care much for his client, Alton, finding him too rigid for his tastes. Most of the social elite that dominated the upper class in the corporate world were boorish and vain, but Alton was on another level. With other corporate stooges Desmond had dealt with, he had usually found some common ground, gambling, drinking, narcotics. But none such traits were shared with this new RusaCorp executive. The man had flat out refused all previous offerings from Desmond, which made reading him and his motives difficult for Desmond.
In the end, whatever misgivings Desmond felt towards Alton, he could not complain about the compensation his new client was offering. The job that the RusaCorp executive brought to him was nearly foolproof; they had come to him with all the specifics figured out, a perfect alibi and tremendous compensation. When the work was done, none would be the wiser that Desmond’s team was ever involved. There was a pesky nondisclosure agreement woven into the contract, but Desmond would find a way out of it. Afterall, what good is it for a broker to pull off the perfect heist if he can’t use it to sell future heists?
“Your timing couldn’t be worse. You know that, right? Would you call a chef away from the kitchen right as he’s preparing the entrée?” Desmond said, reaching into his luxurious jacket and producing a retro cigarette package from his pocket.
“As I mentioned, I believe a status update is overdue.” Alton Gale replied in a flat tone.
“What am I saying, of course you would. Look at you, you Suits think the universe revolves around you.” Desmond quipped, lighting the cigarette with a gold plated lighter.
Alton adjusted his stance rigidly. “Report the status of the assignment, as you see it.”
“Well, as I see it, things are just about wrapped up, but your micromanaging is slowing things down,” Desmond said bluntly, clicking his lighter repeatedly.
“Do you have the asset?” Alton asked, not biting to Desmond’s quips.
After a moment of studying the executive, the broker finally nodded. “Go’n, give him the package,” Desmond said, motioning to his man holding the case.
One of Desmond’s men walked to the centre of the room and placed the large metallic case on a table. Alton eyed the case evenly, and then the man who placed it down. Desmond’s man took a few steps back and readjusted himself as he nodded towards Desmond. Alton Gale unlatched the lid and opened the case, which let out a subtle creak as it opened. Alton sifted through the case for a few moments, seemingly taking his time in assessing the package.
“We good? Everything right where you left it? Socks, underwear, deodorant, all still there?” Desmond asked sarcastically.
“Nearly. Where is the key?” Alton asked in a tone conveying that he already knew the answer.
“Does that matter?” Desmond asked, rubbing a thumb in his eye. “You got the case open, who needs the key now.”
“You misunderstand; there is a piece missing,” Alton said, closing the case.
“Sorry, were there two cases? Cause the contract that I have implies one, as in singular, as in the one you have in front of you,” Desmond retorted, removing the cigarette form his mouth and checking the length of the butt.
“Half of the contracted asset is absent.” The agent said coldly.
Desmond shrugged casually. “The job was for the case.”
“The case itself is of no value,” Alton said, shaking his head. “You were hired to retrieve the contents of the case, you fool.”
“Sorry, was that in the fine print or something? Cause I was told, in no number of mixed words, to never open the case. So how the hades was I supposed to ensure that?”
“And what of the loose ends? It’s likely that they still have the asset in their possession.” Alton asked, switching topics.
“We’re dealing with that.” Nyx chimed in. Desmond regarded his number two and saw that he was clearly agitated at the cat and mouse nature of the conversation himself.
“When the seniors are speaking, there is nothing for the junior to offer.” Alton snapped; his words laced with venom.
Desmond narrowed his eyes, redirecting Alton’s attention back to himself. “We scratched two; there’s only one left. My boys are erasing him as we speak.”
“Surely,” Alton said grimly, sliding the case from the table and placing it upright on the floor behind him.
“Well then…” Desmond started, running a hand through his hair. “If that’s that, let’s discuss finalized payment.”
“Payment?” Alton asked, seemingly surprised by the statement.
“Unless that is, you want us to retrieve whatever’s missing from the case. Mind you, we would have to factor in a premium for the late additions.”
“A premium,” Alton scoffed sarcastically.
“With interest,” Desmond added, fingering the still burning cigarette in his hand. “But we can tally it all up at the end.”
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Harrington. I can assure you that at this point in time, no payment will be made for a job incomplete.”
