After Moses Prodigal, page 7
She opened her door and glanced toward the common room. Unsurprisingly, Yvonne was already up. Her cup of coffee was probably the third by this point too. Abigail wasn’t sure if the woman ever slept, except for her afternoon nap. She turned away and went to the cockpit. After the rather cold conversation from the night before, it’d be better just to leave her be. She leaned over the pilot’s chair and pulled up the main monitor. Sure enough, the message light was flashing.
“Great. Just great,” Benny started. The broker was annoyed as usual. But this was more than the usual ‘the crew of the Sparrow gives me headaches’ annoyance. “You’d think Cole would warn me about this sort of thing before having me find a job. You better hope he gets back soon because I’ve already got one lined up. And it’s going to take two of you to fulfill the contract.”
Not good. Maybe he had a right to be annoyed this time.
“If I’m going to have to cancel, you’d better get back to me yesterday, because this was a cushy government job and I’m going to have to smooth this over with Raipur’s Director of Internal Intelligence. I’m sending you the details on the job. If there’s any way it can be done, let me know. Call me back, Sharon.”
The message ended with the pop of a closing line.
“He sounded like he was in a good mood,” Yvonne said, sliding past Abigail into the co-pilot’s chair. They sat in awkward silence for a minute before Yvonne continued. “I want to say I’m sorry about last night.” She passed a mug of coffee to Abigail. “Loaded with more sugar than a human should consume in a year, just the way you like it.”
Abigail ignored the too small handle and palmed the mug taking a careful sip. “Thanks. Peace offering?”
“Something like that. With everything going so wrong and everyone on edge... Well, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” She stared out the front canopy. Not that there was anything to see but a dark warehouse.
“Can’t say I blame you really,” Abigail said. “You’ve put up with me on my worst days. There’s nothing to forgive.”
Yvonne made a soft sound of disagreement in the back of her throat, but she let the topic drop. Good thing too, as it was going to get awkward if it went on any longer. “Have you looked at that job yet?”
“Not yet. Depending on what it is, I might be able to do it myself.” She shrugged. “I used to take on whole street gangs by myself before Matthew came around. How hard can it be?”
Yvonne had the contract up and scanned it quickly. “Unless there are two of you, even the Shield Maiden of Mars will find it difficult to be in two places at once.”
“Let me see that.” She read over the description herself. “Yeah, that is a problem. Surveillance jobs are easy enough, but I can’t keep my eyes on two locations at once. I wonder why an intelligence division is outsourcing surveillance.”
“They may not want it traced back to them if something goes wrong,” Yvonne said. “Either way, I’m in. Tell Benny we’ll do it.”
Abigail looked down at Yvonne and frowned. “Excuse me?”
She pointed at the screen. “Non-combat mission. We need the money. We always need the money, and Matthew’s got more important stuff to do.”
Abigail crossed her arms. “You have any idea how mad Matthew is going to be if I let you off this ship? On Ceres of all places?”
“I’m a grown woman and can make my own decisions,” Yvonne said, her voice dry. “No one will recognize me. I have a prosthetic kit I’ve been wanting to try out anyway. Tell him we’ll do it.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure? Raipur isn’t White Void territory, but they’re certain to have operatives in the city.”
“My bounty is over a year old. Most bounty hunters would consider the trail cold and have moved on. Also, who would bother looking for me on Ceres when it’s known I’ve been elsewhere? No one that makes it off Ceres comes back.”
All things considered that was probably true. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“I’ll tell Benny myself if you don’t.”
Abigail pulled the comm back up. “Fine. I don’t like it. Matthew won’t like it. Benny probably won’t like it either. But if you’re going to be that stubborn, there’s not a lot I can do.”
Yvonne stood and patted her on the arm as she passed by. “See, that wasn’t hard.”
“Where are you going? We have a job to do.”
“Getting more coffee.”
Abigail frowned at the empty cockpit. How had she been talked into this?
MATTHEW LET THEM SLEEP until mid-morning. Better to have a few hours of sleep than too few or too many and throw off their sleep cycles even further. He sat up, and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head. Davey was in their tiny hotel room’s other bed, tangled in the sheets and deep in slumber. He almost hated to wake him.
But they had work to do. He nudged the other bed with his foot. Davey didn’t so much as stir. “Now you’re going to make me the bad guy. Come on, Davey. Time to get up.”
The kid groaned and rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. “Just shoot me and be over with it.”
“Or we can let Grace wander the streets lost and alone.”
A cheap shot, maybe, but it did the trick. Davey sat up, blinking at the light coming in the curtains from the nearby businesses. They were ready to go in less than ten minutes, locking the room behind them. It was eight flights down rickety, creaking stairs to the lobby. Calling it a lobby was being generous. It was just a desk shoved into a hall at the entrance. The owner, Millicent, was at the desk this morning, a woman in her mid-seventies with cold eyes and steel in her veins.
“Mr. Cole, I trust you slept well,” she said, making no pretense at caring about the answer.
Matthew tipped his hat to her. “Well enough. Thanks for asking.”
Millicent grunted and went back to her work. “And will you be staying tonight?”
“Probably for a few days, yes. I was hoping to work out a deal with you.”
“I don’t do deals, Mr. Cole.”
“We can always stay with Chester.” Chester owned another hotel on the other side of town that catered to freelancers and the like. Despite Matthew coming so seldom to Ceres’ coreward cities, the bad blood between Chester and Millicent was legendary amongst freelancers.
She looked up at him and raised a single eyebrow so high it disappeared behind her wispy hair. “I’d always pegged you as one of the polite ones. Most of my clients know better than to speak that tramp’s name in front of me.”
“I’m just bringing up the possibility. Think about it.” He gestured to Davey, and they stepped through a side door into the attached tavern.
They found a booth and, when a waitress showed, ordered a big stack of pancakes to split. Davey drowned his in an inordinate amount of syrup but seemed to be mostly pushing the contents of his plate in circles with his fork. Matthew sighed. “Look, I know you’re worried about Grace, but it’s going to be a long day. You should probably eat.”
Davey looked at his plate and then took a thoughtful bite. “What’s the plan? Hit the streets? Find a local slave market?”
“We’ll be in the tavern for most of the day.” He got the expected scowl out of Davey. “This hotel and tavern are frequented mostly by freelancers going and coming from jobs. Someone will know what infrastructure the Morgensens have for slaves. We could wander the streets randomly or hit them later with purpose.”
“You have a lot of friends down here then?”
He shook his head. “Probably not. We’d have to get really lucky to have a run-in with someone I know. Most of my acquaintances are the types with ships, so if we visit Port Jacobson that could change.”
Davey shoved another fork of pancake into his mouth. “Wait, I thought Port Jacobson was closer to the core. Why would we see more freelancers with ships down there?”
“Port Jacobson is exactly what the name implies. It’s a spaceport. There’s a shaft that connects it to the surface. They call it the Well of Ceres. One of Moses’ big engineering projects. Medium-sized ships can come and go from the core. The Sparrow fits with a little room to spare.” Davey grunted in response. “Hey, cheer up. We’re doing what we can to find her. And just maybe she’ll find a way to contact the Sparrow first.” Davey only grunted again, and Matthew dropped it. Better not to over-promise on Grace’s safety.
They spent the rest of the day buying drinks and talking to the various freelancers that wandered into the tavern. Due to the unpredictable nature of the job, freelancers looked for a bite and a drink at seemingly random hours, so they were rarely without willing ears to talk up. Matthew tried various tactics to get information. He was unwilling to come out directly that he was trying to find info on the Morgensens. Being that they were in Morgensen territory, odds were good they were talking to crews that did occasional work for the crime family. Making it sound like you were too interested in their employer wasn’t a good way to avoid suspicion.
Still, they began to piece together a general idea of Morgensen interests in the area. Their manufacturing was deeper, down in Blight. The near-total lack of a government in Blight made it ideal for arms manufacturing, drug production, and just about anything else that most colonies deemed illegal. Delving was where most of their money laundering investments were situated, despite the local judge’s best efforts to root out the crime family. From the way the freelancers talked, the Morgensens owned a significant stake in just about every part of the city. As for human trafficking, it was everywhere. There was no telling where a single truck of street kids would have gone.
The coreward cities were a mess.
In the late afternoon, Matthew was surprised when he heard his own name spoken by an unfamiliar voice.
He turned.
“Matthew Cole, right?”
The man wore a neatly trimmed satin vest under a well-tailored duster and had on a spotless white Arizona style cowboy hat but spoke in a clipped British accent. Probably born in Churchill and lived elsewhere since. He wasn’t exactly a kid, but his clean-shaven face and soft appearance made him seem like one. “Have we met before?” Matthew asked, knowing the answer. He’d never laid eyes on the man in his life.
“This is the first we’ve had of such pleasures,” he said. “But I’m well acquainted with the stories of Matthew Cole.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow in question.
“You made quite a stir by rescuing all those slaves and founding Antioch. Why, most well-informed citizens of any half-respectable colony have heard your name by now. I’d like to buy you a drink if you don’t mind. A thank you, from the rest of us.”
It didn’t seem to matter whether Matthew minded or not, because the man slid into the booth across from him. Davey was across the room with another client. After watching the whole day, he wanted to try his own hand at plying a target for information. Matthew took a quick glance to make sure he was okay and then turned to face the stranger.
“Looks like I don’t mind,” he said. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Brooklyn Russel,” he said, extending a hand that Matthew took in a shake. “It’s quite a surprise to see a friendly face down in the depths. I doubt if I’ve seen three in all the months I’ve been down here. The locals are a little rough around the edges on most days, but I’ve learned to keep my distance.”
Matthew grunted. “You do stick out a bit. What makes you think I’m a friendly face?” he asked.
Russel laughed. “Come now. The former priest turned hero freelancer. You’re as close to friendly as they get in the profession.”
Matthew resisted the impulse to sigh. The attention drawn from the Battle of Villa María and the founding of Antioch may not have been all that good for business. “I can’t imagine you’re a freelancer yourself.”
“Goodness no,” Russel said, straightening. “Though I’ve learned enough to have a healthy respect for the trade. The solar system needs men and women willing to get their hands dirty so the rest of us can keep ours clean.” He paused briefly before continuing. “I admit I’m a little surprised to see you down here. As the captain of a ship, I would think you would stick to the ports where you’re free to come and go.”
“I’ve got my reasons.”
“We all do,” Russel said thoughtfully. “Any chance those reasons have something to do with the Morgensens?”
Matthew kept his face stoic. This was too convenient and he didn’t care for coincidences that worked in his favor. They could never be relied upon and more often than not, they stabbed you in the back. “What would lead you to think something like that?”
“Because no one comes to Delving of their own free will unless they’re owned by the Morgensens.” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “Or have a grudge with them.”
“And you’re the latter I assume?”
“It’s a sad story, really, and one you’re not interested in.”
“Try me.”
“Revenge over a dead fiancée, killed on Tethys in a syndicate bombing. Nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure, in these trying times.”
“My condolences.” He meant it, but then he also knew there were decent odds it wasn’t true. This Brooklyn Russel wanted something. Matthew wanted to know what that was before he went any further.
“Time passes and wounds that don’t kill become scars,” Russel said. “What are you after the family for?”
“I never said I was after them.”
Russel gave a friendly chuckle. “A reasonable inference. I gave two reasons people come to Delving, and I know it isn’t the first. I also offered you a drink. Shall I flag over a waitress?”
Matthew shook his head, politely. He’d already had enough cherry sodas that Yvonne would lecture him if she found out. People get suspicious if you offer them a drink and don’t have anything yourself. “You’re not making a social call. You want something. How about you just go ahead and get to that part.”
Russel sat back in the booth and frowned. “I try to be prudent scoping out allies. One doesn’t go after a crime family and not keep their eyes open for compatriots.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not in the revenge business.”
“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, said the Lord,” Russel quoted. “Seeing as you used to be a priest, perhaps you would care to be the Lord’s tool for me.”
“I don’t think that’s the way that works,” Matthew said.
“Disappointing, but not surprising, I suppose. Very well,” he pushed a slip across the table with his comm number. “In case you change your mind or find yourself in need of an extra gun.”
Matthew palmed the slip and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t going to pass up a potential contact, even one he had reservations about, though he doubted a pretty boy like Russel would be worth much in a fight. “Anything else I can do for you today?”
Russel stood and turned to go, his duster flaring dramatically. “No, I don’t suppose there is. I was about to tell you that I had a lead on Filippa Morgensen. I know where she’ll be thirty hours from now. But it seems our time together has expired.”
Matthew froze. Filippa was the great niece of the family patriarch. She wasn’t all that far up the chain of command, but it’s possible she could know something about the Anemoi. This might be a bit of a detour from finding Grace, but maybe they could learn something of value.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll take that drink after all.”
Chapter 4: Alliances
Joren Morgensen was a crafty old codger. I’ll give him that. When he came to Ceres with nothing but the clothes on his back, it should have been over for him. Within a year, he had bent half a dozen street gangs to his will and married the daughter of a local crime lord.
Now you’ll hear a lot of stories about how he did all of this and kept on expanding till he controlled half of Ceres. Some are true and some aren’t. One of the stories I’ve been able to confirm boggles the mind and goes a long way to show how he secured the loyalty of his employees.
In the early days he had a rival. Man by the name of Roberto. Joren had been picking apart his organization for years, taking his men and assets for his own. He tried to recruit Roberto, but the man had a stubborn streak of pride.
That pride faltered when Roberto’s lupus got the best of him and his kidneys failed. You know who showed up at the hospital? Joren. You know who donated one of his own kidneys to save Roberto’s life? That’s right. Joren Morgensen.
“I always take care of my own,” he said.
That sealed it and set the precedent the Morgensen Family has kept to ever since. They always take care of their people, no matter the cost. The loyalty the organization gives to the family is well earned.
Laurence Princeton
Author of Ceresian Crime Families
Died 64 AM
DAVEY LOOKED UP FROM his food and eyed the stranger suspiciously. They’d moved out of the tavern for privacy just in case any eavesdroppers happened to be on the Morgensen payroll. Given how late it was in the day, they’d stopped at a food truck before walking to a nearby park. Davey hadn’t had German food before. The sausages were fine, but he wasn’t so sure about the spoiled cabbage.
This Brooklyn Russel had appeared a little too conveniently for his taste. Not to mention the fact that he looked like he came from a social strata Davey couldn’t even imagine being a part of. And then there was that fancy accent to top things off, the same accent villains in radio dramas always had. It all grated on his nerves like a knife scratching down a hull plate.
“We’re not assassins,” Matthew told the man. “We’ve got our own business down here and, yes, it’s with the Morgensens. But if revenge to you is picking off members of the crime family one by one, then you’ll have to go somewhere else for help. We try and keep things above the table where we can.”
