"A Loose End"

[Joe Manning 0]

At a small medical clinic in an out-of-the-way corner of the Mercenary District, all of the lights had been turned off. Only the azure rays of the fading Cerulean Night that were filtering through the windows lit the interior of the patient care ward. The ward's sole patient was not aware of his isolation, for he was fast asleep, recovering from rib injuries sustained in a bar brawl three nights ago. As a metal chair was dragged sharply to his bedside, the screech awoke Duke Redding.

 

The mercenary Captain groaned at the interruption of his sleep (which brought relief from the pain). He looked toward the source of the interruption and saw the face of Joe Manning, seated at his bedside. He groaned again. "Rise and shine, Duke," Joe said. His face looked tired, but content, like a cat who'd found a canary but had done a great deal of running in the process.

 

"What are you do--" Duke managed to groan out before he noticed that the ward was empty of all but himself and Manning. "Where are the nurses?"

 

"Takin' a break." Joe retrieved a canteen of bourbon from his belt and took a swig. "Flashed my medical credentials at 'em, told 'em drinks at The Maze would be on me for the next hour. Worked wonders. Those poor folks are overworked, you ask me. I guess that makes me your doctor for the next hour."

 

"Did you know that back in medieval times, back when there really -were- Dukes living in castles and what-have-you, that the doctors weren't just the castle's physicians, they were also the torturers?" Duke tried to rise from his bed, but his sides protested too much. "Makes sense if you think about it. Who knows better than a doctor how to apply the most pain possible in the shortest time possible ... while keeping the victim alive as long as possible? The ol' Hippocratic oath didn't mean much in those days, but I guess they were called the Dark Ages for a reason, right?"

 

"That what you came here for, Manning?" Duke ask, sweat forming on his forhead. "Little bit of blood for blood?"

 

"No ... I came here to pass along the good news," Joe said with a smile. "My crew did the Guardians a solid tonight, so they're going to go ahead and ignore all your charges. I'm keepin' my ship and you can go ahead and pay your own medical expenses, because you ain't gettin' a strip from us." Duke threw a look of disbelief at him. "Did you really think that on top of what you pulled in the Expanse, wiping out half my crew and leaving the other half for dead, that I was gonna let you stick me with the bill for a brawl you started?"

 

"A brawl -you- started!" Duke clutched his side as a sharp pain knocked him back onto the bed.

 

"Not the way the Guardians see it. In fact, I have it on good authority that Pete's going to press charges against you for wrecking his bar, and that might just invite the Guardians to revisit the whole case. You might not be able to hold onto that raider bounty you stole from us after all. But you've got much bigger concerns right now, Duke."

 

Duke shook his head and gave Joe a disdainful look. "You ain't gonna kill me. And you ain't gonna torture me. It ain't your style. You ain't got the guts and ain't never had."

 

"A point you might one day be sorry to find you're wrong about," Joe said. "But that don't matter now. Now that I'm back in the good graces of the law, I ain't gonna ruin it by waltzing in here and givin' you a few 'accidental' injections. No, I'm gonna keep my nose clean while the Guardians are still in a touchy mood. And my style ... well, let's just say it shows a little more of something you've never been able to grasp -- subtlety. I've got ways of torturin' you that ain't physical."

 

Joe reached into the front of his vest coat and pulled out a small black tube. He held it up for Duke to see. "What the hell is that?" the merc asked.

 

"Funniest thing," Joe said. "In the process of helpin' out the Guardians, I managed to stumble across this little data rod here. It's quite a valuable piece, probably worth eight times as much as you got for the raider bounty ... seein' as how it contains a great deal of information on Rainmaker activities here in the city." A dark look fell over Duke's face, which Joe was quick to notice. "At some point, I'm fixin' to negotiate a price with the Taurus Brothers for this little piece ... but not yet. For now, I'm gonna hold onto it.

 

"For the past three days," Joe continued as he pocketed the data rod. "I've been givin' a lot of thought to something that the local Marshall told me the night of the brawl. For some reason, she had it in her mind that Samus was doin' business with the Rainmakers ... maybe with Minos himself. I couldn't figure this out. Samus? Workin' with a band of terrorists with known pro-Fed inclinations? Now, for all his shortcomings and all his many vices, -that- is not Samus' style. So where was ol' Savoy gettin' this crazy idea from?

 

"Then I plugged this here data cache into a computer and started lookin' over some of the names of operatives ... places ... contacts here in the city. And ... could you imagine my surprise when the name 'Jason Redding' popped up at me? But then it all made perfect sense, didn't it? Wouldn't the Guardians think that Samus is in bed with the Rainmakers ... if they found out that his right hand man were supplying arms to them?"

 

A long silence hung between Joe and Duke as the mercenaries stared at one another. Finally, Duke spoke up, "Now, you listen, Manning. I ain't no Rainmaker and I ain't never been one. I don't give two damns about them or their cause. Some of their people have come to me in the past to purchase arms from The Web, and there we'n't no way I was turnin' down their price."

 

"No, of course," Joe smirked. "You'd have no interest in helping out a group that would love nothin' more than to bring the Federation overlords back into town. But we both know what you do have interest in. You'd sell out this entire city to the Rainmakers if the price were right. Just like you sold me out four years ago. Just like you lured my crew into a raider ambush so you could run away with the cash."

 

"It's business," Duke replied, putting an almost proud smile on his face. "Good profitable business. Somethin' you could never understand."

 

"Business." Joe repeated, looking down at Duke like a hawk. "I wonder if the Guardians would look at it the same way? ... I wonder if Samus would look at it the same way if he found out about this?"

 

Duke's expression then showed a great deal of worry. He watched Joe for a long moment before asking, his tone softened, "What're you gonna do, Manning? Ruin me? Probably ruin Samus too? Why're you even here? To gloat about this?"

 

"Just lettin' you know I have it in my pocket," Joe answered, tapping the front of his vest coat. "And that I'll be keepin' it there for a while. You see, Duke ... I do know how to do good profitable business. Not by sticking knives in people's backs or stealing money from them ... but by holdin' on to things that are valuable to them. I'm holdin' on to something the Guardians and the Taurus Brothers would pay good money to get their hands on. And something you desperately want to stay out of their hands. That makes you ... my new lapdog."

 

"What are you talking about?" Duke spat out.

 

"It's simple, Duke. You're gonna pay for every member of my crew that was killed in the Expanse. And you're gonna pay by showing me, every single day, that your services are worth more to me than this data is to the Taurus Brothers. You've got to convince me to keep it in my pocket. That means if I come to you lookin' for a favor ... you better damn well be ready to pay up. That means no more working against us, no more springin' ambushes, no more settin' us up. You do one thing to tick off me or anyone else on my crew, then this little data rod -will- end up in the Guardians' hands, and you will find yourself floatin' in the plaQta' Creek without a paddle."

 

"You son of a bitch," Duke growled, clutching his side again.

 

Joe quickly rose from the chair and grabbed the front of Duke's collar. Their eyes locked in hatred. "Don't jyke with me and my crew, Redding. You only get this one warning."

 

Joe turned and walked away from the bed, leaving Duke behind in a stupor.

 

Joe had been perfectly willing to cash in on LaHaye's intelligence. But seeing Duke's name on the contact list? That was even more than Joe was hoping to get out of this whole situation. It was a good break. A great break. Maybe for the first time in a week, Joe could put his head on a pillow and drift off to sleep in a nice, contented state ... in a peaceful state of mind, rather than haunted by the crew that had been killed in the Expanse. Maybe he would ignore Pher's comms ... order everyone to get some sleep and save the hysteria for the morning ... for the afternoon, even ... maybe for the next night ...

 

Joe coughed and reached for his bourbon. Yeah ... not gonna happen. Vacations are overrated anyway. What's a few hours of rest compared to dealing with the drama of a crew of miscreants and malcontents?