being
somebody’s puppet.”
“Aw, hel , Jim, I ain’t even named the guy.”
“So name him already.”
Tychus leaned forward. Raynor did as wel . Tychus
brought his mouth close to Jim’s ear and whispered,
“Scutter O’Banon.”
Jim gave his friend an incredulous look. “Fekk that.
You know what kind of a reputation that man has?”
Tychus nodded.
“Wel , then, you know my answer. That man—” Jim
realized his voice had risen and brought it back down.
“That man deals in the worst kind of shit. The things
connected with his organization—hits, drug running—
Tychus, there are predatory animals that ain’t that
vicious. It ain’t just stealing or even kil ing.”
Tychus rumbled noncommittal y, his eyes stil
fastened on Jim. “So?”
“So I don’t want to get mixed up in that. We danced
close enough to that edge when we went AWOL. This
guy sounds like Vanderspool, only about six hundred
times worse. The bastard’s … I don’t know, Tychus …
evil . I didn’t get into this to work for some thug, or to
become a criminal.”
Tychus ground out his cigar and laughed, long and
low. He reached for his beer. “Hel , Jimmy, what the
fekk do you think you are ?”
For an instant, Jim almost lost it. His teeth clenched
and, unbidden, his hands curled into fists. Tychus
eyed him steadily. Jim thought of his mother’s tired
but sweet face. His father’s innate decency.
Those memories were chased away when Jim
thought about how he, Tychus, and the rest of the
Devils had been slated for resocialization by their unit
commander, Colonel Javier Vander-spool. The once-
elite and valued unit was, in the end, used as cannon
fodder, chewed up and spat out. Betrayed. But then
he thought about how much sheer fun he and Tychus
had had over these last few years. He thought about
the Colt and the jukebox, and his lips twitched with an
unbidden grin.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.
“Fekk yeah, I’m right.”
“Wel , then”—Raynor lifted his half-finished beer
—“to criminals … who work on their own.”
“To criminals who don’t need a space mob.” Tychus
clinked his bottle of beer against Raynor’s and then
drained it down. “So, if we’re not throwing in with
Scutter’s merry band, I got an idea of what we should
be doing next.”
Jim sighed inwardly. “You spent your share
already? We just got the creds!”
Tychus shrugged his massive shoulders. “Settling
old debts, taking care of four girls for several days,
and lubricatin’ al of Wicked Wayne’s adds up, Jim,”
he said with mock seriousness. Jim grinned and
shook his head.
“Daisy says you stil ain’t paid her,” he said.
“Daisy always says that. But yeah, I’m getting low.
You know I hate being in one place too long, and
besides, ol’ Butler is gonna come sniffing around here
eventual y. He always does.”
They differed on that. Jim cast a longing look
around
the
bar/
dance
hal /gaming
establishment/pleasure pit that was Wicked Wayne’s.
This place was oddly comforting to him. It was home
when he was on this planet, and he preferred it to
most other comparable places he’d visited. He’d be
happy to hang out here for much longer than another
night or two. But Tychus was right about one thing:
Marshal Butler usual y checked out Wayne’s every
time Jim and Tychus pul ed something on New
Sydney. No one had ever ratted them out, and they’d
either been tipped off that the marshal was coming or
had the blind luck to just not be here.
“Al right,” Jim sighed. “What’s your plan?”
“Got a lead that Barton Station is going to be
getting a shipment of crystals in later this evening.”
Tychus had leads everywhere. When Jim commented
on the astounding number of contacts the man had—
and that he’d yet to see any of them turn on him—
Tychus had rumbled, “You forget, Jimmy, I been at this
for a lot longer than you have. I got the nose
somebody’s puppet.”
“Aw, hel , Jim, I ain’t even named the guy.”
“So name him already.”
Tychus leaned forward. Raynor did as wel . Tychus
brought his mouth close to Jim’s ear and whispered,
“Scutter O’Banon.”
Jim gave his friend an incredulous look. “Fekk that.
You know what kind of a reputation that man has?”
Tychus nodded.
“Wel , then, you know my answer. That man—” Jim
realized his voice had risen and brought it back down.
“That man deals in the worst kind of shit. The things
connected with his organization—hits, drug running—
Tychus, there are predatory animals that ain’t that
vicious. It ain’t just stealing or even kil ing.”
Tychus rumbled noncommittal y, his eyes stil
fastened on Jim. “So?”
“So I don’t want to get mixed up in that. We danced
close enough to that edge when we went AWOL. This
guy sounds like Vanderspool, only about six hundred
times worse. The bastard’s … I don’t know, Tychus …
evil . I didn’t get into this to work for some thug, or to
become a criminal.”
Tychus ground out his cigar and laughed, long and
low. He reached for his beer. “Hel , Jimmy, what the
fekk do you think you are ?”
For an instant, Jim almost lost it. His teeth clenched
and, unbidden, his hands curled into fists. Tychus
eyed him steadily. Jim thought of his mother’s tired
but sweet face. His father’s innate decency.
Those memories were chased away when Jim
thought about how he, Tychus, and the rest of the
Devils had been slated for resocialization by their unit
commander, Colonel Javier Vander-spool. The once-
elite and valued unit was, in the end, used as cannon
fodder, chewed up and spat out. Betrayed. But then
he thought about how much sheer fun he and Tychus
had had over these last few years. He thought about
the Colt and the jukebox, and his lips twitched with an
unbidden grin.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.
“Fekk yeah, I’m right.”
“Wel , then”—Raynor lifted his half-finished beer
—“to criminals … who work on their own.”
“To criminals who don’t need a space mob.” Tychus
clinked his bottle of beer against Raynor’s and then
drained it down. “So, if we’re not throwing in with
Scutter’s merry band, I got an idea of what we should
be doing next.”
Jim sighed inwardly. “You spent your share
already? We just got the creds!”
Tychus shrugged his massive shoulders. “Settling
old debts, taking care of four girls for several days,
and lubricatin’ al of Wicked Wayne’s adds up, Jim,”
he said with mock seriousness. Jim grinned and
shook his head.
“Daisy says you stil ain’t paid her,” he said.
“Daisy always says that. But yeah, I’m getting low.
You know I hate being in one place too long, and
besides, ol’ Butler is gonna come sniffing around here
eventual y. He always does.”
They differed on that. Jim cast a longing look
around
the
bar/
dance
hal /gaming
establishment/pleasure pit that was Wicked Wayne’s.
This place was oddly comforting to him. It was home
when he was on this planet, and he preferred it to
most other comparable places he’d visited. He’d be
happy to hang out here for much longer than another
night or two. But Tychus was right about one thing:
Marshal Butler usual y checked out Wayne’s every
time Jim and Tychus pul ed something on New
Sydney. No one had ever ratted them out, and they’d
either been tipped off that the marshal was coming or
had the blind luck to just not be here.
“Al right,” Jim sighed. “What’s your plan?”
“Got a lead that Barton Station is going to be
getting a shipment of crystals in later this evening.”
Tychus had leads everywhere. When Jim commented
on the astounding number of contacts the man had—
and that he’d yet to see any of them turn on him—
Tychus had rumbled, “You forget, Jimmy, I been at this
for a lot longer than you have. I got the nose
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