Dead Dwarves Don't Dance Read online

  Their plunging reps left them providing backup for younger talent. Earless, slowly succumbing to gene-failure, tried to teekay an aerodyne and burned her mind out. Grue sank deep into gloom, buoyed only by liters of booze.

  Then Smith had appeared. He made them an offer they couldn’t refuse and Grue leapt at the job. Smith’s money offered salvation. It wasn’t any problem convincing Earless. Hell, she’d brought them Smith’s offer in the first place. But it had taken longer with Munk. In the end, however, he really didn’t have any choice. Fixers were relegating them to fewer and fewer jobs. They didn’t like brainburned psykers, washed-up razors, and old alcoholic goons. Munk couldn’t blame them.

  So, they agreed to accept Smith’s biz and do this one last op, the biggest of their careers. The job to end their mercenary days and finance an easy retirement. Ten million credits. It was a lot of money, enough for Munk to stomach the slaughter of innocents. At least, that’s what he had thought. He realized now he’d been wrong.

  “Here’s our exit.”

  Munk’s attention jerked back to the present. Grue was shaking his shoulder and pointing at the off-ramp. Munk wrenched the wheel and veered across two lanes of traffic, sending three small commuter cars crashing into one another. He regained control and sped down the ramp, heading north, deep into the Blackzone.

  “Don’t zonk out on me now, Munk,” Grue said with a smile. “Save the sweet dreaming until we’re in Arizona Free State.”

  Munk nodded, refraining from correcting Grue’s assumption. No need to let Grue in on his problems. The goon had enough of his own, and any further stress would probably just send him back to the bottle – something he’d been free of since they’d taken Smith’s offer a week ago.

  “Yeah,” Grue kept talking, more to himself than to Munk, “it’ll be nice to get outta here. Take the ten meg and hop on over to the Free State. Help out my war buddy at his truck stop in the outback. Now there’s an easy life. No dodging bullets, psykers, and Reggies. Just pumping petrocrap for truckers.”

  “Can’t be that easy,” Munk said. “AFS is a wild place from what I hear.”

  “Damn straight,” Grue agreed. “But Jack’s got a near fortress. All the bikers and hardboys love his baked beans and pork chops. It’s all natural, no vatgrown stuff at Jack Slackdaw’s.”

  Munk laughed. “You telling me you want to serve breakfast and lunch and pump petro for the rest of your life?”

  Grue shook his head. “No. Jack needs security. Squatters and gangers try to hijack his food and petro trucks. And his pigs are renowned for how tasty they are.”

  “Pigs?”

  “Yeah, pigs. He’s got a pig ranch. Real live pigs with snouts and tails and hooves. Not that vatcrap, pork nodes growing in nutrient. Jack raises ‘em from piglets for his diner. Best pig-grits on the planet.”

  “Sounds like a strange place.”

  Grue nodded in agreement. “Hey, it’s Arizona. Whatta you expect?”

  Munk shrugged, and glanced at a holographic street sign warning: “You are entering a Black Security Zone. Minimal Tax Base. No Law Enforcement Service Beyond This Point. Proceed At Your Own Risk.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  The rendezvous was only a few minutes’ drive from the 285, but they first stopped at an abandoned lot three blocks away. Grue crawled into the back and woke Earless. The pleaser roused with difficulty, and held her hand to her neck.

  “Ouch, this hurts.”

  “Duck next time,” Munk said from the front.

  “Go to hell,” the pleaser responded. She looked at Grue. “He just don’t understand the finer points of genetics, does he, Grue?”

  Grue shrugged. “Humans.”

  “Yeah.” Earless grinned, then looked out the window. “We there?”

  “Almost. Listen, we gotta make sure Smith don’t pull any tricks, so you’re going with me. Munk’s gonna back us up with the Thumper.” He patted the case containing the grenade launcher.

  “You expecting trouble, Grue?” Earless asked, lucidity returning to her glazed eyes. “I thought Smith was subzero.”

  “I wouldn’t say subzero,” Grue said softly.

  Earless scowled. “You said subzero when we got hired for this op.”

  Grue leaned back in surprise. Expressing concern about anything wasn't something Earless did anymore. She only worried about her next patch of boost or turbo. Grue couldn’t decide if this newfound clarity of thought was good or bad since she was questioning his leadership. “Relax, Earless, we’re nearly home. Just stay frosty and we’ll scoop up a load of creds and get the hell outta here.”

  Earless nodded impatiently, and pulled her Global Arms 9mm pistol from her belt. She confirmed the ammo readout. “We’re going to have to kill Smith, aren’t we?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Munk said. He reached under the dash then held out a large wristwatch to Grue. “We’ve done enough killing.”

  The goon took the watch and clipped it onto his left hand. “Good idea, Munk.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to use it.”

  8

  Splashing through puddles, Earless drove slowly down the muddy path between stacks of dilapidated ground cars and aerodynes on each side. Grue, hands on the dash, scanned each turn with a suspicious eye.

  Rounding a last pile of junked cars, Earless slowed the van to a stop in a large clearing. Smith stood in front of his dark blue BMW Silhouette skycar. The puddles around him rippled. Dark shades hid his eyes, while his overcoat flapped in the breeze.

  Grue, dressed in heavy overcoat, combat boots, and camouflage pants, pulled himself out of the van and scanned the grey skies. He noted the distant Peerless Tower thrusting from the evaporating morning haze, the skies around buzzing with morning commuter traffic and vidblimps. Earless – jeans, boots, and red jacket – left the van idling and stepped onto the muddy ground.

  The pair splashed through mud puddles. Smith smiled as they approached.

  “Got the cards?” Grue asked immediately.

  “Of course,” Smith nodded, pulling a black glove tighter onto his hand. “It’s payoff time.”

  Grue didn’t like the way Smith said that, but just shrugged. “Where are they?”

  “In the trunk.” Smith gestured and turned to the back of the car. Grue followed.

  “Unlock,” the corporate suit said firmly to the car, and the trunk popped open. Inside, Grue saw a black tuffplast briefcase. Smith stepped back and Grue pulled it from the trunk.

  “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.” Smith smiled. “Nine point five million digitally-encrypted credits in five hundred to five thousand denomination certified bearer cashcards. The balance of payment for a job well done. Just like we agreed. More than enough to retire to your pig farm.”

  “We’ll see,” Grue growled, bending down to open the case. Inside shined gleaming stacks of plastic cards. He picked one randomly and keyed the readout. Satisfied, he threw it to Earless.

  “Here, don’t spend it all in one place.”

  The pleaser pulled a verifier from her pocket and confirmed the readout. She smiled. “Things are looking up.”

  “What about the vacation passes?” Grue asked Smith, closing the case.

  Smith reached beneath his coat and withdrew three flat plastic cards. “Right here, Grue.” The goon glanced at them briefly, punching the displays and scanning the small readouts. “I’m sure you’ll find them in order. Three Vacation Lottery border passes allowing ground egress from the Regional Atlanta Metroplex at any containment wall checkpoint. In your requested aliases, of course.”

  “And the transport?”

  “I’ve got an aerodyne on its way here even now. It’ll fly you to the west wall, where I’ve got a nice little safari car waiting. Just as we agreed. Now, I take it the target was present at ground zero?”

  Grue nodded. “Yeah, Salvino was there. I’m surprised you don’t know that already.”

  “Authorities are still trying to m
atch arms and legs to bodies, so it’ll be a couple days before they get a complete casualty list.”

  “There’s gonna be one unexpected casualty on that list,” Earless said.

  “And who’s that?” Smith turned to look at her.

  “Noose.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow. “Noose? The demolition dwarf?”

  “That’s the one,” Earless confirmed.

  “How unfortunate. You’re sure he was terminated?”

  Grue pocketed the passcards. “If he wasn’t, he’s got one hell of a guardian angel.”

  “Quite ironic,” Smith mused.

  “How’s that?”

  “I considered using Noose for this very job.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Well, he is a dwarf, after all. I presumed he would have misgivings about massacring dozens of his own genotype.”

  “We didn’t have any problem,” Earless said with a grin.

  “Of course, and that’s why I chose you. You did an excellent job.”

  Grue took the case and moved away from the car. “Thanks for the biz, Smith.”

  Smith nodded. “By the way, where’s Munk?”

  Grue stopped and turned back to the man. “Around.”

  “I see. Well, when you see him, give him my regards. You all handled the op quite admirably.”

  “I can die happy,” Earless said to Grue, “now that this breeder Smith has complimented us on a job well done.”

  Smith’s smile faded. “You can die but I doubt it will be happy.”

  Again, Smith’s tone gave Grue reason to pause. He exchanged glances with Earless, jerked his head toward the van where a man stood with a submachine gun leveled at them.

  Grue’s fists tightened around the case handle, and he spun around to glare at Smith.

  The smile returned to the fixer’s face.

  “What the hell are you doing, Smith?” Earless demanded.

  “Tying up loose ends, of course.”

  Grue seethed. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. He’d paid a lifetime of grief for this last op. His share of the ten meg would buy him into the good life. Now this stuffed suit wanted to steal his last chance at peace.

  “Why don’t you put that case back in the trunk?” Smith asked, but Grue knew he had no choice but to comply. As he did so, he saw another armed thug walk from behind a stack of cars.

  Smith stood by the driver’s door. “Thank you for your cooperation. Now if you’ll be so kind as to move back and let my men kill you.”

  “Dump that, slag!” Grue growled, standing resolutely by the Silhouette. “You’re not going to get away with this.”

  Smith nodded, knowingly. “Perhaps you’re expecting a sudden rescue by Munk. Well, I hate to disappoint you but…” He pointed and Grue turned to look in the indicated direction. Another of Smith’s henchmen pushed a handcuffed Munk toward them.

  “You are quite predictable,” Smith said lightly, one hand on the car door. “But then, what can I expect from a bunch of fossils. You should have retired to that pig farm long ago, Grue. You’re an old man. Old and pathetic. Gene failure eating through your bones and booze chugging through your veins. You’re all disposable.”

  “You’re the one who’s disposable, slag!” Earless yelled from where she stood near the center of the clearing.

  “You should teach that pleaser bitch some manners, Grue,” Smith said. He pointed at Earless and snapped his fingers.

  The man by the van opened fire. Bullets ripped through Earless’ red jacket and sent her sprawling backward into a puddle. She struggled for a moment then collapsed, mud dripping down her face.

  Grue crouched by the trunk and prepared to move but stopped as the thug trained his Uzi on him. “Damn you, Smith!”

  “I’ve been damned by people younger, cleaner, and much more intelligent than you, genefreak. Oddly enough, I’m still on two legs, and most of them are rotting on the bottom of the Chattahoochee.”

  The other razor walked up and pushed Munk to his knees beside Grue. The goon looked down at his friend and noted the bruised face and bleeding lip.

  “Now, if you two will cooperate, we’ll kill you nice and quick.” Smith opened the car door. “I didn’t lie when I complimented you on the job. It went off flawlessly. Everyone thinks it was some hate group. There’s not the slightest connection to me or to my employer. Except you.”

  “You’re a bastard, Smith,” Munk muttered.

  Smith turned to his gunmen. “Kill them once I’m gone, and throw their bodies in one of these plastic relics. It’ll make a fitting testimonial to their pathetic lives.”

  He bent to enter the Silhouette and a shot rang out. Smith stumbled backward against the car, blood spurting from his neck and onto his fine coat. His frantic eyes caught Earless as she sat up in the puddle, firing her pistol. Smith felt several more rounds rip into him, each just outside his bulletproof overcoat. Neck, hands, legs. Earless knew exactly where to shoot.

  Grue swung a huge fist into the nearest thug’s face, breaking his neck. He raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his watch: “Floor it!”

  The van revved into gear and the gunman standing in front of it turned around just in time to get knocked aside as it roared past. Grue and Munk dove away from the Silhouette as bullets zinged around them.

  The van crushed Smith against the skycar and then pushed it into a stack of old wrecks. The pile teetered and leaned precariously then, with a screech, collapsed onto the van, the Silhouette, and Smith. Grue and Munk barely scuttled out of the way.

  Bullets pinged into the wrecks around Grue and Munk. They rolled away, looking for their attacker, and saw the gunman collapse to the ground, the smoking SMG slipping from dead hands.

  “Keep your head down next time,” Earless yelled at him, lowering her own smoking gun.

  Grue nodded, then turned to Munk, who sprawled facedown nearby. The goon reached over and pulled his friend over onto his back.

  “You all right, Munk?”

  The human opened his one unswollen eye and looked at Grue. “I thought we were through with this crap.”

  “We are now.” Grue patted him on the chest and rose.

  Earless sauntered over, trying in vain to wipe the mud off her clothes. “This is disgusting.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Now, did you get all of them?”

  Earless looked at Grue and held up a hand, flipping out fingers as she counted. “I smacked Smith four or five times and then the van squished him and then the pile of cars squashed him, so I guess he’s dead.” She winked at her friends, and held out her forefinger. “Machine gun boy over there got hit by the van, and then I shot him just a few seconds ago to keep Grue from getting aired out. You clobbered that one there, and I can hear number four groaning under those cars.” She looked at her hand, all but the thumb sticking out. “That makes four. Pretty good for old fossils, huh?”

  Munk shook his head. “There were five of them. And the last one has the Thumper.”

  “Oh,” Earless said, disappointed.

  Grue finally pulled out his own firearm, a massive 13mm Ruger Ultima, and scrutinized the surrounding piles of cars. Earless moved away, scanning all the possible hiding spots.

  “Somebody going to uncuff me?” Munk pleaded, holding out his arms.

  “Later.” Grue waved him off. He could see no movement except the slow rocking of the collapsed cars. It was therefore something of a surprise when a grenade exploded to his left, knocking him flat.

  “Up there!” Munk yelled, pointing with his cuffed hands.

  Grue followed his gaze and saw the last gunman standing atop a far pile of cars, firing the grenade launcher at Earless, who ran across the clearing like a terrified rabbit. Grenades blasted all around her.

  Grue lined up his Ultima on the distant figure, his cybernetic gunlink overlaying a crosshair in his cyber-eye vision. He squeezed the trigger gently and watched as the thug’s head disappeared into a cloud of red spray. The headle
ss body fell back out of sight.

  “Now is it over?” Munk asked.

  Grue looked over at Earless, who lifted herself off the ground yet again. She waved.

  “Yeah,” Grue said.

  “Then get these cuffs offa me!” He held out his arms, a deep scowl on his face.

  Earless strode up and smiled at Munk, aiming her gun at the cuffs. “Just hold your hands up and I’ll blow ‘em off.”

  “To hell with that,” Munk objected, and stepped out of Earless’ line of fire. “That only works in the movies.”

  “Then we’ll just have to find the key,” the pleaser suggested, and unzipped her jacket, revealing the impact vest underneath. Several rents in the cloth covering revealed where the bullets had ineffectually hit her.

  “I…I’ve got the key.”

  They turned to look at one of Smith’s ambush team. He was trapped under a fallen car, thighs pinned between the bumper and the ground. His ashen face contorted in pain. The fact that he was still conscious was evidence that he benefited from cybernetic enhancements. Unfortunately, they had not been enough to save him from falling cars.

  Earless sauntered over to the injured man. “What’d you say, hitboy?”

  “I got the key!” The man nearly screamed, bashing his fists against the ground.

  “Where is it?” Earless demanded.

  “Get me…out of here…first,” the man breathed.

  Earless cocked her head to one side, looking up at the sky as if in thought. Her muddy blonde hair waved in the wind. Finally, she glanced down at the man. “Sorry, no deal.” She lazily fired six or seven rounds straight into the man’s chest and face.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Munk grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  “I made him a counter-offer he couldn’t refuse,” Earless said gleefully. She bent down and dropped her 9mm on the corpse’s bloody stomach. As his hands twitched, Earless searched his pockets, and soon jumped up with the key. “Here we go!”

  Munk angrily snatched the key from her hands. “You’re insane, Earless.”

  “Do tell,” the pleaser replied with a look of mock amazement.