My new friend was forty or so, just short of six feet with a rangy build and gray hair shaved into a strip down the middle of his tattooed scalp. His blue jeans were tucked into tall, pointy-toed boots. Both those and his vest were made of some kind of gray hide, patterned with silver rivets and case-head buttons. He had a combat knife sheathed across the small of his back, and a stainless steel pistol rode in a crossdraw holster at his waist, cocked and locked.
I was a mess by comparison: hair messed up, soot and dirt on my face, scrapes on my knuckles and blood on my hands. My jeans were ripped at one knee, my work boots choked with dust and dried blood, my old army jacket scuffed, the work shirt under it faded even before I dragged it halfway down the Chasm. My patience matched my outfit: battered and hanging by a fucking thread.
“Hey, man,” I said, loud enough that he jumped before turning around and squinting up at me. “Did I just hear you say something about Sawyer?”
“Who the hell are-“
“‘Cause I keep hearing that name, you know, I just can’t get a straight answer on who it is.” I rubbed my chin with my hand, making sure he saw the bones inked there.
He frowned at the sight of it. “She’s some fucked-up snake-eater type ‘at Naudis pays to kill people. Messily. Now quit botherin’ me while I’m workin’, block rat. And get a shower, too, for Rik’s sake.”
I’d had snake kebabs once or twice, but I didn’t think he meant it literally. “Damn, really? What’s she like? If she’s really that scary.”
“Oh, for-“ He pinched the bridge of his nose while the two vat workers glanced nervously between us.
They were a young man and woman my age or a bit older, both in orange rubberized suits much repaired with sealant tape and soldering irons. They looked like siblings or cousins, both with long faces, dark hair, and olive skin. The guy had a skeletal prosthetic hand that almost looked homemade it had so many layers of improvised repairs and chickenscratch welds. The brace around one of the woman’s calves was even worse, looking like she’d put it together from a machinist’s scrap bin.
“I just heard the name, and so I thought you’d know…” I went on.
“Bard’s itchy balls, if it’ll get you outta my hair. She’s some huge jo-san, like huge, I hear, maybe a mutie. Punches through brick walls and pulls people’s heads off when she’s not killin’ em with a damn glittersaw. See what I mean?” he snapped at our unfortunate audience. “That’s the kinda person who kicks in your door when you try and welch on the Holy Bones.”
I’d started smiling as soon as he got to answering. It was pretty funny, honestly, though I didn’t get any less pissed. “She’s a big chicota, huh? Real tall?”
“Yeah, that’s three fuckin’ times I told you! She’s- oh.” He stopped, mouth hanging slightly open. My smile got wider.
“Nice to meet you, man. Though the way you’re talking it sounds like we met already. I must have forgot your name…”
“Lamar,” he said almost on reflex.
“Cool. Can I toss your name around to scare people, then? Or hasn’t anyone heard of you?” I leaned over him, even going into the HUD on my war-trophy eye- which I didn’t do much as having a menu pop up in my vision weirded me out- and making the purple iris glow a little.
Lamar grimaced. “Listen, Sawyer, I-“
“And what’s the story with these two?” I glanced at the vat workers, who’d gone ashen as soon as Lamar said my name.
“Their daddy likes to gamble,” he said quickly. Glad to be back on familiar territory, maybe. “Did a little too much losin’ on credit, and it’s time to collect.”
“He’s dead,” the woman said, sounding more bitter than sad. Her brace creaked as she tried to rest the leg. “Bad batch of synliq.”
Lamar snorted. “Well, it sure weren’t us that sold it to him. Even if I believe you, debt’s still on the ledger. Nice inheritance he left you two.”
What an asshole. Did he think I was here to back him up?
“We just need some more time,” said the man, trying to sound calm. “Look at us! We can’t-“
“There’s rules to these things, block rat. I don’t make ‘em, and you can’t change ‘em. Eh, Sawyer?”
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I didn’t say anything for a moment, making Lamar glance back at me. I ignored him, instead looking at the two unwilling debtors. “Get out of here. Go on. Seriously.”
I waved them off until they got the idea, heading away down the street as fast as the woman’s bad leg would let them. Lamar watched them go, tense with anger.
He whirled on me. “And what the hell was the meaning of that, Sawyer? You just want to throw your weight around, well, this ain’t the place to-”
“Lamar, I got enough left to do today without having to break your jaw too.” He cut off immediately. Maybe people didn’t usually talk to him that way. “Don’t fucking throw my name around when you don’t know me. Don’t use it for your bullshit scare tactics. I’m more likely to chop your stupid ass up at this point than those two.”
After the day(s) I’d just had, I wasn’t exactly being diplomatic- not that I was even at my best, to be honest.
Lamar didn’t react well, narrowing his eyes and glaring up at me. “I don’t know where the fuck you get off talkin’ to me that way, prospect, but you’re green enough I’ll cut you some slack. I’ll try and explain how this works, if all them lizard hormones you shot up didn’t melt your brain.”
“Oh? Let’s hear it.” I was used to steroid insults at this point, but it still didn’t endear him to me.
“You’re dumb muscle, you get that?” he growled. “A pair of boots and a trigger finger. Naudis sends you places to kick doors and soak bullets and look scary. You spend money, y’hear? I make it. I keep the kingsdamn lights on. So let me do my job.”
Oh, he was really getting me heated now. “Why should I, when you’re so shit at it? That guy was right- look at them.” I went on, not letting him get a word in. “How much money you think they can give you when they can’t even get new arms and legs? You think they won’t lose their jobs if you beat the shit out of them and they can’t work? How much are they gonna pay you then?”
He made that dismissive snort again. “And do you think I ain’t heard all this before? Everybody’s got excuses. S’like I said. There’s rules to this. Break ‘em and the whole system goes to shit.”
“That doesn’t make the deng magically appear, Lamar!” I was tired, to be getting this mad, but he wasn’t making any sense.
He just shrugged. “Examples gotta be made.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” My hands made fists, then slowly unclenched. Ready.
He noticed. His expression curdled further, caught between fear and ego and sheer annoyance. He glanced at my waist, the empty holster. “You ain’t got a gun on you.”
“Fucking try me, Lamar. I am not in the mood.” I waited. My eye put red traces around his pistol and told me of his heightened emotional state- as if I hadn’t noticed.
“They don’t pay me enough to deal with ol’ Clyde’s fuckups,” he finally said. “Think I’ll leave him to it.”
“Smarter than I thought, then,” some cruel instinct told me to add.
He ignored that, started turning around- then jumped back surprisingly fast and went for his gun. I’d expected it, and even in my state I had the reach advantage. I got a hand around his wrist just as he cleared his holster and wrenched hard, making sure the gun stayed pointed at his leg. He managed not to pull the trigger. I torqued his wrist hard enough that it made a reedy pop and the pistol fell. As it clattered to the sidewalk I kicked out his leg and yanked hard on his broken wrist, hurling him down onto his face. He made a sharp, reflexive gasp of pain but didn’t cry out, curling around his injury.
I nudged the fallen gun away from him with my toe and picked it up. It was a nice UZ Fabrika automatic, all polished steel with night sights. I dropped the mag, fifteen heavy hollowpoints, and chucked it down into the side of his head.
“You raddy motherfucker,” I said as he cringed at the harsh impact. Next I emptied the chamber and bounced the round off his forehead. “I take back what I said about you being smart.”
I dry-fired the pistol, Lamar flinching at the snap of the hammer, then cocked it again and pulled the slide back a little. I shoved out the slide stop and threw it into a nearby trash drum with a hollow clong.
“If I hear about you ‘making an example’ of those poor deeks, we’ll have even more problems.” I yanked the slide off the frame and sent it rattling through the grate of a storm drain down the road.
“And if I ever hear that you’re using my name again, it’ll be your fucking door I kick in.” All I had left was the frame, easily tossed into the back of a passing hog truck.
“You get it?” I asked, voice harsh but not raised.
He didn’t answer at first, and for a single red moment I wanted to just put my steeltoe through his face and be done with it. A remaining scrap of sanity told me that I would already see some trouble over this, and that killing a fellow Holy Bone instead of just breaking his arm would make it way worse.
“I got it,” Lamar managed to say, strained and raspy.
I turned and went back to Collum’s without another word, thoughts churning. The fact was I’d enjoyed that, though I felt a bit ashamed about it. For most of my life I’d deliberately not taken advantage of my intimidating size, wanting to be better than what a lot of people assumed based on my looks. Since I’d joined the Bones, though? I’d been playing into it more and more, and I liked it. I liked scaring people I didn’t like. I enjoyed the oh-shit looks on their faces when they realized what they were up against. Did that matter if I was punching their heads off anyway? Was it still bullying if it was aimed at people who’d earned it? I was too tired and too concussed to be thinking about this now. I shouldn’t have even driven.
Ninety percent chance it wasn’t over, I thought as I got back to the table. Lamar was older, not as easy to bone-deep terrify as someone my age might have been. Maybe all that extra life experience would convince him to drop it, that fucking with me reallly wouldn’t end well for him- but I doubted it. Just one more thing to bring up with Walker, who was probably going to blow his hat through the ceiling at least three times by the time I finished the debrief of his little ‘recon mission.’
I fell back into my chair and put a hand to my forehead.
“What was all that?” Alvar asked, exhaustion making him sound amusingly matter-of-fact.
I sighed. “I don’t know. A mess.”
Arc sniffed. “A minor work dispute, it seems.”
Alvar nodded like he’d seen it all before. “Trouble in paradise, huh.”
I looked up, squinting at them. “Do you guys have to be the ‘fuck with Sharkie’ peanut gallery all of a sudden?”
Arc nodded gravely. “Yes.”
“Someone’s got to do it, and we’re right here,” said Alvar.
“Kings.” They were making me want another beer, but it would just wreck my sleep at this point. Instead I lurched to my feet again. “Let’s go see my boss and go the hell to bed.”