Hard to Get: Shell Game
Posted on 05 Jan 2025 @ 10:29pm by Commander Calliope Zahn
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Valus Six, Novex Colony
Timeline: Concurrent with OC current events
1963 words - 3.9 OF Standard Post Measure
Roswin Space Port was as old as the Novex colony itself, which on the one hand wasn’t incredibly old compared to civilizations with archaeology dating back thousands, tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands of Sol standard years. But it was significant in the outdated nature of the architecture – if the pre-formed construction elements could even qualify as ‘architecture’ and not just air dropped shelters, subsequently built from with expansions as new landing pads cropped up with about as much orderliness as a field of mushrooms. One thing the largest continent on Planet Valus XI didn’t lack was wide open rolling fields, and consequently, it had never occurred to anyone to be precious about the footprint of any of the public works, least of all the sprawling spaceport.
Movement through the spaceport was often bottlenecked, as hover trains of supplies and luggage carriages broke up the foot traffic. Regulations on livestock were also relatively loose, and small groups of breeding quality quadruped and hexaped ruminant animals brought in for trade on the grassy continent were just as common as the bipedal folks trying to make it to their gates, declare goods, or renew their shuttle parking.
Parting through a small herd of stomping and lowing cattle, a man in a worn blue service uniform paused to brush the dust and animal hair off brusquely, trying not to sneeze from the loose dander. The swelling feeling in his sinuses only irritated him all the more. He’d always struggled with allergies like that. He squinted under a brow scared heavily on the left such as to leave him with half of a bushy eyebrow, and tightened down the brim of the cap he was hiding his distinctive face under, his cauliflower ears poking from the sides.
He’d seen her come through here, he was sure of it. If Boscoe had given him a bad tip on this job he’d be back there with the gang in tow to make sure Boscoe knew who ran who on this planet. Just because Boscoe was in the pocket of some third rate Syndicate boss didn’t make him the king of Novex, much as the swoll headed Bolian fashioned himself. Gator knew he could count on Kerby and the boys to put Boscoe in his place if he started posting bogus assignments or failing to pay out. That’s the way you kept off-worlders landing on your turf in space and starting to think they owned your house.
This was supposed to be a simple enough job, anyway. Get to the old hag with the two dogs, rough her up good, let her ‘get the message’. Whatever that message was, she was supposed to know it. That was the roughing up part.
Not everyone took jobs calling for roughing up old ladies, but Gator figured they could have it coming as much as anyone else. This one was an old fleeter and those badgers were due the same as any other badger who’d come down on him in an instant, if they ever had the scruples to do it. And they would too.
That was why he had to make sure this happened out of sight.
He’d meant to get it done right in her own place last night, but one thing that hadn’t been in the job description from Boscoe the Not-so-great was that this old bag kept dogs. He’d barely gotten inside her dump of a unit when they were barking up the walls, and then a minute later, there was a Badge on the scene. The Badge must have already been on the street, because there was no way anyone in that ass end neighborhood made a call and got a response that fast.
It was a whole row inside, the Badge was real good throwing fists, and it was all Gator could do pulling the furniture down to play keep away from him. He was sure the Badge would have pinned him if it hadn’t been for the big skinny dog planting teeth in the Badge’s drumstick, giving Gator the chance to kick out the window screen and make a break for it.
Now the word was this broad was trying to get off the planet, and Gator wouldn’t be getting his payout until Zahn had properly gotten her message delivered, Boscoe had assured. Trashing her sorry ass pre-fab wasn’t going to count. He had to leave marks. It was infuriating, having gone to all this trouble and not even getting a piece of his due. Worse, the last thing he wanted was the word to get around that Gator didn’t finish what he started.
He scanned the corridor. This was Zahn’s gate. He’d paid the ticket counter chick, giving her a sad lover story. That always worked. It was as old as space travel, that gag-inducing time-tested trope of star crossed lovers parted by circumstance or clashing egos, ultimately one catching up with the other at the last minute in front of the boarding gate. Jacinta Zahn, she’s a real special lady, for sure. Not another in the galaxy like her, can’t let her get away. Here’s a couple of strips for your trouble.
A ruminant caught Gator underfoot and he struck it on the broad side and swore, back pedaling to get clear, his foot pinched badly.
It was then he caught sight of her. That overly made up human hispanic-looking lady with her thick hair, comically long nails, and the attitude of a big name holo actress in her stride, as if all her cheap looks made her untouchable. She had a puffy, gold, shiny oversized coat pulled up around her, but her stride and that big tufted hair was unmistakable, even had the studded knock off designer sunglasses to match. She had two animal crates with her, too. A large one with a medium one stacked on top of it. Gator was happy to see the dogs boxed up. It would make it easier to pitch ‘em into the lake after. He could already imagine himself taking a drag while watching those mean bitches sucking on water.
Hopping tenderly on his bruised toes, he got ahead of his mark and yanked a rolling divider from a maintenance recess, forming a barrier out of the accordion extending wall.
“Sorry, you’ll have to check the animals in this way,” he muttered, redirecting Zahn down a narrow maintenance passage alongside the destination gate. The dogs, he noticed, were real quiet compared to last night. Probably they were on travel meds, Gator reasoned.
Obliging wordlessly, she tugged her cart down the long, lonely hall. Gator waited a beat, then pulled an enclosure over the entry, fixing it shut behind them with a latch from his own pocket.
He followed her into the shadows.
-----------------------
“Tank! Jinxy! Sit yo asses down!”
Marshal Calvin Widmer looked on warily, his own leg disinfected and wrapped after having a sit down at the clinic last night. He gave the animals a wide berth as the hound, baring her teeth up to the gums looked like she wanted to leap up and take another bite out of him.
“Do they have to be loose on the shuttle?” Calvin asked.
“She won’t let me crate them.” Nick Tenpenny grunted back as he strapped down some of Jacinta’s luggage. She had a lot of luggage. Zahnie, drunk and angry, had claimed that with so little time to choose what to pack, she just had to bring everything. The Marshals were going to have the rest of her shit put up in their own storage. Seemed like they had a subcontractor already employed for moving around everyone’s stuff, witnesses and informants and so on, and if they were putting it away, Nick suspected, chances were they weren’t planning on sending her home anytime soon. If ever.
Nick didn’t think that Zahnie was making all those same connections. If anything she seemed just as unaffected as ever, although it might have been because she was still hungover from her bender while out together the night before, preferring her biggest sunglasses to block out any headache inducing lights. At least, Nick thought as he looked out of the shuttle’s viewer and watched the horizon of the world drop away beneath them, their night out was a good last memory to have of this place he’d called home for years.
He wondered when he’d be back. He wondered why he’d decided to throw his lot in with Zahnie’s. He supposed it was because when shit got real, he’d never liked backing off. It was as good a reason as any. He wondered what it meant that he didn’t feel especially upset about leaving. Maybe it would catch up to him later.
Nick dropped into the copilot’s seat beside the Marshal. “Why send the shuttle for us when you had us make all of those last minute calls and travel reservations?”
“Protocols. Switching things up last minute.” He’d had the shuttle in an unlisted Federal flight plan and swapped the hover taxis enroute. “Gotta stay nimble, unpredictable.”
“Should I call to cancel our other flight plans?”
“No need. I already sent someone to handle it,” Calvin said offhandedly, as if it wasn’t going to likely be the first in a line of arrests, leveraging a genius last minute undercover set up for catching the thug who would be after Chief Zahn.
Calvin was still laughing on the inside after everyone primping and putting press on nails, a wig and make up on Deputy Gary Mendez, the only guy on the team short and dark enough to pass as Zahn. At least as long as no one was looking too close… they’d done everything they could to make him pass too, even practicing walking like Zahn on video and playing it back to him. God, those vids were priceless. They’d loaded Mendez’s cart with holographic copies of Chief Zahn’s dogs and knock out flashes, and had a team prepped to follow him.
Was it likely to get thrown out as entrapment? Sure. But they’d get something else to stick. Trespassing, property destruction, assaulting an officer, fleeing arrest, bribery, conspiracy, intent to harm. One way or another it would lead closer to nailing some Syndicate aligned people they’d been keeping tabs on for some time in the Valus system, maybe even get them closer to that slippery fish everyone knew as Boscoe who’d been hiring out for the Syndicate. Calvin only wished he was going to be there to read the arrests off at the office. Instead he’d be playing taxi driver and bodyguard to Zahn and her boyfriend. But this was the job.
“What’s the destination?” When Marshal Widmer didn’t answer right away he looked at him sideways. “As soon as she sleeps off all this excitement, she’s gonna want to know where we’re taking her’”
Calvin gave his co-pilot a practiced, reassuring smile, the same one he gave all of the good folks that ended up under his protection over the years. He had a different one saved for the perps running plea deals as informants. “We’ll make a couple of stops. Best to keep up the pattern of unpredictability over speed. Don’t worry. Just enjoy the ride.”
“I can’t even know where we end up?”
Calvin looked thoughtful for a moment, his mouth half opened as if he would tell, but then shook his head. “No offense.”
Sergeant Tenpenny crossed his burly arms.
