emphasized the beard even more by trimming it into a fanciful design that most should assume was common on some rural planet. He also cultivated a slight limp.
John had only a name and a place to use that name on Marchand; he had never been there. Marchand was reputed to be one of only three planets in the sector retaining the capability to provide deep-level body sculpting, and John needed the deepest level sculpting available if he was to escape Townley permanently.
The contact point was a rather large ship's chandlery and general merchandise store adjoining the spaceport. John decided it was perfect cover for the man who controlled much of the criminal activity on Marchand. "I'd like to see Joma Alcar," he told the security guard just inside the door.
The large man with the bulge on his hip looked unimpressed. "He's busy. What's it about?"
"It's about money. I was referred to sire Alcar by Sarky Camro."
The man shrugged. "I heard Sarky was dead."
John nodded. "I heard that too." Actually, John had been there. Sarky had been careless going through a door. He merely stood looking at the guard as silence began to drag. Finally, the guard shrugged again and said a few words into a wrist mike. He slid off the stool he occupied, and with a negligent, "C'mon," headed for an inconspicuous door near the front of the store.
As soon as the door closed behind John, the big man whirled and slammed him against the wall. The point of a knife pricked John's neck.
"Hands up!" the man demanded. Then, "You carryin'?"
John raised his hands above his shoulders. He had expected to be searched. He nodded slowly. "Knife, behind my right hip. Nothing else. I heard the johns on Marchand were really rough about weapons."
A rough chuckle sounded from behind his head. "They are. It costs Joma a bundle to keep it that way."
He felt a light touch at his hip, and then the knifepoint vanished and the man frisked him quickly but thoroughly.
"Okay," the big man said, "Come on. You go first. It's the third door on your right. And don't move too fast, okay?"
Joma Alcar looked more like a politician or aging vid star than the head of a criminal syndicate. He sat behind a large desk with a single uncomfortable-looking chair in front of it. The rest of the office was almost completely undecorated and shadowed. The dimness was relieved only by a pool of bright light on the desk area. John recognized the psychology. Put your visitor in a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of a massive desk, in a pool of bright light, with no distractions and yourself in a large, comfortable swivel chair. Instant dominance.
John took a seat in the hard chair at Alcar's casual wave. The distinguished-looking man flashed a bright smile that did not reach his eyes. "So," he said in a bass voice, "You're a friend of Sarky's, huh?"
John smiled and shook his head. "Naw, we worked a few jobs together, is all. But he give me your name in case I ever needed anything on Marchand."
The man nodded, the phony smile still in place. "Uh huh. Last I heard he was workin' for a pirate. That 'Terror' guy. You a pirate too?"
John laughed aloud. "Me? Gods no! Too much blood an' guts. Besides, I don't think I could kill. I'm strictly a heister."
Alcar seemed to relax slightly. "So, what can you do for me?"
"Isn't that supposed to be 'what can I do for you'?"
The man's smile grew even wider as he shook his head. "Nope. You're here because you need something from me. What's gonna make it worth my while to hear about it? Sarky was strictly a small-timer. He never put together a decent job in his life. How do I know you ain't just like him, and flat broke?"
John turned his smile nervous. "Look, sire Alcar. I'm not gonna lie to ya. I'm pretty small time, too. But I got lucky, if you can call it that. A job I did turned out to be a lot richer than I thought it would be. Enough richer that the pigeon put out a contract on me and I hadda run. I heard there's still some bounty hunters on my
John had only a name and a place to use that name on Marchand; he had never been there. Marchand was reputed to be one of only three planets in the sector retaining the capability to provide deep-level body sculpting, and John needed the deepest level sculpting available if he was to escape Townley permanently.
The contact point was a rather large ship's chandlery and general merchandise store adjoining the spaceport. John decided it was perfect cover for the man who controlled much of the criminal activity on Marchand. "I'd like to see Joma Alcar," he told the security guard just inside the door.
The large man with the bulge on his hip looked unimpressed. "He's busy. What's it about?"
"It's about money. I was referred to sire Alcar by Sarky Camro."
The man shrugged. "I heard Sarky was dead."
John nodded. "I heard that too." Actually, John had been there. Sarky had been careless going through a door. He merely stood looking at the guard as silence began to drag. Finally, the guard shrugged again and said a few words into a wrist mike. He slid off the stool he occupied, and with a negligent, "C'mon," headed for an inconspicuous door near the front of the store.
As soon as the door closed behind John, the big man whirled and slammed him against the wall. The point of a knife pricked John's neck.
"Hands up!" the man demanded. Then, "You carryin'?"
John raised his hands above his shoulders. He had expected to be searched. He nodded slowly. "Knife, behind my right hip. Nothing else. I heard the johns on Marchand were really rough about weapons."
A rough chuckle sounded from behind his head. "They are. It costs Joma a bundle to keep it that way."
He felt a light touch at his hip, and then the knifepoint vanished and the man frisked him quickly but thoroughly.
"Okay," the big man said, "Come on. You go first. It's the third door on your right. And don't move too fast, okay?"
Joma Alcar looked more like a politician or aging vid star than the head of a criminal syndicate. He sat behind a large desk with a single uncomfortable-looking chair in front of it. The rest of the office was almost completely undecorated and shadowed. The dimness was relieved only by a pool of bright light on the desk area. John recognized the psychology. Put your visitor in a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of a massive desk, in a pool of bright light, with no distractions and yourself in a large, comfortable swivel chair. Instant dominance.
John took a seat in the hard chair at Alcar's casual wave. The distinguished-looking man flashed a bright smile that did not reach his eyes. "So," he said in a bass voice, "You're a friend of Sarky's, huh?"
John smiled and shook his head. "Naw, we worked a few jobs together, is all. But he give me your name in case I ever needed anything on Marchand."
The man nodded, the phony smile still in place. "Uh huh. Last I heard he was workin' for a pirate. That 'Terror' guy. You a pirate too?"
John laughed aloud. "Me? Gods no! Too much blood an' guts. Besides, I don't think I could kill. I'm strictly a heister."
Alcar seemed to relax slightly. "So, what can you do for me?"
"Isn't that supposed to be 'what can I do for you'?"
The man's smile grew even wider as he shook his head. "Nope. You're here because you need something from me. What's gonna make it worth my while to hear about it? Sarky was strictly a small-timer. He never put together a decent job in his life. How do I know you ain't just like him, and flat broke?"
John turned his smile nervous. "Look, sire Alcar. I'm not gonna lie to ya. I'm pretty small time, too. But I got lucky, if you can call it that. A job I did turned out to be a lot richer than I thought it would be. Enough richer that the pigeon put out a contract on me and I hadda run. I heard there's still some bounty hunters on my
Similar Books
The Midnight Line
Lee Child
2020: Emergency Exit
Ever N Hayes
My Bittersweet Summer
Starla Huchton
Taneesha Never Disparaging
M. LaVora Perry
A Bride at Last
Carolyne Aarsen
Return to Kadenburg
T. E. Ridener
Dollenganger 03 If There Be a Thorns
V. C. Andrews
Hunting Kat
P.J. Schnyder
Fatal Ransom
Carolyn Keene
Volle
Kyell Gold, Sara Palmer