Boss Read online

  He longed for the early days in Bartertown on Karma, much closer to Earth than this hellhole. The farther a merc went from Bartertown, the less likely he or she was to return.

  Everyone understood this fact.

  A fortress strong enough to withstand the assault of monsters who would never come and orbital bombardments that would never be allowed dominated the heights of each Nemis City quarter. Johnny Boss, Commanding Officer of the Ogre Fist Limited Liability Fighting Company paused in the street. The shadow of Fort Mocarani should offer a waft of cool air, but didn’t. Beyond what natives called the First City and everyone else called the Merc Ghetto, were highways reaching across the barren landscape to connect cities and mining towns and desperate farms. Mechas weren’t allowed on high speed thoroughfares. Calista wasn’t Earth where human mercenaries were high rollers or rock stars.

  Traveling the planet at will in full battle regalia wasn’t allowed by the Peacemakers; which probably made sense. Johnny Boss wasn’t in a pro cop mood right now. Jessup Moran, one of his quietest but best fighters had been beaten within an inch of his life not far from here and sent to the Ultra Max for murder. One rogue cop had set this doomed odyssey in motion.

  Dirt stuck to his sweat. Copiously applied grease leaked for MK gears and the cheap wheeled conveyances he won in a bet three contracts ago. Which was good because a third of his people had their partial mechas loaded on the primitive flatbed trucks.

  His mechanic loved and hated the hunks of junk.

  “Everything sticks to this crap,” Lamart said.

  The man was a caricature of humanity. Balding — except where hair grew from his ears and nostrils — he sported one lazy eye, breath a man didn’t get without rotting teeth, and a laugh that could shiver paint from a mecha. His sun damage freckles made children cry, or laugh and call him a freak.

  He was strong as an ox, a solid fighter who took orders, and was good with a wrench. Ground vehicles were his responsibility.

  “Luck’in speed restrictions,” Lamart snort-grumbled.

  Johnny shook his head.

  The freckle-faced old man had been a kid like Cheeto once… a long time ago. He complained like a Giamidaq and could fix a power converter with spit and gum — or so he was fond of saying.

  “Dirt and grease, grease and dirt. Luck’in, duck’in, flim-flarin-filth.” Lamart dragged a stained rag over his gauntlets as though it might get them clean. He shuffled sideways, then forward, then sideways to keep up with the moving vehicle he was working on.

  That was the OFC way; never quit, never surrender, never use one bullet when two would do, and never stop moving.

  “Gotta lube the gears,” Davenport said, earning a laugh from the rest of the company.

  Same joke, different planet. Johnny Boss’s knees ached even with his MK running at ninety-three percent efficiency. His ears wouldn’t stop ringing even with his helmet off. He didn’t look at his executive officer. The man wore him the hell out with his sleazy politics and self-aggrandizement.

  Gabriel Davenport was bandaged to his elbows — somehow able to act tough and show off his wounds at the same time. A less seasoned performer would come across as a self-pitying whiner.

  Johnny swept his vision over the growing crowd of mercs and mechas, then checked his slate for news of Jessup Moran and his escape from the Ultra Max Prison Station 39. News feeds still showed the accomplices as an undisclosed merc group whose contact was under Peacemaker review. The credits he’d spent to keep the information from smaller law enforcement agencies — like the Calista Marshals — wasn’t showing a good return on investment. If they didn’t know the OFC was under investigation, they would soon.

  “News?” Davenport asked.

  “The Contract Defense is still holding up.”

  “I always liked lawyers,” Davenport said, looking at Johnny as though saying no one was supposed to hear about that yet.

  Lamart and several other Ogre Fist Company mercs within earshot laughed.

  “Anything on that walking dead man Rylin Tobias?” Davenport asked. “He should’ve tried to arrest me an seen what could happen.”

  “One vendetta at a time, Tactician,” Johnny said. “We don’t have time for drama with the Peacemakers.”

  Johnny put away his slate and moved ahead of his company. Their last contract, a real war-of-wars fight, had taken a toll on the already depleted members of the OFC even before the prison breakout mission. Lamart, who also did the books with Jessup out of the picture, estimated the financial expenditure of the last contract as “in the piss-mouthed red” which he claimed was an actual accounting term. Either way, it sounded bad.

  “I need a vacation,” Johnny said.

  Grumbling and laughter came right on cue, but not as enthusiastically as it had come for Davenport with his stupid gear lubing joke.

  Johnny looked around as the sun set.

  The city, where it wasn’t set up to serve mercs and their mechas, seemed like a decent place to live. He imagined Peacemaker Rylin Tobias shooting up the place, cutting cars in half with his weapons just to get Jessup to stop.

  Then pounding his face like… well, like Jessup was a cop killer. Accused cop killer.

  “Hey, Cheeto,” Johnny said over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, boss?” the kid said as he pulled an earbud free to listen.

  “You think Jessup is a cop killer?”

  “Ah, no way boss. That’s some bullshit,” Cheeto said. He pushed in the earbud and bobbed his head to the beat. “Show me fire, fire, fire!”

  The kid sang like his throat was a bandsaw.

  “His idea of melody is a toilet flushing,” Lamart said.

  Johnny Boss laughed for real. “Thanks, Lamart.”

  The guards at the gate of the Merc Quarter opened massive blast panels without asking who Johnny was. They knew him.

  He was in his prime.

  Everyone knew Johnny Boss and the Ogre Fist Company.

  Johnny joined Cheeto Briggs’ rendition of Space Dirge. “Right now! Battledogs! Ahhhhhh!” For once, he stole the spotlight from Davenport. “Show me fire, fire, fire!”

  4

  The Ex Wife

  “BOSS!” the woman shouted.

  Johnny turned, forcing his heart rate down and his stomach back into place.

  She marched across the square, parting the sea of soldiers, mercenaries, and contract killers with womanly fury.

  “Cindy,” Johnny said.

  One more stride, then up on her tiptoes with a right hook — she showed her perfect teeth under the narrowed eyes of a committed street fighter.

  Johnny jerked his head back, bracing for impact. Last time she’d knocked him out cold.

  “Johnny Boss, you son-of-a-bitch,” she said, then threw her arms around him, squeezing until he wished he was still in his MK7.

  “Are we making up then?”

  “Not like you mean,” she said.

  “Damn you’re beautiful.”

  “Stop, Johnny Boss. No touching. No sweet talking. That’s what leads to marriage and divorce and marriage and divorce,” she said, then smiled at what must have been an intimate memory. “And marriage and divorce.”

  Johnny laughed. “True.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in a lower voice. “I have good information you and the rest of these losers should be taking a vacay on a contractually protected world.”

  “I need to find Jessup Moran,” he said.

  “I fucking new it! You broke that ungrateful little turd out. I should have collared him when I had the chance,” she said.

  “I can neither confirm nor deny any details about my association, past or present, with the Ultra Max prison,” Johnny said, sweeping his eyes over her form. She was sweaty and dirty, like she’d been during most of their relationships.

  “You’re too smart, lucky, and good looking for your own good, Johnny Boss but there are limits. Take the OFC and lie low for a while.”

  “Not going to
happen. I’m financially up against the wall,” he said.

  “You’re here for the slate contract? Shit, Johnny, if I find it I’ll pay off your debt and hire you as a subcontractor,” she said.

  “Whatever,” he said. “I need to find Jessup. Where’d you see him?”

  “Who says I’ve seen him?” she stepped back.

  “You did,” Johnny said. “You said you should have collared him when you had a chance.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “What? No snappy comeback? This is serious, Cindy.”

  She clenched her jaw and shook her head. “Not my problem anymore. It just isn’t.”

  “I thought you liked Jessup. You don’t want me to help him?” Johnny felt his voice rising.

  “You’re a real piece of shit, Boss!”

  “Oh, it’s Boss now? What happened to Johnny? I need to find Jessup before he gets himself killed,” Johnny said. “He’s been nearly as destructive to my life as an ex-wife since he went AWOL on the Protness contract.”

  Her nostrils flared and her eyes unfocused for a second.

  “He’s a good kid, but you were a bad influence — putting ideals and morals into his head like he wasn’t a merc.”

  Nightmare grabbed her and held her back.

  “You haven’t changed Boss. Always blaming everyone else for your problems. I told you going after Protness was a bad idea. Did you listen?” She jerked one arm free of Nightmare’s grip. “You left us there to die!”

  “You refused to exfiltrate when I gave the order!” He shouted manufactured insults to distract the gathering crowd which seemed to include a couple Calista Marshals. Then he leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “We can’t keep this up. What do you want to tell me?”

  “I was trying to give you the signal, but you were staring at my tits. For the love of God and explosives you never change. Two guys just snatched Jessup from under your nose. Took him in an air car.”

  Johnny leaned down and punched the ground with his bare knuckles. Tears of pain and rage exploded in his eyes.

  Cindy laughed sweet venom. “Maybe I do still love you, you big ape. I know where they are taking him, or have a good idea at least.”

  He stood slower than he intended. “Cindy, I’m too old for this shit.”

  “The guys who nabbed Jessup are regulars at the Twelve Gage Laser,” she said.

  Johnny grunted. “Stupid name for a bar.”

  “I didn’t fucking name it,” she said.

  “Calm down, no need to keep the act going,” he said.

  “That’s why I divorced you last time, Johnny Boss!” she yanked free of Nightmare and stormed away with her own merc company surrounding her.

  “What the hell was that?” Davenport said as he swaggered forward with what looked like a barbequed turkey leg in one hand.

  “We’re going to the Twelve Gage Laser,” Johnny said. “I can never tell when we a really arguing or putting on a show. She exhausts me and now I have to go to the TGL dive.”

  “Stupid name for a bar,” Davenport said, then flung the turkey leg toward a trash bin. Landing shuttles flared their engines on their approach to the merc spaceport they’d recently left. In the other direction, Nemis City rush hour was getting underway for both ground and airways.

  5

  Bar Fight

  THE Twelve Gage Laser satisfied all the local codes. Fire proof, bullet proof, and coated with antimicrobial paint, the place still felt like a dive bar. A passed out merc lie at the corner of the establishment where the first alley presented itself. From beyond the seemingly sleeping man came the sounds of a dice game and a prostitute’s sales pitch.

  Johnny looked up at the sign. “Marney, Davenport, and Nightmare will go in with me. Everyone else wait at your designated rally points.”

  “Are we on a war contract or looking for a slate?” Lamart asked.

  “Do your job, Wrench,” Davenport said. “Johnny and I are going inside to kick some ass.”

  Johnny wanted to punch his XO, but didn’t have time. He talked as they strode into the dimly lit room. “Cindy says a couple of mercs drug him off and were taking him here. If we see him, he doesn’t get away. No Jessup, no slate.”

  “Gotcha, Boss,” Davenport said. “You’re speaking my language.”

  Marney and Nightmare followed close but moved to the left and right as soon as they crossed the threshold.

  “Is that him?” Marney asked.

  Johnny looked at the innocent-faced kid, less so now that his nose had been broken and set a dozen times and none of his teeth were real. Incarceration hadn’t been kind to the former OFC member. “He doesn’t see us but he will. Marney, let Lamart and the others know.”

  She made a call, keeping her eyes on the dangerous crowd of power drunks, mercs, and locals.

  “We have problem,” Nightmare said.

  Johnny looked up at the bipedal wolf giant, having forgot the Besquith could speak. The monstrous alien claimed he was brain damaged at birth and shunned by his people who were not only a merc race, but shrewd and devious traders. This was an act, of course, but the only way humans would trust the highly skilled and extremely loyal Ogre Fist member.

  “Golden Feet,” Nightmare said. “Still angry at XO I think.”

  The Golden Feet Company had plenty of reasons to hate the OFC, high among them Davenports propensity to make fun of their name and logo.

  “Forget about the GFC. We need to get to Jessup before he looks this direction, which will be in about five seconds if I trained him right. Which I did,” Johnny said, already moving across the center of the room.

  “Well, well, well it’s Johnny Boss and his Ogre Face Company,” a tall, one eyed albino said.

  “I don’t have time, Elfrick. Stand aside,” Johnny said, barely looking at his rival.

  Elfrick, lean muscled and covered with scars, put a hand on Johnny’s chest to stop his forward progress. “That…”

  Davenport punched Elfrick on the left side of his face, driving forward as the GFC leader went down. “Come and get some you Golden Toes!”

  “Damn it!” Johnny shouldered his way through the melee, keeping his eyes on Jessup who was heading for the back door.

  Nightmare hurled a Golden Feet merc across the room, then leapt after him, teeth flashing as he roared his Besquith war cry. Davenport went down under the rush of three men. Marney jumped on a table and kicked someone in the face. Chairs and bottles flew. The music and video screens stopped playing and the public address system announced the cops were on the way.

  Lamart and the other OFC mercs he’d brought for back-up swarmed into the bar shoving their rivals backward like a Roman shield phalanx. Today sober trumped drunk.

  Johnny pulled Davenport out of the scrum. “No one is covering the back. Come with me.”

  He’d lost sight of Jessup and knew the kid was too smart to stay and gawk. Part of him had hoped unit loyalty would prompt the fugitive to stay and fight alongside his brothers-in-arms. “If wishes were fishes beggars would eat.”

  “What?” Davenport asked.

  Johnny ran through the kitchen, guessing Jessup would have scouted a better escape route than the back door. Sure enough, there was access to several rooms with small beds and a multi-stall toilet. Beyond the delightful suite of essential rooms was a fire escape.

  Johnny ducked through the open hatch and clattered down the metal ladder. Davenport followed.

  “We’ve got him now,” Davenport grunted as his feet hit the ground.

  Jessup was fast, and he had a head start.

  Johnny Boss ran like the survival of his friends depended on his speed. Shadows flashed by as he ducked under pipes and low fire escapes jutting across the alleyway. Water dripped from air conditioner units and leaky pipes. Davenport followed. His ragged breathing made Johnny smile.

  Whenever he looked up, he saw a sliver of the Calista sky, catching glimpses of freighters and merc transports circling toward the spaceport landing a
reas. City sounds echoed strangely here.

  “Jessup,” he shouted. “Stop right there. I need to talk to you.”

  At the next corner, Jessup hesitated long enough to look back. Davenport put on a final burst of speed to catch and tackle the young fugitive. Johnny, who had been three strides ahead of his XO, arrived as the beating began.

  “You little shit,” Davenport said as he straddled Jessup’s chest and punched him in the face. He slapped him right and left hard enough to draw blood.

  Johnny snaked his forearm around his XO’s neck and dragged him back.

  “What the hell, Boss?” Davenport grunted.

  Johnny punched him in the gut, dropping him to his knees, then rushed toward Jessup as he tried to stand. “Stay down, kid. I’m not pulling him off you a second time.”

  6

  Interrogation

  JOHNNY hadn't been to the farmhouse since he was a green merc in his first unit. He sat on a crude bench in the front yard, reading from his slate — wishing it was the slate Jessup was supposed to have — and thinking about Cindy. This had been her childhood home. He thought her family stilled owned the lease, which was unfortunate for them, or would be once the shit hit the automated planters and harvesters.

  Better she isn’t here, he thought.

  Marney sat beside him, nudging him with her shoulder.

  “You’re not Cindy,” he said.

  “No one’s Cindy,” she said. “Not sure what all the fuss is about. She’s not that cute.”

  Johnny put away the slate.

  Marney nodded at it. “Bad news?”

  “Swear not to tell anyone, and I’ll explain what I gave up to get the Ultra Max breakout covered up,” he said.

  “You trying to turn me on, Johnny Boss? Secrets get me wet,” she said.

  He laughed, then looked at a spot between his feet. “I had an exclusive pre-order on an MK9 package.”

  “What the hell? And you let it go? Have you heard what they can do? That would have put us in the big leagues. How many were we going to get?”