The Saffron Malformation (30 page)

             
Quey was shaking his head.  “No.  Wasn’t for me either.  Never gave much thought to what was till recently and now I don’t know.”  Dusty’s brow furrowed as his friend’s eyes glassed over, and for the first time in as long as he could remember he saw Quey scared and unsure.  “My shinnin came from ease not desire.  Cal took me in, money flowed, all the mash needed was time and ingredients.  Shit, it was better than the street.  Especially after you went into the detention center.  Fucking street.  Fucking shine.  Fucking truck.  Fucking road.”

             
Dusty watched his friend silently.  Even his breath took pause.

             
“You know when it blew up, you know what I thought of first?”

             
Dusty shook his head slightly.

             
“After I saw the robot was okay, I was just grateful to be rid of that fucking shine.”  Quey took a deep breath and Dusty nodded slowly.

             
“What’s it do-” Dusty was cut off by the sound his friend’s screen made, folded and in his pocket.  Quey collected it and opened the communication.

“I’m set and Arnie's waiting for you with the guns,” Reggie said and Quey nodded.

              “What’s the plan?” Dusty asked when his friend clicked off his device and set it on the table beside the bed.  He could get it when they came back for Rachel, and if he couldn’t well then he wouldn’t need it.

             
“The plan is we say hello.  Find out why these fuckers are after us.”

             
Dusty nodded and the two men left the room and headed out to the street.

             
Arnie was waiting outside the doctor’s office with a bag of guns and a nervous hand.  As they distributed the weapons, a rifle for all three of them and two pistols each, Arnie finally spoke up.  “I can’t do this.”  The kid’s hands wouldn’t lay still.

             
Quey and Dusty looked at him then exchanged a brief glance of knowing.  Arnie was tough, but he was also right.  He couldn’t do it.  If it came time he’d hesitate and there was no doubt he’d be the first to die.  Still they needed him pointing a weapon for this to go well.

             
“I’ve never shot anyone and I can’t,” the boy trailed off.  He looked so young and fragile standing on the sidewalk with a rifle in his trembling hands, the fading afternoon sun draped across one side of his overwhelmed face.

             
“Listen,” Quey said, trying to calm him.  “There’s not going to be any shooting, alright?  We just need them to think there will, and we need you, not to kill anyone but just to hold the gun.”

             
Sweat trickled from Arnie's pale brow.  His stomach was churning and he was sure he was going to see his lunch again soon.

             
“You can do that right?  Just hold it?”

             
Arnie swallowed hard, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded.  He still didn’t look good so Dusty gave it a try.  “Hey Arnie?”  The kid looked over at him.  “How old are you?”

             
“Twenty four.”

             
“Really?” Quey and Dusty asked, both shocked.  They’d have sworn the kid was eighteen.  Twenty, maybe.  Dusty shrugged, “Right, well you went to a proper school right?”

             
He nodded.

             
“What were you tracked for?”

             
“Originally?” he asked and Dusty nodded.  “Pilot,” he shrugged.

             
Quey and Dusty smiled at each other and laughed.  “Really?” Quey asked.

             
Arnie nodded.  “Blue Moon put land lock on the planet just before I was in high school, that and the red flag from a few years before made it so nothin flew.  That’s how I ended up at Rail’s.  I mean, what good’s a pilot when nothing flies so I just drifted until the old man found me.”

             
Quey and Dusty laughed some more and this time Arnie chuckled a bit.

             
“See that,” Quey said.  “You were just thinkin on it too much.  Try to keep moment to moment and if shit gets to be too much,” he shrugged.  “Just think about being a pilot.”

             
They had another brief laugh before a voice shouted, “Drop it.”  The three men snapped into awareness and looked to the two law men approaching from up the road.

             
“Easy,” Quey shouted, keeping his rifle at his side.  “We’re not here to do you harm.”

             
“Lot of strangers’ wandrin’ through my streets this afternoon,” the older of the two said almost as a warning while looking at him down the site of his shotgun.  “None of whom I like the look of.”

             
“We just want to help,” Dusty said calmly.

             
“This here twelve gauge is the only help I’d like, thank ya kindly.”

             
Another look from Dusty to Quey.  This one was Dusty telling Quey he’d tried, that he was all out of ideas that didn’t end badly.

             
Down the street the Broodlings turned a corner and stopped.  They starred at the group holding guns a block away for a long moment, then they were on their devices, sending a wolf’s howl.

             
“You’ve got a pair of Broodlings and you think that’s your problem but it isn’t.  Your problem is the convoy comin’ after them.  Dozens, rollin’ up from Fen Quada, which they sacked earlier today.  I do believe we can agree Fen Quada is a might bit larger than your fine burg here.  Now its rubble, and they had a bit more than a Sherriff and his Deputy.”

             
Herold and Danny looked at each other for a split.  Herold sighed.

             
“How do you know that?” Danny demanded.

             
“Because he’s the one they’re chasing,” Herold said, like a man defeated.  “Brood never comes out less there’s something worth finding and our piddally bits sure as hell aren’t enough to lure ‘em.”

             
“It’s true,” Quey said.  “Me and mine brought this heap of ugly in with us.”

             
“So we give you to them,” Danny suggested, aiming his gun with bravado.  Herold remained still, a rock in the chaos of a storm.

             
“I promise, your town wont burn, and if you just give us a chance we’ve got a plan that could end this without any blood.”

             
“A plan huh?  Yeah and what if it gets hitched?” Herold asked.

             
“Then you do as your deputy suggests.  You bargain me for the town.”

             
Herold lowered his gun and a moment later Danny followed the lead.  “I will too,” Herold warned.  “Won’t feel a bit bad about it.”

             
“Neither would I,” Quey told him.

             
The Sherriff and his Deputy followed Quey, Dusty and Arnie to the town line where they stood holding guns and waiting.  The broodlings had rolled up the road where they remained out of town a ways to wait for their friends.  The landscape was lush, trees beginning to change scattered amidst the long green grass and etched into it were the thin lines of paved roads and the subtle structures that made the town of Bravett.  Rolling down one of those lines, slowly closing on those structures was a convoy of nastiness, and waiting to meet it were five men with guns, one of whom would never bring himself to fire.

             
The convoy stopped near the edge of town.  Render looked out at the five men standing on the road and grew curious.  He opened the passenger’s side door of the rig and stepped out, showing his hands were empty.

             
“Why do I feel like I’m rolling into a trap?” he shouted to Quey, the middle of the five men.

             
“Maybe it’s my friend up there on the rooftop.”

             
Render looked up at the roof of a bar and nodded.  Reggie was standing at the corner.

             
“Is that…” one of the brood began, squinting.

             
“A dark ass mutha fucka with a bazooka?” another finished.

             
“I believe it is,” Render answered.  “And he does look pissed.”

             
“Close,” Quey shouted.  “What my friend is holding is a Genuine Blue Moon issue pulse cannon.  Know what that is?”

             
Render nodded slowly, his eyes squinting as he tried to make whether or not this moonshiner was for real.  “Put a good sized crater in this world.”

             
Quey nodded.

             
“So what do you want?”

             
“Why are you after me?”

             
“Bounty on your head.”

             
“All this for a little bounty?”

             
Render shook his head, “Nothin’ little about this bounty.”

             
“How much?” Dusty asked.  Quey shot him a look and he shrugged, figuring it couldn’t hurt to know.

             
“Depends on a few things, but we’re promised ten million at least.”

             
The four men standing to either side of Quey looked at him for a moment and Quey felt dizzy.

             
“Who the fuck did you piss off?” Dusty asked, quietly.

             
Quey shook his head then shouted, “What’s the bounty for?”

             
Render shrugged.  “You.  Alive.”

             
A bit of relief trickled into Quey.  At least they weren’t planning on killing him, which might be the only reason this little plan was working.  “Who placed it?” Quey inquired.

             
“Man didn’t say his name.”

             
“What’s he want?”

             
Render shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Have to guess he wants to talk to you a bit.  Ask you some questions I reckon, being as he specified alive.”

             
“Questions about what?”

             
Render chuckled.  “He was non specific, though it probably has to do with this bitch he was lookin to find.  Rain, think he said she went by.”  Quey’s eyes widened slightly and Render smirked.  “Know her, I see.  Yeah he was askin ‘bout her before you ever came up.”

             
“Alright then, you call this guy, tell him you’ve got me.  He can come here and ask all the questions he wants.  You get your money, he gets his answers, I walk away with my skin.  Everyone’s a winner.”

             
“Say we don’t like that arrangement.”

             
“Only other one is everyone’s a looser.”

             
Render glanced up at Reggie again and nodded.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

             
“And in the mean time, what do you say we truce and lower these guns for a spell.  My arm’s gettin’ tired.”

             
Render nodded and his men lowered their weapons.  Quey’s crew did the same.

Question and Answer

             
Sticklan Stone could see the convoy parked in the middle of the road from over a mile out.  As his car, clean and glistening in the late afternoon sun, pulled up and stopped beside the cluster of rusted cars, beat up motorcycles, and the semi truck they surrounded. Render took a hit off his pipe and sighed at the beautiful rush and euphoria that followed as he expelled the smoke in a thick white cloud.  Then the passenger’s side door of the rig opened and he hopped to the pavement.

             
Stone sighed and opened his own door, the cool breeze washing in around him, and stepped out to approach the man.  When Render was close he took another long pull off his pipe while Sticklan asked him, “Where is he?”

             
Render nodded toward the building just inside town and spoke as smoke poured from his lips.  “The diner.”

             
“You’re holding him in the diner?”

             
Render looked about, uneasily.  “We got ourselves a bit of a standoff here.”

             
“What does that mean?” Sticklan inquired, his eyes squinting into angry slits as Render took another pull.

             
“See the guy on the roof?” the brood leader asked.

             
Sticklan glanced and spotted Reggie.  “So?”

             
“Well, that motherfucker has himself a rocket launcher of some sort.”

             
“It’s a bluff,” Sticklan said with certainty.

             
“Maybe,” Render conceded, hands outstretched, begging for a moment to explain.  “But this Quey guy, he’s willing to talk to you, says he’ll answer any questions you have, he’s just lookin ta still be alive at the end, see?”

             
Sticklan glared at the leader of this gang of shitheads for a long moment.  Finally he nodded.  “Who’s in the diner?”

             
“Two of ours two of his.”

             
Sticklan glared at him again, “Well now it is a standoff.”

             
“Look,” Render started, stepping closer to the man, “You wanted to talk to this cocksucker and there he is, ready and willing,” he continued, indicating the diner with a gesture.  “You told me he was a simple fucking moonshiner-”

             
“He is,” Sticklan remarked.

             
“Yeah, well this simple fucking moonshiner took out five of my men before we managed to fuck his truck.  Then he held up here with a motherfucking rocket launcher and the local Sheriffs backing him.  Now, I’ve been running raids for a long while and I know just a fucking roader when I meet one and that guy ain't it.  Fuck, the whole city of Fen Quada put up less of a fight than this asshole, so you want to take him go right ahead, but I want my money for the trouble.”

             
Sticklan looked at him and said, “I’ll decide what he’s worth after I talk to him.”

             
“Look around for a minute,” Render advised him.  “See all these beat up angry motherfuckers?”  Sticklan’s eyes glanced over the Angels of the Brood surrounding him.  “They all heard the bounty and they ain't gunna be happy with less, and make no mistake, they work for me, not you.  And I work for cash.  Not.  You.”

             
Sticklan nodded slowly.  “You’ll have your money, after I talk to the shiner.”

             
Render stepped back and aside and said, “Be my motherfucking guest then,” with a gesture of the hand holding his pipe.

             
Sticklan stepped away from the cluster of Broodlings and started for the diner.

             
Tension hung heavy in the air as the afternoon sun streamed through the large windows along the outer walls of the diner and shone onto the tiled floor in prismatic shafts.  Quey and his men had come to an understanding with the Angels of the Brood, but until the man who’d put the bounty on him showed it wasn’t over and terms were neutral, not friendly.  Both sides understood this and both kept keen accounts of the other’s movements.

             
Quey sat at a table sipping coffee with Dusty to his right, rifle in hand.  Beside him, trembling slightly and fighting the urge to vomit was Arnie, sweat damping his brow.  Quey would have rather it been Reggie, but if it came to it the big man was the only one of them who could use that fucking cannon so he remained at his post on the roof.  Had it been a bluff he and Arnie would have swapped but make no mistake, if it came to it Reggie meant to fire that weapon.

             
Across from the trio stood two Angels of the Brood with rifles of their own.  They were a scruffy pair, though the one on the left seemed a bit cleaner than his friend, both had hard skin and wrinkles around their eyes from squinting against the sun.  Both wore jackets patched with the Brood insignia and accomplishments.

             
It had been several minutes since any sound broke the silence slowly breeding a nervous mistrust.

             
“Boys want some coffee?” Quey offered.

             
The Broodlings exchanged a glance but said nothing.

             
“Come on, from what I hear you’re all about to be a great deal richer on account of catchin’ up to little old me.  Can’t figure a single reason not to be civil.”

             
They exchanged another glance and the one on the left spoke.  “Really?  Well I figure five.  All of them were friends now bloodstains on the highway.”

             
Quey nodded, solemn.  “I had friends too you know, in that town you and yours turned into a barbeque.  As did they,” he nodded toward Dusty and Arnie.  “But that’s done and got nothing to do with the present as we’re not here on account of any of that.  We’re here on account of a very large bounty somehow levied against me, about to be collected by you, so what do you say?  One lump or two?”

             
The Broodlings pondered visibly for a moment and then the one who’d spoken rubbed the back of his hand against the stubble on his chin and nodded before sitting at the table across from Quey.  His rougher, filthier friend followed his lead.

             
Quey smiled and shouted to the waitress without taking his eyes off the pair, “Bring over a few more cups, will you darlin’?”

             
The waitress, a skinny thing with dirty blonde hair wearing a black skirt and white blouse, trembled as she loaded a tray with more coffee mugs and a fresh pot and walked it carefully to the table.  When everything was set out she hurried away.

             
Quey lifted the pot and filled the cups, it had, apparently, slipped the waitress’ mind but he wasn’t about to hold that against her.  The three of them sipped coffee but the tension was still there and remained for another full minute before the dirty one on the right broke silence.

             
“You know I’ve had your shine before,” he said and Quey looked over at him smiling.  The smile was old habit and where it had once contained enthusiasm it now contained nothing at all.  It was a ghost of a feeling he’d spent years pretending to have.  Everyone always went to mentioning the shine.  Suddenly he found that very funny.  Then he was laughing and the Broodlings chuckled too.

             
“Shit you say,” Quey said.

             
Shaking his head, the one on the right assured him, “Nope, I’ve had it sure enough.  Got to admit my heart broke a bit when I saw your truck burning on the side of the road.  Was hopin to snatch a few freebies off it when we caught you.”

             
Quey laughed again.

             
“It is good shine,” the clean one added.  “Shit, might have taken after you even if there hadn’t been a bounty.”

             
“I expect you would have, though then I might still have a truck.”

             
The Broodlings chuckled, “Hell, you’d have gotten away,” the one on the left told him.  “Way you guys work,” he trailed off and took a sip from his mug, “Where the hell did you learn that shit.”

             
Quey shook his head, “Lots of years on the road.  And too many on the streets.”

             
His eyebrows rose, “You were a camp kid?”

             
Quey nodded, “Camp for wayward, east Remel.”

             
The broodling smirked, “I was in South Corade.”

             
Quey nodded, “What’s your name?”

             
The man was about to answer when the bell over the door rang and a man in a tailored suit stepped inside.  He was clean in every way, his hair cut short to frame him, and his eyes were the serious sort.

             
“I’m here for Quey Von Zaul,” Sticklan Stone announced from the doorway.

             
“Then you’ve found him,” Quey replied from the table.

             
Sticklan crossed the room and stood beside the table for a moment.  The two Broodlings stood and took a step back.

             
“Like some coffee,” Quey offered as the man in the suit sat down.

             
“No,” he replied a bit curt.

             
“So you’re the guy who-”

             
“Where is Rain?” Sticklan interrupted.

             
Quey switched off the charm.  He could tell this man wasn’t interested in and wasn’t likely to fall for such tactics.  He shook his head, “I don’t know.”

             
Sticklan cleaned the area in front of him, first moving a coffee mug out of the way then dusting a bit of sugar into his hand and dropping it onto a napkin he folded onto a small plate.  Finally he rubbed his hands together and collected his thoughts.  His instinct had been to reach into his coat and produce a surgeon’s knife, but with the situation being as it was, he decided against it, more wisdom from his little blue pill.  Instead he nodded and wiped his hands clean.  “I understand,” he began again, and Quey was visibly puzzled.  “Pretty thing like that throws it on you and you start to feel chivalrous.  But, you’re not helping her.  And you’re sure as hell not helping yourself.”

             
Quey sensed Dusty’s agitation and Arnie's nervousness, but a simple glance toned Dusty down.  As for Arnie, he just had to hope the kid would last a bit longer, that maybe Dusty could carry him through if it came to that.

             
Sticklan went on.  “I don’t care how juicy a piece she was, she’s not worth what’ll follow you even if you walk out of here today.  Even if you shoot me in the head.  See people, ones who employ men such as myself, ones who have a serious hard on for this bitch, already know to look for you.  That you’re a piece of the puzzle.  People who can turn a bounty on you that doesn’t specify dead or alive.”

             
Quey didn’t move.  He’d met men like this before.  This guy wasn’t really looking for Rain at all, the search for her was a means to an end.  What he wanted was death.  What he wanted were bodies.  He’d frenzied the Angels of the Brood and turned them loose, knowing they’d scour the earth for a bounty as grand as ten million, knowing they’d burn everything they happened upon in between.

             
A long sigh escaped him and he nodded.  “I’ll say what I know.”  Sticklan nodded.  “I was making my rounds, hauling my shine to here and there.” He shrugged, “I stop at the Dine Out for a bite and a place to shut my eyes for a spell.  There’s a girl there, pretty thing, like you said.  We talk.  We eat.  I open some barrels of shine, throw a party, try to impress her.  It works.  We spent the night together, as you say.  Morning comes around and we have breakfast.  Then she leaves.”

             
“Where did she head?”

             
“North.  Took the fork north.”

             
Sticklan nodded.  “Did she have anyone with her?”

             
“No,” Quey replied.

             
“No one.  Not another girl?  Not a boy, pubescent?”

             
Quey shook his head and Sticklan nodded, peering at him for a long moment.  “I’m going to believe you,” the psychopath finally said.  “But if I find out I was wrong to, I will put such a price on your head these fine individuals will burn the world down to find you.”

             
“Bet you’d like that,” Quey said with a touch of slyness.  They sat for another moment.  Quey didn’t move.  Finally the other man stood and Quey asked, “What did she do?”

             
Sticklan stared at him.

             
Quey shrugged, “What?  You spend all this time, go to all this trouble, looking for me.  You have me hunted, destroy my truck, I can’t know what for?”