Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

out between the bars and pointed, the finger trembling with excitement. “That’s the one!”

Molly turned to look behind herself, to see if there was someone else the finger could be indicating. When she turned back, the sheriff loomed before her, seizing her with strong hands and removing any doubt.

“Hey, wait a sec—!”

The sheriff pulled her arm up tight behind her and force-marched her the last few steps she had intended to take anyway. Molly automatically resisted, pushing back against him as he manhandled her forward and through the door.

“Fine piece of detective work there, Sheriff Browne.”

“That’s enough out of you,” the sheriff said to a prisoner in the far cell.

“What’s going on?” Molly asked. She felt cuffs snap down around her wrists before she was handed off to a deputy, who nodded politely and tipped his hat before escorting her toward one of the empty cells. “Am I being arrested?”

“Assault and battery, ma’am.”

The deputy smiled, winked, and dipped his chin. His accusation and flirtations didn’t mix well.

“Do what?” Molly looked down at her manacled hands, as if to confirm the bizarre turn of events.

The deputy pushed her into the cell and slid the door shut with a bang. He then reached inside and unlocked the cuffs before pulling them out through the bars. Molly watched the bizarre charade of bureaucratic inefficiency and felt herself becoming detached from the entire scene. It had to be happening to someone else. She peered past the deputy to the sheriff, who was looking her up and down.

“You sure this is the woman that licked you?”

“Positive,” a man said. He moved closer, out of the shaft of dust suspended around the window. The light kept him in silhouette, but Molly could recognize him by his massive frame, if not the accusation. Once she knew where to look, she could clearly see the bandage around his neck as well.

The sheriff laughed. “Paulie, are you sure you wanna go on record and say this girl whooped your ass?”

He laughed louder, and the deputy joined in, along with the prisoner to Molly’s side. Thighs were slapped, sending up clouds of dust to gather by the windows.

“There were three of them, like I told you.” Paulie said it defensively. He stepped closer to the cells and glared at Molly.

“This man tried to kill me!” Molly yelled. She reached through the bars and jabbed a finger in his direction. “He tied me up—they tied lots of people up and stole their votes! Our votes!”

“That’s the dumbest thing—”

“Look!” Molly yelled. She became frantic, grabbing her sleeve and fighting to roll it up. This made no sense, her being behind bars. It made her brain boil, made it hard to think. She felt the Wadi scamper down and bury itself in a pocket as she finally got the sleeve past her elbow.

“Look! Look at what they did to me.” She held out her arm and pointed at the red circle around the needle mark.

“That explains her strength,” Paulie said. “And her delusions. She’s obviously an addict.”

“Both of you settle down,” the sheriff said. “This ain’t for me to even hear. A judge’ll decide what went which way for who and when.”

“Whom,” his deputy said.

“Whatever.”

“No, he’s right,” the prisoner in the adjacent cell said, still laughing.

“And I said that’s enough out of you. I swear, you people are driving me insane. All I needed this week was some peace and quiet and I’ve got fleets falling out of the sky, a rash of looting, and now this nonsense.” He turned to Paulie as the big man seemed about to say something. “That means you too, Paulie. Now I’ll ask you to leave so I can do some paperwork in quietude.”

“Wait!” Paulie said, as the sheriff and deputy guided him toward the door. “But I ain’t told you the half of it! I got two dead friends and another two in the hospital because of this bitch—!”

“Watch your language,” the deputy said.

“Save it for the judge,” said the sheriff.

They pushed Paulie out into the street and banged the door shut behind him. His complaints were left to worm their way through the bars, stirring the shafts of dust.

“Now, back to my paperwork,” the sheriff said. He plopped down in his chair and pulled the newspaper up to the brim of his outrageous hat. He shook the fold straight and started reading, tsking at some piece of bad news.

“You’ve gotta be flanking kidding me,” Molly said. She looked around the cell, gripping the bars ahead of her; she rattled them in frustration.

“Retirement does this to a man,” the prisoner beside her whispered.

“Does what?” She turned and faced the man in the neighboring cell, who had lounged back on his cot now that the show was over.

“He ain’t been outside in a month,” the man said softly. “Least not until he arrested you.” He scratched the dark stubble on his chin. “I’m impressed he went that far.”

Molly stepped closer to the bars to hear better; her Wadi scurried out of her pocket and crept up to its perch behind her neck.

“Full retirement next week,” the prisoner said. “Great time to be a crook if it weren’t for that damned deputy.” He nodded to the younger man by the window.

“I don’t care about any of that,” Molly said. “No offense,” she added, as she noted the hurt expression on the man’s face. “I’ve got friends in trouble. I need to get out of here!”

The man shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “Ain’t we all?”

Molly turned to the sheriff. “Excuse me,” she said. “Look, I know it’s not your job to hear out our sides, but don’t you need something more than a man’s words to hold me here?”

“Sure do,” the sheriff said from the other side of his sports section.

“Can I go, then?”

“Nope.”

“Well what’ve you got besides a man’s words?” Molly asked.

“His wounds,” the sheriff said nonchalantly. “Didn’t look self inflicted to me. And you got a slight limp, consistent with the sort of blow a knee would take to move a man’s nose three inches to the left.”

“Ouch,” the prisoner said.

“What about—?”

“Self defense? Not a mark on you.” The sheriff peeked over his paper. “Unless you wanna count the stain of your habit on that left arm of yours.”

“What? No! I don’t do drugs. Hell, I don’t even drink!”

“Sure do curse a lot, though,” the prisoner pointed out.

The sheriff lowered his paper and glared at the other prisoner. “I swear on the heavens, that’s the last word I want outta you. And you,” he nodded to Molly. “You can save your explanations for—” The sheriff leaned forward and squinted at Molly. He slapped his paper down and bolted out of his chair. “Hey, wait a damn second. Didn’t I tell you pets weren’t allowed in my office?” He strode toward the cells, jabbing the air with his gun-shaped finger. “You were in here the other day, weren’t you? Asking about Cripple?”

Molly nodded. “That’s right, and I think she’s in trouble.”

“Aw, hell, Cripple’s always in trouble,” the deputy said.

“Your pet’s gotta go,” the sheriff told her.

“No, listen, she’s really in trouble. I think they’re loading her into one of the shuttles, those shuttles that keep getting shot down.”

“Ain’t just the shuttles getting shot down,” the deputy pointed out. “Besides, it’s only illegals sent off in them things. Cat was born right here on Lok. Everyone knows she ain’t illegal.”

“It’s not just the illegals,” Molly said. “They’ve got this Ryn guy, and they’ve got Urg’s family—” Molly wracked her brain to think who else, but that was already stretching the population of Callites she personally