The point is anything can happen if you end up in someone else’s hands.
So… it’ll be stabbing Reiser, jackhammer quick, if it needs to be. Like someone said a long time ago. Be polite. Be nice. Have a plan to kill everyone in the room.
Jack Bowie has a plan. He always does. In his line of work there is no other way.
“So… like I said, these two business titans are just going to town on each other. Buying up suppliers, land, leases, rents, loans. Y’know… the way the rich and powerful fight. There are rumors that both sides are using hit teams on execs. Then the old rich guy connected to the House of Reason… well, his daughter gets killed. Nilo, he’s got no one close. Not even a girlfriend. So… the old guy sends a hit team after him direct. Wipes out an entire private extreme sporting planetoid resort the kid is staying at. Except he doesn’t get the kid.
“All of this gets hushed up. Lotsa credits are paid out to local law and families and even some Repub agency types to make it all go away. But now things have gone horribly wrong. If you listen to the stories… and if they’re true… then this is what happens next. Everyone around the old man, everyone he’s ever known from back when he was a kid on some private richy-rich world, starts to die.
“Everyone. Even the people who knew those people start to die. The old guy decides to call a truce but the kid isn’t having it by then. It’s gone too far. And this is where it gets crazy, real crazy in fact. It was never about revenge. It was about artifacts. Turns out both of them had been friends before the whole mess started. And the kid, once he had the money, wanted to buy the guy’s private collection of artifacts. Old guy wouldn’t sell and they had a falling out over it. So, the kid started a war. And once the old guy, who it turned out cared about someone other than himself, felt the noose tightening around his family and closest associates, and eventually himself, one can infer, he gave in and sold the collection to the kid. Or at least he offered to.”
“Kid didn’t buy it,” said Bowie interrupting Reiser in the middle of his performance. Reiser made a face and nodded. Somehow defeated. Because even this part baffled him.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Bowie knew poker. Knew how people played. Knew what Nilo was after.
“Nah,” said Reiser, caught up in the action once more. In the story. In the gory details. “Nah, not at all. Now he just wanted it.”
Reiser smiled.
“For free. Said it was his right. His destiny.”
“So he gave it to him,” stated Bowie.
For a moment Reiser was stunned at this leap in the story also.
“How’d you know?” asked the older man.
When Bowie didn’t answer, Reiser continued.
“Yeah, that’s about right. Just gave it up. Had the whole thing transferred via secured freighter that supposedly disappeared in route, but we can assume the cargo and ship were conveniently ‘lost’ as we’ve pulled that kind of op a time or two before. Then, old guy kills himself an hour later. We guess that was part of the agreement, in order to spare the rest of his family. Or it was just suicide because the collection meant so much to him. Or even just the humiliation of having been outplayed and forced to sue for mercy. Half dozen one or the other, I say.”
Reiser checked his chrono and then once more glanced at the morning news feeds.
“Okay, it’s time, Jack.” He was all business now. “Got an offer from Mr. Nilo. Direct. Yeah, you’re on the team. But this here’s special. And… well, we just wanna make sure you’re all in on this. So, are you, Jack? You gonna play team ball this time?”
Bowie took off his sunglasses. Drank the last of the kaff that had gone cold.
“Before I answer,” began Jack Bowie. “I have just one question.”
Reiser looked bothered by this and then flung open his palms. As if to indicate what choice did he have.
“The artifacts. The collection the two were fighting over. What was it? What was the stuff the kid wanted so badly?”
Reiser gave a quick glance at the stream. Obviously, timing was of the essence here.
“Old Savage stuff. Junk mostly. Artifacts from off their ships and things. Real sick stuff. Also… highly illegal. Or at least… it was back under the House. All that kinda weird stuff had to go right to the government so they could R and D it. Or keep someone from doing just that. Alright… so… are you in, Jack? ’Cause we gotta start now if you’re gonna make it.”
Jack Bowie replaced his sunglasses and straightened his jacket. Every muscle in his body awake. He knew showtime when he smelled it.
“Yeah, I’m in. Give it to me, Reiser. Who needs to die?”
“Funny you should say that, Jack.” Reiser leaned down and picked a briefcase up off the floor next to their table. It almost looked like the one Jack Bowie had entering the compound the night before. “’Cause this is the opposite of that. You’re the target. Here, take this. It’s a Jackknife Supreme. Press this and it deploys into a cut-down heavy blaster. You’re going to need it.”
“What do you mean I’m the target?” asked Jack Bowie, alarm bells sounding strident warnings across his frontal lobe.
Comm device alerts went off across the bar. Out in the lobby. Even in the restaurant and lounge where the zhee were braying.
Suddenly the braying stopped and a dead silence descended across the Grand Intergalactic.
Jack Bowie had a very bad feeling about this.
“Here’s the op and you have to start moving in the next thirty seconds, Jack. Seriously, I’m on your
