“I did, Pa,” his son replied, noting his father’s worried look. “I told her to find out whatever she could about Frost. She said she would, but I only got that one phone call, and they took my PDC.”
“We need to get outta here,” Gideon growled, pacing the floor like a caged tiger.
“Did you call the bondsmen?”
“Yeah, he’s applyin’ for cyber-bail now.”
“And?”
“He said with your record, it’d prob’ly take an hour or so, by the time the ZiPs appealed it.
“We may not have an hour, Pa!” Now, it was Junior’s turn to fret. “If you killed that there Fro—”
“Will ya shut yore mouth?” Gideon hissed through clenched teeth, as he looked around wildly, eyes full of paranoia.
“Sorry, Pa!” Junior cringed, not wanting to suffer his father’s wrath … again. “What we gonna do?”
“We get outta here. We may have to space,” the old man wrung his hands nervously.
“Oh, hell, Pa!” Junior whined. “Ya know I don’t like space. I got spacesick going to the moon, remember?”
“Well, ya ain’t got much choice now, do ya?” The older man shook his head. “If the bastard croaked, we may be up on a murder rap. If he didn’t, you know he’ll be coming after us. Hell, Mars probably won’t even be far enough. We’ll have to hide out in the ‘Roids.”
Where Mars had once been the haven for fugitives and outlaws, the Asteroid Belt was increasingly becoming the place to hide out from the law. There was only a token Authority presence, and a decent gun hand could work as a pirate, smuggler or hijacker. They were also dozens of shakedown gangs that roamed this remote frontier that separated the inner solar system from the gas giants, Jupiter and Saturn, preying on isolated settlers, miners and wildcatters. They were always looking for muscle for hire.
As for Junior, the thought of living in a rusty, chilly tin can of a habitation pod appealed to him not one bit, nor did the idea of whizzing around in some cramped, smelly, claustrophobic pirate ship, especially if his father was crammed in there with him. He felt nauseous at the thought of it. God, how he was beginning to detest the old codger! Even being sentenced to Penal One sounded more appealing than being trapped with his father in close quarters.
His meditation on the gloomy prospects of the future was interrupted by a commotion in the corridor outside. Someone was protesting loudly, and Mister Big Ass Jailer was showing him little sympathy.
“I can’t believe y’all are charging me! After what they did to my property?”
“That idn’t none of my concern, cum drip,” the big trooper bellowed. “That’s between you and the judge.”
“My attorney is going to rip this whole Zone a new one! Starting with you doughnut-dunkers … you just wait!”
The guard appeared at the door again, with a short, pudgy man, sporting a bushy walrus mustache that nearly concealed his entire mouth. He was wearing a monogrammed bathrobe over silk pajamas and furry slippers. He had the soft look of privilege and wealth, with manicured nails, soft hands and eyes that, despite all his posturing, betrayed the gut-wrenching fear that filled him. He’d never been on this side of the street, down in the gutter with the dregs of society. The world looked a whole lot different when you were sitting atop a mountain, protected by an electrified fence and a private security force. Strip all that away, see it up close and ugly, and it can be quite terrifying.
The trooper de-energized the door entrance. “Get your ass in there!”
The man started inside but froze at the sight of the two Tuttles. It was as if his worst nightmare had just come true. He was being incarcerated with two of the most backward, dangerous and ignorant looking men he’d ever laid eyes on.
And they weren’t even minorities!
The guard picked up instantly on the man’s hesitation. “Yeah, you best watch yourself with those two banjo pickers. Cuz you got yourself a purty mouth. With all that hair around it, it looks just like a pretty little peter pocket.”
Oliver “Ollie” Oglethorpe III tried to swallow down the brick in his throat as a scene of him getting gang-raped by these two hillbillies played in his mind like a disgusting porn vid. He felt like a slab of meat tossed into a lion’s cage as their cold eyes appraised him.
The only thing he’d been guilty of was defending his home against the likes of that white trash spacer, Tiger Thomas. Now, he was the one treated like a criminal, and probably about to be made pivot man in a game of “spin the fat guy.”
He looked back to the guard. “My bail should be coming through any minute.”
“Well, when it does, you can go home. Until then, your ass is going into that cell.”
Ollie looked to the Tuttles again, hesitating. “Isn’t there a single cell you can put me in. I’ll gladly pay extra for it.”
The trooper guffawed, and despite themselves, even the Tuttles cackled loudly at that one, but then the guard’s demeanor turned back immediately gruff and stern.
“What do you think this is? The Ritz? Get your dumpy, bloated carcass in there! I won’t tell you again.”
“Officer, I really must take issue with your attitude.” Ollie puffed out what passed for a chest, trying to be defiant, but man boobs did nothing to impress the ZiP.
“Is that right?” The big man put his hands on his hips matter-of-factly.
“Sonny, I believe I’d step on in here if I’s you,” Gideon Tuttle issued some rare, friendly advice. Unfortunately, it went unheeded.
“You are a public servant; therefore, I, as a taxpayer, pay your salary. And believe me; I pay more than my fair sha—”
He never saw the shockstick, the combination of nightstick and cattle prod, come out, nor felt the end of it being jabbed into his gut. He didn’t hear
