A bell signals the elevator’s arrival on the first floor. Nixon pushes his way back through the crowd to the exit. It’s all the same people who’d been there earlier. He’s listening for the elevator to chime it’s arrival again on the top floor. He’s waiting for a shouting mob to appear behind him and the burn of blaster fire to eventually catch him in the back. But it doesn’t come. Maybe his little display of violence was enough to keep them away. For now.
Nixon has always had to be that guy, the one who has just a tiny bit of crazy behind the eyes. Usually, it was good enough just to keep it there. The crazy promised but not proven. Sometimes, though, you had to be ready to unjar the crazy and pour it out all over the table.
He’s on the street and walking away from the starport with his hood down before he realizes that his cheek is smeared with blood. He swipes at it frantically with an open palm, and it only serves to solidify the image that he’s someone who might be a little less than stable.
He looks behind him, and there’s still not anyone following him. Not that he can tell anyway. But even if they aren’t following him now, they’ll be looking for him soon. And again he thinks about dropping the case, just setting it down in some doorway and leaving it for someone to find.
Shaine’s dead. Any ramifications of just walking away from this trouble for him are gone. Then he remembers one of the last things Shaine said to him: “Mira and the girls.”
He never really liked Mira. And he’s only met the girls a couple of times. Still. They meant something to Shaine. They shouldn’t suffer for Shaine’s bad business deals.
So fine. He’ll keep the case. He’ll get it to Planet Azken. He’ll keep the family safe. He’ll do it for Shaine.
But if he’s going to do this, he needs a ship.
06
Before he can find a ship, he needs to get off the streets. Nothing good can happen here. He’s a hunted man again.
He’s been walking for close to half an hour. He’s on the other side of Exte’s main district now. The buildings are again long and low, and his stomach is suddenly reminding him that it’s been nearly a day since he’s had any real amount of food. He needs to find a place to eat.
There’s nothing here, or not much. Neon signs color everything in a deep green, and they advertise just about everything other than food: blaster repair, ship modifications, combat gear that is designed to keep you safe but limits mobility as a byproduct. He walks at least two blocks before he sees something that sticks out like a bright star on a dark night.
It’s a noodle bowl made of red and yellow neon. The red is the bowl. The yellow is the noodles. Alternating white squiggles are the steam coming from the bowl.
Nixon goes inside and asks to be seated near the back. There are only a couple of other patrons eating when he gets there. None of them look up as he’s escorted to his table.
He pulls his datapad from a pocket in his cloak and sets it on the table. He picks up the menu in front of him, but before he orders he checks his credits. A few swipes of his fingers, and his balance is up in front of him. Nothing has changed.
A small part of him was hoping that Shaine had transferred the credits before they even met, his friend knowing that Nixon would take the job. But he’s here, and he’s seated, and he needs food. Nixon looks at the menu, scanning the prices first and not the items. He finds something he can afford. It’s a noodle dish that his mom used to make when dad was between paychecks.
The bowl is steaming when the waitress sets it in front of him, but Nixon doesn’t care. He takes a big spoonful of the broth and puts it in his mouth. He lets it cool on his tongue before swallowing. He savors the flavor. It’s a hot meal, and, even if it’s a cheap meal, he hasn’t eaten like this in days.
The noodles are thick and ropy and resist slightly when he chews them. He tells himself to go slow, to take the time to enjoy every bite. But he can’t. He tears through it, picking the dish up at the end and bringing it to his mouth to make sure he gets every drop of the broth.
He thanks the waitress and leaves. It’s darker outside now. The first sun has gone down and everything is cast in long shadows. The day is nearly over, and he still needs a ship.
He also needs to know who’s chasing him and who killed Shaine. The yellow eyes should be a giveaway, but he’s not in this game. He doesn’t play with these players. He’s been working almost exclusively with the Uzeks and doing jobs for the cartels in Old Town for so long that he’s not seen anyone outside that tight circle.
Then the threat to Mira and Shaine’s girls. The cartels in Old Town didn’t do that kind of thing either. Your job was your job. Those people around you didn’t get pulled into things. This was a different kind of cartel he was dealing with.
That’s when it hits him. Mira. The girls. Do they know what’s happened? Are they even safe?
++xxx++
Shaine’s place wasn’t much, but it was miles better than where Nixon had called home. It
