by Kenneth Meade
Rufus sat at his stool the same as every other Thursday he wasn’t working. Music thumped, people danced and perfume mingled with cologne and the vapors of alcoholic beverages and breaths. Outfits were revealing and attitudes were forward. Rufus sat. His own drink was potent and it was his fifth.
The place was only a block from his hanger. Originally, he hated it, a sore thumb in his otherwise empty neighborhood of old warehouses and vacant lots. The patrons did nothing but clutter the streets with their shitty attempts at parking and nightly wrecks into fences and each other.
Now however, Rufus was tanked and soaking up every bit of the place. Of course, his way of enjoying it was a little different than the others. Rufus sat, watching, listening and studying. Others danced, drank, yelled at one another over the deafening music and then drank more. On these nights, it wasn’t until his third drink that Rufus admit to himself the women were the real reason he came. Some wore next to nothing and others had moves like nothing he had seen. Most were beyond embarrassingly too young for him. He never talked to them. He only sat drinking and letting his head empty of everything else. He had the weekend to prepare for his next job so he could chalk tonight up to amusement.
It was sure to be another late night that would find him on the floor of his hanger around noon tomorrow. At least that’s what Rufus thought until dipshit sat next to him.
“How is it going?” The guy said, grabbing a stool next to Rufus.
Rufus gave him and unwelcoming glanced, then turned away.
“Wasn’t sure if there’d be a cover. Let me buy you a drink?”
“No,” Rufus barked looking back to him.
“No, no, I think I know you.”
“Great,” Rufus replied standing up and grabbing his drink.
“It’s Wheemes right? Got work with Orion recently?”
Had it not been for the five drinks, Rufus would have been angry. His work was more often delicate and being recognized was less than ideal. But now that he was a shade away from shit-faced, he found it funny.
“Last guy who came up to me like that in public lost a few teeth.” Rufus grinned as he finished.
“Shit. You’re not on a job are you?” The man’s eyes widened and he had leaned in to Rufus whispering.
“Ha, no. you’d be dead.” Rufus grinned but then realized he was drunker than he thought. “Well nice to meet you,” he said walking away.
“My name is Mitch.” He stepped to follow Rufus.
“Buddy, I’m leaving.” His blissful stupor kept him from adding the words “Fuck off.”
“I can be some help to you.” Mitch pressed. “That job you just got is a hot one. Three guys are dead over it.”
“Well I didn’t kill them.” He turned away from Mitch again. “I think.” He mumbled to him self confused as to what they were talking about.
“I know Mr. Wheemes. I’m saying someone may be out to kill you.” Mitch quit following Rufus and waited.
Slowly Rufus turned back and pointed at Mitch. “You better wish them luck,” he snarled. He then chuckled at himself for slurring his speech.
“Mr. Wheemes, I’m serious. I know people who think they can get your contract if you’re dead.”
Rufus shrugged at Mitch’s lack of a sense of humor and stepped closer to him. “Mitch is it?” He asked loudly over the music. “People have wanted me dead long before Orion. You might want to beat it. You stick around me too long, you may end up dead.” He yelled.
“Wheemes,” Mitch sighed, shaking his head.
Rufus heard something through the noise of the club and looked at Mitch. His head tilted as he strained to tune into to the sound of the engine of a T-12 assault ship. Then he picked up on hover jets pumping through beats of the music, as the T-12 must have been preparing to land on top of the bar. Rufus eyed Mitch suspiciously.
The sound meant someone was coming to kill either Rufus or Mitch. The expense of flying that ship was enormous. Rufus glanced around the room but was certain none of the young punk patrons were worth that expense. The T-12 would hold a crew of four, maybe five, depending how much equipment they carried. It was small, agile and perfect for an insertion to an urban structure.
The only stairwell from the roof came down behind the bathrooms. Rufus heard the gentle thud of the ship touching down above him. In about a minute and a half they’d reach him, maybe less if they rushed.
Rufus opened his coat and pulled out his wallet. He handed Mitch a fifty.
“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked.
“Order us a round of drinks. I’ll be right back.” He took the last gulp of his drink.
Mitch nodded. “Ah, nature calls.”
“Something like that.” Rufus headed towards the bathrooms.
#
Two men stepped off a T-12 assault ship and onto the roof of a bar in an industrial district. They moved in unison, slow and certain as they approached the doorway that led into the building. They both wore armor and carried rifles. Allen nodded to his partner as they reached the door. Jarred opened it. Then precise and sure footsteps took them into the stairwell and towards their target.
Allen chose this target not only out of spite, but also from envy and a little greed. Some guy named Wheemes had gotten the contract for a job that Allen had already been working on. He wasn’t about to let his time hard spent be wasted. Especially because of some punk he had never heard of.
“Poor guy, probably just starting to enjoy his night.” Allen spoke into his helmet’s microphone.
Jarred nodded, as they crept farther down the stairwell.
“Just around the corner is the door to the men’s room. Then the women’s and then the open floor to the bar.” Allen spoke again in a whisper. “I’ll come around you. I get the shot.”
Jarred agreed silently by moving slowly to the wall and allowing Allen to pass. The steps creaked as he went by. It was clear to Allen that no one in the next room would have heard the creaking over the heavy thump of music.
“Don’t want to give our selves away.” Jarred’s whisper came over Allen’s headset with a laugh.
Allen chuckled as he turned back to Jarred. Confident, he continued by the door of the men’s room. As he was directly in front of it, it opened and a hand gripped the collar of his vest. With a jerk, Allen was pulled into the restroom. The door slammed shut behind him and he was pushed hard against it. A strong tug down on his rifle relieved it from his grip. A second later, the rifle’s butt caught him hard under the chin. Everything went black.
#
Jarred stood with his rifle pointed at the door. He couldn’t fire. Allen was on the other side. He spun and slammed his shoulder against the door but there was too much pressure on it. He stepped back and tried again. This time there was no resistance and he launched into the bathroom stumbling over Allen. He fell into the first stall door. Something hard hit him on the back of his head and he felt himself bounce off the stall door. His head spun. Everything went black.
#
“That was fast.” Mitch was waiting at the same stool when Rufus returned.
“Bar tender, there are two guys going at it in the bathroom. Might want to have security check it out,” Rufus yelled matter-of-factly.
Mitch looked towards the restroom. “Man, trouble does follow you.” He laughed. “I didn’t see anyone go back there.”
“What makes you think this job is so hot? The pay is good but not that good.” Rufus reached for his drink.
Mitch smiled and spread his arms. “Well, I am pretty well connected in Orion. Not a lot goes on that I don’t know about.”
“Sure,” Rufus said before taking another swig.
“Let’s just say the cargo you would be picking up is, special.” Mitch looked Rufus in the eye.
“Mitch, I appreciate the notion but the first guy in Orion that might want me dead is Blake. And honestly, that guy is a dumbass. So unless you got something better, I think I’m good.”
“You know him?” Mitch’s smile left.
“I’ve run into him before.”
“Ah, well just be careful. Pretty sure he is gunning for you.” Mitch retreated to his drink.
“Thanks for the heads up.” Rufus patted Mitch on the shoulder and set down his empty glass. He then made his way out of the bar.
Halfway to his hanger Rufus took a wallet out of his pants pocket. He flipped it open and looked at the ID card. The name was Donavan Blake. “Who brings ID to kill somebody?”
