Some people believe that repossessing cars is the most dangerous job I can have. I don't think so. I usually go in, get my car, and am hoisting a beer in Dooley's before the owners know it's gone. Being shy, I try to avoid scenes. Any risks are part of the job.
If you really want to chill my blood, ask for driving lessons. Make sure you're out of arm's reach and that I prize your company.
I didn't want to lose Hammer's company. As for beating him up, well, let's just say that he barely fit behind my steering wheel. I might have avoided all this by driving a compact. The worst thing about his driving was that it wasn't bad enough to keep my guard up. Any screwups took me unawares.
My clunker slammed to a stop on Gerrittsen Avenue. There was an ominous grinding sound, but it was only my teeth.
"Why didn't you stop completely before engaging park?" I ground out. Hammer gave me the most infuriating calm look.
"You didn't say to stop. You said to put it in park."
"You're never going to learn to drive just listening to me! I mean, next time ask!" I bit down on several suicidal ephitets and tried to remember the advantages of taking Hammer as my partner.
I had taken him on after the new boss at his garage fired him. I had a hunch it was over what Hammer did to the old boss. I never got him to say what he had done to him. Probably made him give Hammer a driving lesson.
On the plus side, a lot of repo targets simply handed over their keys to me when Hammer asked politely and promised to give back their arms. It took a while for him to get the proper expression and stance. If anyone ever found out he collected old plastic models and Julie Brown cubes, we were through. I could have a worse partner.
When do I drive in traffic?" Hammer asked. I bit down on a stream of manic laughter.
"Soon. Not tonight. I take no chances before a repo job and hopefully none during."
"You sure don't take any with your car." Hammer squeezed out and slammed the door. It made me think about buying a roll bar.
"This looks like a good time to quit... C'mon, I let you drive to Dooley's. I'll get us some burgers before our job." That last comment got him back.
We had a juicy repo job tonight. A local unknown, the Flashman, had raced my pal O'Hara for pink slips and lost. Unfortunately, he was as big a welsher as a braggart. All O'Hara collected so far was the pink slip. He wanted me to get the car, a '37 Puma, intact, so we could sell it piecemeal. We could probably clear 150% of the price that way, and I was gettng half the money for my connection in selling it off. The only hitch was O'Hara wanted the car tonight. It was a matter of pride. That and the fact Flashman was going into the arena tommorrow night. But tonight was a nice night to work.
It was a warm summer evening. Storefronts and restaurants were lit up. We rolled by couples strolling arm in arm or turning into Dooley's. One lady getting out of a blue Xenon caught my eye. Even a block away, you could see her wreaking havoc on men's senses. That was Holly Van Eyck.
I hit the target screen to get a better view. Then Hammer saw her, too, and accelerated to catch her near Dooley's. He caught up and pulled in front of a black Missileer and made a stop that was a windshield-kisser. I noticed my targeting screen identified Holly as a semi-truck. That took malfunction to a new level. There was only so much that combat armor hid.
"Hi, Lucky. Hello, Hammer," she said, walking to the car. I knew I was smiling like a fool. Damn it.
"How's your leg where that dog bit you? How are your gunshot wounds?" She ran a lone finger through my hair.
"Great. You did a fine job." I made a note to have her around the next time I broke up with a woman. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, just running down to the store to pick up some things. I'm making dinner for Archer tomorrow night." She fairly glowed.
"Archer. How is that little... buzzard?"
"Fine. His convoy gets in tomorrow."
"Yeah?" Hammer pushed me back in the seat.
"Well, we have a job to get started with. Give our regards to Archer," Hammer said. Holly said her good-byes and left.
"What the hell was the idea?" I demanded.
"You said not to take chances right before a job," he replied with the same calm pride.
As I got out of the clunker, I noticed two guys in the Missileer laughing. You know the type: every hair in place, knuckles bald from being dragged on the ground. Well, they were probably just laughing at my bumper stickers, the ones with pictures.
I saw Holly go into the deli up the block as I stepped into Dooley's. Dooley motioned to me through the smoke, and I eased over to the bar. Her lips hardly moved as she wiped the counter.
"I just sent a case of booze over to Flashman's place. He's having a party before his trip to the arena." I gave up figuring out how she learned these things about my job. She knew everything.
"Drunk and stupid? Just the way I liked my targets."
"Your women, too. No, don't bother to thank me. Just pay your tab."
"Right after I score." I collected my burgers and headed for the door. I thought I caught the flash of Holly's bonde hair outside.
Holly was outside. One of my smiling friends from the Missileer was outside grabbing her paramedic jacket. I didn't hear what Holly said to him, but it wiped the smarmy grin right off his face. Holly dropped the small bag she carried a second before I dropped mine.
This was definitely my night. First an easy repo job and now the daring rescue of a beautiful woman. I pulled my machine pistol off my battlevest, just as Holly flipped the guy. I was set to mourn my adrenalin as wasted but then the driver climbed out his side with a shotgun.
I think he was too busy trying to kill Holly to notice me in the background. I began his education with a full burst in the chest. He switched his point of aim to me, and his first blast tore a hole in Dooley's door. Damn, he was wearing IBA. He barely felt my burst. Smiley on the sidewalk was drawing an automag while he slashed at Holly's legs.
I pulled a cry baby off my vest and threw it. Smiley stopped slashing when my grenade rolled past his nose. Holly and I dropped prone as a second burst went over our heads. I tagged Smiley with my second burst as he tried to dive behind the Missileer. He staggered but brought his gun to bear. He probably had a flak jacket under his jacket. I was dead.
It was one of those moments that seemed to last forever. I had enough time to look for Hammer. The clunker in front of the Missileer pulled out a low whine. I saw Smiley aim for Holly. The driver drew a bead on me.
I opened fire as I pulled my gas mask over my face. Holly dove behind a dumpster for cover. I tagged the driver again, but he was still up. Then the grenade went off. The driver missed his shot at me. It was dark, and no one could see through the gas cloud without light amplifiers, which my gas mask had. I spend a lot of time in the dark. I sprinted towards Holly. I could hear her coughing.
My clunker was far down Gerrittsen, moving fast. It lurched into a jerky U-turn and began heading back towards us. I fired a few more potshots at the goons, a pistol shot jumped off my chest armor. The clunker shot past us then slowed and executed another U-turn that almost flipped it.
Constantly correcting, Hammer lined up with the Missileer's back and floored it. The driver scrambled into his car. Smiley was feeling around blindly for his door handle.
"Stay down! I have no idea--"
The clunker slammed into the Missileer's trunk. The black car bounced forward, its turreted rocket launching bobbing. It rolled right onto a pile of mines Hammer left while parked in front of them. They exploded and napalm washed over the car's nose and wheels. The driver hit the gas and peeled out, his wheels trailing flame and smoke.
Hammer squeezed out of the car just as I kicked Smiley in the wrong side of the shorts. At least the rescue came off. I hoped Holly could see all this, with being gassed and all. I tried thinking of a casual, witty remark.
"Where the hell's my car?" Holly yelled. She was pointing toward an empty space.
"I didn't know anything... She was pulling a knife at me first. I thought she knew me!" Smiley's babbling rattled the glasses on the bar. At least he was blowing the smoke and dust around. Hammer held the punk motionless and looked bored.
"Lady, call the cops," he pleaded to Dooley. "That little guy is a twisted killer!" I got off my barstool and grabbed him by the throat.
"Who are you calling 'little,' deadmeat?" I yelled. Dooley shoved me aside and stuck a gyroslugger in the guy's mouth.
"Who are you calling 'lady?'" She paused for effect. "You shot up the front of my place and almost killed a regular. You cost me business and prestige.
"I made myself what I am today--a widow. The late mister was the last man to try to bullshit me. I loved him. I don't know you. Now I know you and your friend were trying to hold up the lady or hurt her while her car was being stolen. Now, we'll discuss who your friends are..."
I took Holly by the arm and steered her to a booth. She didn't have to see this and I didn't feel like it myself. Dooley still might blow his head off.
"I didn't believe this. All I did was step out to buy some groceries for Archer's dinner..."
"Oh, right. So how's his job working out?" I asked. She proceeded to tell me in glowing detail until I excused myself and went back to the interrogation.
"If this is a phony," Hammer was explaining, "I'll put your left elbow in your right ear." He noticed one and looked up. "Their name's Hannibals Canibals' Salvage Yard, on Avenue R and 18th."
"So, you got the address out of him," I said. Two of Dooley's regulars, Pudge and Gabby, hustled the punk into the john. I knew that was escape-proof.
"I hate intimidation," Hammer said, watching.
"Yes, but you're very good at it. Nice driving, by the way. I was wondering why you didn't use the micro-missles?"
"You didn't show me how to arm them. Anyway, we going after Holly's car?"
Holly came over and laid a hand on my shoulder. Damn her.
"We have to pick up that car for O'Hara, remember?"
"Those thieves are probably scared. They're going to chop that Xenon quick. O'Hara can wait, right?!"
"Look, you guys," Holly broke in. I couldn't tell if she was shy or afraid of witnessing a double murder. "You've done enough for one night. I would've been killed. I'll take from here." It was very noble and self-sacrificing. It made turning her down much harder, but not impossible.
"Thank you."
Hammer grabbed my arm and took it to a booth. I tagged along. I had a feeling I was going to get an elbow in my ear. Time for tact.
"What's wrong with you?!" Hammer asked angrily.
"Call it enlightened self-interest. Let her call the cops or her boyfriend. We have a job!"
"I thought you liked Holly. She's patched you up plenty. I guess you don't think anyone's worth your trouble."
"Oh, yeah? What about your driving lessons?"
"When do I drive in traffic?"
"Soon," I exploded.
"Yeah. You're very helpful as long as it's no trouble to you. Am I still your partner if I don't pass my road test?"
"You're my friend, my partner--"
"I see how you help your friends. Get a new partner. Pick one with a license to drive. I'm helping Holly."
"Oh, yeah? Here, Mr. Knight in combat armor." I tossed my keys, and he caught them. He glared a second then walked out, Holly in tow. She hesitated at the door a moment.
"Somebody get me a ride."
Flashman lived on 36th and U. He must have been a better duellist than racer. He owned an unattached two-story colonial. The garage was in back through an alley shared with the adjacent house and flanked by shrubbery. Dooley'd been right about the party. The lights were on. Figures moved and twisted to the Contortionists' latest cube - "The Infernal". Maybe I'd buy it after the score. As if by reflex, I noted the various duelling machines parked and double parked around the house. The alley was clear.
I walked past and stopped, pretending to tie my shoe. The alley had one motion sensor and a flood light. This was too easy. Standard procedure was to wait till everyone was crocked, go in, get the car. But then I thought of Hammer, Holly, and the Cannibals--not to mention my dear, sweet clunker. I sighed then slipped under a shrub. There were plenty of throwing stones on the ground.
My first throw was off by a foot, then I warmed up. My fourth toss tagged the sensor, the floodlight went on, and sirens blasted. Five seconds later, the first gay partygoers stormed out, mandatory guns waving. Flashman tottered out waving an assault rifle. Too bad I didn't have a camera.
It took about two minutes for the fact that there were no targets standing around to sink through their aura of booze. Eventually, the cries of the Contortionists lured them back to the house. I replaced the gas grenade I had taken from my vest. This was going to be easy. I pitched another rock at the sensors.
After 18 minutes, six direct hits, and a number of litanies concerning Flashman's intelligence by his neighbors, Flashman shut the alarm. Usually, by this time, they ripped it out of the wall. I must be slipping. My next three hits had no effect.
I crawled down the alleyway to the garage. There I got the bad news. The door was wired with a Gordan Knot 506 Security System. I wasn't sure I could touch it, let alone open it. I spotted the speaker box on the garage roof. No external cables and heavily armored. Okay, I had more crawling to do.
In back of the garage, I began cutting through the plastic wall with a mini-saw. The wall wasn't particularly tough, but it was thick. I suddenly had a vision of Hammer and Holly tied up in a stew pot and cut faster. It took a good ten minutes to cut a hole I could crawl through. I had to remove my pack to crawl in.
Flashman's car was a red '37 Puma--a gas burner! I looked it over and found a standard door alarm. Ha! Those alarms keep valet parking going. I shorted it, opened the door and began hotwiring. It took me longer than an electric plant would have. Unlike modern plants, this was a noisy beast. I started it gingerly and was rewarded with a low purr. No one would hear it outside the garage. Then I noticed the intercom sitting on the workbench. It was on--no doubt for me.
Stupid! Stupid! I jumped in the Puma and hit the gas. The Puma peeled, smashing through the lightweight door. This came as a terrible shock to Flashman and his friends who were standing opposite in the front of the garage, guns drawn. They sobered up then moved.
I tore down the alley and did a hard left on the street. The light on Avenue U was just turning yellow. I floored it and stood on the horn. Yellow is a sort of pale green. In the rearview, Flashman and one of his friends ran to a powder blue Slick. The rest were probably stunned.
I made then light but nearly flipped the Puma making a hard right. Other cars beeped angrily. The Slick just missed getting clipped as it turned onto U. Pity. Too bad I couldn't remember what weaponry a Slick mounted. Too may makes of cars on the road today.
Marine Park whizzed by me as I was in and out of the slower moving traffic. This car did thirty in neutral. I turned right on Stewart Street, the south border of the park. The Slick was still on U a block down. Time to lose them. I made the first left down to Gerrittsen then turned left again on the avenue, toward Dooley's.
Gerrittsen was nearly empty and I was cruising at sixty, really enjoying the Puma. At the intersection of U and Gerrittsen up ahead, the Slick ran the light and tried to cut me off. The brakes squealed as I jammed down on the pedal and swerved onto U again. Gerrittsen Beasch was a peninsula, and the Puma needed room to run, not swim. Besides, there were pletty of side streets to get lost in down here.
I pulled ahead, keeping a bus between me and the Slick, then turned right on the side street and took it to Y. Then I turned left, toward the Cannibal's base. I continued on T but had to stop for a light on Ocean Avenue--the traffic was too thick to run it. I was sure that I had lost them.
Then I saw a set of powder blue headlights far back. I almost hit the gas but stopped. No more blind fights. I pulled a bird dogger out of my jacket and switched it on. The indicator pulsed red. There was a homing beacon hidden in the Puma.
Thank God for 'doggers! Now I knew how Flashman kept finding me. I could find the beacon with my dogger, if I could stop. If I could stop without getting cubed. I had to get somewhere to block the signal. I only needed a few minutes.
The elevated tracks for the old D train cut across Avenue T between up ahead. If I parked under it, the beacon would be jammed. The light changed and I shot down T to 15th street and turned right. I was about to make another right onto Avenue S--which would have put me under the el.
The street had been torn up by a maintainace crew. There was an armor-plas barricade sealing off the rusty, old el. I sat stunned for a second. Then I turned right and aimed at the shining plastic. O'Hara would be ticked, but the Puma's cannon was too loud. I rammed.
The damn barricade nearly knocked me through the windshield. There was a crash that rattled every bone in my head. But I was under. I sat there a minute until I remembered Hammer and Holly, and the Slick. It seemed to take forever to find the beacon. It was under the left wheel well. I shut it off. Enough business, now for some personal matters.
The Cannibals hung out in a deserted salvage yard a few blocks away--18th and R, Hammer had said. It used to be a public school and playground. Now the chain link fence had camo-netting woven into it and was topped with razor wire. Mines and AP grenades were strung along the fence--it was an old Food Riots defense. The big gate was chained up and topped with a skull. They probably mugged an intern for it.
The old school was scarred by fire and weapon's fire. It still had a few windows intact and there was light behind some of them. There were at least six cycles I could glimpse through the fence. I saw no sign of Hammer, but I was sure he could use a diversion. I parked and walked over to the yard.
I activated the beacon and was about to throw it over the main gate. Suddenly, I heard a couple of shots, followed by an SMG burst. There was the whine of a power plant getting louder. Suddenly, I has a terrible sense of deja vu.
I dove aside as the Xenon smashed through the gate. I spotted Hammer behind the wheel. Through the gate, I could see a horde of bikers running for their choppers. A few kept shooting, and I rolled out of the way. I dropped the beacon.
I staggered to the Puma and climbed in. Up on Avenue R, the Xenon was burning up the street. My clunker came tearing out of an alley to join it. A wolf pack of cycles shrieked out the gate after them. I didn't at this point. I wasn't sure if I was hunter or hunted, or if Hammer, Holly, and the clunker were worth all this.
What the hell! I just finished improving the damn clunker.
As I peeled out, I noticed blue headlights behind me. Sigh.
The Slick had an initial speed advantage over me. It gained while I was accelerating. Well, what was he going to do? Shoot his own car? In answer, a hail of fletchettes and machine gun slugs struck the Puma's rear tires and wheelguards. Now I remembered what the Slick mounted, fletchette guns forward, turreted MGs, and spike droppers rear. The thing ate tires.
I began pulling away.
A flip of a switch and the Puma began spraying oil. I began weaving, laying down a pattern as the oil exploded into flames. The Slick slowed, stopped firing as it skirted the hungry flames. The Puma's back tires had already taken some damage. I didn't know what kind they were. I tried to forget them and concentrate on the bikes ahead.
Avenue R was deserted and pitted with craters. Hammer and Hooly both slowed for safety. Holly activated my clunker's smoke screen and spike dropper. The cycles were forced to slow to avoid them. One biker, going too fast, struck my spikes and found they were explosive. They ripped both tires, sending him spinning out.
I locked the autocannon on the pack and fired. The shots landed around the cycles. The bursting shells propelled shrapnel into the bikes' unarmored flanks, into engines and riders. One cycle's plant exploded without warning, throwing the biker's body clear. Another skidded into sparks and went into a tree.
Another burst of fletchettes raked my tires again. I was getting a bad vibration in the rear. A pair of cycles slipped back. The right one dropped spikes.
The street expoded in flames. The other cycles had tagged me with a rear flamethrower. I could feel the heat through the windshield. I was too busy avoiding the spikes to shoot back. I tore through the torch's smoke cloud and started to skid. The Slick was moving up through the flaming street. One more tire hit and I'd be airborn--briefly.
The Slick opened up on the cycles with its .50s. I guess Flashman wanted to do me himself, and save the Puma. The torch cycle took a direct hit to its ammo tank and disintegrated in a storm of flames. The other cycle slowed almost out of control from the explosion. I hit the gas and smashed into his.
The Slick fired on the cycles again. The remaining bikers didn't like the odds or their lack of rear weapons and began turning off in twos and threes. Another blast from my cannon convinced them they made the right choice. The Slick nailed another cycle, and I was almost grateful til I realized who they'd shoot at next.
"Hammer? It's Lucky," I radioed.
"You the guy getting murdered in the Puma?"
"How'd you guess? Can you help?" I tried to sound calm. Some more fletchette struck; luckily, the wheels guards deflected them. Holly in the clunker and Hammer in the Xenon dropped back. If Slick didn't leave, we would have him boxed in.
"You should go now," I called into the radio. No answer. Suddenly, three cycles turned onto R. Up ahead. More Cannibals, but they were a little early. I braked and fired the cannon. Holly opened up with the clunker's micro-missiles. The combination was enough to send two cycles skidding. The third slowed to avoid his friends and Hammer clipped him in passing; the bike toppled and spun.
The upright cycles hit their brakes and climbed the curb on either side to avoid hitting their friend and us. We roared past. The Slick tried to go around the tumbling cycle but struck some spikes that detonated, sending them skidding into the bike. The biker jumped clear as his cycle went under the car's wheels. The jumper skidded and began rolling. We lost sight of them in the smoke of burning oil and bikes.
"Shut my spike dropper and smoke, Holly. They don't reload for free. Hammer, did you ever figure out how to fire the guns?"
"Why do you think I've been ramming these jerks?"
I couldn't help laughing. "That's it! Dooley's. I'm buying!"
There wasn't a lot to wrap up. I called O'Hara from Dooley's and told him to come and get his car. I advised him to bring one or two spare tires.
I brought the drinks over from the the bar to our booth. Holly sat slumped against Hammer.
"You guys do this every night?" Holly moaned.
"Nah," answered Hammer. "It usually doesn't go this smoothly."
Holly put her head on the table.
"I'm just glad I got there in time to help you," I said, passing out the drinks.
"You helped us? Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the guy with the fletchettes stuck in your butt?"
"I saved your hides!" I protested.
"After you made your money." Hammer grabbed his drink in disgust. "You should have been there from the start! You're the one with all the lockpicks and the know-how. I had to cut a hole in the fence, grab the car, and crash the gate to get out!"
I shrugged my shoulders. "That works."
"Quiet!" Holly screamed. "You both did what you had to. You both were there for each other. Correct? Okay, you," -- she pointed a finger at me -- "let him drive in traffic--"
"Airing your dirty launder, Hammer?"
"Shut up!" Holly wasn't finished. "Hammer."
"Yes, ma'am."
"While you're taking your final lessons from Lucky, listen to him. Lord knows he isn't the best instructor to begin with." Then she got up and went to the bar. Hammer and I stared at each other for a while.
"Thanks," Hammer finally muttered.
"Uh, yeah. Listen, how about another lesson? Anywhere you want. After all, I'm too beat to be scared by your driving."
I was lying, of course.