Sun’s Gone, Guns Drawn

With guns aimed at him, Detective Arthas Jacques kept his hands raised. “Cain Ableman, for threatening an officer of the Martian Police Force’s Offworld Crime Department, you are under arrest.” The detective’s blue eyes met with Agent Belle Nguyen’s brown ones as she stood by his side.

Cain grinned, finger on his trigger. The lesser thugs of the Bullet Donors mercenary band had six bloodthirsty smiles as they stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Do I have the right to remain violent?” Ableman asked. His blue and white uniform strained to restrain his bulging muscles.

“No but I’m sure I can’t convince you otherwise.” Arthas stretched. “For the record though, I don’t want to hurt you.” Their voices echoed in the vast grey emptiness of the hangar.

“That’s alright, you won’t.” Cain smirked, showing off his collection of gold teeth.

“Purple,” Arthas said to the towering droid by his shoulder. “Shoot to wound.” Arthas’ voice was the Arab and French mix typical of the Martian capital.

“Spoilsport,” the huge droid moped. “Run then!”

Fingers squeezed triggers. Arthas and Belle’s feet slapped the metal grill of the hanger balcony. Agent Nguyen dragged the detective towards the railing.

“What are we?” Jacques began to ask.

The agent of the Martian Security Agency answered by throwing herself over the railing. In her elegant black dress, the leap looked like an advert for something, probably perfume.

Yelling as he jumped two stories down to the steel deck of the hangar below, Arthas braced himself. Despite rolling as he slammed down, a bone in his left ankle broke on impact.

Suppressing the pain, he drew his tranquiliser pistol and aimed up at the railing. The first pursuer took a dart to the forehead. Another sailed through the air, landing with a damp crunch near Arthas.

“What’s your droid doing up there?” Bell asked, hiding behind an empty fuel tank.

Gunfire rattled above them. Bullets rebounded off the walls.

“Whatever he wants, probably enjoying an unbroken ankle.” Arthas winced. “Do you have a gun?”

“Not unless you throw me yours.” The statement was half request, half jest. While they had been watching a black market demonstration of tech surrounded by armed mercenaries her attire had been a rebellious statement. Arthas marvelled that she wasn’t shivering in her little black number, suffering for fashion.

“Sit tight. Purple will deal with it.” He held up a palm, then looked back to the railings above as the gunfire above ceased.

The ears of the agent and the detective strained to hear any indication of the winner. A gun peaked over the railing before the holder, Cain, looked long enough to see Arthas below.

In the detective’s experience, blind fire was rarely so accurate. The leader of the Bullet Donors was generous with the rounds which pinged off the steel next to Arthas. He rolled over and over, feeling every twitch in his ankle.

“Nice droid, pig. It’s going to be a great asset when I have it reprogrammed. Or I could just mount it on my wall.”

Agent Nguyen peeked at Detective Jacques from her cover. He mouthed the word catch to her and mimed to throw his gun. She nodded and held her hands out.

The pistol spun through the air. Belle snatched it and aimed upwards.

“Hey, Cain. You the last one up there?” asked Arthas. He crawled along the floor towards a doorway too far for safety.

“Maybe I am,” said a mocking voice. “Would it matter? You’ve got a water pistol. Talk about bringing a knife to a gunfight.” His voice was audible swagger with an accent of New Jersey mashed with Barcelona.

Dragging himself, Jacques metal right hand scraped loudly against the ground. “Are you going to come down here and face me like a man? Or take pot shots like a coward?

“Pot shots sound good to me.” The gun aimed over the railing again, spitting bullets that bit the floor a hair’s breadth from Arthas. “Coming up to see me?”

Hand over hand, the detective crawled to the lift at the end of the balcony. “I’ll be waiting for you down here. Let’s talk. You’re a businessman. I have money.”

“I know who you are, Sergeant Jacques. You spent all of your money on the twitching droid and the ship I’ll be flying home. Gotta say, that thing is gorgeous. Black isn’t my colour though. I’ll paint it blue and white, that’ll suit it better. It can be the flagship of the Bullet Donor’s fleet. I’ve been thinking of branching out. Piracy is more profitable than ever.”

The detective balked at the thought of a skull and crossbones painted on his beloved ship. “Watch a lot of James Bond movies?” Arthas asked. He reached the cradle for the platform lift. A dozen rounds dinged against the wall beside him.

“What?” asked the aspiring pirate in dire need of an eye patch and parrot.

“If you’re going to lay out your evil plan, you should at least be stroking a cat. It’s only manners. They cost nothing.”

“Don’t worry, meat. I get enough pussy for the both of us.” The laughter echoed off the walls.

“Misogyny, the last refuge of the impotent. You forgot one thing though.”

“What’s that then?” Cain asked. His voice was the pin drop in silence.

From her cover, Belle gave Arthas a thumbs up. The detective took shelter behind the oversized console for the cargo lift.

The slow whining of cables lifting the platform up to the balcony ended with a sigh of disappointment. Lazy, sporadic volleys kept Jacques from running away.

“I guess I can add cop killer to my list of accomplishments. I’m honoured that you’ll be my first.”

Adrenaline was flooding Arthas’ body, willing him to run.

The detective used his sister, Demi, to distract himself from imminent death. What would he buy her for the latest rare book she had given him? What could he afford? Not much at all was the answer.

The lift clanked as it came to rest. The sound of fabric brushing against itself in Cain’s armpit as he raised his rifle gave his position away. Guessing the mercenary would aim right, Arthas charged left, catching the soldier from Earth in the midriff as the gun turned to shoot the detective. Arthas’ ankle screamed in the worst swear words the human nervous system knows.

Jacques tackling Ableman was a kitten taking on a raging bull. The hulking mass of muscle grabbed the Martian born sergeant and threw him back against the back panel of the lift switches.

Air in Arthas’ lungs decided it had better places to be. Before he could wheeze, knuckles tattooed with the word EAT smashed into his left eye. A tattoo reading FIST caught his jaw from the right, rocking his head back. Arthas’ ankle decided what it had to say could wait. His vision became a Ruby haze.

The detective caught the next left hook with his metal hand. A red blur groaned as cybernetic strength crushed Cain’s second favourite arm.

A hunting knife flashed from a sheath at Ableman’s side into the detective’s gut. It hadn’t penetrated to the hilt when a dart struck the mercenary in the neck. Another hit the hand holding the knife.

Arthas smiled and surrendered to the creeping blackness at the edge of his vision.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Is he always like this?” Agent Belle’s voice was a balm to the million martini hangover smashing his head with a sledgehammer.

“He’s been like this every time a mad idiot with pun knuckle tattoos knocks him out,” Purple said.

Arthas opened his eye. “What’s happened?” He reached for his face. Nguyen caught his arm. “Am I blind?”

“No, but you’ll need to wear an eyepatch until the swelling has gone down. Your ankle was a clean break so that was actually an easier fix. You’ll have a scar where it broke through the skin though.”

“Spectrum, are you all okay?” He reached for the hand of the droid which encapsulated most of his friends.

“I’m fine,” said Purple in a Newcastle accent laden with reassurance.

The droid’s eyes flashed from amethyst to sapphire. “Doin’ great, big man. Just needed a wee reboot. Nuthin tae worry aboot,” said Blue in the gravelly tones of a Glaswegian. “Can ye cam doon, though Arthas? Actin’ like a muckle bampot’s gonnae get ye killed.”

“I’ll try, Blue. Green, you alright in there.”

Sapphire eyes turned emerald. “I’m excellent, Detective Jacques. Thank you,” said Green in its Dublin accent.

“I’m fine, before you ask,” said Yellow with the voice of a Berliner as the eyes changed colour again.

After gold the eyes turned amber. “Doing great, Arthas,” said Orange in a Washington DC accent.

“And I’m feeling fabulous as well,” Red said as its eyes turned ruby.

“Did you get Cain?” Arthas asked Belle.

“We got him. You get partial credit. Thanks for getting fisted on my behalf. I’m getting bored of waking you up like this though, Arthas. I’m not your maid.”

“Where are we?” Arthas asked.

“Back on Mars. Cain is in prison. Five of his goons are as well. Purple killed number six.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault he couldn’t fly. He had forty seven years to learn,” said the indignant droid. A blur of black in the foggy shapes before him told the detective that his robot had folded its arms.

“Humans can’t learn to fly,” said Belle.

“That’s not my fault either. He shot at Arthas, the rest are lucky they didn’t take a leap of faith as well.”

“Your sister brought you a book.” The agent’s inflection almost made the statement a question. “The Republic of Thieves by Stephen Lynch. She said he signed it.”

“Scott Lynch. Damn. Demi must be spending all of the family fortune on me. Where is she?”

“She had to go to a conference.”

Arthas nodded bitterly. Conferences were one of many reasons he was glad his sister was running the family business.

“Your brother sent a card. Your niece is cute. It’s a lovely photo. Rest. You can get your medal when you’re fully healed.”

“Medal?” Sitting up gave him a head rush.

“Well, not a medal. But the reward for catching Cain was substantial, even after we split it.”

“Can you pass me the card?” He opened his hand. He had to hold it in a specific spot to see it because his vision had narrowed thanks to swelling.

Dear Bro,

Sorry to hear you were shot again.

“I was shot?”

“In the leg. You didn’t notice?” Agent Nguyen’s pitch rose with incredulity.

Lyra wanted to come and see you, but I’ve told her you wouldn’t want her seeing you like that. Come and visit us when you’ve healed.

Lots of love, Lukas, Lyra and K. All of it was written in his brother’s obsessively legible handwriting. The photo on the front of the card showed Lyra dressed as Sherlock Holmes, complete with a paper moustache.

P.S I love you Uncle Arthas, get well soon. X Lyra’s rushed scrawl was squashed into the bottom of the inner page.

Arthas smiled. Easy as it was to be morose with a bullet wound in his leg, he thought of his niece and all pain was forgotten. That girl was a ray of sunshine in a cloudy sky. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

“Prologue: The Minder,” Belle read. She winked to Arthas with The Republic of Thieves in her hands. “Place ten dozen hungry-”

Arthas closed his eyes and let the story drift over him. He couldn’t trust Belle as far as he could throw her, but she had a lovely voice.