Harry Watt Bounty Hunter Page 2

  “I still get headaches, flashes, you know?” Harry said behind him. “Sometimes I see my father, lying there instead of you.”

  Larry turned back round. “Your father’s in a good place, Harry, I’ve told you before.”

  “I know.”

  The pair were silent for a while, each lost in memories that were best forgotten.

  “I think I should come with you on this one,” Larry said eventually. His pallid face broke into a smile, his banana colored teeth emerging from behind blue lips.

  “You know you really don’t look well,” Harry commented.

  “Three years dead does things to a man.”

  Harry’s friendship for Larry ran deep, though as often as not they used to drive each other crazy. They had started with the Bureau at the same time and had immediately hit it off. Their test scores were pretty much identical, though Larry was by far the more intuitive of the pair. Once out of the academy, they served together for twelve years until that fateful day.

  They were both adulterers. Nothing unusual about that, except that the women in question at the time were their respective wives. For a while they were the laughing stock of the Bureau. But there came a time when Larry had finally had enough of the taunts. He boasted that he had in fact slept with just about all of his fellow officers’ wives, sometimes over their own desks. Some laughed and backslapped him. Others, one in particular, did not laugh. That very same night Agent Adam Hackman confronted his wife, and after her confession, shot her four times. He later surprised both Harry and Larry outside their favorite bar, and shot Larry with the remaining three bullets. Luckily for Harry, his partner’s assailant, having run out of bullets, and after a brief struggle, (Harry was stoned), hit him repeatedly over the head with the butt of the gun, knocking him into the aforementioned three-day coma. He was only spared death by colleagues running out of the bar on hearing the shots. Hackman had already fled, and had never been seen since.

  And so there stood Larry, a mirage, a friendly spectre, waiting for Harry to find the bastard that killed him and administer justice.

  “You know, maybe I could use you on this one,” Harry said. “Something tells me this isn’t going to be straightforward. Did I tell you the Judge wants me to take him to see Tyrell?”

  “No, but that doesn’t surprise me. I can see that surprises you.”

  “Yes it does. Why would Headlock insist I take him to see Tyrell first, and throw in another fifty for my trouble? Something’s not right.”

  “Perhaps, dear partner, you should read the file, instead of speculating and thinking about your libido.”

  Harry made a noise. He opened another drawer and took out his small personal computer. He switched it on and waited. “Takes a minute,” he said to Larry’s amused expression. Eventually the screen lit up and a curvaceous brunette invited him to enter his password, followed by an iris scan, thumbprint, and voice recognition. With an embarrassed grunt he activated the keyboard and typed away.

  “Some things never change,” said Larry. “She looks like Sybil. How is she?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Voice check identification Harry dear,” said a distinctly feminine-computer voice.

  “Holy shit!” Larry exclaimed. “She even sounds like Sybil.”

  “No she doesn’t.”

  “Why do you have a talking hologram of your ex-wife on your computer?”

  “It’s not Sybil okay? It just happens to look like her.”

  “Okay. Well, how’s Grace?”

  Harry rolled his eyes. “God she hates that name, and me because of it. She’s anything but, okay? At least she was the last time I saw her.”

  “Which was when exactly?”

  “I don’t know. Two years maybe?”

  “Two years? You have a daughter you haven’t seen in two years? Christ. I bet I’ve seen her more times than you, and I’m dead. Harry, I’m ashamed to call you my friend.”

  “Look,” said Harry turning to confront the dear departed. “It’s nothing to do with you, right? They’re both better off without me. Surely you can agree with me on that.”

  Harry spun away, his face as hard as a cold chisel. Why was his life surrounded by ex something or other? His wife, his partner, his boss, and pretty much even his own daughter. Was there anything current? Even his FRA license was a week out of date. His self-pity reminded him to get it renewed. Last thing he wanted was to be running round the Solar System unlicensed.

  The file on his mark contained nothing out of the ordinary, at least on first glance. Larry pointed out that this usually meant the worst was yet to come.

  “This is just petty larceny stuff,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “If Headlock wants him that bad there must be something he isn’t telling us. We need to dig deeper.”

  “Me,” Harry corrected him. “Not telling me.” He was still sore at Larry about the family stuff.

  “Okay, you then. But I thought you were taking me along.”

  “It’s not like I can stop you is it? No matter where I am, there you are. And do you have to smoke that shit?”

  “You must have been thinking about me, somewhere in that excuse of a head of yours,” Larry replied, blowing smoke Harry’s way.

  Harry made no answer, but instead waved his arms in front of his face, wafting away the offending smoke. Anyone else in the room would have thought he was having a seizure or something. Then he tried to hide most of the screen, so Larry couldn’t see. After a while of this game, Larry realized what was happening. and went to sit down near the window.

  Harry grunted. “Had enough already, eh?”

  “I’ve seen all I want to see, thank you,” Larry replied. He stubbed the butt out on his palm, and waved a hand. “As it stands this is open and shut. Once you get past the minor misdemeanours it seems your guy embezzled funds from a company jointly owned by Tyrell, our good Judge, and one other notable. If you ask me this file is too polished. I’m with you, Harry. Something doesn’t smell right, and it’s not your socks.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Well, that’s my considered opinion, for what it’s worth.”

  “About as much as one of those things you smoke.”

  Harry spent the next twenty minutes or so delicately picking his way through the legal jargon on the disk, painstakingly putting together a feasible explanation as to why Headlock wanted this guy so fast. Normally the Judge didn’t care how long he took, provided he got the job done, and didn’t empty the State’s coffers in the process.

  According to the dossier, Headlock, Tyrell, and one other, who, after further cross-referencing, was off planet, jointly owned the company that the mark had allegedly drawn funds from, Hansel & Gretel Exports based in New Utah. The mark in question was a man named Gustavo Petersen, a thirty two year old inventor and hydrologist with the company, and had been with them since graduating summa cum laude from New Wisconsin State University. Harry nodded his head in approval. According to the Judge’s testimony, Petersen had become disillusioned with the company’s policy regarding residual income from his designs and patents, and had decided to take it upon himself to change that. Pretty circumstantial, and certainly no more than a subjective view, at least that’s what Harry was thinking. But what was puzzling him as he read through the report was the piddling sum Petersen had stolen. It hardly seemed worth it to go flying across the System to bring him back.

  Harry stopped his reading, and looked over at his dead colleague. Larry was ignoring him for the time being, his interest taken by the corner under the bookshelf. Already doubts were being raised. Something about this case just didn’t add up. Larry had always had a greater knack of ploughing through the bullshit, and getting at the truth then he ever had. Could his cadaver of a cohort be right about this one too, having only read the synopsis?

  He looked back at the screen. Okay. Petersen was on Mars. A month to get there and bring him back. To what? A firm beating from Tyrell and possibly Headlock too? For stealing a
lousy million? “I don’t think so,” Harry thought out loud.

  “What was that?” asked Larry. “Yell if you need a hand, you know, like why is it so important to get this guy so fast simply to bring him back here to a beating. Mmm.”

  Harry’s skin did a somersault.

  “You really think that’s gonna happen?” Larry said, peering more intently into the corner.

  “I don’t know what to think at the moment. But you’re right. This doesn’t add up.”

  “Glad we agree on that. There’s something else here that doesn’t add up. Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “You have a parasteatoda tepidariorum here with only seven legs.”

  “Eh? A what…?”

  “A spider, you idiot. Here, see? Only seven legs.”

  Harry dropped his shoulders and shook his head. “I got the other in a jar by the door. I thought I’d seen the last of that sucker.”

  “That’s good, Harry, good.”

  “What is?”

  “You still don’t kill them, even though you’re afraid of them.”

  “I’m not afraid of spiders.”

  “Oh yes you are. No shame in it. They are quite fearsome creatures. The perfect predator.”

  “Well that fella needs a crutch if he’s ever going to catch anything again. Look, can we…”

  “Not at all. He’s nearly finished here. Fascinating to watch. So patient, they build their trap and let their prey come to them.”

  “I….” Harry paused, the deep workings of his mind grinding out his next sentence. After a second he sat back in his chair and folded his arms, a resigned look on his face. “I sense a Larry Watkins epigram here.”

  “Patience is a virtue.”

  “Oh very deep. That’s it?”

  “Not so much an epigram my friend, more a piece of advice.”

  “Blah!”

  Harry threw up a hand and returned to the computer. “Pourquoi ai-je pris la peine?” he muttered to himself. Now, where was he? Petersen on Mars. But what of the others? Headlock and Tyrell didn’t interest him, but the two others, Timothy Rogers and Jacob Hammerstein, did. There was nothing in the dossier about them that caught his eye, so he accessed confidential police files, (thanks Manny), nothing, and then the local records house. Rogers was a postgraduate, in a similar role to Petersen, who obviously, Harry assumed, couldn’t possibly have been at the company long enough to form an opinion about the fiscal rewards. He knew also, thanks to Manny again, that Rogers was the second guy he tried to get Headlock to mention earlier. Larry’s one other notable, Hammerstein, on the other hand, was a bit of an enigma. He was a founder member, along with Headlock and Tyrell, but prior to 2147 there was nothing on him.

  Harry had a sudden hunch. He quickly accessed the flight manifest for the Mars run over the last few months. Nothing. Puzzled, and more than a little frustrated, he bit his lip and thought.

  “Is that steam coming out of your ears?” asked Larry.

  “Drop dead,” Harry suggested, with absolutely no idea what he had just said. A second later he snapped his fingers. He keyed in the same query, but this time for the Venus run. Sure enough there were Rogers and Hammerstein boarding within twenty four hours of each other, ten days ago. A rapid cross reference showed Rogers’ flight pretty much coincided with Petersen’s swift exit to Mars. The errant inventor/hydrologist had boarded the Whispering Spear, one of only three StrateLine Drive ships doing the Earth-Venus-Mars run, two days before Rogers fled to Venus Station.

  Harry looked hard at the data before him. It was obvious to him now that both Rogers and Petersen were on the run. That bastard Headlock knew it, but chose not to tell him. Why? Why would the two brightest minds of a grey chip company suddenly want to up sticks and move to opposite sides of the System, and at the same time? Why did the Judge only want him to go after Petersen and not Rogers as well? And how did Hammerstein fit into all of this? What was he doing on Venus Station? Did the Judge feel he needed someone else on the case too? Too many questions equalled more doubts.

  The three off-worlders would not be too hard to track down, if he could get a ship to take him to Venus Station first before scooping off to Mars. Harry thought he could reach Venus and question the two guys before the Judge got wind of it to stop him.

  But wait a minute. Harry had to reel himself in. He was no longer with the Bureau. Why should he want to go traipsing off to Venus when the money was on Mars? He wasn’t a bloody detective anymore! But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist a mystery, and there would be plenty of time to get to both Venus and Mars before his time was up, especially with this new StrateLine Drive! If Headlock found out before he got to Mars, he would just tell him he had followed his hunch, that there really were two people involved. Manny was seldom wrong about such things. Headlock should be happy he was using his initiative, getting both men for almost the price of one.

  “Hmm,” said Harry, and he actually rubbed at his chin.

  “Got something?” asked Larry.

  “You know I have. Patience, dear boy,” he added with a shifty smile. He reached for the phone and dialled Manny again. “Hey, Manny.”

  “Not interested,” came the Irishman’s tired voice over the speaker.

  “I haven’t told you anything yet.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, I can hear how busy you are.”

  “Her name’s Trudi, and she is keeping me very occupied thank you very much. Goodbye.”

  “No wait! Manny, I need your help.”

  “Forget it. I told you. You need to get off the broads and on the case. I’m also your accountant remember? Excuse me a second.”

  There came the muffled noise of voices, and an urging from Manny for Trudi to behave herself.

  Harry looked like he was chewing a three-day-old dog turd. “Lay off the broads,” he murmured. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

  Larry belly laughed.

  Harry waved a hand at him. “Manny? Manny, you there?”

  “I’m here. Jesus, Harry, you should see what she’s doing with a bread roll. Hotdog!”

  “Oh brother. Listen. I need a lift to Venus Station, tout de suite.”

  “Venus? This case has suddenly changed planets has it?”

  More laughter from Larry.

  “Just a minute.” Harry glared at him, and picked up the receiver. “Manny, listen, this is important. I’m on the case, buddy, trust me. I need a ride to Venus Station, tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Venus? Harry, if I recall correctly, you sent me the details of the contract last night, and you said you were meeting with Headlock today. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “As your accountant, lawyer and general gopher, I have to advise you that although the contract states you can use any and all means necessary to apprehend your subject, you should also exercise due diligence, and use reasonable and responsible means to expedite such a proceeding. And now you want to go to Venus? What gives?”

  “Something’s come up. I can’t really discuss it over the phone. Can you do it?”

  “Today? Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.”

  “Well tomorrow then. Can you do it?”

  “You know I can, otherwise why did you call?”

  “Atta boy. Right, single cabin, en-suite, with a view screen. And one that’s got this new StrateLine Drive thing too. Sounds fast. Got it?”

  “Are you fucking serious?” came Manny’s implacable reply. “I can’t guarantee any of that at such short notice. The best I can do will be a freighter, I think. Limited passenger occupancy.”

  “Oh, right.” Harry sounded disappointed.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Well just a little maybe. But never mind. Whatever you can muster I guess.”

  “A lot of the bulk freighters have started taking paying passengers to help finance their dwindling demand. The damned multi-nationals are squeezing the little guy dry. They…”


  “Yeah yeah. It’s tragic, Manny, it really is.” Harry tried and failed to sound interested. He pulled a face for Larry, and pointed to the phone. He’d forgotten that his friend was also the New New Orleans union head for the Space Traffic Workers. He wore that many hats it was sometimes hard to guess which Manny you would get.

  “Try and sound concerned, please,” said the Irishman. “No matter what you think of the little guy, he’ll be getting you to Venus.”

  “I know. Sorry, pal. How long’s the trip in one of those?”

  “Is this going to go on much longer?”

  “I’m nearly done.”

  “Well I’m not!”

  “How long to Venus?”

  “From where I’m standing about five minutes.”

  “Damn it, Manny, be serious.”

  “This time of year about ten days.”

  “Ten days! I could be on Mars in that time.”

  “For your information, Venus is currently in conjunction with the Earth, or inferior conjunction to an observer on Earth to be precise. Be thankful you didn’t want to go three months ago. The trip would have taken ten weeks.”

  “Yeah yeah. I do have some grasp of celestial mechanics, thank you.”

  Hand over the phone, “Will you stop it!”

  Harry rolled his eyes and waited. Manny returned, gasping, “You could have fooled me. And for your further information, if you are so bloody interested in the StrateLine Drive you’ll know that it doesn’t work properly heading inwards, that is towards the sun. Something to do with the torsion field, and the effects it can have on the flux wavelength surrounding the vessel. Or something like that.”

  “?”

  “You still there?”

  “Er, yeah. Now look. The next thing I need you to do, if you haven’t already guessed, is to convince Headlock that I am travelling to Mars on the Flying Dart.”

  “And just how do you propose I do that?”

  “You have to take my place. It leaves tomorrow morning.”

  “No fucking way! You’re crazy!”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “What? Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you. Can we finish up soon?”