Fool's Gold: Carson Lyle's War - Part One (7 page)

Jack took some pity on him and was going to let him help on the next run and pay him a cut. He'd gone to their place to hammer out the details. All through dinner, Mad Jack was telling him what he was and wasn't going to do, and how he was and wasn't going to do it.

"You stick with me, Scrub, and I'll learn ya...But you'll have to work for it," Jack had said.

He excused himself to hit the head. After the door was closed, he sat on the toilet and pulled out the dull, scratched, forty-four. He released the clip and looked at it long and hard. It had one high-explosive bolt round left. He took the round in his hand and held it in front of his face. Lyle fixated on it. Everything else around him turned to a blur as his turned the round in his fingers. Like the face in the mirror, It, too, was tarnished and showed its age.

He was so possessed by the sight of the round and the relief it could bring, he didn't hear the knock at the door or see it open slowly.

"Carson," a gentle woman's voice said. It was Betty. "What are you doing?"

He didn't respond.

"Carson..."

"Have you ever wondered," he started, "what your salvation might look like?"

Betty didn't say anything. Jack came to the doorway at that moment. He started to say something, but Betty held up a dismissive hand.

"This," Lyle said, holding up the round. "This is my salvation." Then clicked the round back in the clip and slowly slit the clip back into the handle until it clicked and locked into place."

"Government issued forty-four H-E bolt round?" Jack whistled. "That'll make quite a mess in here, Betts."

"It seems like you've made up your mind. I only ask that you take it somewhere else," Betty said.

"Maybe I should."

"But you know the police will have questions for us," she continued. "It may help things to know why you'd do this."

Lyle still sat, turning the gun over in his hand. Running his fingers over the impressions in the metal. He cocked the hammer. The metal on metal 'click' seemed to almost echo in the small bathroom.

He sat for another minute, not saying anything. Jack had pulled Betty back and moved into the doorway.

"Easy there, Scrub."

"My name...is not 'Scrub'."

"Fine then," Jack said with no ease in his voice. "Would you prefer 'Mr. Lyle'?"

"My name is Carson...Magee and that's one reason why I'm doing this."

Lyle wasn't sure what came over him. Maybe things had built up inside of him so much they just had to escape. He told Jack and Betty everything; all about what lead up to changing his identity, Wagner, Sarah…everything.

By the time he was finished he was in tears. Jack was able to take the gun from him, but Lyle didn't care. He'd released the pent-up emotion that had been torturing him for two years. They were the only ones he ever told everything to.

Jack held on to the gun for weeks before giving it back. Lyle still had it on
The Majestic
. He decided he'd save it with that same one round for a special occasion; when he found the Mech commander that was leading the attack on Wagner that day. Now that was a real possibility.

The trick would be to get what he wanted without giving the Authority what they wanted.

Chapter 12

After a couple of minutes laying on the floor and regaining his breath and muscle movement. He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow.

"That's a pretty solid offer," he said. "I think I'm going to..."

Sensing affirmation, One said, "Your government thanks you for your—"

"...tell you to cram it up your ass."

Agent One stared blankly. Two's smile faded.

"What was that, Mr. Lyle?" One said.

Lyle got to his feet and leaned in looking at his reflection in One's visor so he could be sure he had the Agent's attention.

"I said – and I quote myself – 'cram it up your ass'."

One sighed deeply. "That's disappointing, Mr. Lyle. Very disappointing. If it were up to me, I'd count it as another act of treason. I may be more irritated that you've proven my colleague to be right about you. Disappointing indeed." One turned to his partner. "You can collect on our wager."

"Collect?" Lyle said. "Collect what?"

"We bet on how reasonable you would be," One side, with a small measure of disappointment.

"You lost," said Two.

Lyle saw Two step forward, then saw a fist come down on his face. It came so quickly, and with such force, it knocked him down to the floor.

He felt left eye swelling up already. He struggled to get to his feet. He leaned against the wall and brought his feet up under him to stand up. He turned around just in time for another blow to strike his jaw. His head snapped back to the left and struck the wall, then he was down again. He was barely aware of his surroundings, but the warm, salty taste of blood was in his mouth. Powerful arms effortless lifted him off the floor, by his jacket.

"The things we can do to the human body, just by touching it, are fine for when we want to be subtle," Two said, standing Lyle up against the wall. "But nothing sends a message like simple brute force."

Lyle felt a sledgehammer hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"This is what should have been done with you and your band of traitors," Two said, standing him up against the wall again.

Lyle snapped his head forward, hitting Two with his forehead across the bridge of his nose. He saw the agent's head recoil back to its normal position on his neck. For a moment, the agent's nose was crooked, broke from the impact. But in a few seconds, it straightened. There was never any blood. It was if he hadn't been touched.

Two grabbed Lyle by the neck again with his gloved left hand and got into his face. "You got your shot," Two said and started to squeeze Lyle's throat again. "That's more than you deserve."

WHAM!
Lyle's head snapped to the right, blood flying across the room.

"You and your kind. You're pirates! You're scum!"

WHAM!
Teeth with trailing strings of blood and spit hit the floor.

Two clamped his gloved hand around Lyle's neck again. "The worst common denominator!"

Lyle struggled to get air into his lungs. His breaths turned to wheezing, then to coughs.

"I'm going to find out if I'm right about who you are," Two said, showing outward signs of anger for the first time. "I'll find out…and there won't be any tribunal, this time."

Two kept squeezing. The strength left Lyle's legs. He started sliding down the wall.

"That's enough," said One.

Two kept squeezing, lifting him by the neck back to a standing position. Lyle was limp against the agent's grasp.

"That is enough!"

Two held on to Lyle's neck for two more
long
seconds and let him drop to the floor.

Lyle forced an eye open. He could barely make out the two agents standing over him. He felt consciousness slipping away.

…Then everything went black.

Chapter 13

"Wake up!"

The voice was distant, barely perceptible.

"Wake the hell up!"

This time the voice was followed by a slimy, wet, stench that poured over him. Carson Lyle sat up suddenly, coughing from water - or something that was supposed to pass for water - that rained down on him from a bucket held over his head by a rough-looking woman.

"This ain't no hotel, hauler!" She said, in a think, raspy voice. "Your hour's up."

Lyle tried to rub the haze out of his eyes. He grimaced. The water on his hands smelled putrid, like unfiltered waste from a garbage scowl. His managed to clear up sight enough to make sense of his surroundings. It looked like it was meant to be a pub - on the lower end of the spectrum. Dank, dirty, smelled of bad, warm beer, and packed with people lacking even the most basic social graces - just the kind of place someone who needed to get out of the public eye would go to.

The woman was wiping the table around him, muttering to herself. "Blimey haulers think they can just crash any old where."

"Where…am I?"

"Bilbo's," she said, pushing him back against the seat of the booth to wipe the table right in front of him. "Two bloaks dropped you off 'ere and paid me a quad to let you stay for an hour. Your hour's up. Move it!"

Lyle looked around, dug around in his pockets. His credential pouch, cash, and even his chop on the chain around his neck were accounted for. He would need time to figure out what to do.

The woman bunched up the rags she was using for cleanup and turned to head back to the bar. He grabbed her by the arm. "Wait—"

In a single, swift motion she turned back and Carson Lyle found the rusty point of a very large knife just centimeters from his face.

"Easy, love. That'll cost you extra and you pay up front," she said through a discolored teeth.

Lyle slowly released her arm and held his hands out. "Sorry," he said calmly. "I was just going to ask you to bring me a drink."

Two other large, unsavory types walked up behind her. "Everthin' okay, Myrtle?" One of them said.

The woman's glare hung on him for an extra second or two. "Can ya pay fer it?"

"Yeah."

She tossed the knife in the air, in front of Lyle's face. The other large man grabbed it by the blade in the air.

"Great!" She said with a smile that exposed the rest of her needed dental work. "Then I like ya, already. What'll ya have?"

Lyle shook his head. "Just something strong enough to help me forget this day." He produced a ten credit bill, from his pouch, and slid it over to her.

Her face lit up at the sight of the money. "Alright, love. Be right back."

She turned and pushed past the two mean that had come to her aid. They watched her pass, then turned back to Lyle, for a moment. Said nothing and moved on.

Lyle buried his head in his hands trying to come to grips with his situation. It was then he recalled the beating he took from the agent. It occurred to him, he should be able to speak to any understandable degree, but his jaw, his teeth, even the swollen eye he
knew
he had were…healed. There was a little soreness in his neck and gut, and…

He reached down and gripped his right thigh, it ached from the pressure. He exhaled a sigh of relief. At least they didn't fix that.

Myrtle returned to the table and set an aluminum tumbler in front of him. "That's the House Special. We brew it on site."

Lyle peered over the rim of the tumbler. It was filled with a cloudy, brownish liquid over synth-ice. He thought about passing on it and asking for his money back.

He looked up and saw Myrtle still lingering there, to make sure he'd noticed her ample upper assets. Then he saw his ten-spot, folded and sticking up just out of the edge of her cleavage.

"Thanks. This'll do," he said.

Myrtle smiled. "You holler if you need anythin' else, love."

"Actually," he said, cautious about turning on too much charm. "The guys that left me here. Do you know who they were?"

Myrtle playfully twirled a curl in her ragged hair. "Nah. They were sharply dressed, though. Didn't belong 'ere."

"Did they say anything?"

"No…wait…they paid me and said someone would probably be by to get you by the time you woke up."

"Hey Myrtle! Need a refill!" Someone yelled from the bar.

Myrtle scowled, yelled something in the local tongue that got raucous laughter from the other patrons. "I'll be back," she said.

Lyle took a small pull from the tumbler...a very small pull. The burn as it went down his throat wasn't the kind that put hair on a man's chest, rather it was felt like the burn in hole in your chest type. Maybe it was supposed to represent scotch? He was sure the person who aged it in a barrel, in a sewer, must have thought so. He would have welcomed one of the synthehol knock-offs with open arms. He set the drink aside and tried to take stock in his situation.

Ship impounded, missed delivery, and all I have is the cash in my pocket and the clothes on my back.
He left his data pad on the ship so he couldn't see if he had any contacts on El Dorado that may be able to help him out. And why the hell was he even out on the street? Like the agents said, he
should
be in jail. Then there was the matter of that fink, Shorty. He'd have to contact Betty, as soon as possible. She'd be able to put the word out. He hoped there would be an obituary for that fink on the newsnet by the time he got back to Atlantia. What about the 501st? If what the agents said was true, then it was something he couldn't let go. He
had
to take the chance on being able to find that mech commander.

Jack, if you have any ideas, I could use them now.

He started to take another drink.

A nearby voice said, "If you want the real thing, I know a place nearby."

Chapter 14

Lyle wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Thanks. I'm good with this," he said, without looking up.

"No, we really should go up the street a bit."

Lyle looked up, from the tumbler. There was a mountain of a man standing in front of him, flanked by two smaller mountains on either side. The way they were positioned had him pinned in the booth.

Lyle rubbed his forehead with his right hand.
Will this damn day ever end?

"Is this where I go out back with you to 'talk'," he said with air quotes, "and you mug me? Because that is not going to go the way you expect it to."