✪
Las Vegas, Nevada
VEGAS, NATHAN FOSTER THOUGHT, taking in his surroundings. What a town. While still a far cry from the gleaming, expensive tourist trap it was before the war, Sin City had emerged from the conflict relatively unscathed. It was grittier and dirtier than it used to be, and there were several neighborhoods where the police only patrolled in pairs. As the postwar reconstruction efforts progressed, though, people increasingly had money to spend, and an entire city dedicated to gambling, booze, and sex was too lucrative of an idea to stay dormant.
The place was called The Desert Flower Cabaret, and it was nicer than he had expected it to be. Part bar and nightclub with a burlesque show, the Cabaret was raucous and crowded. An eclectic mix of rock and country music blasted over the sound system throughout the night. Armed bouncers watched the crowd like hawks, and everyone who came in was swept with a metal detector. Nathan had talked to management ahead of time, though, and had been allowed to bypass the door guards. He was armed with his Undercover Special, a hefty little five-shot, snub-nose .41 Magnum.
“Hey there, handsome.”
He stopped scanning the crowd and looked up at the woman who had sauntered over, smiling at her as she sat next to him. “Roxanne.”
“No luck so far?” Roxanne asked, crossing her legs as she settled next to him on the couch. Her brown curls hung tantalizingly over bare shoulders. She adjusted the red and black corset she wore so as to make her breasts look a little perkier. She caught Nathan looking and smiled. “It gets me better tips,” she explained, without a hint of apology.
Nathan chuckled and took a sip of water. Between the smoke and the naturally dry air of Las Vegas, he was parched. “A club full of strippers and working girls, and guys still hit on the bartender. Men can be idiots sometimes.”
“Men are idiots all the time, hon,” Roxanne said. She had to have been in her forties, but she took care of herself and it showed. “They want what they can’t have.”
“You think he’ll show tonight?” This was the third night in a row Nathan had been haunting this place, waiting for his mark to show up, and in spite of all the half-naked women he was getting tired of it.
“Oh, I think so,” Roxanne said. “Destiny is singing tonight. He always comes around when she’s on.”
“Strippers, prostitutes, alcohol, singers . . . y’all have quite the variety show, I’ll give you that.”
“Lois didn’t want to run some sleazy dive,” Roxanne said. Lois was the owner of the Cabaret. “She told me she wanted it to be a modern old-west burlesque saloon, where anyone can have a good time no matter what they’re into. If you’re here tomorrow, it’s karaoke night. That’s always fun.”
Listening to drunk people try to sing didn’t sound fun to Nathan. “I gotta admit, I’ve been in a lot of strip clubs, dive bars, and whore houses in this line of work, and this is probably the nicest one I’ve seen.” He sipped his water again and watched as a pair of gorgeous Mexican girls, twins he thought, spun gracefully around brass poles in perfect synchronization. They wore nothing but smiles and skyscraper heels.
He stopped talking as a voice came over his earbud. It was his nephew, Ben. “Uncle Nate,” the boy said, excitedly, his voice cracking just a bit, “he’s here!” Ben was out in the parking lot, in the truck, doing surveillance. Nathan didn’t think he was the best guardian a kid could have, but even he had reservations about taking a fourteen-year-old into a titty bar.
“What’s wrong?” Roxanne asked.
Nathan held up one finger while pressing the bud into his ear with the other. It was hard to hear over the background noise. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. The Identifier is ninety-plus percent confident.” The Identifier was a godsend in Nathan’s line of work: a combination camera and night-vision device with telescopic optical zoom and built-in facial recognition software. It had the bulk of an old analog camcorder but it worked well.
“What’s he wearing?”
“Black long-sleeve shirt and blue jeans. He’s a little fatter than in the file picture. Still bald.”
“Got it. Good work, boy. Stay in the truck and monitor the radio.” He looked up at Roxanne. “He’s here.”
The bartender quickly stood up. “I’ll go tell Destiny.”
“You sure she’s good with this?”
“Oh yeah. Her parents died during the occupation of California. She’s happy to help.”
Nathan nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s do this.”
The twins cleared the main stage and the background music quieted in preparation for the evening’s live music. Heavy velvet curtains drew closed as the stage crew set things up. After a few minutes, the DJ announced the next act. “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Destiny!” Men in the crowd clapped, cheered, and wolf-whistled as the curtains drew back. A gorgeous young woman slinked into the spotlight, stopping in front of the microphone. Nathan could see why his target was so enamored with her: she was beautiful, tall and curvy, with long legs and ebony skin. The little red dress she wore was short, tight, and low-cut. Her singing voice was a sexy, dusky contralto, the kind that could get a man wrapped around her little finger.
She started to sing. “Been a fool, been a clown, lost my way from up and down, and I know . . . yes, I know.”
Nathan spotted the man he was looking for, then. Heavyset, bald, black shirt and jeans, just like Ben had said. A table had been left open, right in front of the stage, and the mark found his way to it.
Destiny made eye contact with the man and serenaded him as she sang. Her singing was sultry and seductive, so much so that even the rowdy assholes in the crowd had stopped whistling to listen to her beautiful voice. “Don’t care . . . for me. Don’t cry, let’s say goodbye, Adieu . . .”
Nathan watched the back of his target’s head, silhouetted against the light on the stage. His name was Carter Reid, and the bounty on him was fifty thousand dollars. He looked like just another regular person, but Carter had been a very bad boy during the war. During the aliens’ occupation of the West Coast, Mr. Reid had been an overseer of one of their detention and indoctrination camps for defiant humans, and he’d gone to ground when the Army retook California. Maybe he figured that after eight years it would be assumed that he was dead, and he could show his face again.
He was wrong about that.
Destiny reached the song’s climax. She was looking directly at the target still, singing to him. “Lost in a memory . . . I seeeee . . . your faaaaace . . . aaaaaand smile.” When she was done, the audience erupted into cheers and applause. Carter Reid stood up and clapped. The singer, smiling, thanked the crowd and disappeared backstage as the curtains closed. The background music started back up, and the DJ announced that shots were half price for the next hour.
One of the waitresses approached Carter Reid then. She bent down and said something in his ear. After a little back-and-forth, he stood up and followed as the waitress led him away. This was Nathan’s cue. Moving quickly, he met Roxanne by the far wall of the club, next to a door marked employees only. She opened it and let him in. He keyed the tiny transmit button for his radio, and pressed his earbud in with two fingers. “Ben, we’re on. Bring the truck around to the back, get Shadow ready, and be waiting outside. There’s a back door that I’ll be bringing him out through.”
“Roger!” the boy said, excitedly.
Nathan looked at Roxanne as she led him past dressing rooms and maintenance closets. “He’ll be waiting out back for us.” The club owner wanted everything done discretely, so as not to scare off her clientele. The plan was to roll up Carter Reid inside one of the private rooms and frog-march his traitor ass out the back, and nobody would be the wiser.
“This way,” the bartender said, quietly unlocking another door. Through it was a small washroom, but she left the lights off. Inside was a door to another room. “That’s the VIP lounge,” she whispered. “Destiny is in there.”
Nathan nodded, and with a jerk of his head told Roxanne to clear out. She very quietly closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkened washroom. There was enough residual noise from the club that there was little chance the target would hear him, but he was quiet nonetheless. He crept up to the door. It was one of those thin, hollow-core ones they use on cheap houses. He could hear Carter Reid and the singer talking through it.
“I’ve seen you every time I sing,” Destiny purred. “I love a dedicated fan.” She was laying it on thick.
Carter was taking the bait. “I just love listening to you sing. It helps me forget the world, forget everything.”
“All of us want to forget something,” Destiny said. “Would you mind pouring me a drink? Vodka, neat. I’m going to go wash up and maybe slip into something a bit more comfortable, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all!” Carter said, in that unmistakable, excited tone of a man who was sure he was about to get laid. “It’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”
“Thank you, honey. I’ll be just a moment.” Nathan backed away from the door as Destiny approached, stepping aside so that Carter wouldn’t see him when she opened it. Light filled the room briefly as the door swung open. The singer stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and turned on the light.
Damn, Nathan thought. She was even more beautiful up close. With her heels on she had to be six feet tall, and she was all legs. Her midnight-black hair had red streaks in it that matched her dress. Her eyes were big and brown. She could have been a model. She didn’t say anything to him; she just looked into his eyes, pensively. He could tell she was unsure about this. Maybe she felt bad deceiving a guy like that, even if he was a traitor. It was understandable.
Nathan mouthed the words thank you and motioned toward the back door. Destiny left him alone in the washroom, turning out the light as she left. He keyed his microphone once again. “Ben, executing now,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. His throat mic would pick it up.
“Roger,” Ben said. “I’m out back with Shadow. We’re waiting.”
He clicked the microphone twice in acknowledgment. He then reached into his shirt and pulled out his bronze Federal Recovery Agent badge. Agents were legally required to display it when executing an arrest. He left his gun holstered, instead opting for OC spray. The bounty hunter took a deep breath, shook off the nervousness, and opened the door.
The VIP lounge was dimly lit with blue light and neon accents. The floor was plushly carpeted, and there were cushy couches against the walls. Carter was by the liquor cabinet. His back was to Nathan, but the walls were covered in mirrors. He saw the bounty hunter’s reflection, bronze badge glinting in blue light, and his eyes went wide.
“Carter Reid!” Nathan announced. “Federal Recovery Agent. You are—” He was cut off as the collaborator turned and whipped a full bottle of vodka at him. He barely had time to shield his face before it hit. Before Nathan could aim the OC spray, Carter charged. The fugitive slammed into him like a linebacker. He was a big boy, probably 300 pounds, and knocked Nathan flat on his ass as they collided. They both fell to the floor, the wanted man on top of the bounty hunter. Carter pushed himself up and stomped on Nathan’s chest as he ran out the room, through the washroom, and into the back hallway. “Ben!” Nathan wheezed, keying his mic. “Target is not secure! He’s running!”
“What?”
“He’s running! Get ready!”
Nathan scrambled to his feet and ran to the back hallway. Terrified girls watched from dressing room doorways. Four bouncers were waiting in the hall, blocking Carter from getting to the dressing rooms or going back onto the club floor. He looked back at Nathan as the bounty hunter drew his gun, then at the emergency exit door along the wall. He slammed the door open and disappeared outside.
He didn’t get far. “Holy shit!” he screamed.
Coming to the still-open back door, Nathan stepped outside. Breathing hard, Nathan watched with bemusement as Carter struggled with Shadow. The 120-pound, jet-black, military-grade enhanced working dog had latched onto him and pulled him to the ground. The fugitive screamed and pleaded as the dog made a chew toy out of his right arm.
“Shadow!” Nathan commanded. “Out!”
The dog looked at his master and, after a short pause, let go of Carter.
“Good,” Nathan said. “Heel.” Shadow sat, but kept a watchful eye on his prey. Nathan approached, gun drawn, but Carter didn’t get back up. He just laid on the ground, clutching his now bleeding arm. The bounty hunter crouched next to him, holding his revolver where the wanted man could see it. “As I was about to say: You are under arrest. In compliance with the Extraterrestrial and Collaborator Recovery Act, and by virtue of the authority vested in me as a licensed and bonded Federal Recovery Agent, I am taking you into custody. You have the right to remain silent, and to be given proper and humane care while in my charge. If you attempt to resist or flee, I have the legal authority to use lethal force without further warning. You will be transferred to federal custody for processing and adjudication. Do you understand?”
“Fuck you, Bronze!” he snarled. “And fuck that bitch! She set me up!”
“Her family lived in California during the occupation,” Nathan said, coldly. Carter still clutched his arm, but there was understanding in his eyes. He realized then, Nathan thought, how badly he’d fucked up. He continued, “Do you understand your rights under the Thirty-first Amendment? I hope so, because I’m not chasing you again. You run and I’m going to shoot your ass. I still get paid if I hand over a corpse.”
“Yes, fine, I understand, whatever, just keep that fucking dog away from me.”
Shadow was perched like a falcon, ready to swoop in and maul the bad man again if he tried anything. He licked his chops and didn’t take his eyes off Carter.
Nathan stood up. “Ben, shackle his feet, then go grab the first-aid kit. We need to patch up his arm before we cuff him.” He looked down at the prisoner. “Sit up.”
“This is a mistake,” Carter complained, but he did as he was told. Ben clamped the leg braces around his ankles. “Is this really necessary? You have the wrong guy.”
“Then why’d you run?”
“What the fuck was I supposed to do? I turn around and some guy is in the room with me! I thought you were going to rob me!”
“Uh-huh. Roll up your sleeves.”
Carter carefully rolled up his right sleeve. His forearm was still bleeding from where Shadow had bitten him. “This better not get infected.”
“Roll up your other sleeve.”
He hesitated. “What? Why? The bite is on this arm!”
“Roll up your other sleeve or you get round two with the dog.”
“Alright! Alright, fine!” Doing as he was told, he rolled up his left sleeve. In the amber glow of the single light illuminating the back lot, an alien marking was clearly visible on his forearm. It was a row of script eight inches long, an identifier they used to track their humans. It looked like a tattoo but was something more. The marks were living organisms. If scraped off it would grow back. They were difficult to remove and nearly impossible to forge.
“Wrong guy, huh?” Nathan said, disdain in his voice. Ben had returned with the first-aid kit. “Patch up his arm, Ben, and let’s get this piece of shit in the truck. I’m ready to call it a day.”
A short while later, Nathan found himself in the office of Lois Lazar, the proprietor of The Desert Flower Cabaret. Her hair was long and blonde. She wore a corset, short-shorts, and thigh-high, high-heeled boots. The office was small and cluttered. Her desk was covered with documents, a computer with multiple screens, and a dirty ashtray. Pictures and newspaper clippings decorated one wall. There were photographs of somebody’s former life, scenes from the war, and a shadow box with a folded American flag and Army insignia. Lois was a drag queen, everyone knew that, but that was all most people knew about her.
“Yeah, that’s me, sugar,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “I enlisted right after they dropped the rock on Phoenix. It was my hometown, but I was away on a trip. I lost everything. My family, my life, my business—everything. I wanted to do something, you know?”
“Believe me,” Nathan said, “I understand. 1st Armored Division. I was a tanker. You?”
“4th Infantry,” she said. “Just a truck driver, but I saw some things. Things I’ll never forget. It changed me. I guess the whole world changed.”
“Is that why you . . . you know?”
She chuckled. “Adopted this persona? Maybe. It helps me forget.”
Nathan didn’t really understand Lois’s life choices, but he definitely understood wanting to forget. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter.” She had initially wanted him to try and grab Carter Reid in the parking lot, before he even got into the place. Nathan had been concerned that he’d be armed, though, but knew his target would be checked for weapons before being allowed into the club.
“You were right. He deposited a gun at the property check. I heard he put up a fight.”
“He chucked a bottle at me and then knocked me down. I’ll be sore in the morning,” Nathan said, even though he was already sore, “but I’m fine. I’m glad he didn’t have a gun.”
“About that,” Lois said. She reached into her desk drawer and produced a break-top revolver. It had a short barrel, maybe three inches, and a rounded grip. “Will you take this? It’s his gun. I don’t want it.”
“Sure,” Nathan said, taking the weapon from her. It had a lever on the side of the frame that, when depressed, allowed the action to break open. The ejector snapped up and back down. The cylinder was empty.
“I threw the ammo away,” Lois said.
“No problem,” Nathan said, and stuffed the gun into his waistband. “I’ll take this if you want. Anyway, as I was saying, I appreciate your help. Legally I can’t share the bounty with you, but I can pay you a fee for your trouble. I’m not exactly sure how much it’ll be. My partner, Stella, handles all that. It’s based on a government schedule. We have to keep the books straight or we’ll lose our license.”
Lois shook her head. “Amazing. Half the world got blown up, we hardly have any federal agencies anymore, but they managed to keep the red tape.”
“The more things change,” Nathan said. “I gotta jet now.”
“What will happen to him?”
“Carter? I’ll be hauling him back to the office in Arizona. We’ve got a holding cell we’ll keep him in while we process the claim. Homeland Security will be along to pick him up in a few days. After that, he’ll get sent to a detention facility to await trial. He was a high-ranking officer in the United Earth Alliance and is suspected of having administrated an internment camp in Occupied California.”
Lois’s eyes narrowed. “Well then. I hope they hang the motherfucker.”
“I hope so, too. My partner will contact you in a few days about your compensation. Thank you again, Lois.”
“Be careful, Mr. Foster.”
✪
Prescott, Arizona
The next morning . . .
NATHAN AWOKE to Shadow panting in his face.
Shadow was a smart dog, a big Doberman-Shepherd mix, genetically enhanced and specifically bred to be a working dog. He always woke somebody if he had to go. Looking at his watch, Nathan realized it was barely six in the morning. “Can’t you hold it?”
Shadow whined.
Guess not. “Ben!” he said, loudly. Ben’s cot was on the other side of the room. “Ben, wake up!”
Ben stirred in the dim morning light. “What’s wrong?”
“Shadow needs to go out.”
He rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Seriously?”
Nathan looked at the dog. “Shadow, go get Ben. He’ll take you out.”
Shadow understood at least some of that. He skittered across the room and jumped on Ben’s cot, trampling the boy while he licked his face. His tail was wagging.
“Okay, okay!” Ben said, sputtering. “Yuck. Get down, Lug, I’ll take you outside!”
Shadow jumped down from Ben’s cot and trotted to the door, pausing to make sure Ben was following him.
“That was a dirty trick,” Ben said, shuffling toward the door.
“I’ll get us some breakfast,” Nathan said, sitting up. As the boy and the dog left, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to get his heart to slow down. He had thatdream again. He was dragging his gunner out of his tank. His driver was in pieces, his tank on fire. The sun was bloodred through the smoke. There was so much smoke it was like a forest fire. The alien mech, the one that had killed his crew, was in a smoking heap a hundred meters away. Thick blue fluid poured out of where a 150mm APFSDS round had punched through it, going right through the meaty parts. The brain-shot usually killed them instantly, but it was a tough shot to make when they were moving.
Nathan thought he could smell the smoke, the acrid stink of burning metal, even in the dream. He had heard the strange, electronic hooting noises the biomechanical synths made. He could feel the pain from where he’d been burned even though the wounds had long since healed. The dream usually ended the moment he realized that his gunner, SP5 Cole Jackson, was dead.
It had been eight years and he still had the dream every so often. They eventually found enough of his driver, PFC Jake Guthrie, and his loader, SP4 Greg Rasmussen, to bury. Nathan still didn’t know how in the hell he managed to survive a catastrophic kill to his tank that had claimed the lives of his crew. It had been luck, nothing but dumb luck. It seemed so unfair.
“Uncle Nate?”
Surprised, Nathan looked up. It was Ben. “Oh. Hey. I didn’t hear you come back in.”
“Everything okay? You were, like, zoned out there for a minute.”
“Yeah,” Nathan lied. “I just need some coffee.” That part, at least, was true. “What do you want for breakfast?”
Nathan and Ben had spent the night at the shop. Carter Reid was locked up in the holding cell down in the basement, and technically someone had to be on the premises constantly while they had a prisoner in custody. Nathan’s partner, Stella, had contacted Homeland Security immediately after receiving notification that the fugitive was in custody, but sometimes it took them a couple of days to show up. Eventually they’d come get him, but until then, he couldn’t be left alone in the building, even though there was almost no chance he could escape.
“Stella’s here,” Ben said. “She brought food.”
“She’s here already?”
“Yeah, she got here while Shadow was pottying. I guess she went to Ranchero’s on the way here.”
Nathan’s stomach growled. “That sounds pretty good. Go eat, tell her I’ll be out there in a minute.” He needed to take a leak and get dressed.
Stella Rickles was already at her desk when Nathan stepped into the main office. She was typing away on her computer, probably filling out the paperwork on Carter Reid. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, smiling at him. She was pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Late thirties, auburn hair, and a curvy figure. Even though they didn’t have a dress code, she always looked nice when she came into the office. Today she was wearing a business skirt and heels, which, when paired with her glasses, made her look like a librarian. “You sleep okay?”
Nathan was still sore. Between getting clocked the night before and sleeping on a surplus cot, he felt pretty rough. “Oh yeah. Slept like a baby.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Liar. You know, we can get real beds in here instead of those god-awful cots.”
“Hey! I like my cot!” He chuckled. “The boy said you brought food?”
She had a half-eaten breakfast burrito on her desk. “There’s a steak-and-egg burrito for you. It’s in the break room. I put a pot of coffee on, too.”
“I could not do this job without you,” Nathan said, smiling. “You’re the best.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said, returning to her typing. “Don’t forget to feed the prisoner. I didn’t bring him a burrito.”
Nathan nodded. “Oh, right. Yeah. I’ll toss him a can of Spam or something after I eat.” He turned and left the office, heading into the break room. He hadn’t been joking when he told Stella that he couldn’t do the job without her. There was a lot of administrative stuff that went along with bounty hunting. It wasn’t so bad for the state jobs, but the federal stuff came with a lot of paperwork. The Department of Homeland Security was the agency that processed claims for alien collaborators, traitors, and war criminals. The rewards were usually bigger, but getting them processed was like filing your taxes or going to the VA. Stella handled all that for him.
He’d originally hired her to handle the admin work. After a year of keeping him from violating government regulations (which came with stiff fines), she asked for a raise. Instead he made her a full partner in the business and had never regretted it. Stella had been a counterintelligence agent for Homeland Security during the war. She’d once confided in Nathan that she could be making a lot more money back east, or working for the government still, but she’d gotten sick of that world. At first she thought of returning home to West Virginia, but her maternal grandmother had settled in Arizona before the war. After she passed away, she left her house in Prescott to Stella, giving her a paid-for place to live. There just wasn’t much call for Stella’s area of expertise there, except for recovery work.
Ben was in the break room, eating his own burrito. His laptop computer was set up in front of him, and he scrolled the internet as he ate. Shadow sat next to him, looking pitiful. It was kind of funny, Nathan thought, watching a huge, genetically engineered working dog beg for table scraps.
“Hey, Uncle Nate,” Ben said, talking while chewing. “That guy we snagged last night? Stella told me the reward for him is fifty grand.”
“That’s right,” Nathan said, before taking a bite from his burrito. He continued after swallowing. “A prison camp administrator like our boy downstairs has a lot to answer for.”
Ben looked thoughtful for a moment. “How come we do this?”
“Huh? Because they’re paying us fifty thousand dollars, that’s why.”
“No, I mean, how come the government pays us to do this? I read that before the war, the police or federal agents did this kind of stuff, not bounty hunters.”
Nathan set his burrito down. “You’re right, it was a different world back then. Sometimes I forget how young you are.” Ben had been born during the war and was all of six years old when it had ended. He didn’t remember the world as it had been before. “I guess I’ve never explained this to you, huh? Before the war, federal laws were enforced by dozens of alphabet agencies from several different government departments. They often had redundant and overlapping areas of responsibility, and didn’t always work together well. Turf wars and battles for budget share were common. Being official apparatuses of the government, they had what they called qualified immunity. It meant that they usually couldn’t be sued for misconduct or mistakes. The federal bureaucracy made it nearly impossible to fire people for cause, leaving agencies with little choice but to transfer poor performers or just learn to live with them. Oversight was lacking and there wasn’t nearly enough accountability, at least not in my opinion.”
Ben ate his burrito as he listened to his uncle.
“Millions of Americans had willingly sided with the Greys, too,” Nate continued, using the derisive nickname for the extraterrestrial Visitors. “Hell, a bunch of people defected to their territory before the war started, and some even went over afterward. People were scared, thought there were traitors everywhere.”
“There were traitors everywhere,” Ben said, through a mouthful of his breakfast. He swallowed. “That’s why we’re so busy now.”
“It was worse than that. People became paranoid. The government basically turned all those federal agencies loose, gave them free rein to do whatever they thought they needed to do. Before the war they tracked and monitored alien sympathizers, harassed troublemakers, shut down pro-alien propaganda outlets. ...
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