James Axler – Trader Redux

“Why don’t we”

The Armorer interrupted him. “Rigging up some kind of PA system out on the grass. Even if we can’t see properly what’s going on, we should be able to hear it.”

“Great.” Abe mimed clapping his hands together. “Can’t wait for the thrill.”

J.B. replaced his glasses and leaned on his elbows to take another peek at the proceedings. “Dark night!” he exclaimed. “Will you look at that?”

RYAN BLINKED HIS EYE at the dazzling sunlight.

He and Trader had talked briefly during the night about their chances of escape from Hightower ville. Neither was keen to cut and run, leaving their blasters and knives behind. Trader, in particular, was extremely reluctant to abandon his beloved Armalite to Baron Torrance.

“Goes back to my days with Marsh Folsom,” he’d said angrily. “Part of my fucking body!” He became so enraged that Ryan had quietened him, reminding him that they were supposed to be brothers, trading in bullets. Not the legendary Trader and his onetime first lieutenant.

Even so, it hadn’t taken long for them to agree that they would still snatch any chance to get away from this absurd yet deeply menacing situation.

“Always come back for the blasters,” Ryan said.

But it was obvious from the first moment they stepped out of the mustiness of the old hotel into the freshness of late morning that this wasn’t going to be the time.

A rough circle of sec men, most holding either hunting rifles or rebuilt handblasters, watched them closely. Baron Torrance was sprawled on a long sofa, studiously picking his nose. The two women stood in front of him side by side, whispering and giggling.

“Who’s going to perform the weddings?” Ryan asked.

“No problemo, friends,” Arkadin replied. “Got us a whiskey priest coming in from a settlement about twenty miles off. They got a tie with the ville.”

“Great,” Trader snapped. “I wouldn’t want this charade to be done unless it was all proper and legal.”

The sec chief laughed. “Like your style, Willard. Really like your style. Now go stand by the ladies.”

He pushed Trader in the back, making him stumble. The older man spun, his fists clenched. “Do that again and you’ll piss blood for a year!”

“Sure, sure.”

Ryan was pointed to stand next to Bessie, who took his arm, smiling at him and licking her lips. Trader’s hand was gripped like a bear trap by Cissie.

“Tomorrow, my eagle’s heart,” whispered the younger of the sisters.

Ryan didn’t reply.

There was a long pause, punctuated by fearsome shrieking and crackling from the loudspeakers. The man in charge of them kept tapping the mike, then stooping to make minute adjustments to the controls.

Finally Baron Torrance hauled himself upright and lumbered to the servant. “What in the blood of the martyrs is going on?”

His voice, vastly amplified, boomed out over the ground of the ville, echoing across the canyon.

“WHAT’RE RYAN AND TRADER doing?” Abe whispered. “Is it an execution?”

“Don’t think so. It hasn’t got the shadow of death lying there.”

But he had readied the Uzi.

“We should get closer if there’s going to be some chilling, shouldn’t we?”

J.B. didn’t answer for several moments, concentrating on the scene ahead of them. “We move closer and they see us. No way around that. Wait for night. You don’t broadcast it all over the canyon if you’re going to take someone out.”

They heard the fat man roar in anger.

“Holy shit!” Abe exclaimed. “That the baron, you reckon? Sounds pissed.”

Torrance had grabbed the unlucky servant by the front of his shirt, gripping so hard that a strip of the material peeled away. With his free hand he punched the man so violently in the face that even J.B. and Abe heard the sound of his nose breaking.

RYAN WINCED at the ferocity of the blow. Blood spurted and the servant rocked on his heels, eyes closing. He would have fallen if Torrance hadn’t been holding him up.

“Get this garbage out of my sight,” the baron yelled, letting the man fall into a crumpled heap. He kicked him twice in the ribs, pettishly, almost as an afterthought.

Cissie and Bessie sniggered, perfectly in unison, like separated Siamese twins.