Cowboy Feng's Space Bar and Grille (14 page)

“A point,” said Jamie.

“I don’t know,” said Libby.

“Take it a step at a time, then. Hags disease appeared just about the same time it became possible to consider colonizing the Moon. So they secretly arrange to have a colony, then they start a war on the Earth. But they aren’t quite fast enough, and some people escape and set up on the Moon. So they try Venus, and wipe out everyone on the Moon, but two colony ships make it there, and the Earth is still able to send some ships out, too. So they try for Mars, while wiping out Venus, and the same thing happens, and there they are, looking for their own colony, planning to destroy everyone else.”

“Wow,” said Libby. “It’s weird, but it sort of fits.”

“It sure does,” said Jamie. “But, then, what does Feng want?”

“As I understand it,” said Libby, “what they’re looking for is some sort of handle on the enemy.”

“Handle?”

“A weakness. Some means of striking back at them. In Feng’s time, they’re trying to wipe out Feng’s people, and Feng’s people know nothing about them. We’re supposed to find something that will help.”

I nodded. “They,” I repeated. “Sugar Bear. The enemy. Wow.”

Jamie said, “Then we haven’t really accomplished anything.”

“On the contrary,” I said. “This is it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve figured out that they almost certainly have a single home world, rather than being spread throughout the galaxy. If that world can be found, Feng’s people can counterattack, or threaten to counterattack, or something like that.” I turned to Libby. “Can’t they?”

“That sounds right to me, Billy,” said Libby carefully.

“Well, great,” said Jamie. “How are we going to find their home world?”

“Whose home world?”

I spun around. Libby said, “Oh, hi, Christian. We didn’t see you there. Get you a beer?”

“That’d be nice. What’s going on? Whose home world are you looking for?”

“Whose do you think?”

“The bad guys?”

“Good guess.”

“I thought you thought I was a bad guy.”

“It’s a possibility,” I said.

“Does that mean you have to kill me?”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. I said, “I don’t know. What’s the location of the rebel base?”

He shook his head. “If you’re the good guys, I have to ask that.”

“Don’t bother,” said Jamie. “The bad guys already blew it up.”

“That’s harsh,” said Christian.

“That’s Libby’s word,” I said.

“I’ve been hanging around with her a lot. Did you mean the Earth, that the bad guys blew up?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie. “How did you know that’s what I meant?”

“It’s where you guys are from,” said Christian.

“Oh.”

“You think they destroyed the whole place?”

“It looks that way,” I said.

“Wow. That’s scary. Why do you have to find out where they live? So you can blow up their planet?” He didn’t seem especially serious about this blowing-up-planets thing. We looked at each other, then at Christian. “All right,” he said, “
how
are you going to find it?” Again, we didn’t answer. “
Man
,” he said. “You guys really think I’m with them, don’t you?”

Libby said, “How are we supposed to know, one way or the other?”

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “But who are
they
, anyway? I’m curious.”

“Well,” I said, “if what I’ve just figured out is true, they’re a bunch of nut cases who think the only way to protect themselves from Hags disease is to kill off anyone who might be infected, which means anyone but themselves. I’m not sure how they manage to be sure none of them have contact with a carrier.”

“Scary,” said Christian. “That means killing a lot of people.”

“The whole human race,” said Libby.

“And what are you guys doing?”

“Trying to save them.”

“Save everyone?”

“Why do you ask?” I said. “Got someone in mind you don’t want saved?”

“No, I just wondered who appointed you guardians of humanity.”

“Shit happens,” said Libby.

“Yeah,” said Christian. “I guess it does at that.” He finished his drink and walked out of the bar.

Jamie got another beer. “What the hell got into him?”

“Hmmm,” said Libby. I agreed with her.

“All right,” said Jamie. “As I was saying, how are we going to find their home world?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But now that we know what we’re after, we’re closer.”

“I just hope they don’t kill us all before we find out,” said Jamie.

“Amen to that,” I said.

In the next room, there was a tinkle of broken glass. I mentally tsked. Then I heard the distant report of a firearm. Someone screamed.

“What’s the secret of comedy?” I said to no one in particular, as Jamie took his pistol from his belt and walked into the next room. Libby didn’t answer, she was too busy turning the key in the cash register and pulling her .44 from under the bar.

“I’ve wandered into a western,” I said. “I don’t believe it.” There were more screams from the next room and I began to be convinced.

Chaos engenders confusion springs from disorder; the gentle whitewash of remembrance fails me, and I relive too much. What is this quintessence of dust, as the man said, and on bad days I know why. I wanted to huddle in the bar and hope anybody who didn’t like me wouldn’t come looking, but I’m curious as well as cowardly, and sometimes the former dominates, for a time, for a time.

I stopped beneath the arch, on the taproom side, and stuck my head out to get a glance into the dining room, whence came the tinkle of broken glass et al., and I retain the flashes of sight/sound passing through the tunnel we call memory, the better to cushion the blow, my dear, but the eardrum rings and the retina burns, even now, when die fixer of all contusions should have twisted its rope enough.

They were standing in the doorway, holding the sorts of weapons that it takes two hands to hold. We had somehow moved from a western to a gangster film, which is only a difference of props and stage setting, I suppose, but I didn’t like it.

I ducked back, breathing hard.

In that confusion of fear and adrenaline, I doubted what I had seen, so I looked once more, ducked behind my wall again, and die screaming resumed, accompanied this time by a shower of splinters marking the spot where my head had just been; I resolved at this point to stop sneaking peeks. But I recognized two of those who had come in as Justin and Claude, and I had no reason to think that their intentions toward me were any friendlier than they had been before.

There was more shooting, and I looked again, my decision forgotten in the heat of the moment. All right, then. Forget the sights and sounds and memories and emotions, I’ll just tell you what happened, as I was able to reconstruct it later, and you can supply your own reactions, since you will, anyway.

The plan involved three of them walking in the front door with automatic weapons, just seconds after two others were to appear from the back with hand weapons, and the group was to simply go through the place shooting any of us they saw until they found me, and then they could leave after making certain I was dead.

How were they to get in the back door, normally kept locked? A “customer” slipped back there and unlocked it, after making certain where I was in the restaurant. The plan was good, and would have worked except that Fred happened to be taking out the garbage. A few days before he was killed, Rich had installed a small light in the back door, just to let us know the door was unlocked. The light was on, and Fred knew that it shouldn’t have been. Fred was not the sort to let this kind of thing slip by.

He picked up his machine pistol and returned to the door to check things out, just as it opened, and two heavily armed persons attempted to, as they say, gain entrance. Fred fired, knocking out a window and making someone scream, but not actually hitting either of them. It is much more difficult to hit someone you’re firing at than you may think, especially when you’re in a hurry and he’s shooting back. Fred was good enough that he might have been able to drop them both by taking his time and picking his targets, but he chose, on this occasion, to just fill the air with so much lead that they had to leave, which they quite reasonably did.

Jamie and Libby appeared right as they were slamming the door shut. Fred told them, “Guard the hall,” and turned to deal with the front, correctly guessing what was about to happen, but not wanting to leave the back way unattended.

There were three of them, as I said, all with full-automatic rifles. Tom took out his pistol, but Fred was ready. They saw Fred as he saw them, and everybody fired. When the smoke cleared, one of the attackers, someone I’d never seen, was wounded and running up the street as fast as he could and Justin had dived out the door, leaving Claude alone in the room.

By this time, all of the customers were on the floor, most of them screaming. Claude ducked to the side, losing his weapon in the process. He came up with a small pistol and, from a prone position on the floor, shot three times at Fred, then he got up and ran out the door himself as Tom emptied his automatic in Claude’s general direction.

Fred slumped against a wall and no one moved. Apparently one of Claude’s shots had hit him, though not badly as far as I could tell. I saw a wound high on his right leg, which hadn’t been as obvious as Rich’s wound had, I suppose due to differences in weapon, bullet, and location. The customers gradually stopped screaming, although one of them continued to moan softly.

Jamie and Libby appeared in the room, just as I walked in. “I’ve locked the back door,” said Jamie.

“Good work,” said Fred. Sweat was pouring down his face, and I realized that he was in a great deal of pain. Tom put another magazine into his .45, walked up to a window, and looked out it. There was no trace of humor on his features.

Libby knelt next to Fred and said, “You all right, babe?”

“Fine,” he said, gasping.

Libby turned and said, “Get him in the back room, and I’ll look at that leg. We also need to get these people out of here.”

Tom said, “Better put them in the bar. I don’t think it’s safe to send them outside.”

I said, “Oh?”

“I saw Justin meet up with Claude, and they’re sitting in the bakery across the street, probably going to shoot at us.”

“Wonderful.”

I came forward, wanting very much to feel useful. The room was thick with the harsh smell of gunpowder. There was a blue haze in the air, like and yet more sinister than tobacco smoke. Jamie and I carried Fred upstairs where he could rest on the bedding where Libby and I had made love twelve hours before.

Rose and Libby coerced the ten or so customers into the bar. Fred seemed to be losing a great deal of blood. I pressed a shirt against the wound as hard as I could. Fred’s face was covered with sweat and he winced as I applied pressure.

He held out his gun to me. “You want to use this?”

“No. Now shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

I went back out. Libby was just finishing getting all of the customers into the bar. Tom yelled, “Watch it!” and ducked. There was a spray of glass, and someone screamed again.

I told Libby, “He’s upstairs, lying down.”

She nodded and set her pistol on a table, disappeared in back. Tom stood up, fired out the window, and ducked again. Jamie did the same thing. I stayed down. There was a thunk somewhere above my head and off to the right, and I was sprayed with particleboard as a bullet hit the wall. I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. Rose huddled on the floor next to Jamie’s right leg. This continued for a while. Tom selected a magazine from the pile by his feet and reloaded. Jamie used the quick-loader for his revolver, tossing it over his shoulder as if for luck. They both fired out the window again.

There was a pause, during which I crawled over to Tom and said, “What the hell’s going on?”

He shrugged. “There’s at least a couple of them, in the bakery across the street. They shoot, we duck. We shoot, they duck. No one’s going to hit anyone.”

“Great,” I said.

“I wonder why the police haven’t shown up?”

“Hell if I know.”

Jamie said, “Maybe we should rush them.”

At that point Libby, who had just emerged from tending to Fred’s wound, walked past him. She said, “Good idea.” She picked up her pistol and carried it loosely at her side. Then she just walked out the door, turned toward the bakery, and started shooting.

Jamie was the first one after her, with Tom right on his heels, then me, then Rose. What Rose or I thought we were going to do, I don’t know. There wasn’t anyone on the street, except one grey sedan with the Muni insignia on the door.

The bakery was small and ugly, with exterior brick up to three feet, then plate-glass windows perhaps four feet long and three feet wide, separated by thin metal strips. The windows displayed loaves of bread and pastries. All of these windows were broken. Most of the pastries were ruined. As we came out, Libby, Tom, and Jamie fired.

Justin and Claude emerged and began running down the street, I guess deciding that the bakery was a poor place to have a gunfight, after all. Jamie and Libby shot at them and missed, and we all set off. I wondered what I thought I was going to do if we caught them. It was growing dark, and I wondered if that would make a difference.

Claude, in front, reached the door of Le Bureau Théâtral du Nouveau Québec. It occurred to me that, once inside, they would know the place really well, and that they might have reinforcements waiting. I guess the same thoughts occurred to the others, because they put on a burst of speed and we were right behind them in a narrow hallway, with no possibility of cover for anyone. If they stopped, I think they could have had us all then, but instead they continued past a receptionist’s desk to what looked like a copying center, with several machines and a sturdy bookcase or two. There was a window in the back, and at first I thought they’d go through it and keep running, but instead they stopped below it and turned to face us, like boars at bay. I was just outside the room, Rose was behind me, Libby and Jamie and Tom were almost in the door.

Squat, curly-haired Claude fired a shot at Jamie, and tall, long-haired Jamie went down behind a copier. I couldn’t tell at the time if he had ducked or been shot, and neither could Claude, who kept shooting into the machine, hoping to pierce it and hit him. Claude’s pistol was small, but in that room seemed much louder than the bigger weapons had in Feng’s. My ears hurt.

Justin had a machine pistol, but Tom moved too quickly. He rolled behind a bookcase, came up, fired several times. He missed, but I saw where the bullets hit near Justin’s head. Justin ducked down. The .45 was very loud, as well.

Libby fired at Justin, and, well, for noisemakers, you’ll have to put the .44 automag up there with Spinal Tap and 747s. She fired at Claude, and I stayed down and figured that ear damage was the least danger I was in. She kept alternating shots at Justin, who was behind a machine, and Claude, who was behind the counter. There was a lull while she reloaded, during which Justin stood and went crashing out the window. Tom leapt through the window after him, .45 flailing about in his hand.

I guess this was too good a chance for Claude to pass up, because he stood suddenly and carefully aimed for Tom’s back. A sick feeling hit my stomach, and I yelled and so did Rose, but we needn’t have bothered. Jamie stood up from behind the machine and fired. Claude spun and slammed against the wall, looking very surprised, and I saw an exit wound in front of his shirt, just like Rich’s, and I was glad.

Claude was working on raising his pistol when I heard the hammer fall on Jamie’s revolver. It was empty. Claude’s face lit up. There was another gut-wrenching frozen moment, but then there was another ear-shattering explosion as Libby put a shot into Claude’s stomach. Claude dropped the pistol and crumpled to the ground, and now the look on his face wasn’t surprise, it was pain, and I thought of Rich again and I liked that, too. Libby fired again, then again, then kept putting bullets into his body until her gun was empty. I turned away before this point.

I started to shake in the deafening silence. “Let’s get back to Feng’s,” said Jamie after a moment. I realized that I was having some trouble hearing him for the ringing in my ears. His face was slack and he looked very tired. Libby didn’t answer; there was an expression on her face that I couldn’t read.

Rose said, “What about Tommy?”

“I don’t think he’ll come back here,” I said. “Let’s just get back to Feng’s where it’s—well, safer.”

Jamie and Rose and I left the office. I heard Libby’s footsteps behind us as we reached the door and stepped out onto the street. We turned up toward Feng’s in the growing twilight, and stopped cold.

Sergeant Iverness stood in a crouch, his pistol held in both hands and pointed at Jamie. Christian stood easily in an ankle-length leather coat, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, a pump-action shotgun pointing loosely at Libby. I was glad Tom, at least, wasn’t around, and I hoped he’d be all right.

“Toss your guns to the side,” said Iverness crisply. His voice came as through a distance due to the ringing in my ears, and this added to the sense of unreality about the entire scene.

Jamie sighed and let his gun drop. I heard the sound of Libby’s dropping as well. What the hell, they were empty, anyway. Christian moved the shotgun to cover Rose, who had her hands jammed into her jacket pocket. The rest of us stood with our hands well away from our bodies.

Iverness said, “Where’s the skinny guy?”

I shrugged. He studied me for a moment, then turned to Christian and nodded. “Let’s get it done,” he said, again as from far away. I knew it couldn’t be real.

Christian swung his shotgun until it was pointing at Libby again. Then Iverness faced me and pointed his pistol dead at my chest, and I saw his face tighten just a little, and I could actually see, or imagined I could see, his finger squeezing the trigger.

I closed my eyes, just to show how brave I am, and waited for the bullet. Next to me, Jamie had time to say, quite clearly and distinctly, “Well, shit,” then I heard the sound of a shotgun, twice in quick succession, and I winced and waited for the impact.

And waited.

Presently I looked. Iverness lay on the street, and I averted my eyes from what was left of his face. Christian’s shotgun still pointed at him. He pumped another round into the chamber, walked over to the body, and touched it with his foot. I think he was checking to make sure he was dead, but I averted my eyes once more.

None of us moved; none of us spoke. We stood there in the spreading darkness and looked at one another and at Christian, who returned our looks from slitted eyes.

Rose said, “Perhaps we should go inside now.”

“Good idea,” I said. “And you can put that thing away anytime.”

“What? Oh, this.” She put the derringer back in her pocket. “I never got to shoot it, anyway,” she said. “Christian shot first.”

“I noticed that,” I said. And to Christian, “Why?”

“I’ve never liked cops,” he explained.

That was as good as I needed just at that moment. Jamie and Libby retrieved their weapons and left Iverness lying there. We walked back to Feng’s. Did I mention before that I’d wandered into a western? It felt like it more than ever as we walked through deserted streets back to Feng’s. It would have been funny if it weren’t so spooky.