The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (18 page)

      
"Don't drink too many of those," she said, sitting down opposite him. "I've got a feeling Jacobs will show up tonight."

      
"There's no alcohol in it," he replied. "I don't indulge when I'm working. You want one?"

      
"Sure. What is it?"

      
"I don't know what it's called. It's a mixture of three or four citrus fruits native to Innesfree. Nice tang to it."

      
She signaled the bartender, yet another rotund blue alien. "I'll have one of those," she said, pointing to Dimitrios' glass.

      
"Yes, Missy," growled the alien.

      
"Are those creatures the original inhabitants of Innesfree?" she asked. "They seem to be omnipresent."

      
"Only in the hotel," answered Dimitrios. "They're native to Halcyon II. The ones you see are indentured servants, working off their debts."

      
"How do you know that?"

      
"I've been to Halcyon II, and I know the policy of the corporation that owns this chain of hotels."

      
"And you put up with it?"

      
"It's not up to me," said Dimitrios. "They sign the papers, they work off their debts. It's the law."

      
"Didn't you ever want to break a bad law?"

      
"Lady, I represent the law out here. If you don't break it, you'll never have a problem with me."

      
"And good or bad law, it makes no difference to you?" she persisted.

      
"You're looking for Santiago," he said. "I've got my own priorities."

      
"I know," said Matilda. The alien arrived with her drink, set it down, and scuttled away. "Strange little beasts, aren't they?"

      
"Not to a lady Halcyoni," said Dimitrios.

      
"Point taken." She sipped the drink. "It's very good."

      
"Most fruit drinks are," he said. "I don't know why, but the human body seems to metabolize alien fruits and vegetables easier than alien protein."

      
"Are you saying you're a vegetarian?"

      
"No, I like meat. But I try not to eat it on days that I'm likely to work. Wouldn't want to get stomach cramps or worse at the wrong time."

      
"You keep saying it so impersonally: 'Days that you're going to work.'"

      
"You can't humanize these bastards," answered Dimitrios. "You can't ever do anything that'll make you pause, or hesitate, or listen to a plea or an explanation or an excuse. They killed the innocent and the helpless; they have to die."

      
"Do you ever have second thoughts, or regrets?"

      
He shook his head. "I might have, about a man who killed another man in a fair fight. Or a man who robbed a bank and killed a guard who was trying to kill him. Or about you. But not about the men I go after."

      
"So you never feel remorse, or regret?"

      
"Only satisfaction." He paused. "Why do you care?"

      
She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm trying to make a list of traits I need to find in Santiago."

      
He laughed softly.

      
"What's so funny?" she asked.

      
"If you get close enough to ask 'em, he's probably not Santiago."

      
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the bar, sipping fruit drinks and waiting for night to fall. When it had been dark for more than an hour, she got up and made her way back to El Gran Senor.

      
"You're early," said Manolete. "I like that in a performer."

      
"Not much to do in this town," she replied.

      
"And I like
that
in a town," he said. "This is the only excitement there is." He paused. "We should be full all night long. Everyone knows Dimitrios of the Three Burners plans to kill Hootowl Jacobs here tonight."

      
"Just how many people did you tell?"

      
"Enough."

      
"If word reaches Jacobs, you'll be in for a disappointing evening."

      
"You don't know the Hootowl," said Manolete. "He doesn't back down from anything."

      
"I thought all he didn't back down from were middle-aged wives who trusted him."

      
"That's because you've been listening to Dimitrios."

      
She considered sending a warning to Dimitrios, then changed her mind. His rejection of her offer hadn't discouraged her, but failure to take Hootowl Jacobs would decide it once and for all: if he couldn't kill Jacobs, then he could never be Santiago.

      
She changed into her costume, put on her make-up, then sent for the Borillian guitarist. His name could not be pronounced by any human, so she decided to call him Jose. He seemed friendly enough, and spoke in tinkling chimes, which his t-pack translated into a dull monotone. After learning the extent of his repertoire, she felt confident that she could improvise to anything he chose to play.

      
She had some time to kill, so she left her dressing room and began wandering around the building, trying to acquaint herself with it. She found the staff's bathroom and kitchen, and a small room with a card table, then went out front. A few men and women were already sitting at tables, drinks in front of them, and a holograph of a quartet of guitarists was projected on the stage, with the music coming from everywhere, or so it seemed.

      
"You look good," said Manolete, approaching her.

      
"Thanks."

      
"I mean really good."

      
"I mean really thanks," she said.

      
"You know, maybe we could work a little something out here," he continued.

      
"I doubt it."

      
"It would mean more money for you."

      
"It'd mean a quick kick in the balls for you," said Matilda. "Are you sure you want to pay me extra for that?"

      
He glared at her. "Maybe I'll just turn you over to Hootowl."

      
"First, I'm not rich enough for him, and second, his life expectancy is probably about an hour."

      
"We'll see," said Manolete, walking off.

      
She walked over to the bar, introduced herself to the two bartenders, and sat on a stool for awhile listening to the recorded music.

      
A few moments later a man with bulging blue eyes and a distinctive widow's peak entered and took a table in the farthest corner, his back to a wall, and she knew Jacobs had arrived. Before long the room was full and she went back to her dressing room, awaiting her signal to perform.

      
It came after another half hour, and shortly thereafter she was dancing to the music of Jose, her fourteen-fingered Borillian guitarist. He took it easy on her, building his speed and rhythm slowly until he saw that she could keep up with him.

      
She spun around as Jose reached the final few bars of his song, then stopped and bowed to mild applause. As she looked up, she saw that Dimitrios had entered the room and was walking calmly toward Hootowl Jacobs. She began stamping her feet and whirling around again, with no accompaniment, hoping to attract Jacobs' attention, to keep him looking toward the stage.

      
She dared a look in his direction, and saw that he was indeed looking at her. Then Dimitrios was next to him, placed a burner in his ear, and fired.

      
There was a shrill scream from a nearby table as Hootowl Jacobs pitched forward on the table, blood pouring out of his ear.

      
"There's no cause for alarm," said Dimitrios in a loud, clear voice. He held up a small titanium card. "I am a licensed bounty hunter. This man was wanted for a minimum of ten murders. I'm sorry to have disrupted your evening. I'll have him out of here as soon as possible."

      
A man at a nearby table stood up.

      
"You didn't even give him a chance!"

      
"This is a business, not a sporting event," answered Dimitrios.

      
"But you just walked up to him and shot him!"

      
"He was wanted dead or alive. Given the crimes he had committed, I prefer dead."

      
"I wonder how good you are against someone who knows you're there and can fight back." The man pulled his jacket back, revealing a matched pair of screechers in his gunbelt.

      
"Well, friend," said Dimitrios, "I'm about to show you. Keep your hands away from those pistols."

      
Dimitrios whirled and fired three blasts into the upper corners of the room, and three holographic cameras melted.

      
"Do you still want to see how good I am against someone who knows I'm here?" asked Dimitrios.

      
The man held his hands out where everyone could see them and then sat down.

      
"Hey!" yelled Manolete, approaching the bounty hunter. "You destroyed three very expensive cameras."

      
"You didn't prepare the contract we discussed," said Dimitrios. "I told you I wouldn't let you make those holos if you didn't turn half over to the charities I named."

      
"You said I couldn't
show
them."

      
"Well, now you can't."

      
"I'm going to remember this!" promised Manolete.

      
"I hope so," said Dimitrios. "And the next time you promise a contract to someone, you'd better deliver it."

      
Some of the customers began leaving, giving Dimitrios a wide berth.

      
"Look at this!" growled Manolete. "Now all my clients are leaving! Get that body out of here!"

      
"You didn't mind that body when you thought you could rerun his death every night," said Dimitrios.

      
"Just get him out of here and don't come back!" yelled Manolete. He turned to Matilda. "
You
get out of here too! You're fired!"

      
Matilda climbed down from the stage and approached Manolete. "Why are you firing me?" she asked.

      
"You're connected with
him
!" he said, jerking a thumb toward Dimitrios. "That's reason enough."

      
"Well," she said, "as it happens, I would have quit tonight anyway. He's going on to another world, and I'm going with him, so I don't mind being fired. But I mind your reason for it, and I mind your attitude."

      
"What are you going to do about it?" demanded Manolete pugnaciously.

      
"I'm going to give you a present."

      
He frowned in confusion. "What present?"

      
"Remember the trade we talked about earlier?" she said. Before he could react, she kicked him hard in the groin. He groaned and dropped to his knees. "You don't even have to pay me extra for that."

      
She turned her back on him and walked to the door, then waited for Dimitrios to sling the corpse over his shoulder and join her.

      
He summoned a robot car, loaded Jacobs into the back, and ordered it to take them to the spaceport.

      
"You know," she said, "that's just the way I think Santiago would dispatch an enemy."

      
He shook his head. "What I did was legal and moral. You've watched too many bad holodramas. I don't know how good Jacobs was with his weapons, so why give him a chance to prove he's better than me?" He paused. "Or take that man who got up and half- threatened me. It's easier to frighten him off with a display of marksmanship than kill him to prove a point."

      
"Yeah, I suppose so," she said.

      
"Don't look so depressed," he said. "I
told
you I'm not a candidate for the job. You ought to be pleased that I'm good at what I do, and that I'm willing to join your army."

      
"I am," she said. "But . . ."

      
"But what?"

      
She signed deeply. "But I still need to find a general."

      
"Finding him won't be so hard," replied Dimitrios. "Recruiting him will be the difficult part."

      
Which was as wrong a pair of predictions as he'd ever made.

12.

      
He used to be a lawman, a master of his tools;

      
His name was The Rough Rider, his game was killing fools.

      
He used to be a hero, backing up his boasts—

      
But now he lives a private life, hiding from his ghosts.

      
His real name was Wilson Tchanga, and there was a time when he was the most feared lawman on the Inner Frontier.

      
They tell the story of the day he followed eight members of the notorious Colabara Gang into a small warehouse on Talos II, and less than a minute later he was the only living soul in the building.

      
They talk about the evening he saved an entire Tradertown from Pedro the Giant, a nine-foot mutant who had gone on a rampage with a laser pistol and was in the process of burning the place down when Tchanga showed up to stop him.