The Starter (49 page)

The crack of a gunshot.

Ju Tweedy looked down at his leg. Blood started to spread from a spot a few inches above his knee.

“Ouch,” Ju said, then his legs gave out.

“Everyone stay real still,” said a voice from the window. Quentin and his teammates turned ever so slowly to look at the small, Human gangster crawling through the window, his gun trained on the Krakens players the entire time. Four of his well-dressed associates followed him in.

“You guys shouldn’t have come here,” the little gangster said.

“We have diplomatic immunity,” Quentin said. “You can’t touch us.”

The little gangster shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have come
here
. To this building. You should have stayed out in the public eye. You know, where there are witnesses?”

The gangsters stood there, each with a gun trained on a Krakens player.

“So?” John said. “So you can do whatever you want, what are you gonna do?”

“We’re gonna wait,” the gangster said. “Miss Villani wants a word with The Mad Ju.”

Ju let out a moaning noise, then sat up and jammed his thumb into the new hole in his leg. He grimaced as he did, yet the move seemed as perfunctory as drinking a cup of coffee in the morning.

Ju smiled at the little gangster. “Hey, Smitty. How about I give you an autographed jersey and we call it even?”

The short gangster shook his head.

“Season tickets?” Ju said.

Smitty laughed, then shook his head again. “I’m gonna miss you, man. You always did crack me up. Now shut your mouth.”

They all stood in silence. A couple of minutes later, Quentin heard two sets of footsteps coming down the crystal-strewn alley. One heavyset with big feet, and one that sounded different — the click-clack of high heels.

Quentin saw those heels — a sexy, dark red with six-inch stems — slide through the open window, followed by long legs clad in black stockings with a repeating pattern of skulls running up each side. A red leather skirt that clung tightly to wide curves below a narrow waist. She seemed to float through the window, until he realized her effortless movement came courtesy of the two gigantic hands holding her sides.

The big hands put the woman down. She stepped forward, resplendent in dark red leather and black lace. She wore dangling, black earrings and a small pin above her left breast — metalflake red with a flat-black circle, the team logo of the Orbiting Death.

The dark outfit accentuated her white skin. Not pink, not tan, but
white
, as pale as fresh snow. She wore metalflake-red lipstick on big lips. Heavy black eye shadow covered her eye sockets and extended to her temples. The hair was jet-black, but that was a dye job — women with Tower heritage had hair as white as their skin.

By the numbers, she might have been the hottest woman Quentin had ever seen in his life, hotter than Somalia Midori, possibly even more beautiful than Yolanda Davenport. But there was something disturbing about this woman, an aura of coldness and lethality. If it was the person inside that really counts, he was looking at a walking corpse.

“Hello, Julius,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Ju stared at her, sadness and hatred in his eyes. “Why did you kill her? She didn’t do anything.”

Anna’s perfect lips stretched into a soulless smile. “She betrayed me, Ju. You thought you were safe, could flaunt it right in my face, but you didn’t think long-term. And for that, you both have to pay.”

For some reason, Quentin looked at Becca. She met his gaze, gave him a small nod of understanding — she had been wrong, Ju
was
innocent.

Anna walked around the room, looking at each Kraken in turn before her made-up eyes finally landed on Quentin.

“Ju,” she said. “I see you brought me some new playmates. How considerate of you.”

Quentin wiped blood away from his nose. “Miss Villani. Maybe we could just slow down a little bit, talk this out.”

She walked toward Quentin, walked slowly, letting her high-heel echoes ring off the curled, crystal shards and empty walls. Quentin took a step forward to meet her and instantly realized it was a mistake when three more barrels pointed his way.

She wrinkled her nose and nodded. “You should probably stay still and all that Barnes. Don’t get... twitchy.”

She reached up a red-sleeved white hand, let her metalflake-red fingernails trace down the right side of his cheek. He stayed perfectly still, ignoring the tingle her fingertips sent through his skin.

“Quentin Barnes,” Anna said. “My goodness. You’re even more of a specimen in person than you are on the news. Let me guess, you organized this ill-fated rescue attempt?”

Quentin looked at John, then back at Anna. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “We wanted to save John’s brother. We really didn’t mean any disrespect, Miss Villani.”

She smiled, now running her fingers through his hair. “No disrespect. Tell me, Quentin, how stupid are the women in the Purist Nation?”

Quentin didn’t know how to answer the question, but he knew he’d said something wrong. “Uh... well, they’re as smart as other women, I guess. I mean
people
. They’re as smart as other people, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Anna said. “Because I bet a pretty set of lips like yours can say anything to the girls back in the Nation, and they’d believe it. But out here in the rest of the galaxy? Maybe we girls aren’t so malleable. Maybe we don’t believe your lies.”

“But Miss Villani, I—”

He stopped talking when her left index finger rested on his lips.

“Shhhh,” she said. “Quiet now. Best if you let me talk. You tell me you mean no disrespect, yet you come into
my
city, without so much as a
hello
, let alone actually asking for my permission. You come after a man that you know has wronged me. Wronged me so,
so
badly. Yes, Quentin, that
is
disrespect. You disrespected me. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Quentin looked down into her cold eyes. “I... I don’t know, Miss Villani.”

She pulled her finger away from his lips. His red blood coated her white fingertip, almost matched her metalflake-red nail polish. She slowly traced the finger across her full lower lip — his blood gleamed on her lipstick.

She slid her finger under his chin. “Maybe if you give Anna a nice kiss, she’ll forget all about this and let you go.”

Quentin stared at her for a second, then looked at his teammates. He could discern no reaction from Sho-Do and Mum-O. Becca shook her head, while John violently nodded.

Quentin looked down at Anna, saw the corners of her mouth lift up in a controlling smile. He bent, and kissed her.

She only
looked
cold. Her lips were soft, warm, and strong. She kissed him back a little harder than he kissed her. He felt every muscle in his face simultaneously relax and tingle, felt a warmth in his chest. He’d lost himself in the kiss when she gently pulled away.

Quentin opened his eyes. His blood had smeared across the pale white skin of her chin, the corners of her mouth. She stared at him with a quizzical look in her eyes, as if she were working out a puzzle.

“Hmmm,” she said, then patted him twice on the cheek. “Sorry, Quentin, not good enough.”

She turned on one heel and strode toward Ju. Quentin noticed that she stopped well out of Ju’s reach. Even though he was wounded, Ju Tweedy was a big, dangerous,
fast
man.

“You flaunted her in my face, Ju,” Anna said. “And for that, I’m afraid you have to go. Smitty? Take care of this for Anna.”

Smitty walked forward, slowly raising his gun toward Ju’s head. Ju took a deep breath. He didn’t look away — he was going to watch his death coming. Quentin tried to think of something to say, but he had no words. Anna Villani’s cold confidence made it clear that there was no talking to her, no getting Ju out of this. The Krakens would be lucky if
they
got out of this.

Smitty leveled his weapon, arm slanted down until the barrel was only a few feet from Ju’s head.

Everyone jumped when a shot rang out.

Everyone, including Smitty, who took a half step to the right, then collapsed. He landed on his butt, fell to his back and lay flat, a bloodstain spreading from a spot in the center of his chest.

“Drop your weapons.”

Quentin and everyone else in the room looked to the window. There stood Virak the Mean, a smoking handgun clutched in his left pedipalp. Also in the window, down to his left and to his right, two Humans each holding handguns, aiming them into the room, three weapons ready to take out anyone that moved too quickly.

Anna’s gangsters tensed, seeming to weigh their odds.

“Villani,” came a voice from behind Virak. “Tell your people to put down their guns, and there will be no further issue. You have my word. If anyone points a gun at Ju Tweedy, they die.”

The voice belonged to Gredok the Splithead.

• • •

ANNA’S EYES NARROWED
. She drew a slow breath in through her nose and held it. Quentin could feel the rage radiating off her white skin. She let out the breath through her thick, lipsticked lips.

“Boys, drop the guns.”

Her gangsters immediately complied. Quentin noticed that there was no backtalk, no debating — when Anna Villani spoke, her sentients snapped to action.

With the two Humans covering him, Virak the Mean stepped through the window. The two Humans came next, followed by another Quyth Warrior Quentin didn’t recognize. Finally, Virak reached back through the window, lifted Gredok the Splithead, and gently set the Quyth Leader down inside the room.

Anna Villani walked up to Gredok. At five feet, eight inches tall in her spike heels, she towered over the well-dressed, well-groomed Quyth Leader.

“Gredok,” she said, venom dripping from her voice. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Protecting my property,” he said. “The situation I saw is your sentients pointing weapons at my players. Of course, I can not allow that to happen.”

“They came into
my
territory! That means I can do whatever I want.”

“I believe you are getting ahead of yourself, Villani,” Gredok said. “The Council has not yet recognized your authority.”

Her face wrinkled into a sneer. A sneer that Quentin couldn’t deny was even more attractive than her smile.

“Oh please,” she said. “I am in control of the OS1 syndicate, there is no doubt about this.”

“You are wrong. Sikka the Death’s passing means the OS1 syndicate is leaderless. You have to make your bid to the Council, Villani.”

“Like they would dare deny me.”

“If they
do
dare, you are out,” Gredok said. “There are many ambitious young leaders in the galaxy that want this territory.”

“Like who? Perhaps Stedmar Osborne?”

Quentin’s eyes widened just a bit at the mention of his former boss, the owner of the Micovi Raiders.

Gredok nodded, his whole upper body moving back and forth twice to signify
yes
.

“If Osborne comes here,” Anna said, her words cold and slow, “I will cut out his heart and feed it to him.”

“Aside from the relative anatomical improbability of that act,” Gredok said, “it would not be Osborne who would come first. If the Council denies your bid, and you were foolish enough to resist their orders, at least a dozen of the galaxy’s best assassins would descend on Orbital Station One. They would be gunning for
you
, Villani. And if you were even more foolish as to
not
submit a bid and simply assume control — which, despite what you just told me, I am sure you
have not done
— well then, there would be more than a dozen. Many more.”

She stared down at him, hate filling her face.

Gredok stayed perfectly calm. “I always considered you smart, Villani. A smart leader would not assume control without a vote from the Council. So, are you in control of the OS1 syndicate?”

Her lips sneered again, then she relaxed them. Gredok had all the cards. Quentin was starting to understand the criminal hierarchy. With Sikka the Death gone and no leader in his place, Gredok had the right to kill any of these sentients — including Anna — without fear of repercussion.

“No,” she said. “I have not assumed control.”

“Smart,” Gredok said. “I always thought you were smart. Since you are not in control, that means you must respect the requests of any
Shamakath
.”

“Gredok, if you think I’m going to swear fealty—”

“Nothing so crass,” Gredok said. “I am simply going to take my players and leave.”

Anna looked back to Ju, glaring at him, hunger in her eyes. “Just
your
players?”

“No!” John shouted. “Gredok, he’s my brother, you can’t just leave him!”

“
Silence!
” Gredok’s scream could have come from a being twice, possibly three times his size. A voice full of rage and power. “Another word out of you, John Tweedy, and I will not only start looking for a new middle linebacker, I will enjoy the process, because killing you here and now would provide me with immense satisfaction. You have pushed me as far as you dare. Your brother is wanted for murder. His own team cut him. He no longer has diplomatic immunity. Even if he is turned over to the police, we all know where he will end up. There is nothing I can do.”

“Yes there is,” Quentin said. “You can sign him.”

If the room had been still before, now it was frozen absolute-zero stiff. Gredok shuffled in place. The small clacks of his feet, the clink of his jewelry and the rustling of furry arms against a furry body filled the silent room. Then he stopped moving, and all fell silent again.

Gredok stared at Quentin. The leader didn’t look upset, or even agitated. That is, unless you looked into his one big eye, which was flooded a deep, pitch black.

“Barnes,” Gredok said. “I think that you are forgetting something.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you have a two-time Galaxy Bowl quarterback playing one spot below you. If I kill you now, the result on the field will be little different for the rest of the season.”