Further, it is illegal to disrupt or disable weapons detectors on station.”
No mention of the girl, he realized slowly. Why hadn’t she come forward and accused him of something? Did she want to avoid the uniforms as much as he did? Or was she just too smart to get caught in the middle of something like this? Probably the latter, he thought in disgust.
“What is the penalty?” he asked, his voice sounding shaky and foreign to him. In the background he could hear people whispering to each other. Hell, now he was providing entertainment for the entire bar. So much for keeping a low profile. Fuck.
“That’s for the magistrate to decide,” the guard said piously. “Of course, it may depend in part on whether you’re prepared to pay damages for the trouble you’ve caused.”
Money, he thought, feeling hopeful for the first time. If they were interested in money, he might be able to buy his way out of this one. Manya snorted in disgust.
“I think I could arrange that,” Jerred said slowly. The guard’s gaze sharpened.
“We’ll take care of it after we’ve taken you into custody,” he replied, the tone of his voice warming.
Jerred smiled, and then closed his eyes. They wanted money to make this go away.
That was something he could arrange.
Giselle watched as they hauled Black Leather out on a floater. She stayed in the background as the station guards took names and contact information from the various bar patrons. There were a few who looked uncomfortable, but for the most part the situation was routine. A few of their more concerned patrons had slipped discretely into the storeroom for the duration. Free drinks would be served and damages would be paid. In a week, nobody would remember what had happened.
“How you doing?” Manya asked gruffly, coming to sit beside her. “I’m sorry I left you hanging out there for a moment, but I didn’t want him to know we were on to him.
You looked kinda scared.”
“He was waiting for me outside the bar,” Giselle said softly. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m sorry I brought trouble back to the bar, but it was the only thing I could think to do.”
“It’s all right,” he replied. “I didn’t like the way he was touching you, anyway. Like he owned you or something. I run a good, clean bar, and I don’t like anyone treating my girls like they’re hookers. We can afford to lose an occasional customer, but losing a good waitress? Now that’s a loss!”
Giselle smiled weakly, and leaned her head against Manya’s broad shoulder. For all his rough exterior, he was a good man.
“You stick around ’til closing,” Manya said slowly. “You can wait in my office, and I’ll make sure you get home all right.”
“No, that’s all right,” she said. “Just ’cause one guy scared me doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself, you know?”
“You sure?”
“Yep, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not your father,” he said after a moment. “Not my place to tell you what to do. Sit and relax, though, and I’ll get you a drink.”
She nodded gratefully, and Manya smiled.
It was an hour before she felt ready to leave again, despite her brave words. She wanted to take Manya up on his offer, but he couldn’t escort her home every night. The sooner she got over it, the better. Still, the once-friendly station corridors were filled with shadows, and every drunken spacer she passed seemed to leer menacingly. Things got better as she left the main gallery, ducking through back corridors toward the tiny block of apartments where she rented a room. She could afford better—she made good money at Manya’s. But she had better things to do with her credits.
She caught sight of her apartment entrance and relaxed for the first time. It always seemed to greet her from the distance, a small, blue door tucked in the corner of the hallway. She wasn’t scheduled to work the next cycle, and she was damned glad of it.
She could use the rest. She reached the door and leaned forward to press her eye to the retinal scanner when she heard them to her right.
“You haven’t paid up, Sula,” a man’s voice said. Catching her breath, Giselle swiveled noiselessly. They were just a few feet away, down the other end of the hallway. Two guardsmen stood over a young woman, their stance anything but friendly.
Sula.
An unlicensed prostitute who worked the port. A sand junkie who was high ninety percent of the time, Sula slept in the corridor sometimes, and Giselle often left her food out of pity. The girl was harmless. Now she lay huddled against the wall, tears running down her always-pale face.
One of the guards kicked at her, and she whimpered, pleading wordlessly for mercy.
“Sula, you know what it means if you don’t pay up on time,” the man said. His friends laughed, as if they were sharing some sick joke. “This is the second time in row.
Didn’t we tell you what would happen if you did this again?”
“I’ll do better,” Sula whimpered. “I’m gonna do better. Just give me another chance.
Please.”
“I don’t think so,” the guard said, his tone deceptively light. “I think it’s already too late for you, Sula. You keep doing this and people will think it’s all right not to pay.
We’re gonna make an example outta you.”
Giselle caught her breath as the guard pulled a blaster out of his belt and pointed it toward the cowering girl. She knew, deep down inside, that there was nothing she could do to help Sula. Nothing. That didn’t make her feel like less of a monster for watching.
With surreal slowness, the guard raised the gun to Sula’s head and pulled the trigger. There was a bright flash, and the corridor was filled with the smell of burnt hair and flesh. The body slumped to one side, and to Giselle’s horror, she could feel her fingers loosen. Her bag hit the floor with a loud thumping noise, and the guards whirled to face her.
“I didn’t see anything,” she muttered, turning away from them and fumbling at her door. Had the computer already recognized her? Would it open? They were going to kill her. She knew it.
She could hear them stalking toward her, and then the door opened. She stumbled through, slapping it closed and screaming, “Lock!” to the computer.
A small light glowed red. How long would it hold?
The door shuddered as the guards shot it with a blaster. She scrambled to her feet, running across her small, one-room apartment toward the fresher. She dove in and scrabbled at the shower’s back panel. She’d wondered if she was paranoid when she’d decided to get the apartment. The landlord charged her extra for an apartment with an escape hatch. Who the hell would be after her? Why would she need a second exit?
But she’d always had a hint of paranoia, and it had saved her ass more than once.
This time was no exception. The panel slid open, revealing a narrow service shaft. She crawled in, pulling the panel closed behind her. She figured she had about ten minutes before they figured out where she had gone. More than enough time to get away if she hustled. As she crawled down the narrow shaft she whispered a prayer of thanks to the Goddess for saving her yet again.
Jerred smiled broadly as the security captain offered him a drink. Amazing what kind of service a few credits could buy, he thought in amusement. The bastards must feel like they’d won a prize, a man who was willing to pay almost anything to make the little run-in with station security go away.
“It’s a real pleasure to deal with such civilized representatives of the local government,” he said, tipping back his drink. The captain gave an oily smile.
“We do our best,” he said. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to have to go through this with you again. I’m sure that Manya can be persuaded to drop any charges against you, and as the representative of the port, I can assure you that we hold no grudge, but we really will have to ask you to leave within the next cycle. A little time does wonders for hot tempers.”