“I work in a bar. This bar, in fact. See, this is me, working. In the bar.”
“Good job. Own it, too?”
The other laughed a little. “In effect. Not technically. Only one man owns things. I’m just grateful not to be digging bauxite.”
“One man. That would be Sakarya.”
He nodded. “Mister Sakarya owns pretty much everything on the subcontinent, and quite a bit on the rest of the world.”
“I’m sure he finds that very fulfilling.”
“Uh huh.”
“And not so good for the rest of you?”
The bartender made a non-committal grunt. “I do okay. Call me Mark, by the way.”
“Mal. That’s Zoë.”
“Pleasure.”
Mal nodded, paid, and brought the beers back to the table.
“What was that about, sir?”
“Beer, and the after-affects of being on the losing side.”
“Oh?”
“I sort of asked him what things were like here.”
“And?”
“He gave me the kind of answer you give when you don’t want to give an answer.”
“It’d be a familiar story, sir.”
“Seems I might’ve heard it once or twice before.”
She cleared her throat. “I see that Jayne—”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“Yes, sir. What do you think of those two?”
Other than Jayne, the only other customers were two large, rather shabbily dressed men at a table against the wall.
“The thugs? The red haired one has a piece strapped to his right ankle.”
“And something behind his back; look how he’s sitting.”
“I’m guessing a knife. The other one—”
“With the pistol under his right arm.”
“—Yes. He’s trying not to look like he’s waiting for someone.”
“Good catch, sir; I hadn’t noticed.
“I was the first one in the door. He twitched, then relaxed when he saw it wasn’t whoever he was waiting for.”
“Nice they aren’t waiting for us, anyway.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“The curly-haired one is more experienced; he isn’t nervous. He’s done this before.”
“So has Red, but not as often. He’s either scared, or having a few qualms of conscience.”
Zoë nodded. “Well, if they aren’t waiting for us, then it isn’t any of our business.”
“That’s my conclusion.”
“So, when some poor slob comes in here to be robbed, or beaten up, or murdered—”
“Murdered, I think, looking at those two. They’ll probably pick a fight with him.”
“Yes. So, when that happens, we just ignore it.”
“Right.”
“Not our problem.”
“Exactly. We keep right on drinking.”
“In fact, sir, I think that when he comes in, we should leave.”
“Good then. That’s what we’ll do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You take the redhead.”
“Right. Tell me again why we’re doing this, sir?”
“We like being heroes.”
“What if we’re about to save the bad guy, sir?”
“Look at those two and tell me they’re the good guys.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jayne went to the bar and got another drink, carefully not looking at them.
About five minutes later the door opened.
“That’s him.”
“Yes, sir. He certainly looks harmless.”
He was of average height, with something of a belly, and appeared fairly young in spite of streaks of gray running through his hair and his beard.
“Now,” said Mal, “is when Red gets up and walks to the bar, accidentally bumping into him.”
“Uh huh.”
Red stood up and did a credible imitation of a drunk by swaying a bit and using the chair to steady himself. It would have been more believable if there had been a few empties on his table. He bumped into the newcomer on his way to the bar, and proceeded to start cussing him out.
Mal and Zoë stood up at the same time.
Mal gave the curly-haired one at the table a big smile, walked over, and sat down. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Just a friendly stranger with a gun in your ribs.”
The other stared at him. There was a voice raised with insults, most of them in Chinese, but that was Zoë’s end of things, so Mal continued watching Curly, who said, “You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
“I generally don’t. But here we are, so let’s just stay friendly.”
Mal didn’t turn his head when he heard the thump; the other did, then turned back to Mal. “You’re an idiot.”
“Probably true.”
Zoë called, “Secured, sir,” which meant that Mark wasn’t doing anything either.
Mal stood up, and permitted himself a quick glance. Zoë’s weapon was out, and Red was prone on the floor. The well-dressed stranger was looking back at Mal. Mark was standing very still, both of his hands on the bar. There was a comm unit on the wall next to the cash box, and the bartender was staying well away from it. The stranger hadn’t moved.
“Escort him out, Zoë.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he heard the door, he nodded once to Curly, gave him a friendly smile, and backed away from the table. He felt the door behind him, opened it, and stepped through, holstering his sidearm.
“Well,” he said. “That was almost too easy to be any fun.”
“I was just thinking the same thing, sir.”
They started walking back to the boat, the stranger between them, Zoë mostly walking backwards, keeping an eye on the canteen.
“Who sent you?” asked the stranger.
“No one sent us,” said Mal. “We just happened to be in there having a drink.”
“Uh huh.” He smiled as if sharing a joke with them. “Pretty remarkable timing, then.”
“Timing is one of our specialties. I’m Malcolm Reynolds, and this is Zoë Washburne.”
“A pleasure. And of course, you know my name.”
“Uh, not so much.”
“We’re clear, sir,” said Zoë. “No one following us.”
“Good to hear.”
“You don’t know my name? What did they tell you?”
“Who?”
He stopped. Mal and Zoë continued a couple of steps, then they stopped too, and turned to look at him.
“Uh, I thank you both for your help, but I need to get back to work.”
“Right. What was your name again?”
“Kit. Kit Merlyn.”
Mal nodded. “Well, see you around, then.”
“Probably,” said Kit.
He turned and started walking back to town.
“Well,” said Zoë. “For the victim of a murder attempt, he took it awfully calm.”
“I was thinking the same thing my own self.”
“On the other hand, he wasn’t armed.”
“No.”
“Think we’ll find out what his story is?”
“I’m afraid we might.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get back to the boat. We’ll see about getting paid in a couple of hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kaylee was drinking tea when Mal and Zoë came in.
Mal punched the intercom button. “Wash?”
“Yes, Mal?” came the crackly voice.
“Keep an ear on the emergency channels for a while.”
“What am I listening for?”
“Alliance.”
“How long a while?”
“Till we leave.” He released the button. He looked tired.
“How did it go?” asked Kaylee.
“Hard to say.”
“Did we get paid?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh.”
Mal frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I just want to get off this world. I don’t like it.”
“That’s three of us,” said Zoë, taking a chair opposite her. The Captain went into the kitchen and started poking around. “What’s your problem with it?” he asked. “No junkyard?”