Bard Constantine
Nimrod Squad
A Havenworld Novel
Other Books in the Havenworld Universe
Havenworld
Silent Empire
The Troubleshooter: Four Shots
The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues
The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame
Vigiclass="underline" Knight in Cyber Armor
After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of humanity.
However, the new age was not the type the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm resurfaced and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict that threatened to destroy the future envisioned by the Haven's founders.
This is the world of a crew of dysfunctional outsiders: Cash Murdock, a former cop that trusts no one except Deejay, his AI partner. Mateo Lonergan, a mysterious young man with wide-eyed innocence and lethal combat skills. Jinx la Fox, a talented hacker with a bad habit of making powerful enemies. And Happy, a gun-for-hire with scars and secrets from a hidden past. They might be low on gas and low on cash, but when a bounty is posted, they're ready to roll.
They are…
Nimrod Squad
Chapter 1
Cash Murdock enjoyed killing himself.
His Ultra Fit Exoskeleton served as an all-in-one workout machine. Tension rods and bands were strapped to his entire body from his neck to his fingers and toes, all tied into the y-shaped spinal support shaft. Programmed to provide the perfect amount of resistance to rip his physique as he engaged in his routine of excruciating reps. Sweat streamed, pooling on the padded floor mat. Teeth gritted, eyes bulging, chest heaving, he pushed his muscles until lactic acid nearly locked them into place.
He loved every minute of it.
Deejay's voice buzzed over the com. "Next stop, Tijuana. Time to put your work face on."
"I'm on it."
He tapped the RELEASE button on his chest, disengaging the UFE. It automatically unclamped, allowing him to step free as it rolled back, folding into place and returning to its charge station on the wall of the cramped compartment that served as a storage, workout, and locker room. Rust flecked the battered walls, reminding Cash of the ages-old resolution to get them resurfaced.
He accepted a towel from the shaky, creaking arm that extended from a wall slot. "Do I have time to shower up?"
"Why? You're more than likely going to be chased down and shot at. You want to smell nice for that?"
"Good point." Cash grabbed his work clothes and headed for the door, dressing as he went. Scraping sounds followed him every step, metal on metal as the Battle-Cat glided over the battered earth.
"When are we going to get the hover suspension system fixed? Might as well be on wheels if I gotta feel every bump and dip."
"I don't know — maybe when you stop losing money as soon as we earn it."
"Oh, yeah. Kick a man when he's down." He placed a hand on the wall for support as he passed the narrow sleeping quarters, crossed the tiny dining hall and made his way to the cabin of the Battle-Cat. The wide windshield displayed a view of Tijuana in all its glory as they approached the megalopolis.
It was an oasis in the desert. Soaring skyscrapers glimmered, uniquely designed to reflect the nation's artistic heritage with domed spires, eagle ornaments, and a towering steepled pyramid that loomed over the city and housed the governing party. The buildings were ecologically designed, greenery and vines covering the structure; thousands of species of birds and animals coexisting with the colossal human population.
Cash grinned. "I love coming here. Hard to believe this place was a dumpster fire of a city before the Cataclysm."
The dash monitor winked on, displaying Deejay's face. Her bobbed hair was black with blue highlights, her eyes highlighted by heavy mascara, her lips painted black. Just like he remembered her.
Her grin was lopsided, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yeah — that's what happens when millions of fleeing Americans cross the border with all of their riches. Ironic for its time because the opposite was always true. Funny how the end of the world changed things."
Her voice wasn't as lively as the real Deejay, but Cash often heard it the way he remembered, so it didn't matter.
"Yep. Now look at the place. It's a gold mine. This payoff is just what we need right now. After that bust-up with Beckett, we could use a break."
"You mean after you let him skin you for everything we had?"
Cash nearly winced but settled for scrubbing his mustache instead. "Look, how was I supposed to know he'd stab me in the back like that?"
"Because he's a double-crosser. Always has been."
"Yeah, but he never tried that with me."
"Until he did."
"Yeah, well…" Cash paused, realizing he didn't have an available excuse. "Look — all that's behind us. I'm through working with partners and crews. From now on it's just you and me, babe."
"Sure it is. Approaching entry gate."
The threshold was a massive entranceway, framed in glimmering liquid alloy and imprinted with pre-Hispanic cryptograms. Traffic flowed nonstop, the vehicles cleared and charged for entry miles before they arrived. The energy dome that covered the rest of the city was barely visible, shimmering around the structures. Cash glanced up as a shuttle roared overhead, shooting toward the stratosphere in a billowing plume of smoke and flame.
He sighed, lighting a short cigarillo as the Battle-Cat slowed to a crawl in traffic. The cargo skimmer cruised alongside smaller hovercars, zip bikes, and rolling vehicles, all slowly working their way into the city. They passed through the first security gates, feeling the hum as their vehicles were scanned from top to bottom.
"I think we're in the wrong business, Deejay. I should've been a shuttle pilot. Those guys are pulling in bank hauling blood shards. A lot less work than chasing bounties."
Deejay rolled her eyes. "Unless you run into pirates, that its. Or trajectory malfunctions. Or the millions of other things that can go wrong on a trek to Mars."
He grinned. "Don't kill my dreams, Deejay. They're all I have."
"Better dream of a way to get Annmarie to the depot without someone sniping her. Word on the wire is she's made some pretty big-name syndicates upset."
"Yeah, that's why the police want her in custody. She's in charge of accounting for some seriously bad people. The cops get her and they can nail the syndicates gunning for her."
"You know the syndicates pay way more than the cops, right?"
"And you know we don't work for the syndicates. You get in with them and you can't get out."
Deejay tilted her head, studying him. "You sure that's why you're not going that route?"
He exhaled a cloud of cheap smoke. "Of course I'm sure. Why — what are you getting at?"
"I think you're still holding on to the old Cash. Decorated detective, in the business of service and protection. You know — playing the good guy."
"Good guy. Yeah, right." Cash chewed on the end of his cigarillo, spewing smoke into the air. "Those days are in the rearview, sweetheart."
"If that's true, you should have dealt with the highest bidder. We're not in the charity business. We're in the Nimrod business. We chase bounties down and haul 'em in. Shouldn't matter to whom. Cops don't like dealing with our kind, and they don't pay worth the effort."
He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Not from you. You want to call the shots, is that it? Think you can do a better job than me?"
"I'm just saying, Cash. Remember, that kind of high-road thinking is what got me killed in the first place."