Rex shrugged. "None of my business, anyhow. Hey, speaking of partners, meet Mateo. Just joined my crew."
Cash gave him an indifferent nod. "Hey."
Mateo grinned. "What's up, man?"
"Not you, kid." Cash looked back at Rex. "You still taking on partners? Does this guy know all your other ones got killed?"
"Quiet, you'll scare him off. You in town towing a bounty?"
"I was. Until that happened." Cash jerked a thumb at the flickering picjector in the corner, where the faulty hologram feed displayed the disaster on the evening news.
"That was you? Man, how'd it go south like that?"
"You tell me. Bounty head was hotter than I figured. Guess pissing off the Shadow Syndicate is pretty hazardous to your health. I caught a glimpse of the assassin. Female. Bionic arm. Scarred face."
Rex paused in the act of lifting his mug to his lips. "Huh. Scars around her mouth like a Glasgow smile?"
"Yeah, I think so. You know her?"
"Heard of her. Goes by the name of Happy."
"Happy?"
"Yeah. Must be because of the smile. One of the HSSC's fallen angels from what I hear."
"Really?"
"Yeah. From the Brat Pack."
"That's the nickname for the program they ran for a while, right? Took kids off the streets and trained them to be spies and infiltrators."
"Yeah, and cold-blooded assassins. Happy is up there with names like Icepick, Hunter, Blackjack, Kilgore, and the like. Those pure killers. That's all in the past, though. HSSC is trying to clean up their act. Put on a civilized front and leave that cloak and dagger stuff in the rearview. That includes closing doors and scrubbing floors."
"Leaving the operators in the wind."
"You called it. Part of the reason why the game is so tight right now. Too many hired guns, not enough targets."
"Well, she sure took out one of mine today."
"Been there. You know how it is in this business. But hey — there's always the next one, right?"
"I'll drink to that, compadre."
The door banged open.
Mateo's hand dropped to his holstered arcsaber by reflex. The person that entered in a gust of dust and howling wind was a woman, but that made no difference to him. He knew from experience that gender made no difference when it came to being deadly.
The woman was young, probably a few years older than his seventeen years. Pretty face, cocoa skin just a shade darker than his. Her curly hair was styled in an unapologetic Afro. She was short with a curvaceous figure. Her expression was cool but guarded as she looked around. It was the look of someone used to being on the run. The yellow-tinted jumpsuit she wore was military-grade, made of armored flex fabric under the transparent jacket she wore to ward off the rain.
Mateo waved. "Hi. Are you in the business? This is sort of a private establishment."
"The business?" She jerked a thumb at the door. "There's a megastorm on the way. You don't mind if I hunker down here until it blows over, do you? I'll leave right after."
The storm alarms blared, red lights blinked in the corners of the bar. Metal shades lowered outside, covering the windows in six inches of alloyed steel. The entire bar shook when a violent gust of wind slammed into the building.
Mateo glanced at Rex, who shook his head with a severe scowl. "No exceptions. Guess you better make your back into that violent, death-dealing storm outside."
Mateo grinned. "You heard the man. Out you go."
The woman's mouth dropped open. Rex held his stern expression for only a second longer before he broke into a gurgling laugh. "Ha! You see her face? I'm just kidding, sweetheart. Pull up a stool. You're welcome to ride out the storm here. Safest place in the city."
Mateo glanced up as dust rained down from the ceiling from another powerful gust of wind that made the building groan in protest. He wondered how much Rex had been drinking.
The woman sat down at the bar a few seats away from the rest of them. She nodded to Bolts. "Gin and tonic."
Thunder reverberated like a bomb detonation outside, followed by a succession of repeated booms. Outside, the surrounding area was engulfed in lightning strikes, gale-force winds, and flooding rain. The chances of survival without the proper shielding were pretty much nonexistent. Mateo glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice that the building seemed about to collapse on top of them. Cash ordered a whiskey. Rex kept talking, looking at the newcomer over the foamy rim of his mug.
"You look like you've come a long way, sweetheart."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "My name isn't sweetheart."
"My apologies, young lady. I only supplied the term of affection in place of not knowing your name. My name is Rex, by the way. That's Latin for king. I might not look like such, but don't let the rags fool you. I'm the ruler of everything you see around you."
She hesitated for a second before answering. "My name is… Jinx."
"My, my. A dangerous name. I like you already. Would you happen to be Dominican by any chance?"
"Afro-Dominican." She raised an eyebrow. "The Dominican is from my mother's side. I'm impressed."
"Oh, I got the eye, Ms. Jinx. Been around long as I have and you get to know the lay of the land and the people in it. You come from the Southeastern part of the country I take it. Maybe whatever's left of Florida?"
Her jaw stiffened. "I'm not in the habit of telling my business to strangers."
His eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Didn't mean nothing by it. None of my business, anyhow. I just meant you must have come a long way to end up in this dusty part of Tijuana."
"I guess." She sipped her drink, eyes far away. "Everyone's coming or going a long way, aren't they?"
He chuckled. "I guess they are at that, miss. Nomads and refugees. We get a lot around here."
"And which are you, Rex? A nomad or a refugee?"
"Me, I'm neither. I’m what folks call a Nimrod."
Her eyes narrowed. "A bounty hunter."
He grinned. "No need to say it like a curse. This here's the Watering Hole. Nothing but Nimrods show up at this fine facility. Sure, we get a Troubleshooter now and then. The occasional hitman too. They're like those second cousins you don't want to acknowledge as family, know what I mean? Point is, this here's sacred ground for men in the bagging and tagging business. Safest place to be, rest assured. I know because I run the place. So no worries. Unless you got a bounty on your head, of course." He gave her a gap-toothed grin.
She opened her mouth but was cut off by a loud banging on the door. Everyone paused. Rex's craggy brows creased in confusion.
"Someone out there in the middle of the storm? Bolts — let 'em in quick."
Jinx shook her head in protest, but the android bartender had already hit the entrance button. The doors clattered open, revealing the heavy storm shield rolling doors behind them, rattling from the punishment outside. They slowly rolled up. The wind howled when it entered, pushing rain inside that pooled across the floor.
Mateo squinted. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a group of people outside. They wore heavy storm slickers, but he caught flashes of combat armor under the weatherproof fabric. He looked at Rex.
"I don't think that—"
It was too late. The six men and women that entered weren’t there to hide from the storm. Their sophisticated, fully-masked headgear and tactical body armor marked them as professionals. The next-gen plasma rifles they toted only confirmed the fact.
They ducked under the rolling door and spread out as it closed behind them. The sound of the storm muted when the door locked back in place. Water streamed from their slickers and weapons, dripping onto the floor. Electric blue light pulsed from their helmet visors, and red targeting lasers beamed from their rifles, fanning across the room.
The leader of the crew stepped forward. His helmet was red, the only thing that marked him any different from his black-clad comrades. His voice buzzed from the helmet in a menacing rasp.