Look, I know how annoying these bits are where a writer talks before a story. But I really want feedback on how to develop this story because right now I'm kinda just going with it. Sorry about that. Enjoy.
Ginger's Palace
"Why would I ever side with someone with the stench of the Alliance on them?" Ginger lent over the table, ashes falling from the smoking cigarette clenched between the yellowing teeth that gave him his name.
It was a good question. Jackson Kane knew it was a good question. Up until a year ago, the Alliance had spent of its time squashing Ginger and folk like him on the Outer Rim. People like him had a tendency for not following the rules. Jackson had brought down his fair share of Gingers because of this. Now he was asking – no, pleading – for the help of one.
"I think you know I don't follow the Alliance's rules anymore," said Jackson, conscious of the formidable lackey who had just quietly entered the room. "Ever since…"
"Miranda, yeah, we've all heard of it," Ginger grinned, a menacing grin. "I tell you what though, if I had a credit for every time some gorram Alliance soldier strutted in here and started bragging about switching sides after 'finding out' about Miranda, I'd wouldn't be living on this hellhole, I can tell you that. 'Course, most of them aren't telling the truth. You see, Alliance thinks that bringing down scummy folk like me will improve their reputation. They send in guys like you to do just that"
"Understandable," agreed Jackson, wiping back his greasy scarlet hair. "But I'm not exactly on speaking terms with the Alliance right now so you should really believe me when I say that I am not here to try and bring you down."
"That's good," nodded Ginger, a crazy twinkle in his eye. "Would 'ave been a shame if I had to get my suit dirty burying another one of your lot."
Jackson sighed. He didn't have time for any of this; the longer he stayed in one place, the more chance there was of the Alliance finding him. His sweaty palms wrestled with one another as Ginger continued his threatening monologue.
"So what do you want from me then? I presume you're not here for a gab. You want something from me – work, transport or some of those whores I recently acquired a group of."
"Equipment," Jackson interjected, struggling to hide his repulsion. "My ship needs repairing as soon as possible. It's a Firefly, but it's missing half its engine."
"Ah, Firefly parts," said Ginger. "Shame, one of my old business associates has one of them but he's, well, on a bit of a prolonged holiday, let's put it that way. He has a top notch mechanic who could 'ave helped you out."
Jackson supressed his annoyance – he needed to get off the planet as soon as possible but this good-for-nothing kingpin was playing with him, teasing him. In his peripheral, Jackson could see that one of Ginger's lackeys was getting awfully itchy for his gun. Men on the Outer Rim only spoke one language and Jackson was not in a rush to learn it.
"You have a reputation as a man who can get things. I need to get out of here as soon as possible so let's cut to the important things. Is there any chance you can help me?" snapped Jackson, probably a bit too abruptly.
It was clear that Ginger did not take to Jackson's shift in tone. "Well, I have a few associates that can pull together some parts before the end of the week. I hope your snobby little nose can deal with the stench of us Outer Rim folk for a little longer."
"I think I'll manage." The tension in the room thickened. Carefully, as not to give anything away, Jackson eyed up the door. His chances of getting out soon seemed unlikely. In his pocket he could feel the weight of his concealed communications device wearing him down. He had a feeling he'd be needing it soon.
"Ah, but I think I need something in return," Ginger clasped his hands together. "I do you a favour, I can only expect one in return."
"Of course." Jackson knew his luck had expired – whatever Ginger wanted him to do would not be pretty.
"I need you to kill a man."
The Horses Arms
In the sleazy bar across the street, Zelda Lopez nursed the hazardous concoction the bartender had slipped in front of her. For the entire time she had been stationed there, she had casually kept one eye on the crumbling building her boss was currently in. She was sure Jackson would be fine. If not, well, that's what she was there for.
And for babysitting the preacher she had come along with.
Shepherd Hunter had been shoveling down intoxicant after intoxicant, regardless of the price. His thin lips were foaming from the preposterous amount of alcohol he had been consuming. Zelda had witnessed drinking games between some of the fiercest mercenaries in the Verse and even she was impressed by the Shepherd . Many of the bar's patrons were eyeing him up, dumbfounded by the contrast between his drink and his role. Zelda wasn't particularly bothered. She was there to keep an eye on the Captain and, if the need arose, stop the Shepherd from getting into trouble. For now he was just enjoying himself.
"Barkeep," he cried to the slender waitress who had been avoiding him for the past hour. "Pour me another two of your finest ale and then let me tell you a story."
"There's no need for the story," she said, begging. "But I'll get you the drinks."
"Oh no, I insist," slurred the Shepherd . "And then maybe afterwards…"
"That's enough Shepherd," interrupted Zelda, sensing trouble on the horizon. "She doesn't want to hear your stories." She looked up at the waitress. "He doesn't know what he's saying sometimes. It's the drink."
On any other occasion Zelda would have been up for watching the Shepherd getting slapped around, followed by maybe a full on bar fight. But she just knew that if she did she would never hear the end of it from Captain Jackson.
"What did you do that for?" slobbered the Shepherd. "She's been giving me the eye since we got here."
"And if you'd carried on, she would have gave you the fist too," retorted Zelda. "Hey, how does this sound to you? The longer you stay quiet, the more beer I buy you?"
The Shepherd thought for a moment then shot her a lopsided smile. "I think you have yourself a deal!" he grinned, knocking back another beverage.
Zelda lifted her beer. "Here's hoping the boss is doing a bit better in there."
Ginger's Palace
"I'm sorry, what?" Jackson had to stop his chin from hitting the floor. "Listen, my friend, I know I owe you one but I'm asking for spare parts. You can't ask me to commit murder to pay you back."
"Of course," Ginger slipped back in his chair, resting his hands upon his swollen stomach. "I knew as soon as you came swaggering in here, you Central Planets Kids are too square to get your hands dirty when needs be."
Ginger's henchman edged closer and with good reason. Jackson expected a fight anytime soon. God, he hoped that Zelda had remained sober.
"If I was to accept this ludicrous proposal," said Jackson. "Who exactly would have the target on their back?"
Ginger delved into his suit's inner pocket and removed a wad of poorly rendered photographs before scattering them all over the table. Each one depicted the same bespeckled, white haired young man. In every photo he was attempting to hide his face, to no avail. What unnerved Jackson was the fear of god that was present in his eyes. In every photo.
"You want me to murder a child?"
"Oh, please Kane," sneered Ginger. "Spare me the saint act. He's only ten years younger than yourself. You want to get off this planet. I can get you off this planet. I want this man dead. You can kill him. The pieces all fit quite nicely together."
"Who is he and what exactly did he do?" Jackson had to stop himself for a moment. Was he actually considering Ginger's proposal?
"Pietro Hale," Ginger spat out the words. "This rat told the Alliance about some of my more delicate operations. Got a lot of my men killed. I was thinking maybe you could help some of their families sleep better tonight."
Jackson gingerly stood up, careful not to alarm the guards – of which the number of them had grown. Subtly, he pressed a button on the device in his pocket.
"I'm okay," he said. "I'll find the parts elsewhere."
The guards whipped out their pistols and aimed – some of them in plain sight, others lurking in the shadows. Ginger eased himself onto his feet and smiled.
"I'm afraid it's no longer an option, Captain Kane," he sneered.
"熊貓尿" Jackson sighed as he eased his hands above his head. "Well, I did expect this to go better."
"You think?" said Ginger.
"But it's okay because I have friends. Friends who are going to help me…now!" Jackson whipped his head around to the door. The empty door.
"Well?" Ginger shrugged his shoulders.
"Sorry, that was for effect. I mean now!" Still nothing.
"This really isn't going well for you, is it?"
Jackson sighed. "You see I had this whole thing planned where I press a button on this device when I got into trouble." Jackson held up the device – a crooked, second-hand pile of nuts and bolts. "I sat on it. I actually went and sat on my getaway ticket." He sighed. "Well, you know, I don't think they got the signal."
"Really?" Ginger raised an abnormally hairy eyebrow. "Captain Kane, I think we should talk more about the man you're going to kill."