Morning dawned in a new place. A new prison considering he didn't yet have the cash to leave. Riddick took in his new situation impassively, fingering the slick badge in his pocket absently. "Johns," he breathed to the artificial sunrise, eyes narrowed. He cursed and threw the badge into the distance. "Glad I ain't really him," he gritted out and turned away from the badge as it flew through the air, landing in the grassy field.
Twenty standard days had passed since Riddick left the hotel after the landing of the Hunter-Gratzner. He'd booked the earliest flight from the hole-in-the-wall stop as soon as possible, heading for the outer rim. It had been way too close to Ursa Luna for his taste. He was still too close to the shipping lanes for his state-of-mind and would be leaving again soon. Riddick just needed the money his temporary job was offering.
This off-the-main-road-space-station was house and home to a different variety of people. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the Mafia. A sort of small Company order, minus the Company part. Working for them threw Riddick in his element and he worked as "money collector."
It wasn't his sort of thing, playing the part of all brawn, no brains. He'd like something a little more challenging for himself, but when you wanted to get away, you took whatever job offered pay. This paid considerably better than most other things he could be doing.
Apparently, nothing got done on the station without the Mafia knowing about it. Riddick hadn't gotten five steps off the transport before he'd been propositioned by a tall, lean man in shades. Riddick could make out the slight bulge under the man's coat where he hid a forty-five in a shoulder holster.
Cut to fit and accommodate a gun, the man had been surprised when Riddick called him on it, then he'd laughed and nodded. "Good man. We could use someone like you working for us."
"I don't need a permanent job. Just enough to get me out of here," Riddick had answered, mentally filing away information on his potential employer. He doubted the man was at the top of the food chain, but he was close judging by the way he held himself.
An intelligent bastard with a keen eye. Predator, probably deadly. No match for Riddick should it come to that, but too many of his kind at one time and getting off the station could be a problem.
The space station was more like a space colony, just on a smaller scale. Biological technology gave it an Earth-like appearance and the presence of trees and grass. All the finer things in life.
Riddick grabbed his extra shiv from the bungalow his new employer had supplied him and headed for work. The other guys had laughed at the relatively tiny blade he carried, but he'd quickly proved its effectiveness on his first job, filleting one man and getting another to cough up the cash he supposedly didn't have.
It was a win-win situation as far as Riddick was concerned. The guy got away alive, just a few bucks shorter. His boss got paid, and Riddick was two hundred credits closer to moving farther into the outer reaches of space. Farther away from the Company, the law, and anyone else that might not think him fit to live free, or otherwise.
And so it continued. Riddick was three jobs short of the creds he needed, but he wouldn't be telling his employer that. They'd developed a certain fondness for him that made him edgy and he doubted they'd be so willing to let him go.
Staying far away from their operations, he'd still learned too much in his short stint with them to get away unscathed. Not the sort of thing he wanted hanging over his head, especially considering his previously earned wanted status.
"Mike, glad to see you here."
Riddick raised his brows and nodded at Marty. "Marty," he acknowledged quietly as he passed the taller man who'd hired him.
"You ready to bring justice to the fine people of Colony 195?" the other man asked, wrapping an arm amicably around Riddick's broad shoulders.
Riddick looked at the man's hand pointedly and Marty removed it, holding his hands in front of him defensively. "Whoa, watch it there, big guy. I was only funnin'."
"Good for you," Riddick answered and continued on his way through the compound. He got his orders from another source and didn't enjoy the games of the well meaning Marty.
Marty trailed Riddick as he headed towards the center of the compound and reached the head honcho of the whole operation.
"Mr. Styles. How nice of you to join us today. Please, have a seat."
Riddick placed himself in the seat across from Lyle Edwards. The large man sat behind a sleek mahogany desk, his fingers steepled on its glowing surface in the way of so many godfathers Riddick had seen in bad mob flicks.
Edwards leaned over the desk, his cold eyes belying the smile on his weathered face. Riddick didn't respond to the smile as he reclined in the leather chair.
The office had the makings of a fine law firm about it, but Edwards was a law merely unto himself. He proved that every time he sent Riddick out to do his dirty work, not bothering to bloody his own lily white hands. If anything were to go sour, Edwards would have a firm alibi to pull him from trouble, and plenty of men to take the fall for him. Riddick was one of those men, but not after today.
He was collecting from five different people today, and that was going to pay him more money than he needed to get off the station.
As usual, Riddick got the job done. He could be very persuasive when the need arose, and was able to get money back from almost any client. That was only the preferable option, though. If no money was available, Riddick imprinted a deadline into the client's memory. That was more often the case than not. Edwards called it "aggressive negotiations."
Riddick didn't mind. It was a simple living and he was good at it.
Artificial night fell at seventeen hundred hours standard time and Riddick made his short journey to the docking station. His flight left in ten minutes and he wanted to be on the transport and off the space station before any of Edwards' men was the wiser for his actions.
That odd sensation of being bound and gagged flowed through his senses and he staggered, rubbing a rough palm over his lips before continuing on his way, pushing away the memory of dim red light and cold metal against his flesh.
He got to the transport just before take off and was waiting for his name to be cleared when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around and faced the person behind him.
Marty stood staring at him grimly, accompanied by a few other brawny types. He held his firearm loosely by his leg, but Riddick knew he could pull it up and point it at him in less than a second should he try anything funny.
"Imagine finding you here, Mike," Marty stated easily and Riddick eyed the men behind him warily.
"Yeah. Imagine," Riddick answered, raising his hands, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.
Marty wouldn't underestimate him. Despite his easy demeanor, the man was dangerous and Riddick respected that in an adversary if nothing else.
"Where you headed, Mike?"
Riddick could take Marty. It was the five guys behind him that would make escape difficult. He whirled towards the ship when the man taking names hit the button to shut the hatch.
He growled a curse and watched helplessly as the small transport began to pull away from the dock.
"Now you've gone and made me miss my ride, Marty," Riddick murmured darkly as he turned back towards his antagonist.
Marty's eyes narrowed and he waved Riddick to step away from the dock with his forty-five. "C'mon, Mike. Let's go talk about why you're leavin'," Marty suggested. Riddick heard the note of command beneath the easy words and stayed his ground.
"You don't understand, Marty. I needed to get on that transport. I'll just have to take your creds and buy myself a ticket on a different one."
All emotion left Marty's face and he lifted the gun to point it at Riddick's face. "I'm not playing, Styles. You're leaving with me, now."
Riddick made to agree, stepping towards Marty easily and the man relaxed his grip on the weapon, lowering the barrel slightly. It was the opening Riddick needed.
He leapt forward and snapped his palms on either side of the gun, twisting Marty's arm and forcing him to release the weapon. Riddick had the gun in Marty's face before the other man could blink.
"I'm leaving with no one but myself, Marty," Riddick growled.
"Let's talk about this-" Marty began but was quickly interrupted.
"Fuck you. Now just step back or I'll blow your fuckin' brains out all over this nice docking station and your little companions."
"You won't get ten feet from here before my men take you out, Styles," Marty scoffed, his gaze steady.
Riddick's hand was steadier. "Maybe not. But I'm taking you with me." Riddick pulled the trigger as comprehension dawned on the other man's face.
Marty's face was blown out the back of his skull and Riddick whipped the gun around to the next man when the sudden flash of dim red light blinded him. He blinked the haze away but not in time to save himself.
The crack of a revolver flooded his ears and his eyes went wide as a bullet thudded into his chest. He had the odd sensation of feeling his heart stop and he lifted his eyes to those of his killer. A malicious smile curved the man's lips and Riddick touched his fingers to the wound just before the world went black.
#
Riddick woke up with a dim red light flashing overhead and the feel of cold metal on his wrists and in his mouth. A black blind fold covered his eyes and he picked up the familiar scent of sweat and leather in his nose.
The prospector woman. The holy man. Back on the Hunter-Gratzner. What the hell?
Realization dawned and Riddick closed his eyes against the dim red glare.
A dream. Everything a dream. True freedom didn't exist for Riddick. Not for a convict.