2: Pest Control

It hadn't been, oh, a few days since the Bronstein job before I was approached with another one. I rode into this little town a ways away from Iverson, a place called Hestonville. It was a pretty small place, probably no more than six, seven people living in a vast stretch of desert, huddled around an oasis. I rumbled onto the town's main street, probably catching everyone's attention. I certainly caught the attention of one of the town's deputies, whose SUV pulled up behind me, the lights on the vehicle flashing. I grumbled as I parked onto the curb. Sitting still on my bike, I let the deputy get out of the car and come up to me.

"License and registration?" he said. I looked to him, an eyebrow raised. Most days I forgot that there was still law on Papetoon, at least parts of it. I took out my license and the registration forms for my bike and handed it to him. He studied it briefly. "Wolf O'Donnell," he continued. The deputy, a lanky coyote, wore sunglasses and a big Stetson hat, his starred badge shining gold in the sunlight. An Enforcer RHB, this revolver-like blaster, hung from his hip holster.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," I said. He shot a quick glance at me before going back to studying my papers.

"Smart mouth on you, Mr. O'Donnell," he said. "You came to our fine world because of the Water Wars?"

"Yeah," I answered. "It was a while ago, I don't remember much from back then."

"Three years seems like a long time to you, then?" he questioned.

"I guess it does," I replied.

"Come with me," he said. "Some people in town want to see you." I was surprised, I didn't know what he meant by that. People? Well, how many? And did any – or, God forbid, all of them – want to kill me? I shrugged my shoulders and went with her, leaving my bike and most of my stuff at the curb. The two of us passed by some shops, small restaurants, and a tailor, and we approached a wide open courtyard, at the center of it being a building with a lot of windows, a large door, and a small shiny dome, probably bronze. It was the town hall, and a fancy looking one at that. Such a small town with a pretty fancy main street and town hall? They must've been making more money than they wanted to brag about.

The deputy and I walked up to the hall's front doors. He opened them, and let me in. I continued following him to a large room, it was probably something like the main conference hall or assembly hall or something, because there were lots of people. Lots of people. Probably a hundred or so were sitting in steel chairs facing the front of the room, where there was a big conference table, with a bunch of people sitting behind. Some were wearing suits, some weren't. I saw the town's sheriff sit beside a man dressed in a neat three piece suit, probably the town's mayor.

"You're Wolf O'Donnell?" he asked, a portly armadillo. I stood several meters from him, but even from that distance I could smell the distinct scent of tobacco smoke emanating from him. There was a gold pocket watch's chain hanging from one of his vest pockets, and he wore glasses that hung on for dear life on his snout. The sheriff beside him was a hulking hawk, and she stared at me. Like her deputy, she wore a giant Stetson hat, and her sunglasses hung from her shirt's breast pocket, opposite to her sheriff's badge.

"I am," I replied. "What's this about?"

"I'm Timothy Greene, the mayor of this fine community. We've all heard of your work with Iverson's mayor, Eriksson Flynn. I figured you were the sort to do this sort of work for us, so we just waited for you to mosey on into our little town. Luckily you came during the induction of our new sheriff, Ingrid Abernathy." Greene gestured to the sheriff, who nodded to me. I nodded back.

"Lemme guess…" I started, "you all put together a pool or something so you could hire me?"

"That's right," Greene replied. I chuckled.

"I kill a man for ten grand, no less," I answered, full on assuming that they knew what I did for a living, and I assumed right. I mean after all, back then, if you had work for me, you most likely wanted someone – usually someone dangerous – dead.

"There's fifty in it for you if you accept our job," he said. That certainly piqued my interest. Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever offered me even close to that sum for any work I had ever done before, not legal or otherwise. Fifty thousand credits could feed me and fuel my bike for weeks, maybe even months if I was really careful with rationing, and since it was that much the mayor was offering me, it certainly would've boosted my reputation, which meant that more people – with deeper pockets - would've been coming to me with job offers.

"What's the job?" I asked.

"We need you to kill someone, someone dangerous," said Greene.

"Someone so dangerous that he shot dead my predecessor while trying to arrest him," said Sheriff Abernathy.

"His name is Julius Ra-Ki," Greene said.

Julius Ra-Ki. I've heard of the name before. Notorious bounty hunter. Loner. He arrived on-world years ago, even before the Water Wars, and came to call Papetoon home. He was an Exe-Mac, some sort of arthropoid alien from a planet called Macia. Basically, he was a giant bipedal cockroach, but don't let his looks fool you. For a brief time he was considered the deadliest alien on the planet, and had at least a hundred bodies to his name by the time I was hired to kill him. It was physically impossible for him to speak most languages, so he had some sort of vocal synthesizer that translated whatever he said as clicks, hisses, and other stuff into proper words.

"Other than killing the previous sheriff, how exactly did Ra-Ki run afoul of the town?" I asked.

"One day he rolled into town," said Sheriff Abernathy. "He told the mayor and Sheriff Kay, the previous sheriff, that he was looking for someone by the name of Paul… uh…" The sheriff motioned to some slim fox in a shirt and tie for something, a file. She read from it. "Paul… Chmielnicki." She pronounced it like how it looked.

"Chmielnicki?" I said, pronouncing it roughly correctly to its Ruthenian pronunciation. It was certainly a strange name, from a strange land far away. I couldn't spell it if you asked me to. He's a living legend. Definitely old, but he's no invalid. He looks young, just a little older than myself, and he's huge – seven feet tall even. He can move fast, shoot faster, and is stronger than three men put together. He can even breathe fire and fly. And don't even get me started on how many people he's dropped in his life. It's been said he rubbed shoulders with kings and gods, and killed some too.

"Yeah," said the sheriff. "You know him?"

"I know of him," I replied. "I've heard he's one of the deadliest beings alive, that he's killed more people than there are stars in the sky."

"Well, Mr. Ra-Ki was looking around for him in town," said Greene. "When I told him that Mr. Paul wasn't here, he got angry, furious with me. He accused me and the rest of the town of hiding the man from him, and that he'd tear this town apart to find him. He drew his blaster on me, but luckily he wasn't in a killing mood that day. He just walked away."

"Well, pulling a blaster on you doesn't warrant a hit," I said.

"No," butted in the sheriff. She grasped a glass of water on the table nearby and took a sip from it, putting it down almost exactly where it was. She sighed and continued. "But shooting down Wade Boyd at his ranch just outside of town is. Apparently he thought Boyd was hiding Paul at his homestead. Then, Sheriff Kay and a bunch of deputies and a whole posse of armed townsfolk went to arrest Ra-Ki at a motel he was staying at. He shot his way outta there, and now Kay, most of the deputies, and a whole lotta good people are dead."

"We heard that Mr. Ra-Ki may be hiding out at any number of homesteads in Granite Valley," said Greene. She was leaning back in her seat, but then leaned forward, her forearms pressing on the bare wooden conference table. "This bastard is a classic case of a monster-fighter turning into a monster. I guess the abyss stared straight into him, through and through. Find him and put him down, before he burns this town to the ground."

"Pest control," I said. "Got it."'

"You'll receive payment when the job's done," Greene said.

"And anything on his body is mine," I added.

"Of course," replied Greene.

"Alright," I said. "Where's Granite Valley?"

"Go back on the main road," said the sheriff. "Stay on it until you hit Wrigley Ridge, it's just over it. Can't miss it." I nodded, and left the room and the building. As the door closed behind me, I heard faint muttering, but nothing distinguishable. They were probably doubting that I could do it, so I decided to prove them wrong.

As I walked out of the building and into the sun, I spotted a black two-door muscle car. And not just regular black, like a jet black, an abyssal black, blacker than night, blacker than even deep, deep space. Like… a scarily unnatural black. The windows were the same shade of black, so I couldn't see inside. Even the windshield was black. I took a few steps, then reached for my hip holster, gripping onto my blaster. The car turned on, the engine roaring to life, then the pitch of the engine fell to a low, almost demonic, and seemingly angry rumble. It pulled away from its spot on the curb and made a U-turn, going towards Wrigley Ridge. I ran back inside and found that deputy.

"Hey, what car does Ra-Ki drive?" I asked.

The deputy was clearly flustered by me coming back, and he stammered before answering. "Uh, a black two-door," he said. "Why?" I nodded, then rushed outside. The car was gone, speeding up the road. I dashed into the dust-chocked asphalt street, whipping out my handblaster. I took a few shots at the car, already a distant thing, but the bolts could easily catch up. But, those shots were wasted: the car had shields which shrugged the shots off like nothing.

"Fuck," I said under my breath. I rushed to my bike, checking to make sure all my stuff was there. When that was done I turned on my ride and sped down the road after the car, which by now disappeared over the ridge. I rode fast and hard after the muscle car, but of course some fluke stopped me quick. The fusion batteries on my bike wore out, and I told myself I'd replace them before riding into Hestonville. I guess I forgot about that. I cussed at my bike as it beeped and powered down, the momentum still propelling it. It came to a stop just in front of a diner, the occupants of which were staring out the windows and right at me.

I kept cussing as I fumbled with my fusion batteries, dropping a few from one of my bike's bags. I got off my ride and replaced the old battery with a new, fresh one. I shoved the old one in one of my pockets and picked up the other ones. I mounted back up, and my bike roared to life when I pressed the start button. Smirking with a satisfied grin, I looked up the road: the car was nowhere to be found. As I rode further and further, past the last of the buildings in town and into open country, I climbed up the ridge to its crest.

Granite Valley was a large depression in the landscape, flanked by Wrigley Ridge from the east and a large mountain range, the Quiet Mountains, to the west. True to its name, the valley had small granite tors sprinkled liberally throughout it. I spotted small structures – homesteads – also spaced widely apart from each other. The valley itself also had short, hardy grasses and shrubs, and there was a small river running in the middle, the Granite River. No doubt the grazing was decent in the valley, which is what the homesteads, probably those of ranchers, were doing. I couldn't find the black car for my life now, so I just decided to ride into that morass of granite, dust, and shrub.

The first homestead, as well as the second and third ones I visited, heard and saw nothing. Although they have heard of Julius Ra-Ki. They were all scared out of their minds, worried that the "bug man" would pay them a visit and kill them all since they talked to me.

There was one family, though, that said they saw Ra-Ki. They told me that he was travelling west on a road called Cork Road in a black two-door. They also told me there were only three houses on that road for the rest of its way through the valley. Before I left, they gave me a warning that Ra-Ki was probably expecting someone to come after him after the motel shootout. I thanked them for the information and moved on.

I found Cork Road and started riding down it. The intense desert sun beat down on my dark brown leather jacket viscously, but the wind whipping in my face acted like a fan and kept me cool. The dry air and even drier wind licked me clean of any dripping sweat. My bike's roar echoed throughout the valley. No doubt would Ra-Ki hear me. To me though that didn't matter, since especially back then I thought I was invincible. I was on the rise. On the up-and-up. Nothing could touch me. Not even a man like Julius.

The first house I investigated… well, I didn't really investigate it. It was a modest single-story homestead with a storm cellar, and just a short walk away a barn and a silo. There was an SUV parked near a worn driveway, which I drove up. I parked my bike beside it and dismounted, bringing the heavy blaster I got from the Iverson mine with me. I didn't take so much as a handful of steps before the whole goddamn house went up. And I mean explosion. Boom! The whole damn thing just vaporized and turned little more into a flaming pile of rubble, heated pieces of wood and glass raining down on me as the force of the blast knocked me onto my back.

"Ugh… what the fuck?!" I grumbled, still on the ground, planks of burnt wood landing not far from where I lay. I got up and dusted myself off, straightening my jacket. Clearly Ra-Ki wasn't in that homestead. I picked up the heavy blaster I dropped and moved to the barn, which, along with the silo, was unscathed. I stood far from it for a few minutes, just to make sure the thing wouldn't blow up in my face too. It didn't, so I went inside. I opened the front doors of the barn, and the first thing I saw were four pairs of legs. I looked up and saw something I really didn't have to, need to, or frankly want to see.

A nice little family of pronghorns, hanging by their necks from a wooden crossbeam on the ceiling of the barn. They're probably the ones that owned the house that's now an ash pile. A few things raced through my mind as I recoiled in disgust, holding in my breakfast. One was just utter horror. Four corpses dangled right in front of me, not even stinking, which means they died within the hour. Another was this anger, this hatred for Ra-Ki. How could anyone do this to four innocent people that didn't do any wrong towards anyone? I dunno. I just don't know, other than the fact that I was gonna be the one to put Ra-Ki down, at least for this. One more thing was the scariest: Ra-Ki single-handedly hung four people at their necks until death. Sure he could've forced them, since he was armed. But still, a single man doing such a thing, and rigging a house to blow? Goddamn, he was a madman. A dangerous one. And I was coming for him.

I left that homestead and the imagery it held behind in the dust and wind of the desert. Continuing down Cork Road, I passed nothing but rocks, small bushes, and the occasional road marker. After a few minutes of blazing down the road at a hundred kilometers an hour, I reached the second homestead, two stories, with a basement and a stable nearby. I was way more cautious approaching this one, taking slow, small, steady steps, my heavy blaster locked and loaded. I looked around, watching for anything suspicious: there wasn't anything other than the wind blowing around and the occasional tumbleweed or feral bug, bird, and zaol (a small four-legged mammal native to Papetoon, an omnivorous and opportunistic animal).

Nothing. Except for one thing, really. The door was open, and there was a blood trail leading inside. So, I went in. A family of dragons. Who I assumed to be the old man of the house was splayed out on the floor of the living room, laying in a puddle of his own blood, his torso full of blaster holes. A double-barreled shotgun was next to him. I checked it: one shell was fired. His wife was on the other side of the living room, by the hallway which connected the kitchen with the living room. She had a hole in her head. I looked at the fireplace mantle, and I saw a picture of the family posing in front of the homestead, which in the picture seemed to have been recently built. There was a third figure, their son, who was holding some sort of rifle.

That was the first time I saw him. The first damn time, and it wasn't in person. The son of first-generation Ruthenian immigrants, apparently fond of long arms. I sighed and looked around. He wasn't in the living room, so I assumed he wasn't home when Ra-Ki paid these folks a visit. Then, I heard a truck pull up. I went outside. There he was, that dragon kid with the rifle, pulling up in a dirty white pickup. He popped out of the pickup, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned, with a white tank top beneath it. He also had on a pair of worn light blue jeans, work boots, and a white, wide-brimmed hat with a red band on his head, his horns and ears sticking out of it through holes.

"Who are you, mister?" he questioned me as he held the pistol grip on his rifle. It was quite an old Cornerian model modified to fire plasma bolts to compete with contemporary blasters: an Allied Military Industries LBB (Light Battle Blaster) M5X, the X being the blaster edition. A heavy hitter with long range, but a bit long and unwieldy, and a slow rate of fire. Fortunately for this dragon, who was at least seven feet tall and well over 250 lbs., an IBR was nothing much. He held the thing one-handed, the stock tucked neatly underneath his armpit. He looked like he could shoot the thing with one hand too.

"I'm Wolf, Wolf O'Donnell," I said. "Some people in Hestonville hired me to find and kill a dangerous man called Julius Ra-Ki. You know him?"

"We know of him," replied the dragon. "You think he passed by our place?"

"Oh… I know he did," I said solemnly. The dragon's face changed to one of intense anxiety.

"Where's my folks?" he asked. I gestured to the house. He rushed past me and inside his homestead. I head a rifle drop and him yell out "no!" I didn't have the stomach to look back, and I just settled with standing where I was outside the house on the porch briefly, but I went to the wooden railing and leaned against it. There were several moments of shuffling, and I think I heard quiet sobbing, although I couldn't be sure. I waited for a few minutes, although I could've just left right then and there. I don't really know why. In hindsight… maybe I should've left. After those minutes passed the dragon stepped back out.

"I'm sorry," I said. I didn't know what else to say, so I just threw that one out there.

"You say Julius Ra-Ki did this?" inquired the dragon with a soft, slightly quivering voice.

"He most likely did," I said. "He'd already done in a family of pronghorns down the road."

"The Blairs," added the dragon. I nodded.

"Folks I met with some time ago said that Ra-Ki's car was heading west down Cork Road," I said. "The folks in Hestonville also said that he's hiding in one of the homesteads here in the valley. So, that sort of narrows it down."

"That means there's only one place left for him to hide in," said the dragon. "The Zahirs' place. They're like the Blairs and us, they're good people. Well… were."

"I'm gonna kill him," I said. "If you wanna come with me-"

"Oh I will," said the dragon. "I will, you best count on that Mr. O'Donnell." Now there was determination, ferocity in his voice. A clarity. He was now laser-focused on vengeance, and the least I could do was step aside. But I was gonna do more than that, I was gonna help him put down the son of a bitch.

"What's your name, by the way?" I asked.

"Nikolai Morozov," the dragon answered.

"Alright, Mr. Morozov," I said. "I'll follow you to the Zahirs."

Morozov nodded, and went to his pickup. I went to my bike. We left the Morozov homestead and headed straight down Cork Road to the Zahir place, due west. I noticed the pickup speeding down the blacktop, doing well over a hundred klicks.

I couldn't scarcely even begin to understand what Morozov was thinking, but I had an inkling. Sadness and grief gave way to anger, hatred, wrath. He wanted nothing more than justice – no, vengeance – and was willing to do anything to get to it. He hungered for Ra-Ki's blood, for that bug's worthless head to roll away from his lifeless body. But the reward for the kill and whatever Ra-Ki carried would be mine, no doubt.

Not more than a few minutes after we departed the Morozov homestead, we arrived at a baby blue house, seemingly recently constructed, two stories. A barn and silo was a short walk away from it. Nikolai's truck stopped in front of the driveway, and so did I. There was a black two-door parked in front of the house, but it wasn't the same car I shot at in Hestonville. This one was more like a sports coupe than a muscle car. The windows were also clear, you could see through them.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered. If I wasn't shooting at Ra-Ki… who was I shooting at exactly?

"I'm gonna let fly at this son of a bitch," I said Nikolai, who rushed out of his truck with his rifle in his hand.

"Mr. Morozov, I need you to keep calm," I said, gripping the dragon's arm. "Let me handle this. Let me handle it."

"Did he kill your folk, O'Donnell?!" yelled Nikolai.

"No, he didn't," I replied. "But it's my job to take him down for killing your folk, and other folk, and the folks in Hestonville. It's what I do. Now please, stand back." Nikolai scowled for a while, but put the look on his face away after thinking it over and stepped back, nodding. I nodded too. "Alright, now I'm gonna go up to that door and see what's up. Now… if you see him… you can shoot him. Alright?"

"Alright," Nikolai answered. He moved to behind his pickup for cover, propping his LBB on the hood of the vehicle. I went to the front door, my boots thunking onto the wooden porch before approaching the entrance. My heavy blaster slung over my shoulder and my right hand on my handblaster's grip, I knocked on the door with my left hand.

"Anyone home?" I questioned. "Excuse me, I'm looking for a fella. Folks said he might be around here!"

There was no answer from inside. However, I did hear slight shuffling, then walking. Walking towards the door. Still, no words. Nothing.

"Wolf O'Donnell," said a voice with a distinct Ruthenian inflection, and obviously synthesized. Sure it sounded totally natural, but it also sounded like it came from a speaker. Suddenly blaster fire erupted from behind the door, punching three holes through it and striking my personal shields. They broke after the third one, at which point I stumbled back and tripped and fell off the short staircase. Slamming onto my back, I whipped out my heavy blaster and started spraying the whole front of the house.

I emptied my magazine, and there was nothing for a bit. Nothing. No noises, no voices, no shuffling. Nothing. I breathed hard and heavy, and rushed to reload. Without warning the door was kicked open, and out came Ra-Ki. He had a distinct reddish tinge about him, a giant arthopodic being standing on his hind legs. He had a wide-brimmed brown gambler's hat, and wore a poncho beneath some light armor plating he had, which protected his soft underbelly. In two of his appendages were a pair of six-shooter blasters, and he pointed them straight at me.

Shots screamed towards him before he could put be down. They were heavy bolts, and they came from Nikolai's rifle, who had a bead on the bug. Startled, Ra-Ki raised his two revolvers and started shooting back. Nikolai kept pouring it onto Ra-Ki, though, so Julius stepped back inside the house, still firing. However, his own personal shields broke as they were struck by the heavy bolts from the LBB, and he started taking hits, screaming out in pain, he retreated back in the house.

I got up, quickly whipping out my handblaster, pointing it at the front door one-handed. I stepped up to the porch, glancing back at Nikolai, who was still alert and ready, leaning on the hood of his pickup, pointing at the front door. I waved him to watch his fire. I walked up against the side of the door for cover. I heard labored breathing, and saw dark brown blood on the floorboards. I peeked inside, but was greeted by more blaster fire, from a backup six-shooter Ra-Ki had tucked away somewhere. I blind-fired back four times.

"You know, Julius Ra-Ki, I don't quite understand how this all came to be," I said. "You just go off the deep end or something?"

There was labored breathing again, before Ra-Ki spoke. "I was expecting someone… taller."

"Who, Nikolai Morozov?" I asked.

"The Sclavic boy?" he said. "No… no, not him. Paweł… Paweł Chmielnicki."

I was silent for a few moments before making a deduction, not knowing if it was right or wrong. "Chmielnicki was after you?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. He and I have crossed paths before, but nothing like a friendship is between us. He said to meet him at Hestonville, but when I couldn't find him… I assumed these fucks killed him for some reason. I guess… I overreacted."

"You overreacted? You shot up half the town, killed the sheriff, and slaughtered three families."

"Heh… what can I say? Life's cheap here on Papetoon. You know, I wasn't expecting to get gunned down by a child."

I ground my teeth at that. "Child." A twenty year old man being called a child. I was always pissed whenever someone called me a kid, or young, or a pup, or sport, and especially a child. I'd make Ra-Ki eat his words. I tried to lean out of cover to fire at him, but he obviously had his six-shooter trained at the doorway, and shot at me when I attempted to pop out. I scrambled down into a squatting position, and he blasted where my head just was with his blaster. Luckily for me, I noticed both of his blasters as well as his holdout were empty. I stepped out of cover, and saw him propped up against a wall, blood pouring out of several wounds in his torso. He struggled to breathe. There were three bodies of eagles in the kitchen: two adults and a child.

"You're a psycho," I said to Ra-Ki.

"You are too," said Ra-Ki. "We all are. That Sclav that shot me is as well. It's all on the inside, and the only thing that's needed to bring it out is just a little stimulus."

"And what was that for you, you suppose?"

"I don't really know… and I don't think it matters anyway."

"But you know what does matter?" I took a long pause before continuing. "Me shooting you down and getting paid for it." Ra-Ki just laughed.

"It seems that Sclav is a better shot than you, O'Donnell," said Ra-Ki. "He might actually get paid for the job you were hired to do. What did you say his name was? Nikolai? Hmm… he's got a good future if he decides to join the Circuit." Now, the Circuit was a term used by private military companies, a fancy term for mercenaries, for the industry they're in. The merc business.

"So, how much is my life worth, O'Donnell?" Ra-Ki asked.

"Fifty grand," I said.

"50,000 credits," said Ra-Ki. "Wow." He chuckled. "Well, at least you can say you shot dead Julius Ra-Ki - oh wait, you didn't though, did you?" He laughed. He laughed at me. All I could do was frown and raise my blaster up at his face and shoot a hole clean through it. I wiped him from the 'verse. Well… me and Nikolai.

As I stepped out of the home, Nikolai rushed up to me. "Is he dead?" he asked. I nodded and gestured with my head to the house for him to go there. He went inside. I heard shooting, then spitting, then nothing in particular. After a short while Nikolai came out. I was waiting by Ra-Ki's coupe, sitting on the hood.

"You good?" I asked while checking my heavy blaster.

"I guess," he replied. I looked up at him, and he moved to sit on the hood of the car, next to me. He sighed deeply. I just stared at nodded, then went back to my heavy blaster. At that moment we both heard a loud rumbling noise: the noise of a supercharged engine. It was that Hell-black muscle car I shot at. It seemed meaner this time, probably because those pissed-off looking headlights were staring right at me. It rolled up the slightly long driveway until it stopped not too far from my bike and Nikolai's truck. I made myself ready for anything, but I decided not to engage right away. Nikolai was more antsy, and pointing his rifle straight at the windshield. I placed my hand on his rifle.

"No, wait," I said. "Just wait…"

We waited. The car shut off, and the driver's side door opened. Out of the vehicle came a dragon, like Nikolai. Except he was wearing an all-white leather jacket, deep blue jeans, boots, and a dark gray shirt. He also had sunglasses. Standing at whopping seven feet tall, he was a giant, just like Nikolai. He shut his car's door, and dug his fists into his jacket's pockets. He approached the two of us, and stared at us briefly, before moving to the house.

"Paul Chmielnicki?" I asked. He did not respond, but he did stop briefly and take a glance at us. He smiled, then went into the house. After a few moments, he went back outside, stepping into the sun, his jacket brightly shining back the sunshine to our faces. He stared at us.

"You two killed Julius Ra-Ki?" he asked us. Nikolai and I glanced at each other, but the dragon looked away from me, apparently in shame.

"I did," I said. He approached me.

"Wolf O'Donnell?" he asked. I nodded. "Not bad, kid, even though that heavy blaster can't do the damage an LBB can at this range." He then looked to Nikolai, and Paul spoke to the guy in Ruthenian or something. Nikolai spoke back, and they had a brief conversation in the language. I didn't understand a word. When they were done speaking, Nikolai didn't even look at either of us. Paul walked back to his car.

"Why was Julius looking for you?" I asked.

"I was looking for him, really," he said as he turned back around. "You see, I wanted to hire him." My eyes widened, and I just knew Nikolai's did too. We looked at each other again. "Oh well… can't get 'em all the time, right?" He shrugged, chuckled, shook his head, and walked away, as if he was brushing off a slight jab at how he looked or something.

"Oh and uh… sorry for shooting at you," I said sheepishly. Paul looked back again.

"It's fine," said Paul. "You know… if you ever wanna get off this rock, kid, just look me up." I nodded. Paul got in his car, which woke back up from its slumber, and left us in the dust. I then looked at Nikolai.

"What are you gonna do, Nikolai?" I asked. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess…" he started, "I'll keep living at my folks' place. Work the land. I dunno…" Nikolai seemed lost as ever. I didn't know what to do for him, except give him my number.

"Listen… if you ever wanna talk or if you need anything, just call me," I said, handing him a card with my personal cell number on it. He didn't say anything much to me.

"Thanks for the help," Nikolai told me softly. He stood there silently on the hood of Ra-Ki's car. I left him there as I rode away on my bike. When I went back to Hestonville and explained to them what had happened (of course leaving out Nikolai's contribution to the job), they were heartbroken that most of those three families were killed, but relieved that Ra-Ki was dead.

"So, Paul Chmielnicki was around?" Mayor Greene questioned.

"Absolutely," I said. "Said he wanted to hire Ra-Ki. Apparently the guy thought you all killed Chmielnicki or some nonsense." Greene laughed at that. "Well, I don't see how a small town as ours could've done something like that to a man like Mr. Paul."

"No, no me neither," I said. "Clearly he was just a crazy son of a bitch."

"Well, at least you enacted justice for everyone that man murdered," said Sheriff Abernathy. "It's the least you could've done for us." I held the wads of cash in my hand, and put them away in my pack.

"It's just bad business what happened to those folk in the valley," said Sheriff Abernathy. "Especially with the Morozov boy all on his lonesome now." All I could do about that was just nod, so I did.

"Thanks again, Mr. O'Donnell," said Mayor Greene.

After that, I left the town hall, and the town itself and all its bad business, and rode south. I didn't know what was waiting for me down south, so at the very least I was gonna be surprised by what I found. That's what I liked about wandering around – there were always gonna be surprises. In the back of my mind, I didn't pay much attention to whether Nikolai would call me or not. I was always thinking only about tomorrow, not five or ten years into the future. I guess, if I did, maybe I wouldn't be where I am now.