9: Bartie's
The same day as I had a run-in with Andross, later in the afternoon, rode up to this roadside diner. Place was called "Bartie's." Went inside, looked like an ordinary diner. You know, looks like those old-timey chrome-plated googie train cars that was just plopped down somewhere. Anyway, I parked my bike in the parking lot it had. This place was in the middle of scenic nowhere, miles between towns, a handful of trailers a stone's throw behind the place, no doubt where the owner lived or something. Saw out front a sign that said "BEST SHAKE IN KRAMER COUNTY." Went inside, sat at the counter.
"Hi, how can I help ya?" asked the guy at the counter, probably the owner. Seemed a little older than me, between Andross's age and my own. Was a short but athletic-looking fennec, had some cybernetics on him: his right eye, which was glowing blue in the iris, and his right hand. As he placed his hands on the counter, the artificial one landed with a soft metallic thunk. Took a gander at the menu above his head, posted on the upper part of the wall towards the ceiling. 'Neath it was the window to the kitchen, and to the far right was the doorway leading there. Noticed they had a burger, felt it was high-time for me to have a decent burger.
"Can I have a… a hamburger deluxe with cheese?" I asked.
"So, you want a cheeseburger?" inquired the fennec, taking out a pad.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I answered, shrugging my shoulders. "Also, can I get one of those shakes?"
"Hah, sure thing. What flavor?"
"Got banana?"
"Sure do."
"Yeah, I'd like that."
"Alright." Then, the fennec turned around and walked away after selecting the last few options on the interface on the pad. "Drop one burger!" he yelled into the window. An affirmative yell rang out in reply from the kitchen. There was some sort of machine to make milkshakes, I guess, and the fennec moved to it, and I watched him. Saw him get a metal cup full of ice cream out from a shelf, then squirt some banana syrup into it, then milk, then jammed the thing into the machine. Fired it up, and in less than thirty seconds flat, a five-dollar milkshake was sat down right in front of me. It was housed in this big milkshake glass, with a generous topping of whipped cream and a candied cherry at the tippy top. There was also a plastic straw inside.
Had the milkshake, and lemme tell you, it was worth the five dollars. It was… so creamy, so banana-y, so sweet yet not too sweet, and the whipped cream was awesome. Yeah, loved the damn thing. A few minutes later the burger came. It was a decent burger, but the milkshake really stole the show. When I was half-finished with my meal, and the milkshake nearly gone, I decided to shoot the breeze with this guy.
"So, I suppose you're Bartie?" I asked the fennec, who was busy rearranging some straws. He turned around, finishing up what he was doing.
"Nah, my name's Tim," he replied. "I got this place from Bartie after he died a few years back. It's been mine ever since. You might've heard of me, I'm Tim Nagoya."
"Hmm… sounds familiar," I said. Took the gears in my head a bit of work to figure out where I heard the name. "Wait, you're that Tim Nagoya? Famous merc, one of the few survivors of the Century Mound Shootout." Now, the Century Mound Shootout was a battle, a huge exchange of blaster fire in the Papetoonese town of Century Mound, started because of a disagreement over the cut in a contract's payout. Four separate gangs blasted away at each other, with Century Mound in the middle of it all. Most of the town and almost all of the gangs were killed. Nagoya was one of the few survivors, although he didn't make it out totally unscathed as proven by his cybernetics. His walking away from that made him a legend, among other things.
"Century Mound convinced me to retire from the merc business," said Tim. "I saw some bodies in that town that were just too small to get dropped, if you get my meaning."
"Hmm," I replied with a simple nod. "Business can get rough."
"Indeed," continued Tim, scratching some grime away from the countertop. "But you see, the business shouldn't touch certain people. When it does, and especially when you do, it's about time to call it quits."
Didn't agree with that one bit, but I didn't say anything, just silently nodded. "So you've just been here flipping burgers ever since?" I asked.
"Yup," answered Tim. "When that mess was done and over with, I wandered for a bit, not knowing what to do. I certainly didn't wanna keep working anymore, but it's not like I could do anything else. Then, I came across this old place. I walked in and asked for a job, and Bartie gave it to me like nothing. He said he was getting up there in years, and needed someone to take over. About a year after that he died, and I learned about as much as I needed to from him. Now, here I am, talking to you."
"At least you got outta the game, then."
"Oh yeah, I'm lucky."
"Any loose ends?"
"Nope, none at all."
"That's good."
"Yeah, livin' the dream."
"Working in a greasy spoon's the dream?"
"If it means getting outta the game, sure does."
"And getting out clean."
"Yeah, yeah, almost like uh… divorcing yourself from your previous life. Just moving on."
"Do you miss it?"
"Eh, some days, but then I remember the days I almost died and the other days I couldn't eat because I didn't have steady work, and the other days where I shot so many people I lost count. I don't mind shooting people, but I like a break from ultra-violence every now and then."
"But… what else can you do?"
He paused briefly. I knew. I damn well knew. What could he do? What could I do? What could we both do without it? Without the game we play? The game of mercenary work. There's a lotta euphemisms for it: the game, the business, the industry, the work or our work. But it is what it is, and he and I knew how to play it. Question is… what else could we do? What other skills could we possibly have aside from killing people? I dunno the answer to that question for me, let alone for Tim. If I left the business right now, I would not know what to do. My certain skillset lies in the soldier-of-fortune industry. I fight for money, simple. I guess it boils down to swords into plowshares. Sure, the swords go away, but what about the warriors? What do they do? Farm? After all that time fighting someone else, you're gonna tell 'em to farm, give 'em a plot of land or something? Sounds ludicrous doesn't it? I can't be like that, especially after running away from a farm in the first place.
He answered me at last, saying "I can run a restaurant." He gestured to the building we found ourselves in.
"True," I replied tersely.
"What about you? Say you found a way outta the game, and really wanted to walk away from it all. And you did. What're you gonna do in your remaining days?"
I shrugged, throwing out a quick "I dunno."
Tim wasn't satisfied with that. "Nah, there's gotta be something you can do."
I shook my head, letting out a half smile largely out of cool resignation of my predicament. "Nope, pretty much only got this." I patted my occupied holster, which carried my Universal. Okay, full confession: I had two holsters, a shoulder holster and a hip holster. I alternated carrying my Uni between the two, depending on what I felt like on a particular day. Most days I preferred the hip, while other days I decided to keep it in the shoulder, for better concealment. Of course that meant a longer draw time, but it's a tradeoff, like most things. On this day in question, I was using the hip holster.
"Well, I'm sure you've got some sorta skill that doesn't have to do with merc work."
I smirked as I looked into his eyes, then chuckled, blinking and lowering my vision as I cocked my head slightly aside before straightening it out. I didn't regain eye contact with him, instead sighing. I stared at his dirty apron. "Maybe."
At that, the bell to signal the front door opening rang, and I turned around to see a duo enter the diner. It was two robots, a large one and a smaller one. They both were built similarly, with a single large "eye" dominating the head: that was the primary sensor, my guess was. Oh there were secondary and tertiary sensors in other parts of the frame, no doubt, but that one was the one the robot would use to "see." The big one was the size of a fully-grown adult male, six feet even. Wore jeans, leather boots, and a plaid shirt. Also had on a cowboy hat. Around its torso hanging from a sling, on the back of the robot, was a pump-action shotgun. The little one was dressed in a band shirt with a logo for the arena rock band Screaming Mimis, along with jeans and these worn-out cheap-looking running shoes. The logo on the shirt looked faded, but still had that distinct five-barreled high-explosive rocket artillery inside a big explosion symbol, with the words "SCREAMING MIMIS" emblazoned on top of the logo itself.
"Hey Tim," said the robot.
"Hiya Lou," replied Tim. "Hey there Doug."
"Hi Mr. Nagoya," said the little one, Doug.
"The usual, Lou?" asked Tim.
"The usual," replied Lou.
And so, Lou and Doug sat a booth by the window, while Tim moved to the kitchen window.
"Lou and Doug's here, give 'em their usual!" yelled the fennec. A "Gotcha" rang out in reply.
"What's their usual?" I asked.
"Lou gets country-fried steak and eggs, scrambled. Doug gets a Sakie cheesesteak sandwich." Now, they call it a 'Sakie' because of the sandwich's origin, from the city of Sakimauchheen Ing, in the FN. Been there once, had an authentic Sakie cheesesteak from the source, it was heaven. To be honest, though, it's hard to fuck up a Sakie cheesesteak.
"Good eats?"
"Eh, it ain't that hard to make. Plus the Somervilles are good people, and they tip well."
"Good people…" I turned around to take a glance at the Somervilles' robotic appearances. I turned back to look at Tim.
"Good people," assured Tim with a nod as he leaned on the counter. He smiled slightly before slapping the counter once and heading in the back.
Finished up my burger, at which point Tim brought out the bots' food. Didn't know how they were gonna eat it, but it was theirs to do whatever. Looked at 'em when the plates were sat down on the table. They scanned the food or something like that and were all like "Wow, this is pretty tasty!" I just fucking sat there holding laughter as I turned away, amused at what I thought was totally nuts.
But, things would get… interesting today. The 'verse has a funny way of doing that, putting a little twist into my day. As Tim started off to back behind the counter, the front door opened once again, but a loud, almost croaking voice, with a distinct rural twang, rang out from the front. I turned to see a short orange frog waving around a massive revolver, a Callen and Hanna Model 3000. A powerful blaster, basically a hand-cannon, and kicks like one too. He quickly pointed it at Tim, who stopped in his tracks.
"CDF subcon! Hands in the air, Nagoya!" yelled the frog. Tim raised his hands slowly. Now, "subcontractor," or "subcon" for short, is yet another nice, watered-down term for a mercenary hired by a government on a contract, be it long-term or short-term. The frog was dressed in a long flight coat. Beneath it was a tight-fitting button-up striped shirt with a striped tie, both of them blue, gold, and red. He also had on flight pants, boots, and some sort of ocuset over his right, no doubt a scanner combined with a camera for recording. Meanwhile the Somervilles looked alarmed. Well, I'm guessing they looked alarmed, I don't really know, it was hard to tell. They were fucking robots with a giant eye for faces, whaddya want me to say? They sat at their booth watching this all unfold, with Lou keeping his hands in clear view and away from his shotgun. He placed one of his hands at Doug's shoulder, making sure he knew where the little guy was.
"Subcon for the CDF?" inquired Tim. "What do you guys want me for?"
"Arms smuggling, racketeering, murder," replied the frog. "Now, you're wanted dead or alive, but I would much prefer to take you in alive, so don't you do anything foolish now."
Tim was silent, his vision darting between the subcon, me, the kitchen, the Somervilles, and back to the subcon. Then, he looked at me one more time, and smiled. In that moment, I knew what he was thinking.
"Tim," I started, "you think you're fast enough?"
"Nobody's fast enough when they're drawing from a vulnerable position," the subcon said. He pulled back the hammer on his revolver blaster with his thumb, that distinct, almost satisfying click ringing out throughout the diner. "Come on Nagoya, let's make this easy for the both of us."
Tim's smile only got wider. "I've been in jail once before," he said. "And I don't intend to go back. This fox'll die free." Suddenly, Tim's right hand moved to the small of his back, right next to his tail. However, the subcon frog already had the edge over Tim, and milked it for all it was worth, shooting him with his hand-cannon. Noticed though that the subcon set it to stun. Stun settings have a distinct, almost whirr-like noise to 'em, and emit a blue ring-like blast, and when it hits someone, it's like their whole body flashes in a brilliant blue momentarily before falling to the ground, totally knocked out. You see, how it works is that stun blasts use chemical reactions (that's why they flash blue) to overload someone's nervous system, causing them to fall unconscious so their body could reset. A different sorta stun is used for robots to send their electrical systems haywire, but basically has the same effect. Anyway, Tim got hit by the blast as he gripped a RAP Model 9, but it fell outta his hands quick, straight to the ground, and he followed his blaster down, signaled by a dull thud on the tiled floor.
A rustling was soon heard from the kitchen: it was the cook. "What the fuck!" the portly bear yelled. "You sonofabitch!" He came rushing from the kitchen to behind the front counter where I was. The guy had a shotgun, and racked the pump-action on it back. The subcon quickly aimed at him and fired another stun blast, hitting the cook and causing the big guy to go down too, but not before he stumbled behind him, bumping against the shelf and knocking down some cups and a straw holder.
Meanwhile, neither I nor the Somervilles moved much aside from slight flinches when the subcon shot at his targets. I kept my hands in clear sight because I didn't want my ass to get zapped by what seemed to be a slightly jittery armed goon. He looked around, glancing looks at us while he flipped over the now unconscious Tim onto his face and put the fennec's hands behind his back, securing them with a zip tie. Then, with one hand while the other held the Callen & Hanna, he picked up Tim and threw him over his shoulder, carrying the unconscious merc out with relative ease, which made me notice how strong this particular subcon was. Kept his revolver trained on both me and the Somervilles as he walked outta the joint backwards.
"How much?" I asked.
"Huh?" uttered the subcon, his weapon suddenly pointed at my face.
"How much is the bounty?"
The subcon let out a slight chuckle. "Five hundred grand, Cornerian credits."
My eyebrows were raised slightly. "Good payday."
"No doubt." Then, the subcon left the restaurant, stuffing Nagoya in the open trunk of this old coupe he came in on. He slammed shut the hood of the trunk and ran inside the hideously tan two-door, and sped off down the road, quickly becoming a speck on the horizon.
I looked at the Somervilles, and they looked at me. Lou stood up, followed by Doug. "I never knew Tim was that kind of man," said Lou.
"A lotta people are like that, my friend," I replied. "A lotta people."
"Hmm," uttered Lou. "I used to be in that kind of work. Subconning for the Cornerians."
"You got out?"
"Yep. One too many close calls convinced me to have a new change of pace."
"Whaddya do now?"
"Moisture farming. It's honest, safe work."
"You don't miss your old life?"
"Used to, but now not that much. I've got a better life to lead, especially with this little guy." He placed his hand on Doug's head.
"You think you're gonna end up like Nagoya?"
"No. Unlike him, I actually got out clean. I found all my loose ends and tied them up neatly. I guess Nagoya didn't."
I looked at the two of them and nodded, uttering a small "Yeah." I bid them farewell and left the whole scene, riding away on my bike down the road, in the same direction the subcon sped down. I wasn't gonna chase after 'em, that's not my fight. I ain't gonna interfere in another merc's business unless I'm paid to, and in this case, I wasn't paid to do anything, I was just there for a burger. Sure, I liked Tim, but I didn't like him that much. And hey, everyone's gotta eat, and that subcon with the big revolver wasn't gunning after me, so it wasn't my problem.
Never get involved in problems that aren't your own. I think that's a given, actually.