The rain was coming down fast and furious — almost too much for a colony's artificial weather, but then, L2 wasn't know for its technological advances. The financial situation of the colony as a whole had been in dire straits for some years. Ever since the mobile suit industry had dried up when the EarthSphere government took control and established peace between nations and colonies alike, L2 had been in decline. Factories lay dormant, workers were forced out onto the streets after losing their jobs — most couldn't afford even steerage class tickets earthside.
It had been raining for days. Heero stood under an awning of an abandoned flower shop, huddled against the boarded up windows, smoking a cigarette, watching patrons enter and exit a bar across the street. He took a drag, trying to ignore the bitter aftertaste the smoke left in his mouth. He didn't normally smoke, but he found it a good excuse to be loitering on the street. People tended to ignore you if you were simply stopping for a smoke.
He'd been on L2 for eight days, much longer than he'd anticipated. This Barton was either very good at covering his tracks or just very damn lucky. He'd known Barton would not have been at his last known location, otherwise Khushrenada's people would have found him. But Heero started there anyway, looking for whatever trail they'd missed.
He'd followed the obvious trail to the spaceport, where a "D. Burton" had booked a flight to L4. It was too obvious a ploy, however, and it only took Heero a few minutes poking around the 'port passenger database to realize that someone else had been there before him, planting the name on the passenger manifest in order to throw off anyone looking for him. Heero was willing to bet Barton was still on L2. Finding him, however, had proved to be a little tricky.
He'd caught a lucky break in the small flat Barton had been renting before Khushrenada's people had caught up with him again. The place had been cleaned out, but Heero spotted a matchbook wedged between the dilapidated refrigerator and the counter. With the name of a local diner in hand, a few subtle questions and 100 credits later, he'd learned that a man fitting Barton's description had been a frequent patron but had disappeared about two weeks before. Another 50 credits and Heero had the name of a hostel the fry cook had recommended to Barton in a different cluster of the L2 colony.
Barton's trail was difficult at best to follow, but Heero was more than determined. One million credits would bring him closer to his goal. Two million would well put him over. He would then be able to keep the promise he made to Relena long ago to retire and get out of this business. He'd never thought he'd reach it before he turned 30. Duo Barton was the key to his goal, and he was not letting the kid get away, not when he was this close.
For a week, Heero had followed Barton's trail, almost losing it a handful of times. Another lucky break in the form of a would-be pickpocket with a loose mouth had led him here, a hole-in-the-wall dive called simply "Howard's."
He'd been standing in the rain outside Howard's for the last twenty minutes, smoking his rarely used cigarettes, watching the doors to see what kind of clientele the place catered to. It was not one of your high-end establishments. The building was obviously well-tended, but its age was showing. Gray flecks of paint that had once probably been white were peeling off the walls. The windows were covered in black paper, barred from the street. Smoke lilted through the air every time the door opened to admit a shabbily dressed patron. Not many people had exited the bar, but it was early yet. In a neighborhood such as this, Heero surmised that those poor souls who chose to frequent Howard's came early and stayed late.
Flicking his still-lit butt to the ground, stepping on it with his heel without a second thought, he stepped out into the rain, quickly crossing the street to the entrance and slipping inside the run-down establishment.
The acrid smell of cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he stepped inside. The atmosphere was smoky, a cloudy haze hanging over the patrons hunched over their drinks in groups of two or three or scattered singly in small, dark corners. A quick scan of the room showed there was no sign of his target, but he hadn't expected to find Barton there. This was just one more piece of the trail. He shuffled off his coat and made his way to the bar.
He slipped onto a torn, wobbly stool, gesturing for the barkeep, an old man in a loud, multicolored shirt with a towel thrown over one shoulder. The man gave him a once over before setting a glass down in front of him.
"What're yer drinkin'?" he asked, his voice rough and slurred in the manner of the local dialect.
Heero hesitated for the barest moment. "Scotch. Neat."
The old man grunted before turning away to drag a dusty bottle out from under the counter. Turning back to Heero, he splashed some of the amber liquid into the glass. Heero could only hope the glass was at least clean.
The alcohol burned as he swallowed. Heero steeled himself not to grimace as he set the glass down gingerly.
"Anythin' else I get yer?" the man asked, leaning against the back of the bar.
"Yes," Heero replied, digging through his coat pocket for Barton's picture. It was looking worn and now bent on one corner. Heero knew every angle, every line of the image, having studied it often since arriving on L2. He slid the picture across the bar toward the old man. "I'm looking for this guy. He'd be a bit older now."
The man picked the picture up. Heero had to give him credit; there was only the slightest twitch of recognition.
The barkeep shook his head and handed the picture back. "Haven't seen him. Sorry."
Heero pocketed the picture, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I heard he hadn't been around these parts in a while. It was a last ditch effort." He picked up his glass and threw back the rest of his drink. Pulling out his wallet, he tossed a handful of credits on the bar. "Thanks for your time."
The bartender nodded, picking up Heero's glass. Heero watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he made a show of pulling his jacket on and looking around the bar with feigned interest. He slid off the stool and turned to leave. He stopped before he reached the door, fumbling in his jacket for a cigarette and lighter. Leaning against the wall to light up, he gave the bar area a surreptitious glance. As he suspected, the bartender left his post, disappearing through a set of swinging doors in the back. Heero shoved his lighter into his jacket pocket and left, stepping out into the rain.
The building that housed the bar was adjacent to another building, but there was a narrow alleyway on the other side. Heero flicked his cigarette away into the street and slipped down the alley, hugging the wall, staying in the shadows.
Behind the building was a vacant lot. Heero wrinkled his nose at the stench of the dumpster drifted toward him. He peered around the corner and waited.
His instincts did not fail him. A moment later the old, rusty back door to the bar opened and a slender figure stepped out, followed by the barkeep.
"Thanks for the warning, Howie," Heero heard his quarry say.
"Get outta here, kid," the old man said. "Get off colony if yer can. It's becoming too dangerous to be here anymore."
"I know. I just... can't." The slim figure took a step away from the door. Heero slipped a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.
"Yeah, I know. Just take care, kid."
"Thanks, Howie."
The door closed and the young man turned, walking straight for the alley, right toward Heero.
Heero palmed the cuffs, waited until Barton was within reach, then stepped out of the shadows.
"Duo Bart...?"
Before he could even finish the man's name, he heard a muffled curse. The slender figure plowed into him, shoving him out of his path in an attempt to get past. Heero lost his balance, but grabbed Barton's sleeve as he fell, dragging the young man down with him. They wrestled on the ground, in the dark. Barton kicked at him, catching him in the shin. Heero grit his teeth, catching one of Barton's arms in his grip, using the leverage to flip them over.
He ended up sitting on Barton's back, pinning the young man's arm at an angle Heero knew would start to hurt if Barton continued to struggle.
"What the fuck are you doing? Get off!"
"Stop struggling or you'll end up with a dislocated shoulder," Heero said, quickly flipping open the cuffs and locking one around the wrist he had pinned.
"Christ, tell Quinze I'll pay him his damn money! There's no need to get physical..."
"Quinze didn't send me," Heero replied. This kid owed someone money? Where were the millions he had stolen?
The young man underneath him tried to buck him off. Heero grunted and pushed him back down, pulling hard on Barton's arm. Barton cried out, his body taut but still.
"Wh-who are you?" he gasped, his voice strained.
"I was sent to find you and bring you back," Heero replied, grasping the young man's other wrist, pulling it around so he could lock the other cuff around it. "I have to congratulate you, Barton. You were more of a challenge than most."
"B-barton?" The struggles began again in earnest. "Damn it, you've got the wrong guy! My name is Maxwell!"
Heero stood, dragging his quarry up off the wet ground. He pulled Barton out of the alley, into the pale, yellowed glow of a street light. Even in the dim light, Barton looked pale. His clothes were stained and wet, and his long hair was disheveled, coming out of its tangled braid. Despite the fact that Heero could not tell what color his eyes were in the washed-out light, there was no mistaking the familiar heart-shaped face. The face had been burned into his mind from looking at Barton's picture almost obsessively since leaving Earth.
Still holding onto Barton's – Maxwell's – whatever he wanted to call himself – arm, he dug the worn picture out of his coat, shoving it into his prisoner's face.
Barton went absolutely still. "Who sent you?" he asked, so softly Heero barely heard over the rain.
"Khushrenada. You stole something from him. He wants it back. I've been paid to bring you in."
Barton gave him a stricken look. "You can't."
Heero put the picture away. A glint of metal caught his eye, hovering just under Barton's shirt. His eyes widened slightly. Surely it wasn't that easy.
He reached out, grabbing the chain and pulling it out from Barton's ragged T-shirt. A small, gold cross tumbled into his hand.
"Don't you touch that! It's mine!" Barton yelled, pulling back violently in an effort to get Heero to let go of the necklace.
Heero jerked Barton back to him, slipping the cross back under his shirt and away from the prying, greedy eyes of L2. Taking Barton's arm, he pulled him down the street.
Barton struggled, not intending to go quietly. But with his hands bound behind his back, Heero knew escape would be impossible.
"Look, man... maybe we can cut a deal?" the young man pleaded, dragging his feet.
"I have a signed contract with Khushrenada for your return," Heero replied, ignoring Barton's struggles with a firm grip on the kid's arm. "Struggling will only make it worse for you."
"Fuck that shit!" the kid cried out. "I'm not going back there! I left of my own free will and I will not be dragged back to that place like an errant child!"
"You call making off with twenty-five million leaving of your own 'free will'?" Heero asked, incredulous. Damn, but this kid had balls.
Barton stopped struggling. Heero looked at him, surprised to see shock and bewilderment on the young man's face. "He... I did what?"
"Stole twenty-five million credits from Treize Khushrenada. Why so surprised? Or did you not know just how much was in the account you hacked?"
Barton let out a short, biting laugh. "That's... that's crazy. I ain't no thief! And I sure as hell didn't steal twenty-five million. Jesus... why do you think I would be caught dead in this shithole if I had that much?"
Heero shrugged. "I don't care to know your motives. I'm just paid to do a job."
Pain exploded through him as Barton's foot connected with his crotch. Another swift kick swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the wet pavement. A sharp blow to his stomach a moment later made his breath leave his lungs in a rush. His vision swam as he instinctively curled in on himself to protect his body from another blow.
Something clattered to the ground in front of his face. He opened his eyes, seeing through the stars, to see his handcuffs laying in a puddle in front of him.
A shadow passed over him. Heero looked up, blinking through the rain which had begun to pour down, to see Barton standing over him, hands free and poised to run.
"Sorry, man. I know you're just doing your job. But I can't go back to him. I didn't steal any money. Just tell him I can't be a part of his life anymore and to forget about me."
Then the shadow was gone, as was his prisoner. Barton disappeared into the darkness. Heero coughed and pushed himself up off the saturated pavement, catching his cuffs as he stood and sliding them back into his pocket. He leaned against a lamp post in an effort to catch his breath. He looked down the darkened street in the direction Barton had disappeared. This was going to be more of a challenge than he thought.
He smiled a little and followed Barton into the night.
TBC...