The Tea Man and…Associates
The back of the tea shop was deceptively large. There was a hall with at least six different doors to choose from after you had gotten past the door behind the bar. The bartender led Ratchet and the smuggler down to the very last door. As they walked, Ratchet couldn't help noticing the keypads on every door they passed. Odd. Why was everything so rusty-looking on the outside? He whispered to the smuggler just quietly enough so that the bartender couldn't hear.
"They're awfully security-conscious for a beaten-down dollhouse out in the sticks. There's a keypad on every single door," he said through the corner of his mouth.
"For good reason. Do you want somebody finding your secret collection of playtime jackhammers?" the smuggler said, attempting at humor.
"No, no. That can't be right. Too much security," said Ratchet, thinking over all the small details in the area. "Plus, the bartender's clothing looks like it's loose enough to hide a sawed-off Constructo shotgun." Almost as soon as he said it, the bartender reached for the back of his pants and pulled out a Constructo pistol, firing randomly and hoping for a hit. This allowed Clank to place a neatly executed foot on his kneecap. The bartender screamed in pain as Ratchet followed up his broken knee with an effective disarming technique. The bartender kneeled down, still clutching his leg. Ratchet tossed the gun to the smuggler and helped the bartender up.
"Alright, there we go. Nice and easy now. That's it," he said, throwing the bartender's arm around his own neck.
"Well, you were close," said the smuggler, as Ratchet helped their assailant walk to the door they had been heading towards. The bartender typed in the access code, and the door opened. The four heard a voice inside.
"Darling, I swear, I could never look at another woman," came the voice. It was of Cazar descent. As the door fully opened, Ratchet saw a Cazar behind a desk, sitting in a chair with a slim Valkyrie. How the hell does that work, huh? thought Ratchet, disgusted. So much for Qwark being One of Nature's Greatest Mysteries! This easily tops that.
The Cazar had taken notice of the intruders' presence. He got up, and the Valkyrie was forced to stand as well, stumbling a bit as she did.
"Well, Randall, I'm glad you can still keep your clothes on when you're having cuddle time," said the smuggler.
"Wait. You know this guy?" asked Ratchet, but he was drowned out by the Cazar.
"Tell me, 'smuggler,'" he said, moving his hands as if they were mystical objects. "give me one good reason why I shouldn't press this button-" Here, he pointed to a button on his desk. "-and have my security use that lovely fedora of yours for a little target practice?"
"Because you owe me a favor, Randall," said the smuggler in a threatening tone. "And it's a ten-gallon hat, not a fucking detective's cover."
"Ha!" said Randall. "A ten-gallon hat on a one-quart head." His hazel eyes stared unwaveringly at the smuggler, his athletic body coiled like a spring, waiting for something to happen, his teeth bared and ears laid back. Ratchet mimicked Randall, hissing as if to give the Cazar a warning.
"Who's your furry bitch?" asked Randall, smiling maliciously at Ratchet, his fists and attention directed at the young lombax.
"Run that by me again, and step a little fucking closer," said Ratchet in a deeper voice than usual, returning Randall's evil eyes.
"Watch your ass around here, kid," bit back Randall. "I'm the one with the fucking dick."
"Ladies, you're both too damn pretty," said the smuggler. "Randall, I just want some intel. Then we'll be out of the way."
Randall snorted. "What kind of intel is this? Getting really goddamn desperate to be scouring for the latest word on the Quantos rebellion all the way out here."
"No. We need more information on a space pirate named Blackheart. I don't doubt you've heard of him."
Randall stood there for a minute, thinking. "Wait here," he said the the Valkyrie, who silently nodded. Walk with me," he said, turning to the open door and walking out of the room. Ratchet and the smuggler walked, but Clank did not. "You too, bot," added Randall.
"How the hell did you know they were Hologuises?" asked the smuggler.
"Could you have been anymore fucking obvious? The belts are dead giveaways. Any chick checking you out would be able to tell. Although depending on what you were disguised as, she might be more likely to take the ride," said Randall. "Now, this Blackheart bastard…" he said while typing the code to one of the doors in the middle of the hall. "…He ain't pretty. His crew ain't pretty. And their battle methods ain't pretty."
The door unlocked, and Randall pushed it open. "Ladies first," he said, and the smuggler, tipping his hat, walked through. Ratchet walked in slowly, at the ready to fight to the death if it came to that. Clank just walked. Randall closed the door behind them. They had walked into a lounge. Couches, chairs, HV complete with VG10K, and a beat-up fridge.
"Sit down," he said, arms gesturing to the various appliances.
As Ratchet sat, he couldn't shake the feeling that Randall was trying to betray the smuggler. That feeling changed quite suddenly when Randall started talking again.
"Me and Blackheart never saw eye to optic," said Randall, opening the fridge and grabbing a stale beer. "We were always competing for business. Dope-smuggling experts, weapon supply lines, rations for our crews…the usual shit. Then Blackheart gets interested in organism trafficking. He's called Blackheart for a few reasons. That's just one of them." Randall took a swig of beer.
"I send four of my guys to tell the bastard he can't do that. They go off the radar for a while. One day, I get a package with four hearts in it. Connect the fucking dots." Randall fell back on an armchair.
"That is…gruesome," Clank chimed in.
"Maybe you have a secret admirer," the smuggler jibed.
"More like a well-known enemy," said Randall. "After that, well, we had a hell of a time. We were both trying to trip the other up constantly, and now it's a gang war." Randall finished off his beer and belched, throwing the empty bottle over his head. It shattered on the floor.
"Now listen," he said. "I'm glad to see the bastard taken down, alright? But if I help you, I get to be there when he dies."
"It sounds like a plan…if you can get there on your own," said Ratchet ominously.
"Well, well, if it's not the coward who wouldn't tear apart reality to be with his race." Randall leaned in. "I can see it in your eyes. It burns you to have come so close, doesn't it?"
"Hey, lay off him. We came for intel, we got it," said the smuggler, trying to keep the peace. "Now we'll go and no har-" An explosion cut him off, sending them flying across the room in various places. Ratchet groaned, his vision blurry. It felt like his arm was on fire. He looked down and regained vision to see a particularly nasty-looking shard of metal impaled through his arm. The metal on the underside of his arm was stained red with blood. A figure approached him through the smoke. It was the smuggler. Ratchet saw him grab the metal in his arm as he asked Ratchet, "Ready?" Without waiting for a reply, he yanked the metal out, and Ratchet yelled in agony. Immediately, the smuggler placed Nanotech on the gaping hole in Ratchet's arm, and it healed. Ratchet groaned through clenched teeth, giving his arm a few shakes and closing his eyes. He stood to his feet. The figures of Randall and Clank got closer and closer. Randall was bloody, and Clank had scratches all over his square body.
"What the fuck!" yelled Randall, mad at the smuggler for some reason. "You trying to kill us?!"
"Why would this be me?" shouted the smuggler. "We're not kamikazes!"
"SHUT UP!" hollered Ratchet. "Look, whoever did this is still here. I have an idea who…Follow me." He ran out of the room, not certain but confident the others were behind him.
He ran back to the drinking area. Pandemonium was already in full swing, with everybody running around and screaming their heads off like wild Zyphoids. Emergency rescue teams were already here, trying to settle everything down. Ratchet was trying to locate the one person he didn't trust anymore. He burst outside, and it was totally different. There were fewer people, just a few firemen with their vehicles and a stationary cop car, complete with a cop making sure nobody tried to crowd around, surrounding the building. Ratchet walked down the steps, defeated. There was no way the guy was still here. Unless…But that was nearly impossible. A cop car in the Magus Sector? Like hell. Ratchet had an idea.
"HELP! HELP!" he yelled. All of the rescue heads turned…except for the cop, who started walking away. "Never mind," he said to the fireman who had almost started to help Ratchet limp-walk, never taking his eye off the false cop. "I'm fine. Thanks anyway," he finished, running in pursuit of the cop.
The faux cop had already started getting into his car. Ratchet ran as fast as he could and barely managed to grab onto the cop before the latter had slammed the door shut. Ratchet disarmed the cop and threw him on the ground, aiming the cop's own blaster at his face.
"Well, if it's not the bartender," said Ratchet in a dangerous voice. He threw the cop gun away and grabbed the bartender by the shirt.
"Who told you to do this?" he said, face-to-face with the bartender's.
"B-B-Blackheart," the bartender stuttered.
"Why?"
"He ordered a h-h-hit on R-Randall. He w-w-w-was going to kill me if I didn't!"
"Where is he? Tell me where Blackheart is," pressed Ratchet.
"I c-c-can't! He'll kill me if I do!"
"Tell me," Ratchet said, " and I swear I'll protect you."
"Alright, alright!" said the bartender. "He's in orbit on the other side of the plan-" He was cut short as his forehead had a hole driven through it by an invisible object. Ratchet got blood on his face as he let go of the body, shocked at the result of his capture. He stood back up and saw Randall, the smuggler, and Clank running towards him.
"What happened here?" asked Clank.
"I had him. He was a plant. Blackheart's trying to assassinate you, Randall," said Ratchet.
"Well, that's fucking great, kid," said Randall sarcastically. "But unless you know where Blackheart is, you weren't a better Keeper than your daddy, were you?"
"Easy," said the smuggler.
"No problem," said Ratchet. "I'm used to fucking up bitches who talk shit. But back to subject- Blackheart's in orbit above the planet, but he's on the other side. So we'll have to haul ass to make it there before he tries to bail."
"Good thing we didn't park too far away," said the smuggler. "Don't worry, Randall. You'll get accustomed to riding with the contraband."