It was early evening and Rhade was sitting at his favorite table in the Oasis, restlessly playing with a half empty bottle of beer. He wasn't interested in drinking—he was waiting. Ever since the shooting and his talk with Elaine, the bar had become his de facto office and the meeting place for his deputies. He was currently waiting for a pair of his deputies to report in.
It was just over three weeks since the shooting at the plaza, and his investigation was not going well. He and his deputies had interviewed as many survivors of the incident as they could, and their accounts—while differing in exact details—had confirmed what he had suspected ever since Moretti described what he had observed when he had arrived at the scene and saw the Black and Tans treating their wounded. Someone had opened fire on the company police first. More importantly, though, Rhade had established that the shots that had instigated the Black and Tans' retaliation had not come from the crowd. Both policemen that the deputy had seen had been shot from someone on their left. If the shots had originated from the crowd, they would have been shot from the front. He had also learned, thanks to a north-side hospital technician with a penchant for pillow talk and a civic minded south-side girl, that the policemen had been shot with a 10 mm rifle firing hollow point rounds. Unfortunately, the knowledge did very little to help determine who fired the shots. Probably everyone in south-side had a motive, and 10 mm rifles, while not exactly common, were not particularly scarce either.
Neither the company nor Virgil Vox was making things any easier. In Rhade's opinion, the broadcaster was nothing more than a rabble-rouser. Initially after the shooting and using the fact that Jeri had been injured, he had been broadcasting calls to arms against the company and speculations about what sort of vengeance Rhade would wreak amongst the Black and Tans. Then, once it became public knowledge that someone had shot a couple of the policemen, Vox had practically deified the individual, completely ignoring the fact that as a direct result of that individual's actions, 18 people had been killed and another 43 injured.
The company for its part was stating that the Black and Tans had acted in self-defense and, that given the provocation, deadly force had been an appropriate response. It further stated that since the crowd had been an unlawful assembly, none of the families of the deceased would receive any form of death benefits, that the wounded would not be allowed to seek treatment in company medical facilities, and that any of the 'rioters,' to use the company's term, who could be identified would be immediately discharged from the company.
"You look worried, Sheriff," came a voice from behind him. "Are your men late in reporting?"
"I'm more worried about what they'll be reporting about when they get here, Orlund," answered Rhade, recognizing the voice. "Collins said it was important."
Orlund had become a permanent fixture in the bar. He said he had lost one princess, and he wasn't going to lose another. Fortunately for his well-being, he had stopped talking about hidden tunnels and lost races, and Doyle in return wasn't marching him out the door.
Rhade spared a moment to look around the bar. It was about half full, but there was a subdued tone to the noise and activities of the patrons. Trance was waiting tables while Doyle was with Harper behind the counter. Harper had an arm around Doyle's waist, and Doyle seemed in no hurry to remove it. It was, Rhade supposed, a classic example of be careful of what you wish for as you might get it. At one time he had concerned himself with finding mates for the two of them. He no longer had that concern, and it had only taken a massacre to get them together.
Rhade's musings were interrupted by the arrival of Collins and his partner O'Keeffe. They had a third man held between them. From the way he was standing and the way his deputies were holding him, Rhade guessed that his hands were tied behind his back. Rhade recognized the man, a petty thief that he and his deputies had run out of the market area. Behind them were two more of Rhade's deputies. One of them, a blonde, green-eyed Amazon of a woman with the unlikely name of Cho Hee Soklol, was carrying a rifle.
"We got our shooter, Sheriff," said Collins as he pushed the prisoner, who Rhade now remembered was named Ford, toward Rhade.
The entire bar went silent as all eyes turned in the direction of the prisoner. Under other circumstances, Ford might have looked imposing or even threatening. He was a large man, well-muscled, with a shaven head and a scar running from his just above his left eye to his lower jaw. However, at the moment he looked more like a cornered rat.
"How did you find him?" asked Rhade.
It was O'Keeffe who answered. "Me and Collins here been hanging out in The Dog's Breakfast lately when we weren't on duty. You know the place."
Rhade did. It was a bar on the opposite side of town from The Oasis. Its clientele was mostly ex-employees of the company. It was just the sort of place to find someone willing to kill a few company policemen.
"Anyway," continued O'Keeffe, "we started hanging out there and griping 'bout how you weren't doing nothing 'bout the Tans killing all them people and 'bout how somebody needed to do something 'bout the Tans. After a while the regulars stopped shutting up when we came in for a few drinks. Then day 'fore yesterday, Ford here," he gave the prisoner another shove when he said 'here,' "came into the bar. He was spending script like he owned a printing press, and after a few drinks started bragging 'bout how he fixed some Tans. It seemed funny to us, so we talked to Cho Hee and Juarez and decided that next time Ford came into the Breakfast, they would take a look at his place and see what they could find. They found a ten mike mike rifle loaded with hollow points. Same as what was used on the Tans."
Rhade reached out for the rifle, which Cho Hee handed to him with a 'careful, the mag's still in the receiver,' and checked it. As Cho Hee had stated, the magazine was still in the receiver. He ejected the magazine and counted the rounds in it. "Twenty-two rounds," he said. "This magazine normally holds twenty five. Three shots were fired at the Tans. Three from twenty-five leaves twenty-two."
"I swear I've never seen that weapon before," stammered Ford. "It must have been planted in my room while I was drinking."
Rhade reloaded the magazine and inserted it into the magazine well. He then jacked a round into the receiver and placed the weapon on the table with its muzzle pointing at Ford's midsection, his hand on the weapon near the trigger. Juarez, who had been standing directly behind Ford, hurriedly moved to one side. "My mate was injured in the plaza massacre. She may never recover from her injuries. I promised her mother I would find out who hurt her and make him pay. You say you've never seen this weapon before. In that case, you won't have any objection if I have it tested for DNA residues. You know I have access to the resources. I'm going to give you one last chance to speak before I take the weapon to be tested. If none of your DNA is on the weapon, you'll be in the clear, but if it turns out that you've lied to me…" He left the threat unspoken, allowing Ford's imagination to conjure up whatever form of torture he feared most.
Rhade wasn't exactly bluffing, but he wasn't telling the strict truth either. He could get the DNA checked using Andromeda's medical facilities, but he would have to get the weapon to Andromeda first. And Dylan had made it clear on Rhade's last visit to Andromeda that Andromeda's daughter space craft were not at Rhade's beck and call. The majority of the town's population thought otherwise, however. With the arrival of Andromeda's medevac vessel, rumors flew thick and fast—even for Seefra City. The majority of the rumors consisted of speculation on how much of Rhade's supposed military unit had survived the battle and what his position in the unit had been.
Rhade's bluff worked. Ford broke. A dark stain appeared on the front of his pants. "You know how hard it is to make a living here," said Ford. "I needed money. Some members of the Association gave me the weapon and told me there would be money in it for me if I killed some Tans. They said that they would even make it easy for me by bringing them out to where I could have a shot at them. I didn't know that they would start shooting at the protesters and hurt your woman. I swear I didn't know."
There were some murmurs of surprise throughout the bar when Ford mentioned that the Association had hired him.
"Who were they?" demanded Collins before Rhade could ask the question.
"I don't know," said Ford, practically crying in fear. "They called themselves Bob and Jim. I've seen their faces before, but that's all."
"You should have stuck to thievery," said Rhade. "You're lucky to still be alive. If I'd been in their place, I would have killed you immediately after you shot those Tans to ensure you didn't do any talking." He looked at Collins and O'Keeffe. "Cut his hands loose and let him go."
"You're letting him go?!" exclaimed Juarez, who up to this point had been silent.
"I'm letting him go," said Rhade. He turned his attention to Ford, who was rubbing his wrists and looking like the condemned man who had just been given a pardon. "I'm letting you go, but I'm not giving you any protection. Your only chance to live is to leave town. You might survive the desert, but if you stay here you're a dead man."
The look on Ford's face changed from hope back to fear as he realized that Rhade had just placed a target on him. He bolted out the door. After a minute or so, a number of the bar's patrons got up from their tables and went out the door as well.