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eimarraBodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week on Tuesdays. If you missed last week’s episode, Making a Drop, it can be found here. You can catch up on the entire serial on this page with a description of the story and links to all published episodes.
Today’s episode marks one year of weekly posting for this serial. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover with Sabra and crew. Thanks for coming on the journey with me!
Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 52
Unexpected Rescue
Gareth stumbled through the doorway of the dusty warehouse and stared at the man who had yanked him inside. “What’s the deal?”
The man smiled and spread his hands. “You looked like you could use a second chance. I thought that perhaps away from the police and your former associates, you might give up such violence.”
“No, really.” Gareth tested the door; a bolt had shot home when it closed. He wasn’t leaving until this nut let him loose. “What’s the game?”
“Perhaps I want leverage in my bid to lead my group, and I think you can provide it.”
Gareth stared at the guy’s streaked white robe. “Armed combat for religious leaders went out a long time ago.”
“Fight? Heavens, no.” The man stroked his beard. “You can lead me to the drugs that your friends took. Reikatine is very important for our rites. If I supply it and Albion cannot, I will replace him.”
Gareth strolled along the plied crates. They were marked in some archaic language, faded and covered with dirt. “What’s in these?”
The nut-job ignored his change of subject. “You will help me, won’t you?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I would think your freedom to be sufficient,” he said. “The police do not have you, though I could turn you over to them. Is it not enough to have clear sky above, water to drink, food to eat?”
Gareth tilted his head toward the ceiling. “Don’t know. Haven’t tried it lately.” He kicked the closest crate. “So what’s this?”
“That is not important now!” A peeved note scraped across the man’s voice. That was better. If Gareth could irritate someone, he had them where he wanted. Sabra never did understand that was why he did half the things he did — probably more than half when it came to her.
“Must be important, or you wouldn’t bother keeping it around.”
Gareth prowled some more, looking for a crowbar, a loose board, anything to jimmy open a crate with. Sabra still had his knife, unless the cops had taken it from her, so that was out. What a day to decide one weapon was enough. He should know by now not to underestimate his sister.
He found a box with boards that appeared worn. His fingers didn’t fit into the cracks between the boards, but he could fix that. He jammed his boot onto the weakened spot, kicking it three times before it splintered.
“Please!” The man rushed up to him, making shushing motions. “I cannot keep you safe if you draw attention to yourself in here.”
Gareth pulled off a length of board — too short for a club, but it had a decent point on it. It would do for a weapon. “Suppose I keep myself safe, then.”
The man grimaced. “Look, we need each other.”
Gareth shoved the point of the board under the man’s jaw. “Yeah? Why do I need you, again?”
“Because you can’t get out of here without me, and no one else knows you’re here.”
“Good luck selling that to someone else.” Gareth shoved him backward into another crate. “I don’t need no one.”
“Anyone.”
Gareth jumped at him, point extended. His knife would be less crude; it could slice right through this guy’s throat. Just like it had through others’ back at the farm. “And ain’t no one corrects my language, see? I like the way I talk.”
“Just so.” The man put out a finger and pushed the point downward. “Very well. You don’t need me. I’ll leave you to think about that for a while.”
He lunged forward and grabbed Gareth’s hand. Tugging Gareth forward, he swung his other hand in an arc. Gareth stared at the needle descending toward his arm. He couldn’t get out of the way in time. Damn, but he needed a new liver.
Gareth had expected the needle to give him knock-out drops or something of the sort, but it was worse than that. His muscles locked.
“Not condoned by our religion, I’m afraid, but one does what one must.” The man stepped back slowly, balancing Gareth with the tips of his fingers to prevent him from falling. Satisfied, he nodded. “A higher dose would shut down your heart and lungs. Don’t make me use it on you.”
The door opened for him, letting in sunlight and noises unmuffled by plastic walls. The man paused in the doorway to wave. Then it closed, leaving Gareth alone.
His heart was slowing. Not dangerously so, but almost certainly more than this nut case had expected. He hadn’t known about Gareth’s condition, then. Gareth concentrated on feeling his breath moving in and out, counting his heartbeats. If he let his thoughts go, he’d think about cutting the man’s throat, which would lead to other throats that he had cut, which would leave him alone and thinking of Sheil. Better to concentrate, to wait for his heart rate to go back up before he tried to move his muscles.
It took less time than he expected, although his movements were stiff, and pins and needles greeted his first steps. He stumbled and lurched against the crate he’d kicked earlier. He shook out each leg in turn, leaning against the crate to stay somewhat upright. When the feeling rushed back with a glow of warmth and achiness from holding one position, he turned his attention back to the crate. The guy didn’t want him in them; that was reason enough to check them out.
He chuckled as he pulled off boards. Sabra had wanted to kill him for Mick’s death. She might learn yet, and if she did, she’d end his pain.
~~
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Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.
