Up Against It - M. J. Locke [81]
“… about your kiddies in there? Relax. They’re rocketbikers. Right? Biking accidents happen all the time. Get them to sign the papers over to you tonight; you can download a form from one of the banks’ wavesites. When we go out tomorrow morning, they can come, too. We’ll take care of them there.
“As for the geologist, if the claim is like the rest of the piddly-ass sugar rocks we’ve been finding, well, you’ll have the papers, so it’s all legit and he won’t care. And if the find is big enough to make it worth the trouble, we’ll get rid of the geologist, too. Problem solved.”
Geoff turned to the others. “We’ve got to get out of here now—they plan to kill us!”
Ian looked sick. “What? That wasn’t the deal!”
Amaya slugged Ian in the arm. “Shut up. Geoff, what’s the plan?”
“We’re in luck. There are only three of them to deal with. Let’s look around. Quietly! What have we got? A phone or pager? Anything we can defend ourselves with?”
All they found was shoes and clothing, assorted electronic kibble, and the cord that had been used to tie them. They each took a length of cord and wrapped the ends around their hands.
“OK, look. Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk are in the front room and there is someone else in the kitchen. Ian, you take Blue Tattoo—you’re almost as big as he is. I’ll take White Mohawk. They’re both sitting on the couch. Amaya, there’s a gun on the coffee table. Go straight for it, and aim it at whoever seems to be the best one, depending on what’s happening. Got it?”
They both nodded, faces ashen, eyes wide.
“Let’s go.”
Geoff peeked out again. Mills was no longer on the display. He gripped the handle and took several deep breaths. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Don’t think. Just do.
He threw the door open and rushed into the room.
The two men on the couch looked up, shocked. Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk were both drunk, and their coordination was bad. They tried to come to their feet. That was all Geoff saw—by then he had launched himself over the couch and rammed White Mohawk, knocking him against the coffee table. The gun went flying. He tried to get the cord over White Mohawk’s head, but Blue Tattoo lurched up and tripped over him and White Mohawk, and Geoff lost his grip on the cord.
Amaya dodged past them, trying to get around the melee to get to the gun, as Geoff and White Mohawk grappled. A tattooed woman in the kitchen leaned against the counter, arms folded, just watching, looking disgusted.
White Mohawk forced Geoff to the floor and pinned him. His fingers closed around Geoff’s throat. With a desperate lurch, Geoff threw White Mohawk off, and rising, clubbed him with both fists. White Mohawk stumbled back and hit the wall.
A weapon’s report blasted their ears. Everyone flinched.
“Freeze!” Amaya said. She sounded like she meant it. Everyone stopped fighting and looked at her. She had her back to the wall by the door, and was covering all of them with her gun. Blue Tattoo had Ian in a choke hold; Ian’s face was a dark shade of red.
“Let him go,” Amaya ordered. Blue Tattoo released Ian and stepped back. White Mohawk stood up. Ian went to one knee, gasping for breath.
“Why don’t you give me the weapon,” Blue Tattoo said. “Before somebody gets hurt.”
Amaya bared her teeth in a smile and aimed the barrel at his testicles. “I’ll give you part of it.”
The woman in the kitchenette looked annoyed. “Somebody better pay for that,” she said, pointing at the hole Amaya had made in the ceiling.
“You don’t want holes in your ceiling, you shouldn’t kidnap people,” Geoff said.
“Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied. Amaya keyed the front door open and Geoff helped Ian, who was a bit the worse for wear, out the door. Amaya backed out last. When the door slid closed, they ran.
Within seconds, Geoff heard footsteps behind them. They dashed among the