*
They slept in shifts that night, and Flynn was rudely awakened by the side of a foot to his ribs.
In a flash of movement, Henri was on her back beneath him; one of his hands on her throat, the other pinning her gun to the uneven wood floor. She stared up at him, eyes bright with surprise, her mouth a thin line of irritation.
In one smooth move, Flynn stood, bringing her up with him, and let go. “Next time, just say my name. It’ll be quicker… and safer.”
His time in the Lazarai army made him a light sleeper, and a wakeup call like that was a good way to end up with a knife in the throat. “What is it?”
“We’ve got company,” Henri said.
Bruce stood looking out what was left of the window.
Keeping Henri behind him, as though his body could stop bullets, Flynn watched the tightly restrained jealousy wash over Bruce’s face.
Bruce didn’t say a word as Flynn stepped away from Henri to the empty window beside him; he didn’t have to.
Two men of similar height, wearing make shift uniforms-- all black with two bands of white around their left arms, approached. One held a white cloth, flicking it about as though he was plagued by a swarm of gnats.
“Why would they come to surrender?” Bruce asked, studying the men, “and in the middle of the night?”
“Chances are this isn’t what you think it is,” Flynn replied.
The men stopped in front of the jail, their backs to the crater left by Putty’s lobbed grenade and called out, “We’d like to negotiate.”
Flynn stepped outside, gun in hand, finger resting on the trigger.
They balked at the sight of him, looking at each other for a confused moment before conferring quietly. “But we’ll only talk with Patrick Monroe.”
As Putty stepped out beside him, Flynn couldn’t help but ask, “How does Refuti know you’re here?”
“Because I sent him a data burst asking to talk.”
“What? Putty are you crazy? Don’t let the locals know, they’ll hang you for a traitor!” Flynn’s quiet words only gained him an irritated eye roll from his brother. Turning back to the thugs, Flynn kept his gun trained on them. “He’s not going anywhere alone.”
The one with the white flag shrugged. “That’s fine… so long as he comes.”
Flynn didn’t like the way the thug was looking at his brother. Something was off. He needed to talk to Putty. How did he know how to get a hold of a guy like Refuti?
The look on his brother’s face told him he’d get nowhere by asking.
Putty’s eyes were fixed on the thug, his jaw set. He nodded, and reached out to push Flynn’s gun toward the dirt. “We’ll come.”
“He figured you’d be… amenable.”
Flynn had a feeling the man was repeating his boss’ words. Chewing on them to be precise. The thug didn’t look like he had a clue what the word “amenable” meant.
“I don’t like this, Flynn.” Bruce stood behind him, looking antsy.
Flynn stepped back inside and spoke quietly the barkeeper, ignoring Seamus, who leaned in to overhear them. “Listen, you have a minuscule population compared to the Refuti payroll. If they want to launch an all out assault, you’ll be run over or run out. You can’t beat them in a fair fight, so you shouldn’t even try. When we get to Refuti , I’ll be able to get more information – I’ll know the score on both sides of the line. It’ll be better than fighting them blind.”
“And what if they take you somewhere and shoot you?” Seamus asked, his little hand on his gut puncher, eyeing the thugs with a hard glare.
Flynn thought about the two men who’d been sent to parlay. “I’ve been against worse odds before,” he said, to no one in particular. “Sometimes its easier to survive as one against a hundred, than fifty against the same.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Chadrick said quietly from behind them.
“Me too.”
Flynn left them, and joined his brother on the porch. “We’ll go with you, but those two stay locked, up at least until we get back. They’ve got crimes to pay for. Unless you want to trade them places.”
“Whatever,” the talker of the two cut him off. “We’re here to collect Patrick Monroe. No one said a thing about having to deal with those two.” He nodded toward his comrades with disgust painted across his face in the curve of his upper lip.
Flynn thought the thug might spit, and shifted his weight, ready to move out of the way.
“He never said nothing about bringing others along, neither, so you’re fine to come too.”
“I’ll be coming too.” Chadrick said from behind them, and Flynn bit his tongue to keep from telling the doctor-in-training to stay put. He’d only get lippy. But Flynn did wonder if the appearance of a divided front would help. He decided to use it later if needed.
With an uncaring shrug, the lead thug turned and started back toward the landing field. Putty followed quickly – he seemed more than ready to get off this planet, anyway possible. Even if the alternative wasn’t any better.
Flynn watched the second thug warily as he and Chadrick fell into line behind Putty. If the man tried anything, Bruce or Henri would pepper him full of birdshot. The thought didn’t make Flynn any less apprehensive.
Curious eyes peeked through the calico curtains of the second floor in the scrap yard’s barn as the unlikely procession made its way down the main drag and into the landing field.
The waiting shuttle was a small transport rig. As they buckled into the passenger compartment seats, separated from the two men sent to retrieve them, Chadrick looked to Putty with a questioning glare.
“What makes Giuseppe Refuti think you’re ‘friendly’?”
Putty shot Flynn a look he’d used often when they were children. It was a “I will hurt you if you say one wrong word” look. Then, with an irritated sigh, he leaned his head back against the head rest. “I’m marrying his sister.”