"Used to be that nobody could sneak up on you, Mickey, even when you were drunk and passed out."
"And you're still a complete asshole, Simon."
A moment later I heard his gun power down, a sound that sounded something the static that came out of my vintage television when the VCR tape ran out.
I felt the barrel leave my temple, and I lifted my head off of my desk. The figure shuffled over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down. I clicked the desk lamp on, and looked over into the face of Simon Magnus. I hadn't seen his mug since he begrudgingly signed four hundred thousand credits over to my ownership. He still had those chiseled cheekbones, the faded blue eyes, and the thick black hair. He'd been elected Senator of New Boston twelve years running, eleven times on his looks and winning smile alone. The one exception was the year he had competition from a well-funded spider (they’d started off as business partners, then became political rivals) from Triton vaporized by yours truly. That was six years ago, but I already told you how that story ended.
So yeah, I also dabble in politics.
"Simon, couldn't you just have fucking knocked like everyone else?"
He snorted in defiance. "An individual of my stature doesn't usually get to point guns at people, Mickey," he folded his leg over the other, and flashed that winning smile that got him voters and got him laid. "Besides, that bottle of synthbourbon is three-quarters empty. Still the only alcoholic on the outer planets, eh Mickey?"
"Yeah, Simon. And you're still a massive prick." I leaned over, poured a double into the clear plastic cup, and downed it in a gulp. Synthbourbon was little more than whiskey-flavored formaldehyde, but it did the trick.
"Don't know how you killed Jatt Attarian, drinking like you do."
Above the file cabinet towards the right corner of the room, there was a bullet hole in the fogged glass. It was the diameter the size of my middle finger. I waited a moment for my eyeopener to steady my hand. I snatched the .38 snub-nose from the desk and fired one right through that hole. The bullet struck the drywall on the other side of the corridor outside my office. The glass remained the sam, untouched by the shot I had just fired.
"I shot off all eight of his legs, re-loaded, and put one in his fuckin' head, Simon. And then I vaporized him. Like you asked. Seemed like overkill to me."
Simon frowned. He looked behind him, and then got up out of the chair. He opened the door to the corridor, and glanced over at the fresh hole out there.
He closed the door and sat back down. He flashed that smile again. Yeah, he'd paid me handsomely for the Jatt job, but it still didn't stop me from wanting to shoot those pearlies out through the back of his head. Maybe it was the hangover I had. Who the fuck knows.
"So what's the job, Simon. It's gotta be something shady, else you wouldn't showing up here at 3 am. A person of your stature could never be caught dead in this part of town at this time of night. Who do you want dead now?"
Simon held his right hand out in front of him, checking his manicure. Nope, no dirt there. He was good at keeping himself clean as a whistle.
"I don't want you to kill anyone, Mickey."
I raised an eyebrow. I folded my hands, and put my feet up on my desk. "Then what is it, then?"
"I need you to keep someone alive."
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