The Legends of Twisted Felix Katt (Book 3)

(12) The Yellow Prick Road

Some of the world’s greatest feats were accomplished by people not smart enough to know they were impossible – Doug Larson

“Well aren’t you an unexpected sight to these old eyes?” Mercenary Captain ‘Ragdoll’ Zache drawled at me and it felt like no time at all had passed since I’d last seen this woman.

“I’m not pissing in the breeze today Ragdoll. I really do have a job proposition for you. And you might as well stop wasting your time trying to triangulate my ass. I don’t carry a big ol’ X to mark the spot.” I drawl right on back at her.

The grin Zache shoots me is creepy in its perfect duplication of my own cat got the canary smugness. Mainly because she is in fact purposefully mimicking me to try and put me on edge. “Good to know you got smarter as you lived past your expiration date.”

I sit back in my own flight chair and let my smirk be plain across my face. “I’m Captain Felix Katt. Ragdoll, I don’t have an expiration date, cat’s always land on their feet. And this Katt has more than the standard nine lives. You of all people should know that.”

“Ah yes, Captain of your own ship finally. Mama must be proud. Don’t I get to meet your crew?” Zache’s eyes had already scanned what little she could see of my ship.

“No.” I don’t elaborate. Ragdoll is a Merc, all of her redeeming virtues don’t cancel out the fact that she hunts people for money. I do a lot of things that make me unsavoury for polite company, but I don’t deal in flesh. Ironic, considering that I’m the one out of the pair that actually owns a blood slave.

“Oh Felix,” her tone turns into a conspiratorial whisper. Goddess I’ve forgotten how melodramatic Ragdoll can be. “Don’t tell me that you’re ashamed of me? My heart is broken.”

“Did you want to hear the job or are you going to continue thinking you’re funny and charming?” I barb, trying to needle her into actually paying attention. Oh sweet starts I sound like Van!

The humour leaves Captain Zache’s face and I am suddenly confronted with what I want, her business mode. It used to terrify me, and when it stopped making me quake in my boots I’d spent far too much time being impressed by it. By this point in my life though, I’ve dealt with scarier people than one morally corrupt Merc Captain. “Considering how much money you’re worth right now, what you bring me either has to be worth a stellar fortune or be far more exciting than catching you and turning you in.” Zache calmly barters. At least she isn’t trying to play dumb about my bounty. Any Merc worth their salt would have that info almost before the Authorities posted it. Being first to capture is worth a saliva inducing amount of money. I just stay silent, having an accurate estimate for what my head is probably worth. Not a whole hell of a lot I can do to afford a free pass from a Merc, or to employ her as a guard ship, but did I ever have a job to entice her to at least consider my offer. I just need her curiosity to get the better of her. “Oh, you always did come across the very best finds.” Ragdoll all but purred at me and I know I have her growing attention. It really does astonish me that I spent years of my life idolizing this woman, maybe even building my own fantastic self on the bones of Captain worthy habits she’d taught me, and yet now I look at her and feel a little bitter flare of nostalgia. She can’t save me from the predicament I’ve gotten into, nor will she help me freely and out of the goodness of her heart. Doing a job for free is anathema to a Merc. Hell, I could pay her a Sultan’s fortune and she’d still likely sell me out if given the chance. Thankfully, even I am not dumb enough to actually trust her, despite our history.

“A flawless asteroid diamond; legit and cleared for customs. For all of that, I simply need you to do a little leg work for me while I’m persona non grata in the public market.” I lobby out my first offer. It’s a decent pay day and we both know she’ll pass on it like it was a fly covered pig carcass. The deal will have to benefit her more than me, or at least seem to; that is the Merc way.