Bounty Hunter

Chapter 8

Joe snatched the teddy bear from the dog. "Hey, that's not yours."

He grimaced when he noticed how soggy the doll had become. He plopped it on the dashboard and drove while the dog moved her eyes from the bear to Joe and back again.

"We've talked about this. It's not yours. That's for Little Nick."

The dog continued to watch him.

Joe scowled. "Fine. How about I get you your own toy?"

She seemed satisfied with that answer as she settled down onto the seat.

Joe's next stop in Cavil was to a corner bar a half-mile from the work camp. It was off the main road, which meant several turns to avoid dead ends. He parked at the bar with its name painted on its light stone exterior: Harry Haft's.

The dog chose to stay in the cutter once again.

Joe grabbed the doll and slid it under a blanket in the back cabin. "Don't touch the bear."

She cocked her head as she watched Joe close the door.

He headed inside the building. The usual drunks were bellied up at the bar, and all the poker tables were empty except for one. There, Arthur Law looked to be winning against two men Joe didn't recognize, based on the sour expressions on their faces and the smiling working girl sitting on Arthur's lap. People who frequented the bar liked Arthur Law, not because he was a gambler, but because he won often. It didn't matter the game: bets, loans, blackmail...rumor was, Arthur was the richest man in Cavil.

Arthur glanced up, noticed Joe, and tilted his head with a smile. "Havoc. Good to see you back in town. I saw Reuben earlier. I should warn you, he seems a bit itchier than usual."

"Thanks for the heads up, Artie." Joe continued through the bar and to a door with Haft Agency painted on it. Below it read Reuben Tally, Owner. A large fist was painted below the sign, the same image displayed on the left bicep of Joe's exoshield.

He lifted his left forearm, which had a small tablet computer fastened to the armor, and scanned the armlet over the screen on the wall next to the door. With an accepting beep, it slid open. He stepped inside to another bar, this one reminiscent of a speakeasy, where bounty hunters sat around, sharing drinks. It was the only place you could find hunters in armor sans helmet. A person couldn't eat or drink wearing a mask, and most hunters, Joe included, would never remove their helmets in public while in their exoshields. Too easy for an enemy to sneak up and shoot them in the head.

Even in the general safety, only hunters having food or drink removed their helmets. The others in the bar, including Joe, kept their helmets on.

He glanced over the faces of his counterparts. Even though they shared a drink together every now and then, there were none he called friend—hunters were too cutthroat and competitive for that. Everyone sitting in that bar worked for the Haft Agency, a guild that operated in the Midlands. There weren't enough tickets to go around, which meant that the hunters scrambled for every one that came available. Here, reputation was everything, and Joe had spent eight years building his reputation...and a list of enemies.

After three brutal wars over the course of a single decade, most people had lost the taste for blood and migrated across the land zones to begin new lives. Some, unable to settle into peaceful careers after spending too much of their lives at war, became bounty hunters. In that respect, Joe knew he was no different than the others at Haft's. He may have belonged in that room as much as they did, but it didn't mean he had to get along with them.

He gave Flash a tilt of his head. She was their rookie and the least jaded, probably the only hunter who hadn't been involved in any war. Her outlook wouldn't last long, but while it did, he found it refreshing. He also found humor in seeing her exoshield with no scratches, buffed to a shine capable of blinding someone in the sun. She must spend hours every day on her armor, a habit he knew from experience would give way in short time.