My gut twisted like a spring tornado. The very last thing we needed now was a visit from the Broker. And he brought two mean-looking henchmen with him. I whipped out my com-viewer and typed a hurry-up message to Walt: Help! The Broker is here.
Within a few seconds, he responded: On my way.
Despite the situation, a grin came to me as I visualized the brave sheriff riding to the rescue in like some old western movie. My sheriff. We just had to hold off the Broker for a little while.
"What do we do?" Riya gasped, her eyes wide.
"Walt's on his way back," I answered. "You gals stay out of sight in the kitchen while I talk to him."
The Broker was a big bear of a man, intimidating enough without the viscous snarl on his dark bearded face. He stomped up the porch ramp, leading his two equally unpleasant thugs. Each one wore dark clothes, foul expressions, and packed pistols — all they needed were black cowboy hats to complete the classic western movie villain style.
Heart racing a million beats per minute, I pulled deep breaths, gathering courage to face this angry low-life, and waited. I only had to keep them occupied for a while until help arrived. Nonetheless, I jumped when the expected door pounding began.
"Open up!" the Broker shouted with a not-friendly voice, banging on the door again.
The houses built by the Mars planners were sturdy, but the doors were not. A big man like the Broker could easily kick it in. So, I thought it best to answer and engage him in sparkling conversation.
I cracked open the door and gazed at his twisted face. "Ah, Mr. Broker, how nice of you to visit on this fine sunshiny day--"
With a massive push, the Broker shoved the door open and sent me falling back on my arse. Apparently, he wasn't in the sparkling conversation mood.
Standing over me and pointing a fat finger, he growled, "You've cost me money, Mavis!"
I imagined so. The men who paid big money for a bride, only to have her leave, must be totally pissed off, and they probably wanted their money back.
Jumping up, I crossed my arms and put on a narrow-eyed, defiant expression. But having to look way up into his dark seething eyes, it lost any intimidation effect. "Now, that's just not a nice thing--"
I hacked as the Broker grabbed my skinny throat with a big paw, then turned and shoved me back into the wall by the window, lifting until I was on tiptoes. Why won't he let me finish my sentences? Totally rude. If I had any sense, I would have been scared, but he was just pissing me off.
Coming almost nose-to-nose, the Broker spat, literally, "Where are they?"
Cringing at the flying spittle, I wheezed, "Good God, say it, don't spray it!"
"Find them!" the Broker shouted to his henchmen.
From my prime viewing spot pinned to the wall, I watched them knuckle draggers march across the living room toward the kitchen with clenched fists, kicking a chair out of the way. Icy dread gave me the shivers — my friends were in there.
But my friends had done some scheming of their own.
As the henchmen reached the wide kitchen passageway, Elena appeared. Then she dropped her robe, becoming stark naked with a seductive, pouty expression. The men froze, no doubt gawking. Almost grinning, I knew what the gals were doing.
With warrior-like battle cries, Riya and Amalhi jumped out from hiding spots on both sides of the passageway.
Swinging a heavy skillet, Riya whacked one man upside the head with a loud clank. He stiffened for a second, then wilted to the floor.
Amahli demonstrated martial art skills, smacking the other man with a roundhouse kick better than any old kung fu movie. As he staggered, she jumped behind and put him in a choke hold, wrapping an arm around his throat and squeezing. He bucked for a few seconds, but Amahli held firm until he slumped down like dirty laundry.
"The hell..." the Broker mumbled, turning his head and barely believing what happened.
Reaching to his waist, he drew a projectile pistol from a holster like a gunslinger.
Nope. Not going to threaten my friends.
Every man has a common vulnerable spot, even the biggest, toughest ones. I hated to do this to any man because it hurts real bad and makes them madder than a dunked tomcat, but the Broker had it coming. When he spread his stance and swung the pistol around, I lifted my right knee real fast-like.
Sputtering and wheezing, the Broker let go of while bending over and grabbing his crotch. A mournful whine escaped his lips as he trembled. But I didn't feel sorry for him. I swatted the gun from his other hand, sending it scooting across the floor.
"Bitch..." he said in a weak, airy voice, still bent over.
Dashing toward the kitchen, I motioned to the other gals. "Time we got scarce. Let's go."
The Broker recovered faster than I thought. As I fled through the back door, being the last woman out, sharp pops rang out from his gun, putting two holes through the door.
"Stop!" he yelled out.
Not a moment after I slammed the door closed, it swung back open, shuddering against the doorstop.
The Broker seethed, shooting hate-fire from his dark eyes. "I said stop!" He fired two shots at my feet to make his point, blasting divots into the dirt.
"Keep goin'!" I shouted at the other gals as they rounded the house toward the front yard. Then I turned around with my hands held high, facing the miscreant.
Breathing hard, he limped off the porch, apparently still feeling the effects of the balls crunching, and aimed the gun right at little ol' me. "I've had enough of you," he hissed.
I gulped as my throat tighened. Walt, where were you? I could really use a heroic-type rescue about now.
Turned out, rescue came from an unexpected source. In a fury of feathers and squawks, Godzilla attacked. Fluttering up into the Broker's face, the rooster slapped with wings and slashed with spurs like a demon-possessed chicken. But he was my demon.
Crying out, the Broker covered his face and backed up against the feathery assault. Taking the opportunity, I snatched up a hoe that leaned against the chicken run fence and, with a mighty swing, whacked the Broker upside the head.
He fell back onto the porch on his big arse, dazed, dropping his gun. But then, an evil sneer crossed his face, and he growled. Grabbing the gun, he stood.
Never got to a full stand when a hollow twang report sounded. An electrical stun bolt struck the Broker square in the chest. His eyes rolled up, and he collapsed onto the porch.
Turning, I took in Sheriff Walt, holding out his stun pistol.
With a huge grin and a soaring heart, I ran into Walt's arms and nuzzled against his chest. "Glad you could make it to the party."
"Wouldn't miss it," he replied, wrapping an arm around me. "You okay?"
"I am now."
Smug in victory, Godzilla strutted into the chicken run with his hens. I made a mental note to fix some special treats for the golden rooster.
Riya came around, smiling as she leaned within Kiran's arm, followed by Elena and Amahli. Elena cinched up her robe so as not to cause any further distractions.
Our neighbor Enrique, wearing a dusty brown cowboy hat and grasping a hunting rifle, along with his oldest son, gave me a mock salute as he came from the house through the back door. "Two more inside," he said to Walt with a head tilt, "but down for the count."
In the distance, at least three more trucks raced up the road toward the house, kicking up dust clouds.
"Looks like you brought the whole cavalry, sheriff," I muttered.
"Just doin' my job, ma'am," he replied with an ah-shucks type of grin. Letting go, Walt put his buzzing com-viewer to his ear. "Jyn? Yeah, everybody's okay. But you need to move the boxes back out of the jail cells again."
Riya, Elena, Amahli, and I formed a girl hug circle. Then we let out a loud whoop-cheer and lifted our hands to the sky.
"Ya know? Like I said, you don't mess with the Martian brides."