Read Online A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Resnick
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to Minx.
"You didn't seem to care about that before," commented Kinoshita.
"Bellamy wasn't here before."
"The others were."
"The others don't matter," said Nighthawk, making no attempt to hide his contempt for them.
Minx approached them, and Nighthawk ordered a bottle of Cygnian cognac. She returned a moment later with the bottle and two glasses.
"Thanks," said Nighthawk, handing her a roll of Maria Theresa dollars.
She counted it, smiled, and handed him two sticks of mexalite.
"I didn't ask for that," he said.
"I know—but you paid too much for the drinks."
She walked away before he could argue.
"She must be the owner," Nighthawk he remarked to Kinoshita as he put the mexalite in a pocket. "Or at least living with him. I can't imagine any other reason for her to make sure we didn't feel cheated."
Kinoshita examined the bottle. "This looks like the real stuff." He smiled. "I don't think I've ever had Cygnian cognac before."
"It's just for show. Take tiny sips, and not a lot of them. It's stronger than you think."
They nursed their drinks in silence for the better part of a half hour. The Hesporite took a brief break, then returned and began playing an evocative melody on the sax-like instrument again.
"He could spend the next few hours here," whispered Kinoshita.
"I doubt it."
"Why?"
"When you've got as many men after your head as Bellamy's got, you don't want to be predictable. He's probably got six to ten joints just like this where he makes his contacts and does his business. He'll be leaving soon."
"You're sure?"
Nighthawk didn't even bother to answer him.
Kinoshita dwelled on the comparison Nighthawk had made between the young athlete and the older one. Jeff was simply the best: he didn't plan, didn't analyze, didn't try to stack the odds in his favor. He saw his prey, he confronted it, and he killed it, seemingly without effort. Nighthawk, like the aging athlete, had lost half a step. Maybe he could still take anyone but Jeff, maybe he couldn't, but he saw no reason not to use everything he'd learned, every observation he'd made in his long career, to better the odds. Jeff and Newman had been created to be the Widowmaker, but Nighthawk had had to learn the job from the ground up, step by step, and he never stopped learning.
"There he goes," said Nighthawk as the bald man got up, threw some more money on the table, and walked to the door. "Don't follow me out unless his flunkies do."
Only you would think of skilled bodyguards as flunkies, reflected Kinoshita.
Nighthawk got to his feet, went to the airlift, and reached the street no more then twenty seconds behind Bellamy. He didn't follow the huge man until he'd scanned the area, spotted a man loitering half a block away and a Lexonian sitting in the middle of the street a block in the opposite direction, swaying drunkenly with a bottle in its hands.
Bellamy turned to his left and continued walking. Nighthawk's hand dropped to the butt of his projectile pistol, then moved to his burner. No sense making an identifying bang in enemy territory; the hum of a laser would attract a lot less attention. He drew the burner and aimed it, not at Bellamy, but at the Lexonian. The beam was straight and true, and the alien keeled over without a sound.
For a huge man Bellamy's reactions were incredibly fast. Without seeing the source of the laser beam he hurled himself between two buildings, firing his pulse gun in Nighthawk's general direction as he did so. Nighthawk knew that it would take Bellamy a couple of seconds to right himself and aim his weapon properly, and he used that time to spin and take out the loiterer, who was trying to draw his weapon when the beam burned a black smoking hole in his forehead.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Bellamy from the darkness.
Nighthawk didn't answer. There was no sense wasting words or letting the huge man home in on their sound. He knew he couldn't wait more than a few seconds for Bellamy to emerge, because there
"You didn't seem to care about that before," commented Kinoshita.
"Bellamy wasn't here before."
"The others were."
"The others don't matter," said Nighthawk, making no attempt to hide his contempt for them.
Minx approached them, and Nighthawk ordered a bottle of Cygnian cognac. She returned a moment later with the bottle and two glasses.
"Thanks," said Nighthawk, handing her a roll of Maria Theresa dollars.
She counted it, smiled, and handed him two sticks of mexalite.
"I didn't ask for that," he said.
"I know—but you paid too much for the drinks."
She walked away before he could argue.
"She must be the owner," Nighthawk he remarked to Kinoshita as he put the mexalite in a pocket. "Or at least living with him. I can't imagine any other reason for her to make sure we didn't feel cheated."
Kinoshita examined the bottle. "This looks like the real stuff." He smiled. "I don't think I've ever had Cygnian cognac before."
"It's just for show. Take tiny sips, and not a lot of them. It's stronger than you think."
They nursed their drinks in silence for the better part of a half hour. The Hesporite took a brief break, then returned and began playing an evocative melody on the sax-like instrument again.
"He could spend the next few hours here," whispered Kinoshita.
"I doubt it."
"Why?"
"When you've got as many men after your head as Bellamy's got, you don't want to be predictable. He's probably got six to ten joints just like this where he makes his contacts and does his business. He'll be leaving soon."
"You're sure?"
Nighthawk didn't even bother to answer him.
Kinoshita dwelled on the comparison Nighthawk had made between the young athlete and the older one. Jeff was simply the best: he didn't plan, didn't analyze, didn't try to stack the odds in his favor. He saw his prey, he confronted it, and he killed it, seemingly without effort. Nighthawk, like the aging athlete, had lost half a step. Maybe he could still take anyone but Jeff, maybe he couldn't, but he saw no reason not to use everything he'd learned, every observation he'd made in his long career, to better the odds. Jeff and Newman had been created to be the Widowmaker, but Nighthawk had had to learn the job from the ground up, step by step, and he never stopped learning.
"There he goes," said Nighthawk as the bald man got up, threw some more money on the table, and walked to the door. "Don't follow me out unless his flunkies do."
Only you would think of skilled bodyguards as flunkies, reflected Kinoshita.
Nighthawk got to his feet, went to the airlift, and reached the street no more then twenty seconds behind Bellamy. He didn't follow the huge man until he'd scanned the area, spotted a man loitering half a block away and a Lexonian sitting in the middle of the street a block in the opposite direction, swaying drunkenly with a bottle in its hands.
Bellamy turned to his left and continued walking. Nighthawk's hand dropped to the butt of his projectile pistol, then moved to his burner. No sense making an identifying bang in enemy territory; the hum of a laser would attract a lot less attention. He drew the burner and aimed it, not at Bellamy, but at the Lexonian. The beam was straight and true, and the alien keeled over without a sound.
For a huge man Bellamy's reactions were incredibly fast. Without seeing the source of the laser beam he hurled himself between two buildings, firing his pulse gun in Nighthawk's general direction as he did so. Nighthawk knew that it would take Bellamy a couple of seconds to right himself and aim his weapon properly, and he used that time to spin and take out the loiterer, who was trying to draw his weapon when the beam burned a black smoking hole in his forehead.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Bellamy from the darkness.
Nighthawk didn't answer. There was no sense wasting words or letting the huge man home in on their sound. He knew he couldn't wait more than a few seconds for Bellamy to emerge, because there
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