Read Online Fool's Gold: Carson Lyle's War - Part One by Thomas J. Rock - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas J. Rock
Tags: Military science fiction
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the booth to wipe the table right in front of him. "Two bloaks dropped you off 'ere and paid me a quad to let you stay for an hour. Your hour's up. Move it!"
Lyle looked around, dug around in his pockets. His credential pouch, cash, and even his chop on the chain around his neck were accounted for. He would need time to figure out what to do.
The woman bunched up the rags she was using for cleanup and turned to head back to the bar. He grabbed her by the arm. "Wait—"
In a single, swift motion she turned back and Carson Lyle found the rusty point of a very large knife just centimeters from his face.
"Easy, love. That'll cost you extra and you pay up front," she said through a discolored teeth.
Lyle slowly released her arm and held his hands out. "Sorry," he said calmly. "I was just going to ask you to bring me a drink."
Two other large, unsavory types walked up behind her. "Everthin' okay, Myrtle?" One of them said.
The woman's glare hung on him for an extra second or two. "Can ya pay fer it?"
"Yeah."
She tossed the knife in the air, in front of Lyle's face. The other large man grabbed it by the blade in the air.
"Great!" She said with a smile that exposed the rest of her needed dental work. "Then I like ya, already. What'll ya have?"
Lyle shook his head. "Just something strong enough to help me forget this day." He produced a ten credit bill, from his pouch, and slid it over to her.
Her face lit up at the sight of the money. "Alright, love. Be right back."
She turned and pushed past the two mean that had come to her aid. They watched her pass, then turned back to Lyle, for a moment. Said nothing and moved on.
Lyle buried his head in his hands trying to come to grips with his situation. It was then he recalled the beating he took from the agent. It occurred to him, he should be able to speak to any understandable degree, but his jaw, his teeth, even the swollen eye he knew he had were…healed. There was a little soreness in his neck and gut, and…
He reached down and gripped his right thigh, it ached from the pressure. He exhaled a sigh of relief. At least they didn't fix that.
Myrtle returned to the table and set an aluminum tumbler in front of him. "That's the House Special. We brew it on site."
Lyle peered over the rim of the tumbler. It was filled with a cloudy, brownish liquid over synth-ice. He thought about passing on it and asking for his money back.
He looked up and saw Myrtle still lingering there, to make sure he'd noticed her ample upper assets. Then he saw his ten-spot, folded and sticking up just out of the edge of her cleavage.
"Thanks. This'll do," he said.
Myrtle smiled. "You holler if you need anythin' else, love."
"Actually," he said, cautious about turning on too much charm. "The guys that left me here. Do you know who they were?"
Myrtle playfully twirled a curl in her ragged hair. "Nah. They were sharply dressed, though. Didn't belong 'ere."
"Did they say anything?"
"No…wait…they paid me and said someone would probably be by to get you by the time you woke up."
"Hey Myrtle! Need a refill!" Someone yelled from the bar.
Myrtle scowled, yelled something in the local tongue that got raucous laughter from the other patrons. "I'll be back," she said.
Lyle took a small pull from the tumbler...a very small pull. The burn as it went down his throat wasn't the kind that put hair on a man's chest, rather it was felt like the burn in hole in your chest type. Maybe it was supposed to represent scotch? He was sure the person who aged it in a barrel, in a sewer, must have thought so. He would have welcomed one of the synthehol knock-offs with open arms. He set the drink aside and tried to take stock in his situation.
Ship impounded, missed delivery, and all I have is the cash in my pocket and the clothes on my back. He left his data pad on the ship so he couldn't see if he had any contacts on El Dorado that may be able to help him out. And why the hell was he even out on the street?
Lyle looked around, dug around in his pockets. His credential pouch, cash, and even his chop on the chain around his neck were accounted for. He would need time to figure out what to do.
The woman bunched up the rags she was using for cleanup and turned to head back to the bar. He grabbed her by the arm. "Wait—"
In a single, swift motion she turned back and Carson Lyle found the rusty point of a very large knife just centimeters from his face.
"Easy, love. That'll cost you extra and you pay up front," she said through a discolored teeth.
Lyle slowly released her arm and held his hands out. "Sorry," he said calmly. "I was just going to ask you to bring me a drink."
Two other large, unsavory types walked up behind her. "Everthin' okay, Myrtle?" One of them said.
The woman's glare hung on him for an extra second or two. "Can ya pay fer it?"
"Yeah."
She tossed the knife in the air, in front of Lyle's face. The other large man grabbed it by the blade in the air.
"Great!" She said with a smile that exposed the rest of her needed dental work. "Then I like ya, already. What'll ya have?"
Lyle shook his head. "Just something strong enough to help me forget this day." He produced a ten credit bill, from his pouch, and slid it over to her.
Her face lit up at the sight of the money. "Alright, love. Be right back."
She turned and pushed past the two mean that had come to her aid. They watched her pass, then turned back to Lyle, for a moment. Said nothing and moved on.
Lyle buried his head in his hands trying to come to grips with his situation. It was then he recalled the beating he took from the agent. It occurred to him, he should be able to speak to any understandable degree, but his jaw, his teeth, even the swollen eye he knew he had were…healed. There was a little soreness in his neck and gut, and…
He reached down and gripped his right thigh, it ached from the pressure. He exhaled a sigh of relief. At least they didn't fix that.
Myrtle returned to the table and set an aluminum tumbler in front of him. "That's the House Special. We brew it on site."
Lyle peered over the rim of the tumbler. It was filled with a cloudy, brownish liquid over synth-ice. He thought about passing on it and asking for his money back.
He looked up and saw Myrtle still lingering there, to make sure he'd noticed her ample upper assets. Then he saw his ten-spot, folded and sticking up just out of the edge of her cleavage.
"Thanks. This'll do," he said.
Myrtle smiled. "You holler if you need anythin' else, love."
"Actually," he said, cautious about turning on too much charm. "The guys that left me here. Do you know who they were?"
Myrtle playfully twirled a curl in her ragged hair. "Nah. They were sharply dressed, though. Didn't belong 'ere."
"Did they say anything?"
"No…wait…they paid me and said someone would probably be by to get you by the time you woke up."
"Hey Myrtle! Need a refill!" Someone yelled from the bar.
Myrtle scowled, yelled something in the local tongue that got raucous laughter from the other patrons. "I'll be back," she said.
Lyle took a small pull from the tumbler...a very small pull. The burn as it went down his throat wasn't the kind that put hair on a man's chest, rather it was felt like the burn in hole in your chest type. Maybe it was supposed to represent scotch? He was sure the person who aged it in a barrel, in a sewer, must have thought so. He would have welcomed one of the synthehol knock-offs with open arms. He set the drink aside and tried to take stock in his situation.
Ship impounded, missed delivery, and all I have is the cash in my pocket and the clothes on my back. He left his data pad on the ship so he couldn't see if he had any contacts on El Dorado that may be able to help him out. And why the hell was he even out on the street?
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