Read Online Motherlode by James Axler - Free Book Online Page B

through him.
    “Oh, knock off the posturing and invite our guests in, Mystery,” a contralto voice said from the dimness beyond. A waft of jasmine and incense hit Ryan in the face.
    Mystery scowled rebelliously and jutted his jaw. But he stepped back from the doorway with a dancer’s grace. With a wordless flourish he invited Ryan inside.
    The one-eyed man crossed the threshold and took a quick step right. That was to get away as fast as possible from being silhouetted against the brilliant daylight outside—an ideal target. Also, it was to spoil the targeting solutions for any lower-energy attacks that might be heading his way, like a bat to the brainpan.
    He ended up bumping into a table with his upper thigh. It promptly tipped over.
    “Fireblast,” he said. He bent his knees and grabbed, catching it and righting it before it fell over.
    “You are a bit on the clumsy side,” the butter-smooth voice said, “but you have a panther’s grace and reflexes.”
    “Not so fast,” a man said, stepping forward. He was a bulldog; not tall, but wide in the shoulders, chest and gut. “No blasters or weapons of any kind allowed. I’m going to have to pat you down.”
    “Not with any hands you got an interest in keeping,” Ryan growled. He badly wanted to talk to the baron, and preferred to defer trouble as long as possible, if not avoid it altogether. But once you let somebody like that get away with something, they wouldn’t ever stop until they were grinding your face in the dirt. Ryan reckoned he had to shut this evident sec boss down and fast, whatever that took.
    “Oh, put it back in your pants, Trumbo,” the contralto said. “They can stack their longblasters inside the door. I have my standards. But I’m not so timid as to get the vapors from the sight of a few holstered weapons.”
    The man turned back. “It isn’t safe, Baron.”
    “What is that’s any fun?” the baron said. “Are you saying you don’t trust you and your men to stop them if they try anything?”
    Trumbo growled low in his thick throat and backed away. He had a round, jowly face and thick black eyebrows. It was a face made for scowling, and he made the most of it.
    “I’m Baron Sand, for the benefit of those crowding around the doorway outside. You might as well come in, dears. We’ll make room.”
    For a fact, though the hacienda’s front room was spacious beneath the heavy exposed roof beams known as vigas, it looked a bit crowded. As much by the swathes of fabric, mostly black and purple, hung along the walls as by a handful of what Ryan guessed were the baron’s favored lackeys—who were young and pretty, like Mystery, and seemed to be both male and female. The hangings made the place look as if it was the lair of a large and somewhat psychedelic spider.
    Ryan suspected that was more or less the case.
    Doffing his hat politely, J.B. nodded at the far wall. “Nice,” he said.
    Ryan followed his gaze. On a bare spot on the white-stuccoed adobe hung a large painting of Elvis on black velvet in an ostentatious gold-painted frame. Despite himself, Ryan grinned.
    “Now you know who I am,” the baron said, puffing on a cheroot. “The polite thing would be for you to introduce yourselves. I know who you are, of course, but I like to hear it just the same. I’m terribly old-fashioned that way.”
    Ryan frowned. “How do you know our names?”
    “Spies in the ville, of course. Certainly you already figured out I had them. After all, I knew precisely where to send my dear friend Madame Z’s delightful wall-climbing kiddies, as well as what to look for.
    “I won’t insult your intelligence, Mr. Ryan Cawdor, without due provocation. I ask you to return the favor. Especially since you are my guests, in my pirate stronghold.”
    “You’re really a pirate?’ asked Ricky, coming in last after everybody else had stepped inside and shifted to put their backs to the front wall. He sounded both eager and afraid.
    “As far as you