Chas: I thought you came here.
Doobie Littlething grins.
Doobie: Just for target practice.
Chas had filled her in on the background to the case, and she was looking forward, with what he thought was an almost unhealthy relish, to the idea of a confrontation with Telling.
Doobie: We’ll overfly the island. You take the west side. I’ll go east. Keep an eye on your radar. If Telling appears on it, IM me.
The giant ketchup bottle stood at the northern tip of Sandbox Island, and they took off, left and right to head south and scan for the griefer. It was less than a minute before Chas saw Nevar Telling’s name appear on his radar, just seventy metres distant.
Chas: Got him, Doobie.
Doobie: TP me.
In an instant she was hovering beside him, swivelling through 360 degrees.
Doobie: Down there. Next to that bombed-out building.
And she was gone again, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. Chas went after her, but couldn’t keep up. As he approached the building and dropped to the ground, he saw Doobie, gun drawn, facing up to a Neanderthal-looking man in jeans and a torn tee-shirt with two bloody bullet holes. The tag above his head betrayed him as Nevar Telling. He was barefoot, unshaven, and bald, a cigarette smoking in the corner of his mouth. His left arm was tattooed all the way up, and one of his eyes was pure red.
But just as Chas touched down, Telling took off. Straight up, like an arrow, spinning as he went. And Doobie went after him, a first shot ringing out, leaving a smoke trail soaring into the blue. Chas craned to try to follow them, but they were gone, and he could only assume that they were using some kind of accelerated flight HUD. There was no way he could ever have kept up with them. He looked around.
The building next to him was a ruin, walls pitted and pockmarked by gunfire. Wisps of white smoke rose from within, and a pile of rubber tires burned outside what had once been the entrance, belching thick black smoke into the air. Abandoned vehicles were scattered around, like the decaying remains of animal carcasses.
Chas was startled, suddenly, to notice an orange and green dragon perched on top of a smouldering gallows. The creature was looking at him, eyes blinking imperiously. The name tag revealed him to be Devil Davis.
Chas: Hello.
Deviclass="underline" Hello.
Chas: Are you a friend of Nevar Telling?
Deviclass="underline" Not telling. Never will. Why do you want to know, Mr. Private Detective?
Chas: Just wondered, since the two of you were down here together.
Deviclass="underline" Doesn’t mean anything.
Chas: No. Just wanted a chat with him, that’s all.
Nevar: What about?
Chas wheeled around to find himself facing the Neanderthal Telling. His right arm was extended, a large, ugly-looking weapon two inches from Chas’ face. His lips drew back to reveal a mouthful of broken and decayed teeth, in what was more a grimace than a smile. Chas glanced quickly around, but there was no sign of Doobie.
Nevar: Doesn’t matter anyway. Gonna blow your fucking head off.
Chas braced himself for the shot. There was nothing else he could do. But in the blink of an eye, Telling was suddenly encased in one of Doobie’s cages, closely meshed black metal holding him so tightly that movement was impossible.
Nevar: WTF!
Doobie dropped out of the sky beside them, grinning, her gun held up by her head.
Nevar: Fucking bitch. I’ll de-rez this in sixty seconds, and you’ll never catch me.
Doobie: Never say never, Nevar.
She turned to Chas.
Doobie: I’ll let you have the pleasure of blowing the brainless head off this bloated bastard, Chas. But you only have about forty seconds left to ask your questions.
Nevar: Questions?! What fucking questions!?
Chas: About my clients Jamir Jones and Roger Showmun. You might remember threatening them from the wing of their jet plane the other day.
Nevar: Oh, them? What about it?
Doobie: You’re running out of time, Chas.
Chas: Okay.
He clicked on the red gun HUD on his screen and drew his weapon.
Nevar: Jesus Christ, you’re not seriously going to shoot me with that?
Chas: Well, maybe I won’t. But I’m going to need your word that you’ll leave Roger and Jamir alone in the future.
Nevar: Hey, anything, man. It was just words, you know? Nothing serious. I mean you shoot me with that, I’m a dead AV.
Doobie: What makes you think that?
Nevar: He’s Chesnokov, right? Chas Chesnokov. That’s what his tag says, unless he’s some kind of replicant.
Chas: No, you’re looking at the genuine article.
Nevar: Well, that’s the Super Gun you got, right? Scripted to kill. Hack the computer and wipe me out.
Chas: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to speak to you about the geckos.
Doobie: Hang on. What do you know about this Super Gun, Nevar?
Nevar Telling was scathing.
Nevar: Everyone knows about the Super Gun. It’s a fucking legend, isn’t it? Can kill an AV, kill an account. Ever since Wicked disappeared off-world about three months ago, there have been rumours about who had the weapon.
Doobie: Wicked?
Nevar: Wicked Wilson. Fucking genius. It was Wicked that wrote the script. Stuff of dreams, man. Or nightmares. But he’s gone. History. No one knows what happened to him. Shot himself, maybe. LOLOLOL.
Chas: What makes you think I know anything about it?
Nevar: Common knowledge, pretty boy. You wuz talking to Gunslinger about it just yesterday. Word is, you know where the gun is. And for all I know, that’s it clutched in your sticky little paw. So I ain’t taking no chances.
The cage de-rezzed.
Chas: Don’t move.
Nevar: Hey, man. You got it. I ain’t going nowhere while you’re pointing that thing at me.
Chas: I need your word that you’re going to steer clear of Jamir and Roger in future.
Nevar: Man, if those geckos want to fly around my airspace, you tell them they can go right ahead. They got my full blessing.
Chas: Okay.
He waggled his gun.
Chas: Go.
Telling didn’t need a second invitation. He took off like a bullet and spun off into the blue, vanishing completely within a matter of seconds.
Deviclass="underline" Nice gun, Chas.
Chas turned toward the dragon.
Deviclass="underline" Gunslinger’s 1911A1 Custom, am I right?
Chas: Yes. You are.
Deviclass="underline" Thought so. That asshole wouldn’t know a Super Gun from a lollipop. LOL. Well, thanks for the entertainment. See you, guys.