Raygun Heights

8

The other stops that Tangiers and Karl had made were routine. The weekly payout for protection was disliked, but accepted by most citizens of the Heights. It didn't matter if it was a bar in the south district, or a junker's shop in the north. A citizen of the Heights who owned a business expected someone to approach them and inform them of the terms of doing business. The first message was usually a friendly chat, no violence necessary. The messenger was often Human, though a few Tigrans and Saurians who had a friendly disposition were known to show up, especially if they were dealing with their own people. Once the message was given, it was up to the merchant to either become stubborn and holdout, or submit and offer a reasonable cut. Those who held fast found their windows broken, their customers harassed, and sometimes the owner assaulted.

The system was not perfect for the gangs. Karl knew a few store owners who had something to help them avoid the squeeze. They were related to a member of Civil Protection, or they were a veteran of the Encounter Wars. TImon had a soft spot for veterans when it was the latter, the former was a good neighbor policy that the Syndicate had with Civil Protection, sometimes known as CivProtect.

In between collections, Karl noticed Tangiers had lowered his back rest so that he was at an angle looking up at the ceiling rather than out of the view screen. Tangiers' arms were crossed over his chest, his right hand was closer to Karl. Blood remained caked on the knuckles, flecks of a darker shade of red that could blend in with the shade of orange that covered Tangiers. If it were human hands, with the weight of those punches that Tangiers delivered, he would have been sore after beating the target. The fur had added padding, Tangiers could have thrown a few more punches against meat and bone and felt little more than a sting. The tightness of the Tigran's lips, the cold gleam in his eye prompted Karl to speak: "What do you think happens now?"

"We should concentrate on finishing the day's collections," Tangiers said without breaking his focus on the ceiling. Karl had let the craft's navicom drive for a while. Most of the routes were programmed into the computer. With each stop, Karl could check his datapad on who owned what and how much they were being shaken for. After two more stops, the two broke for lunch. With some mild regret, Karl knew they would have to eat somewhere else until they could smooth things over. They had just gotten a reputation over at Jilly's.

Lunch consisted of sandwiches and cold drinks from a mobile eatery that would set up in various parts of the city. The owner was a Human, one of those veterans that Timon had a soft spot for and didn't press to tax. The ark liquid fizzed and crackled as it washed down a chunk of Karl's sandwich. Neither left the hovercraft, they had parked in a public lot. No luxuries or attendants, just a square that had been dredged, filled, and topped by cobble stone and painted guidelines. There was a low railing that bordered the lot which hardly kept out any scavengers who preyed on electronic parts. The lot as a whole was positioned down the block from the spaceport.

Karl was glad that the pair ate in silence. The savory mixture of imported imitation fowl and spiced mustard stung his tongue and burned going down his throat, the spices brought out tears in his eyes. He liked the heat. At that moment Karl liked anything that didn't involve dwelling on what had just happened. Violence was no stranger to the Scorpion Syndicate, but a brazen attack on fellow members would have to be addressed. Perhaps Timon could be brought to see that, in a way, Mohr and Lono brought it on themselves by making comments aloud about Tangiers and Narzli. Then there was the kid, Achim, that was riding with them. It took Karl a moment to recall Achim's name from the list of 'A' names that he knew. Karl gave the kid a certain amount of respect after Achim had tried to intervene and put a stop before it got carried away. Achim might have been slashed by Tangiers or shot by Karl if Kartok had not intervened.

"Don't you know someone who worked at the Starport?" Tangiers asked, breaking the silence. He had not raised his seat from its resting position, so when Karl looked, he had to look down at his companion who had a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. The meat was from a large leathery mammal that was native to the planet and raised as livestock. Karl realized it was probably healthier than the imitation fowl that was on his sandwich, but he liked the leaner taste.