Marco Domici: Town visit

"That's what they say, junior." Harriet replied. She knew the type. A bony finger pushed back an errant strand of thin grey. "Max, huh? I knew a Max or two before. Little bit older, I rekon. And that was a long time ago."

"I still don't think he's all that." Max said. His shoulders were hunched against the cold.

They were in the back of the pickup; Max, Harriet, Monika, and Jonathan on the two and a half. It was cold but Monika had rigged some tarp to protect them from the wind. The back window was opened to the covered area so they got a little heat.

Unlike the others, Harriet, or just Hair, was old as dirt. Her fingers were twisted and thin, she walked with a limp. Her travel gear was load of hand-off soldier wear that didn't fit her small frame at all, but kept her warm. Patrick had promised better clothes, if they survived.

Of course, Patrick had promised last year to leave her all and well alone. She was tired of him. When he showed up at the North ward drunk tank looking for her, well, she almost shot him on the spot. Hair rubbed the bundle cradled next to her stomach. She might still shoot him. He would understand. He was good that way.

"Harriet." He had started, and she had reached for her gun. He always used her proper named when he wanted to talk her into something. He had gone straight, found a girl, and was working on a family. She was well known at the cesspool that was the North Ward. Not well liked, but at least known.

There he was again, pulling her out. They had run some scams together; he was the face and she 'conned the targets. He got caught. Never ratter her out though. That's probably why she didn't shoot him. He was good that way.

"I need you." Was how he had started. "Just like old times, but better. I need your sight."

She had the sight, all right. Not like her grandmother, who could probably read minds like you'd be scared of. At least that's what people paid her lot for, telling their futures, reading the minds of straying husbands, and lucky numbers for the lottery. Hair hadn't gotten the sight quite the same, but she could look at a person and know a lot by how they walked, how they talked, and how they handled their money. How they looked at you, too. That was important.

She had still been debating about whether or not he ought to be shot when he dumped a pile of clean clothes on her. "Your bath is paid for. We have a table at Club Brianna and your plate will be full. No time to waste here, you in for a new game?"

A couple pairs of arms had pulled her up. She new a couple of the others with Patrick. Older folk, like her. Not as old, but they had been known to work together now and again.

"Who's the mark?" She had started, and saw Patrick's grimace. "What's the game, junior?"

Patrick looked around. "Harriet, it's big. Really big. I need a few people who are willing to do some...work. Not just mean people, though, Hair. I need, you. I need someone who can tell a lie from the truth."

"I ain't been no interrogator, junior." She had replied, even as her feet carried her to the chance of food. If nothing else he was good for a meal.

"You'll see, Harriet, I'll explain as we go. You'll see."

The truck's rapid decel brought Hair out of her reverie. She smiled. "What about you, girly girl. What do you think of that Mark fella?"

"She got his hair cut, I bet she's after him." Max snickered.

"Tala said the other soldiers do it." Jonathan blushed. He had gotten the high and tight just like Monika. "She did too. A bunch of us did."

"A bunch of you look like chagum girls, that's what you did." Max said, and then hushed when he felt the cold of a barrel mashing his cheek sideways.

Hair nudged with her gun. "I was a chagum dancer before your granny got out of diapers, junior. You watch your mouth or I'll rearrange your teeth from the back of your head." Her gun went back into her belly pack. Slowly. "You got a cute little set of beads there, junior. Still, when you try to give an order, what happens? People look at you and walk away. Some might be impressed with your little bit of art, but real men won't."

"I've killed..." Max started, and then Hair snorted.

"Yeah, I know the type. You've killed a lot of people. So? You may have even killed more than Mark. Notice he doesn't feel the need to wear gangle and brag about hisself. I noticed your leaders listen intently when Mark speaks. So does almost everyone, 'cept you. Might wanna think about that. Tell the truth, there's a lot you might want to think about. Like why the kid on the gun as a cute girlfriend awhile you're talking to an old crone."

"She isn't my girlfriend." Jonathan said. He looked at Monika.

"Yeah, I know the type." Hair winked at Monika.

"Five minutes." Someone from up front called back.

Jonathan charged the two and a half and started to slowly swing it back and forth. Like Mark had showed him, he lifted it up slightly when crossing the vehicle in front.

"Besides, I don't care if Mark did get lucky with some old fat bouncer at a bar. That don't mean nothing."

"Captain Mark." Jonathan said. He continued to scan for targets but spoke down to them. "It's been decided. The People of the Path will refer to him as Captain Mark, until otherwise revealed."

"I don't..." Max began.

"You don't, or didn't, know Harry. All muscle, all mean. Known to handle three big drunks at a time. Known to kill for pleasure." Hair sat back and stamped her boots to get her legs back in gear. "Yeah, it might have been luck. Maybe that same luck that kept him through a ship crash, too. Was it luck that let him shoot Rasmus from five hundred meters?"

"What?" Monika and Jonathan said in unison. "No!"

"Yup." Hair nodded. "One of the Mountain Men had paced it off. Body hit, moving target, at night, no less than five hundred twenty meters. In the woods. Even Verner was impressed!" She leaned forward to Monika. "It might be just luck. But if so, I'd rather have the lucky guy on my side, know what I mean?"

They sat quiet for a while. "One minute." Balt's voice was clear.

"No enemy in sight, sir." Jonathan called down. "All vehicles in the convoy proceeding as planned. Wait...one vehicle moving off to the side." Jonathan looked through the enhanced sights. "Oscar Three dismounting and moving to position."

"You sound like a war vid." Max grumped. Right before Monika smacked the back of his head.

"Ten seconds." Balt called back. Their truck had passed Oscar Three, one of the over watch sniper teams. It veered off slightly. "Let's go! Move!"

Max was first out as Balt come from the front. Monika started out, and then quickly turned and pulled Jonathan around for a kiss. Then she was out the back and followed by Hair, who grunted when she landed and fell.

Balt helped her up and the four of them quickly moved to a defensive position and started digging for cover. Max found a gully full of rotted grass and they used that for their foxhole.

"Good find, Max." Balt said as he looked around. "Monika, help him reinforce that berm. If things happen you'll appreciate a few extra rocks and logs between you and whoever is shooting at you."

"Ain't nothing gonna happen." Max said. He snuggled in with his carbine. "Are we really gonna freeze out here while everyone else gets to party?"

Balt muttered under his breath. "We protect the over watch team if something happens, Max. That's what this is about." He ran the scope all around, as well as up and down. Their truck and the transport vehicle for Oscar Three circled opposite directions around town while the rest of the convoy rolled in.

"We may not be in a friendly place, folks." Balt said, keeping his scans going. "Besides, this is a chance to try out new tactics and comms. The vehicles scout around the city, we keep the escape route clear, and the Guide learns new tactics."

"I still say this ain't nuthing." Max grumbled.