If there’s anything Uncle Jim can do. Part 1.
29 Nov 2021Wulthus
JB took a swig from his hip flask as he watched traffic passing outside the observation deck window of Cook Penal Colony’s prisoner processing outpost. He gazed quietly as a wing of Gunships that rose from “Head Chef”, one of the prison planet’s 3 orbital Flight Carriers, began their patrol.The two guards sat at the desk eyed JB with more than just a hint of distain. He didn’t blame them. JB’s organisation had recently taken control of the colony… and now here he was, only a few days later flexing his authority and getting a prisoner released.
JB knew how the guards at Cook viewed his organisation too, it was the same way most people misjudged smugglers. Folk automatically think of them as pirates. JB had grown tired of arguing with fuckers about the difference… “Pirates take… smugglers provide!!!”… “It’s non-violent, nobody gets hurt!!!”… nobody listens…nobody really cares so long as they get their little contraband treats.
But, contrary to his objections, JB was still a criminal and had done a few stints at Cook in the past, although none of it was for smuggling… JB was more your aggravated assault kind of offender.
JB took another swig as he saw a ship in the distance being chaperoned by a wing of FDLs towards the Head Chef. He guessed it was the head of La Arditezza coming in. JB’s boss back at Jamaica Inn Movement had organised the release of a prisoner for them. The two organisations had been working together for a while and this sort of Quid Pro Quo was a typical political move to grease the wheels.
JB had worked with La Arditezza before and knew their boss, Saverio, relatively well. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long as, even as a free man, being eyeballed by prison guards still made his skin crawl… that and the fact that his flask was getting low.
-"Whiskey-Uniform-Niner-Zero-Echo, Cleared to land, pad zero-three."
In the Carrier's landing zone, prepared to provide service for a full retinue of Saverio's men, a single Clipper slowly made it's way to the landing pad, resting gently. From it's airlock emerged just one, inconspicious man, holding a wooden box. Sunglasses being his only distinct feature. It was Roberto Falcone, one of the Saverio's most trusted associates.
-"Sir, I need to confiscate your weapons..." Roberto looked around, trying ot get a glympse at the flock of armed men now surrounding him, and noded in agreement. He then he proceeded to reach for a pocket of his suit, raising the guards' attention, and unholstered his sidearm. Roberto then dropped the weapon carelessly on the ground, giving out a quick smirk.
As far as he was concerned, there were at least 8 to 9 different ways to eliminate your target in close quaters, unarmed. Five of them Roberto alredy tested. Three of them Roberto had the displeasure to witness...
The man rolled his eyes as the guards proceeded to scan the package he was holding, but knew better than to get offended. After all, he dealt with "barbarians" inhabiting the opposite side of colonized space for the most part of his career. Here, shamefull murder of ones business associates, should the proper circumstances arise and without a proper warning, was an awfully common occurence in both worlds.
-"So, ... gentlemen ... shall we proceed now?"
JB had been watching as the Clipper gently glided onto the Flight Carrier. It was too far away for him to see the ship’s name but the Arditezza symbol was recognisable from the processing outpost he was watching from.
JB had been conducting these types of political meetings for the Jamaica Inn Movement for a while now. Sometimes it was in fancy hotels, sometimes it was in shithole bars, sometimes it was friendly, sometimes it was hostile… he’d gotten used to having to adapt his negotiations. A prison processing outpost was a new one to him, with two desk chiefs giving him the stink-eye, but he’d worked in tougher situations.
In the distance JB watched as his ship, The Cuckoo departed from the FC. One of his team, Cookie, was piloting his ship… it was a battered-to-shit “rat rocket” of a Keelback but the high-end cabins were designed for the high-end crooks that he was used to ferrying around away from prying eyes.
The Cuckoo passed above the observation lounge as it made it’s way to the outpost’s medium pad. The lift doors were the other side of the two desk chiefs, this was the hub part where the prisoners were processed before being sent down to the prison on the planet… and where the prisoner would be released to La Arditezza.
Although the processing part was nearby, the observation lounge itself was completely empty apart from JB. He’d already set up a small table by the huge window with two comfyish chairs. Two glasses and a glass bottle of water sat in the middle of the table.
There was a dull “beep” and a green light lit up above a lift door. JB wiped his palms on his trouser legs as he prepared for Saverio to emerge from the elevator.
Roberto exited the elevator, and made his way to the table. Echoes of his rythmic, confident steps getting louder and louder with every second added to the omnious atmosphere of the meeting.
~ by Wulthus, J.B. Threepwood