(I’m working on a series of 600 {or less} word stories. Some of them will become serials while other will be a shot in the dark one time only thinger. Here is my first.)
The bar was mostly crowded. This is where the players who thought they were big time hung out in New Shanghai.
“He’s here.” Leroy said, clutching his skull.
“You go cover the back. If he sees there’s two of us, ain’t no telling what he’ll do. We don’t want this one to run.” Glen turned and shoed Leroy out the door.
Glen scanned the room. Table games lined the back and the center had the card games. That’s where he’d be. Trying to blend in with the masses. Glen spotted him alone at a booth, faced toward the door, watching all along.
No sense in pretending to be sly, Glen decided, the mark had nowhere to go.
“Evening, Rico. Nice seeing you in this dive.” Glen brushed the rim of his porkpie in salute.
“Don’t act like you don’t know that I don’t know you’ve been following my trail all over town. And take off those damned implants. I’m wearing a dampener, you might as well get comfy.” Rico smiled. He cocked his blaster under the table and made sure Glen heard the loud click sound.
Many patrons in the bar turned their heads. When they heard no blast they went back to their games.
Glen stopped, then smiled. Negotiations had begun. “Deal’em!” He put his hat on the table and ripped the psionic implants from his neck port. “I’m clean.”
Rico, chuckled. “What are the stakes? I know what I win, but what happens when you loose?”
“I won’t loose.”
Glen stared at Rico. Rico was human. Humans, pure humans, weren’t good for much. They couldn’t read minds, their brains couldn’t handle astro-travel calculations, and they were no good in a fight. But they could breed. Post Humans, extra-sapiens, those who opted for enhancements just didn’t have the “knack” for fathering children. This was becoming a problem.
Glen’s bosses were men of vision. Wealthy men who rebuilt the metropolises after the Cataclysm. They watched the population slip. Panic buttons where hit and men like Larry and Glen were sent out to find the Breeders. The last true humans were the final hope to set mankind’s prolific pace back on track. Every birth counted.
Glen’s employers paid for breeders. They paid well. The future belonged to the post humans, these baseline pipsqueaks were a dirty necessity. That’s how Glen saw it.
“I want 30 minutes.” Rico put the gun on the table and shuffled the deck.
“10.”
“25!”
“15.”
“Done!” The cards were dealt.
Glen looked at his hole cards. Seven of Spades, and Nine of Clubs. It wouldn’t due to bluff. Rico had been on tilt for months. They’d see every card. He was sure. The bet started at $200. Rico called.
The flop came down. Ace of Clubs, Five of Hearts, Eight of Diamonds. Glen was on a draw. Fifteen Minutes and out $1500. He muttered something about “honor among thieves”.
“Is that some kind of tell?” Rico said. Obviously he paired up.
The Turn: Ace of Diamonds.
Glen sighed
“All in.” Rico said.
“Call, $1300” Glen stood, cards exposed.
The River: Six of Hearts.
Glen smiled. “That was anticlimactic.” He grabbed Rico’s arm.
Rico shot the rest of the cards at Glen. He ran free. Glen plugged into the Psi-amp and put on this porkpie
“Leroy, we have a runner.” Glen walked to the door.
“Leroy stepped in front and leveled Rico in one hit. He landed against the bar. Glen cuffed him. “Nothing to see here. Go back to your fun.” The three of them left. Rico was out, slung over Leroy’s shoulder.
(I think we’ll here more from Rico before this is over.)
