Battleship Raider, Paul Tomlinson [inspirational books for women .TXT] 📗

be a commendation in it for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, I want you to take me to the side gate and point me in the direction of this O’Casey’s Saloon. I’m going to give Warden Macready a piece of my mind, you can be sure of that.”

Eager to be rid of the prison inspector, Curly Benson led me to the small gate in the west wall. When he got there he made no move to unlock it.

I pretended to examine the gate. “This appears secure enough. Are the locks well-maintained?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Locks and hinges are oiled regularly.”

I peered more closely at the lock. “Do you have your key with you?”

“Yes, sir.” He showed me the large ring on his belt. Men like him are usually proud of this symbol of their status. The more keys they have, the more important they feel.

“You know which key opens the lock?” I asked.

“Of course. This one.” He showed me the key but didn’t put it anywhere near the lock. I was starting to feel uneasy. Every minute I wasted here increased the risk of the guards discovering my absence.

“Excellent!” I said. “And you’re certain the lock has been properly lubricated?”

Benson cast a quick nervous glance towards the lock. “I don’t oil it myself, you understand...”

“Of course,” I said, “much too lowly a job for a man of your position. Let’s check if it has been done properly, shall we? We’ll use your key since you have it to hand.”

The night-watchman slid his key into the big old lock and crossed his fingers as he turned it. The mechanism opened without a sound and the relief was obvious on his face.

“Very good.” I patted him on the shoulder. “This all looks very good for you, I must say. I think I shall put your name forward for a bonus.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’ll have to be approved by the department, but that’s just a formality.”

“I’m very grateful to you, sir.”

“It’s only right that good work is rewarded. I’m always glad to see men like you recognised,” I said. “Men like Warden Macready, unfortunately, are another matter.”

“They are?”

“It will be my sad duty to deal with him personally,” I said. “O’Casey’s Saloon, you said?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Benson, I should let you return to your duties. If I could just ask you to point the way to this saloon?”

Benson pulled the gate open and stepped out into the dusty street. I followed him, feeling an immense weight lifted from my shoulders as I passed through the gate.

“It’s that way, sir,” Benson said, pointing.

“Close to the marketplace?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t.

“Two streets to the east of that, sir.”

“Thank you, Benson. I’ll leave you to lock up. Don’t want any of the prisoners wandering out, do we?”

“No, sir, we don’t.” He turned back to the gate.

“Oh, and Benson? You won’t call ahead and warn the warden I’m coming, will you?”

“Thought never crossed my mind, sir.”

“Good man.” I walked away as nonchalantly as I could, knowing he was watching me. Only when I heard the gate slam shut did I begin to run.

I was tempted to head to O’Casey’s for a celebratory drink – and have the barman pour a drink for Warden Macready. But only a fool takes that sort of risk. I’d learned that from experience.

The Trekker was sitting where I had parked it over a week ago. An all-terrain vehicle with big knobbly tyres was a bit over the top for the dirt streets in town, but once you got out into open countryside, this was the sort of vehicle you wanted. The layer of dust on it was thicker but other than that it was untouched. The lack of vandalism or theft was probably due to the large yellow clamp that had been affixed to the rear wheel and the police notice that said the vehicle had been seized as evidence in a criminal investigation. The police hadn’t yet impounded it and taken it apart because they needed authorisation from the judge. I’d bought the Trekker when I first arrived on this horrible little planet – it was another one of those things I didn’t want to be without.

I found my stash of emergency cash in its hiding place behind the dashboard. Then I took out the tool roll, ready to tackle the wheel clamp.

“You want me to take that off for you?” A voice behind me. I turned. The boy looked about seven years old.

“I can do it quicker myself,” I said.

“Want to bet?” The boy held up a key. He grinned.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Copied it,” he said. “My mom’s ex was a cop.”

I liked this kid. “How much?” I asked.

“Twenty.”

“You’ll never get rich at that,” I said.

“I’ll get another twenty when I report you for stealing it.”

“How about I give you forty and you don’t tell anyone anything?”

“Fifty,” he said.

I shook his hand and the deal was done. He spent longer than he needed to unlocking it, wanting to make it seem worth fifty dollars. I handed over five tens. Alliance dollars. His face lit up, he’d been expecting local currency.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he said and gave me a cheeky salute. Then he disappeared into the shadows.

I needed to move quickly. The kid was a born crook so there was still a good chance he’d turn me in for the extra twenty. I gave the car a quick once-over. Trixie’s sensors didn’t detect any tracking devices.

I had to drive with the windows down to get rid of the smell coming from the week-old burrito wrappers on the back seat. I stayed off the main streets, parking the Trekker in the shadows when I went to make my purchases. Luckily I was buying equipment from the sort of people who are open for business after midnight. I only bought the bare minimum. I wasn’t exactly laden down with currency and I wanted to be well away from Maggotsville before the sun came up.

I called