Orion Colony Complete Series Boxed Set by J.N. Chaney (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕

“Yeah, I’ll walk with you,” I said as he and I began making our way from the yard.

“You two!” Boss Creed’s familiar voice took me off guard. He stood in front of us at the broken gate. “Work tomorrow, same time. We aren’t going to give these terrorists the satisfaction of changing anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Ricky said.

I just nodded, wanting to get through this exchange as quickly as possible so I could go home and sleep. I didn’t know any of the crew who’d died today—not their names or their stories. I didn’t know if they preferred chocolate or vanilla, if they had families, or if they were single. Maybe that was better, maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t think about it right now.

We headed back up the street to where we lived, passing other Transients walking to and from their homes. There was a nervous chill in the air as everyone saw our smoke-stained faces and understood we’d been at ground zero.

They gave us a wide berth, pretending not to stare when we made eye contact. Ricky and I traveled in silence, both of us lost to our own thoughts.

A few blocks from where we lived, Ricky stopped me with a trembling hand on my arm. I looked at him, then followed his eyes.

A group of men walked towards us.

“Um, just let me do the talking,” Ricky said, swallowing hard. “I got this.”

5

“Ricky!” The man leading the group opened his arms. He was average height but wide like a wrestler. A bald head and a cheap suit gave him the stereotypical cheesy salesman look. Four other men hung behind him. I recognized one of them as the gang member belonging to the Warlords that had booked it out of the alley after I knocked out his friends.

“You don’t call. You don’t write. How have you been?” the group leader continued.

“Mr. Harold, I-I’m fine,” Ricky stuttered. “Listen, I have your money. I know I was late, but I swear I have it. D-don’t shoot me or anything. I’m going to reach into my pocket for the credits.”

“Ricky, Ricky, Ricky,” Mr. Harold said as he moved forward and slung a meaty arm across Ricky’s shoulder. “You know your money’s no good with me. How far do we go back?”

“What, really?” Ricky asked, looking at me, confused.

Something was very wrong. Between Mr. Harold eyeing me like I was a prized possession and the thug who’d witnessed me putting down two men in the alley, I couldn’t help but be on edge.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” Mr. Harold asked, looking at me with a wide grin. A gold tooth shined through his greasy lips. “We can all be chums now.”

“Oh—well, this is...uh,” Ricky said, trying to warn me with his eyes and shaking his head.

“The name’s Dean,” I said, already suspecting what was about to come next.

“Dean. That’s a good, strong name,” Mr. Harold said, extending his right hand. His left arm was still draped around Ricky’s shoulder. “I don’t know too many Deans these days.”

I accepted the offered hand, and his grip felt like a vise around my own. The calluses on his palm were evidence of a lifetime of lifting weights and fighting with his hands.

“Say,” Mr. Herald said, looking at me with a tilted head. “Before that crazy beard of yours and the long hair, you wouldn’t have gone by a different name a few years back, would you? Maybe a title or a nickname?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I squeezed his hand back just as hard, and a warning sign exploded in my head. I was already doing the math. There were five of them, probably all armed. This wasn’t a fight I could win.

“I like that about you, Dean,” Mr. Harold said, releasing my hand. He looked over at his group of men, specifically the one who’d been in the alley earlier that day. “You’re a good liar. See, one of my boys told me you KO’d two of my guys today. Now don’t worry. I’m not out for vengeance or retaliation. He told me he thinks you’re a prizefighter that fell off the radar a few years ago. A real gladiator in the ring, he said.”

Ricky’s eyes widened as Mr. Harold kept talking.

“I think your man might be mistaken,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just a mechanic. Have been for a while now. Ask Ricky. He’s known me for years.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Harold grinned but didn’t bother looking at Ricky for verification. “Well, if you did happen to be a skilled fighter, I would have a use for someone like that. I could make them a generous offer that’d make that mechanic pay look like garbage.”

I held Mr. Harold’s gaze, showing no reaction to his words.

“And,” he continued with that stupid grin on his face, hugging Ricky a little too close, “I would overlook any debt that his acquaintances owed to me.”

“I-I have your money,” Ricky squeaked again. “I have it here in my pocket.”

“Oh, your money’s no good with me anymore, Rick,” Mr. Harold said. The grin on his face suddenly disappeared, along with any sign of friendliness, replaced by something far more dangerous.

“But that’s only Dean,” Ricky said. “He’s not a boxer or a fighter or anything. He’s just—well, he’s just Dean. He doesn’t have any friends outside of me. Sorry, no offense, brother.”

“None taken.” I waved the apology away.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see about that,” Mr. Harold said, pursing his lips and eyeing me again. “You see, despite all your words to the contrary, I know a killer when I see one. I’ve been around long enough to have gained a sixth sense about these things, and I’m never wrong. Not to worry, Dean. I’m a generous man. I’ll tell you what. You take a day to reconsider my offer. If you decline, I take out my anger and frustration on Ricky here. Sound fair?”

“Do I get a vote in any of