Boom Town

  Boom Town

  Darklanding: Episode 8

  By Scott Moon and Craig Martelle

  Copyright © 2018 Craig Martelle & Scott Moon

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN:

  Cover art by Kevin McLaughlin

  Editing services provided by Mia Darien – miadarien.com

  Based on a concept by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind who also provide developmental editing for the series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Boom Town

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Social Media for Craig Martelle

  Author Notes: Scott Moon

  Author Notes: Craig Martelle

  CHAPTER ONE

  Let the Good Times Roll

  Sheriff Thaddeus Fry whistled a festive melody as he walked down the main street of Darklanding. “I haven’t drawn my blaster for almost a week.”

  “That is muchly goodly good.” Mast Jotham, the deputy of Darklanding, swung his legs and pumped his arms to imitate Thad. “This is how you walk. Just like this. I am rightly right is what they say.”

  Thad tilted his head in partial agreement, not sure why he was in such a good mood. The Mother Lode had been so crowded he couldn’t get a drink last night. Dixie’s girls hadn’t even looked at him. Shaunte never left her office or answered his messages.

  She had to be rolling in money. Darklanding had never been this successful. He’d heard that P. C. Dickles, the mining foreman, was offering unlimited overtime to sober workers who had all of their certifications up to date. The man had even quit bothering him about the Calico.

  He stopped across from the Mother Lode. “I’m not sure we can get in the front way. Look at that crowd. The building is literally rocking.”

  An overweight dog that bore a strong resemblance to a pig lifted his head when he saw Thaddeus and Mast. Moments later, he trotted down the steps, weaving between the legs of miners, dockworkers, and crew from laid-over ships—the last being the rarest of occurrences on Ungwilook. SagCon never deadheaded a ship by sending it to the planet empty and neither did they let one sit idle when it could be transporting goods.

  The problem was traffic congestion.

  “Come on, Maximus. Let’s head to the training lot,” Thaddeus said, although he had no intention of exercising. The habit was hard to keep up. The more he let it slip, the easier it became to find important work to do elsewhere.

  What he needed was peace and quiet.

  He strolled around the corner of the building to the vacant lot where he kept oversized tractor tires, weighted objects of all shapes and sizes, and sleds he could drag to strengthen his legs and cardiovascular system.

  Men and women cavorted on his DIY gymnasium. Two or three of them were even Ungloks—uncommon in mixed company. Whatever they were drinking appeared to be homemade and potent.

  Thad strode forward, taking off his battered fire coat and swinging it like he was shooing away rodents. “Get the hell out of here!”

  “We can be here!” a man protested.

  “The hell you can,” Thaddeus said. He dropped one hand toward his blaster.

  Mast moved to his left flank, finding the perfect angle to support Thad if things went bad. The Unglok was not a natural warrior, but he was learning. Maximus trotted over and started growling.

  “Let’s go, Donald. That’s the sheriff. He’s a hard case. Worse than them TerroCom soldiers,” another man said.

  Men and women argued and complained. Some laughed and joked and showed rude things to Thaddeus and his deputy. He stood stoically and watched them go.

  Mast peeled down his jumpsuit and set his gun belt to one side.

  “What are you doing?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I am preparing to get stronger. Is that not why we made everyone leave, so that we might exercise?” Mast asked.

  “Put your gear back on. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing here, only that they leave. This is our field and they’re not going to trespass.”

  “Darklanding is muchly busy since the new mining discoveries. My people have never seen piles of exotics waiting to be transported,” Mast said. “Even my people have more SagCon credits than they can use, and stockpiles of digital credits, which they cannot use.”

  Thad stared at the street between his private domain and the Mother Lode. The line was around the corner. “That’s because it’s a boomtown now.”

  Mast whistled, nearly piercing Thad’s ears and causing Maximus to howl. The tall Unglok hitched up his belt, yelled something that was probably supposed to be human slang, then spat on the ground like a ranch hand. “Miss Shaunte will be muchly happy at all this money.”

  Thaddeus and Mast ran off several more groups from the vacant lot. Music thundered from the Mother Lode, and the street reeked of urine and vomit. “I changed my mind. We’re going inside.”

  He went to the front and climbed the stairs two at a time. A bouncer he’d never seen before held up a hand for him to stop.

  “Put that hand away if you want to keep it. I’m the sheriff.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff. Rules are rules.”

  Thaddeus walked straight into the part-time bouncer, full-time heavy-machine operator. He seemed like a decent, hard-working man, and probably new to Darklanding. Thaddeus timed his steps, then slammed his shoulder into the man and knocked him off his feet.

  “Don’t ever get in my way again,” Thaddeus said.

  “You are muchly being an asshole,” Mast said.

  Maximus huffed several times, then farted.

  Thad wanted to defend himself, explain what it meant to look weak in this environment, but he abandoned the argument because it sounded lame. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. He understood enforcing the law on Darklanding now required a platoon of professionally-trained military police officers. He wasn’t a platoon and neither was he professionally trained, not for this job.

  A quarter of an hour later, he shouldered his way to his normal place at the bar. Several of the new patrons, off-worlders, stared at him resentfully.

  “I would muchly not trifle with him. He is being a big asshole today.” Mast punched his right fist into his left hand.

  Maximus nosed one of the intruders hard in the leg until all of them retreated. “Snort, snort, snort!”

  Thaddeus leaned on the bar and motioned for a whiskey.

  “Hold on, I want to see this!” Leslie shouted. She jumped on the bar and slammed one high-heeled boot down until everyone shut up.

  “I still can’t believe you risked your life and your career to confirm such a discovery. This will bring wealth and prosperity to people who could never hope for such a lucky break before now,” the news commentator, Tanya Acadia, said. “What was it like to be falsely accused of such…well, shall we say…unspeakable crimes?”

  “Well, first let me tell you, it’s really great to be here. I appreciate the interview by a real journalist who understands how to do her due diligence and report facts,” LeClerc said.

  The woman, a se
asoned reporter, blushed slightly and leaned toward him. “I appreciate that, Mister LeClerc.”

  She seemed about to ask another question, but LeClerc pressed forward, ignoring her nonverbal cues. “No problem, no problem at all. I’m used to being a celebrity and of course that makes me a target. What most people don’t understand about Darklanding is the unfettered corruption there. Especially in the law enforcement community. I don’t really want to sound like I’m complaining or name names, but a certain sheriff there thinks it’s the Wild West. He’s above the law. Even though no one wanted to make a complaint, he fabricated this entire investigation.”

  “That really is a shame,” the reporter said. She seemed to have lost some interest in the man’s charm but was still going to get her story. “Are you telling me that one man runs the entire law enforcement operation?”

  “Sad, isn’t it? Especially when it’s an egomaniacal lunatic. He actually challenged me to a race and then tried to kill me.”

  Tanya Acadia perked up at this potential scandal. “Are you sure about that, LeClerc? Reports had that you performed far below your usual ability. There are rumors of drug use and other problems.”

  “Other problems? I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating. I’ve been the undisputed galactic champion for over five standard years. This sheriff cheated and threatened me.”

  “Well, Mister LeClerc. Your critics might, and actually have, pointed out that you sound like a poor loser. And this isn’t your first scandal involving young women,” she said.

  “Baseless rumors and false accusations. I believe we discussed this in the pre-show meeting. Certain topics are not at issue here,” LeClerc said.

  Thaddeus finished his shot, then slammed the glass on the bar.

  “He is not rightly muchly telling the truth,” Mast said.

  The interview continued.

  “Okay, let’s move on from your personal life for now.”

  “Miss Tonya, you sound like you’re offended. Have I said something inappropriate? I have the utmost respect for women journalists,” LeClerc said.

  Acadia stared frozen daggers at him. The moment dragged out for several seconds. In modern news media, that was millions of dollars of dead air. “So let’s talk about these resources you claim to have found.”

  “Wait, did I miss something?” LeClerc asked. “When we started this interview, you were praising me. Now you doubt me? We may have to go to commercial break so I can speak with my agent.”

  Someone cranked up the Darklanding auto-piano. Drunks roared with laughter. Leslie tried to quiet them, to no avail. Thaddeus watched her strutting around, threatening men twice her size.

  He drank another whiskey.

  Pierre leaned his elbows on the bar and spoke loudly enough for Thaddeus to hear him over the noise of the saloon patrons. “I really don’t like that guy, but he’s sent a lot of money this way.”

  “I didn’t realize you were hurting for income,” Thaddeus said. He motioned for a third whiskey.

  “You probably have enough to pay for this, with all the overtime Shaunte’s been paying you and your deputy, but you don’t normally drink three in a row. Maybe I should cut you off,” Pierre said.

  “All I know is that I put a sociopath in jail and now he’s free, and not only that, he’s telling lies on the galactic news net.”

  Pierre shrugged and went to wait on other patrons.

  ***

  Shaunte buzzed the door open, barely looking up from her work. She had three screens active. One displayed a map of Darklanding divided into zones for different types of business and industry. Another contained applications for business charters and other legal documents. The third was a shopping site with all of the fashions she hoped to cram into her closet.

  “What exactly do you want help with?” Pierre said, leaning down to see what was on the screens.

  “I have a half-dozen applications for new saloons and brothels,” Shaunte said.

  “You can’t do that,” Pierre said. Sweat beaded on his forehead where there had been only smugness at her discomfort. “The Mother Lode is the only saloon and brothel on Darklanding. I have it in my contract.”

  “Your contract grants you noncompete status for the first two years of the operation. That is long expired. It also gives you the option to purchase an extension, which you have not,” Shaunte said.

  “Well, that’s easy. I’ll buy one now. I have more than enough liquid assets to do so,” Pierre said.

  “It’s too late. A license for a second establishment has already been purchased. It was done very cleverly. As a rider on another business plan.” She hesitated, letting him squirm for a moment. “But if I had seen their true intent, I’m not sure that I would have denied them. Competition is good for business.”

  “Not for my business!”

  “There is a chance you might minimize the damage. You can purchase the other four zones and do with them what you will,” Shaunte said.

  Pierre’s face turned bright red. He balled his fists and cursed at her.

  “I advise you to settle down or I will call the sheriff,” she said.

  “The sheriff is at my bar drinking my whiskey! I can’t believe you would do this to me, and Dixie, and all of the other employees.”

  “You mean prostitutes?”

  “Prostitution is legal here! You’re such a hypocrite,” Pierre said. “All you care about is money.”

  Shaunte crossed her arms. “Let’s back up and dig into that last statement.”

  Pierre’s chest rose and fell, but he didn’t speak.

  “I might consider waiving the fees for the four other zones, or even designating them non-entertainment sectors.” Shaunte walked to the corner of her desk, moving a digital tablet around as though distracted. When she again met his gaze, he had calmed down some and was paying attention. “Several of my operations will need managers. I require lawyers I don’t have and shrewd legal minds.”

  “One does not require the other.”

  “What do you mean?” Shaunte knew the answer but was setting him up.

  “I may not be a lawyer, but I can help you,” he said.

  Shaunte smiled and stepped even closer. He shifted backward nervously.

  “So I can count on you, Pierre. When things get tough, you’ll keep my interests equal to your own?”

  Pierre swallowed. “Yes, Miss Plastes. I think we understand each other.”

  * * *

  Thad hurried along the side of the warehouse with Mast behind him, hoping his deputy was not pointing a blaster at his back or going to succumb to one of his coughing fits. Or squeezing the trigger of said blaster out of nervousness. He gripped his own weapon with both hands, pointing it down as he ran. Maximus loped ahead and stopped before the wide service entrance.

  “We are muchly almost there!” Mast gasped as he ran crouched behind Thad. “Very muchly, I say.”

  Thad stopped at the corner of the bay entrance. His informants, Tia and the young Pierre in this case, assured him this operation wasn’t affiliated with ShadEcon or other organized crime. “We are about to find out,” he muttered.

  “Wait. What are we finding out only now that our blasters are drawn?” Mast asked.

  “The quality of our intelligence. Been nice knowing you, partner.”

  “I am not bigly fond of your jokes.”

  Maximus hopped on his front feet and bounced side-to-side with happy excitement.

  “What did we discuss in the briefing?” Thaddeus asked.

  Mast shifted uncomfortably. He kept his eyes on the doorway they were about to go through. “There will be three human men inside and one woman. All of the men are idiots. The woman may also be an idiot and will use her womanly wiles to avoid prosecution. First, she will...”

  “No need to go into all that,” Thaddeus said. “None of them have any military training, or any training as far as I can tell. Somewhere along the line, they failed to pick up the free education required for most gain
ful employment.”

  “Yes, this is because they are lazy mother…”

  “Mast, watch your language.”

  The Unglok blushed. “I will never get the hang of your many profane expressions.”

  Thaddeus was about to say more when two men exploded from the doorway, wrestling each other into the street.

  “Kiss my ass, Donnie! She’s my girlfriend!”

  “She’s both our cousins, wiener-smacker!”

  Thaddeus held one finger up to his lip for silence and then jerked his head toward the doorway. The entire might of the Darklanding law enforcement organization slipped unseen into the building.

  Unregistered materials loomed all the way to the ceiling in giant stacks of surprisingly well-organized contraband. The lighting was another matter. Naked bulbs swung from extension cords. Enormous fans pushed air around the room from the opposite loading bay.

  In one room was a workbench. A half-clothed woman leaned on one corner. The older brother of the Chandler crew leaned close to her, whispering sweet nothings. Or perhaps swooning drunkenly.

  Art Chandler was the largest of the three, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. He also had a soft gut and little ambition to improve himself. He looked over his shoulder at the approach of the intruders, clearly annoyed and ready to fight.

  His expression changed when he saw Thaddeus, Mast, and the pig-dog. He stood and spread his placating hands. The woman, Lexa, pulled up the front of her shirt slightly and backed into a shadow.

  “Hey there, Sheriff. What brings you around here? My brothers were just doing a little trespassing. Don’t know nothing about all this stuff here. Matter-of-fact, we were just about to come and report it. Weren’t we, Lexa?”

  The young woman was clearly annoyed at being drawn back into this situation. She stepped forward, dragging innocence out of the darkness and pulling it down over her sly face like a shroud. “Uh, huh. That’s just what we’re about to do. Thanks for checking on us, Sheriff.”

  Donnie and Pete Chandler stomped into the room, knuckles scraped and fat lips bleeding. Neither wore shirts under their rolled-down jumpsuits. Cheap tattoos covered Donnie’s chest with the lone exception of a professionally done holo-tat of a weasel.