Ship Breaker (15 page)

“Learn your lesson yet?” he asked.

Pima was shaking, but she managed to nod.

Nailer’s father grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “Glad to know you won’t forget.” He examined her broken fingers, then got into her face again, his voice low with promise. “I was nice to you. I could have taken every finger you got and no one would have said I was wrong, even with a blood debt.” His eyes were cold. “Remember that I didn’t take as much as I could have.”

He stepped away and nodded at the half-man. “Let her go, Tool.”

Pima collapsed to the deck, whimpering and cradling her hand. Nailer forced himself not to go to her, not to try to comfort her. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the hot deck and close his eyes, but he couldn’t; he wasn’t done yet. “Y-y-you going to gut the swank now?” The shivering was uncontrollable.

His father glanced over at the bound girl. “You got something to say about that, too?”

“She’s damn r-r-rich,” Nailer stuttered. “If her people are looking for her, she’s worth something.” A wave of shivering overtook him. “M-m-maybe worth a lot. Maybe more than the sh-ship.”

His father evaluated the girl, considering. “You worth a reward?” he asked.

Nita nodded. “My father will be looking for me. He’ll pay to keep me safe.”

“That right? A lot?”

“This was my personal clipper. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got an attitude.” Nailer’s father smiled, feral and pleased. “But you just bought your guts back, girlie.” He showed her his knife. “And if your dad won’t pay enough, we’ll pig-open you and see how you squeal.”

He turned to his crew. “All right, boys and girls. Let’s get the scavenge off. I don’t want to share too much with Lucky Strike. Everything light and valuable, off the ship.”

He turned and looked out at the sea. “And hurry. Tides and the Scavenge God don’t wait for anyone.” He laughed.

Nailer let himself lie back on the deck. The sun blazed overhead. He was freezing. His father crouched beside him. When he touched Nailer’s shoulder, Nailer cried out. Richard shook his head.

“Damn, Lucky Boy, looks like you’re going to need some medicine.” He looked out across the bay to the ship-breaking yards. “As soon as we get some of this scavenge off, we’ll go make a deal with Lucky Strike. He should have a ’cillin. Maybe even a suppressor cocktail.”

“I n-n-n-eed it s-s-soon,” Nailer whispered.

His father nodded. “I know, son. I know that. But when we show up, we’re going to have to explain how we can pay for your meds, and then there’ll be questions about how your old man got so much silver and gold.” One of Nita’s rings flashed in his hand. “Look at this here.” He held it up to the light. “Diamonds. Rubies probably. You found a swanky girl, all right.” He shoved the ring into his pocket. “But we can’t sell until we’ve got the muscle in place. Otherwise they’ll try and pull it all out from under us.”

He looked at Nailer seriously. “This was a lucky find, boy. We got to play it smart though, or we’ll lose it all.”

“Yeah,” Nailer said, but he was losing interest in the conversation. He was tired. Cold and tired. Another wave of shaking swept over him. His father yelled at his men to bring some blankets.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Soon as we have the score secure, we’ll get your meds.” He stroked Nailer on the cheek; his pale eyes looked as bright and crazed as Nailer felt his own must be.

“I won’t let you die, son. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you taken care of. You’re my blood and I’ll take good care of you.”

And then he was gone and Nailer sank into fever.

“S
O THAT
’
S YOUR DAD
, huh?”

Nailer opened his eyes to find Nita kneeling beside him. He was lying on solid ground, the sound of the ocean far distant. A rough blanket covered him. It was nighttime. A small fire crackled beside them. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder hurt and he lay back again. Felt bandages, new ones, different from the ones Sadna had given him a lifetime before.

“Where’s Pima?”

Nita shrugged. “They’ve got her fetching food.”

“Who?”

She nodded over at two shadows who sat not far away, smoking cigarettes and passing a bottle of booze back and forth, their gang piercings twinkling in the darkness, rings running along the ridges of their eyebrows and studding down the bridges of their noses. One, Moby, pale as a ghost, stringy and angular from sliding crystal. The other, that huge loom of shadow and muscle, the half-man Tool. They smiled at Nailer as he moved.

“Hey, hey, looks like Nailer’s gonna live.” Moby waved his liquor bottle at Nailer in a sort of toast. “Your dad said you were a tough little rat. Didn’t think you were going to make it, though.”

“How long have I been down?”

Nita studied him. “I’m not sure you’re really up.”

“I’m up.”

“Three days, then, so far.”

Nailer tried to open his memories, seeking any recollection of the last three days. There were dreams, nightmares, but nothing solid, periods of heat and cold and shaking images of his father peering into his eyes…

Nita glanced back at the two men. “They were betting on whether you’d live.”

“Yeah?” Nailer grimaced and tried to sit up. “What were the stakes?”

“Fifty Red Chinese.”

Nailer looked at her, surprised. Those were big stakes. More than a month’s wages on heavy crew. The scavenging of her ship must have been successful. “Who bet on me living?”

“The skinny one. The half-man was sure you were dead.” She helped him sit up. He didn’t feel like he had a fever anymore. Nita pointed at a bottle of pills, swank pills by the lettering on the side. “We’ve been grinding those up and putting them in water. The other guy”—she paused, hunting for a name—“Lucky Strike. He sent a doctor.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re supposed to keep taking the pills, four a day for another ten days.”

Nailer eyed the pills without enthusiasm. Three days unconscious. “Your people haven’t showed up yet?” he asked. It seemed obvious that they hadn’t.

Nita glanced over at the men, suddenly nervous, then shrugged. “Not yet. Soon I think.”

“Better hope so.”

She gave him a dirty look. As she turned away from him, he spied the manacle that connected her ankle to one of the big cypress trees. She caught the direction of his gaze. “They’re not taking any chances.”

Nailer nodded. A minute later Pima appeared, chaperoned by a third adult. Blue Eyes. The woman had scars carved into her arms and legs, bits of scrap steel embedded in her face and necklaces of scavenge twined around her throat. A long zipper of scar tissue in her side showed where she had made a devotional sacrifice to the Harvesters and the Life Cult. She shoved Pima forward.

Moby glanced over. “Hey, careful with the kid. She’s got my dinner.”

Blue Eyes ignored him, instead looked at Nailer. “He’s alive?”

“What’s it look like?” Moby answered. “ ’Course he’s alive. Unless he’s a zombie, walking dead. Woooooooo.” He laughed at his own joke.

Pima distributed metal tins to the adults, rice and red beans and ground sausage spiced. Nailer watched the food as it was passed around, entranced. It was astonishingly good eating. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much meat passed around so casually. As the food was handed to Moby and Tool, Nailer found himself salivating. Moby started to eat even as Blue Eyes watched him. “You tell Lopez his kid is alive?” she asked.

Moby shook his head between mouthfuls of rice and beans that he shoveled in with his hand.

“What the hell does he pay you for?” Blue Eyes asked.

“He just woke up,” Moby protested. “Two minutes back in the world of the living, if that.” He elbowed Tool. “Back me up. The little rat just woke up.”

Tool shrugged, scooped up a handful of rice and meat chunks. “Moby isn’t lying this time,” he rumbled. “As he says, the little rat just woke up.” He smiled, showing sharp canine teeth. “Just woke up in time for dinner.” He popped the mass of food into his mouth.

Blue Eyes made a face. She took Moby’s tin away and handed it to Nailer. “Go get your own feed, then. Boss man’s kid eats first. And tell the boss he’s awake.”

Moby scowled at her, but he didn’t protest. Just got up and headed out. Pima crouched beside Nailer, spoke in a low voice. “How you doing?”

Nailer made himself smile even though he was already feeling tired again. “Not dead yet.”

“Must be a good day, then.”

“Yeah.” He dug into the food.

Pima jerked her head at Nita. “We need to talk. Lucky Girl’s people haven’t showed up yet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your dad’s starting to get jittery.”

Nailer glanced at the guards. “Jittery how?”

“He’s got his eye on her. Maybe like he wants to hand her over to Blue Eyes and the Life Cult. Keeps talking about how much copper he could make off her pretty eyes.”

“She know what he’s planning?”

“She’s not stupid. Even a swank like her can figure it out.”

Blue Eyes interrupted their conversation, squatting down beside them. “Having a nice chat?”

Nailer shook his head. “She’s just checking on me.”

“Good.” Blue Eyes smiled, hard and cold. “Then shut up and finish your food.”

Tool showed his teeth from where he sat on his stump. “Good advice,” he rumbled.

Pima nodded and slipped away without protest.

That was more telling than anything else. She was afraid. Nailer glanced at her hand, saw that her broken fingers were splinted on a bit of driftwood. Nailer wondered if it was their breaking or something else that had happened in the last three days that made Pima so wary.

Nita finished her food, said to no one in particular, “I’m getting pretty good at eating with my hands.”

Nailer glanced over. “What else would you eat with?”

“Knife, fork, spoon?” She almost smiled and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Nailer pressed. “You making fun of us, Lucky Girl?”

Nita’s face turned careful, almost fearful, and he was glad about that. He scowled at her. “Don’t go looking down on us ’cause we don’t have your swank ways. We could have cut your fingers off and your damn knife and fork and spoon wouldn’t have been much good then, would they?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry after you already said it.”

“Shut up, Nailer,” Pima said. “She’s sorry.”

Tool stared at Nita with his dead yellow eyes. “Maybe not as sorry as she could be. Right, boy?” He leaned forward. “Do you want me to teach your swank a lesson in manners?”

Nita suddenly looked very frightened indeed. Nailer shook his head. “No. Never mind. She gets it now.”

Tool nodded. “Everyone does eventually.”

Nailer shivered at the half-man’s flat words, the disinterest in his voice. This was the first time he’d been this close to the creature. There were plenty of stories about him, though. About where he got the vast webwork of scars that decorated his face and torso. About how he waded through the swamps, hunting for alligators and pythons. People said he wasn’t afraid of anything. That he’d been engineered so he couldn’t feel pain or fear. He was the only thing Nailer had ever seen his father talk about with careful respect rather than abusive authority. The half-man was damn scary, and watching the way Tool looked at the girl, he thought he knew why.

“Never mind,” Nailer said again. “She’s fine.”

Tool shrugged and went back to his food. They all sat in silence. Beyond the ring of their firelight, there was nothing except animal sounds and insects, the black wildness of the jungles and swamps, the swelter of the interior. From the distant sound of the surf, Nailer guessed they were at least a mile from shore. He lay back on the ground watching the flames flicker. The food had been good, but he was tired again. He let his mind drift, wondering what his father was planning, and why Pima looked so worried, and what was going on behind Lucky Girl’s swank eyes. He drifted off.

“Damn, boy, you’re awake, I hear.”

Nailer opened his eyes. His father crouched over him, smiling, his tattooed dragons and bright crystal slide amphetamine eyes on him.

“I knew you’d make it,” his dad said. “You’re tough like your old man. Tougher than nails, right? Just like I named you. Just like your old man.” He laughed and punched Nailer ’s shoulder and didn’t seem to notice Nailer flinch at the pain. “You look a lot better than a few days ago.” Richard Lopez’s skin was pale and sweating in the firelight and his grin was wide and feral. “Wasn’t sure if we’d be putting you down with the worms.”

Nailer made himself smile, trying to gauge his father’s crystal-bright mood. “Not yet, I guess.”

“Yeah, you’re a survivor.” He glanced over at Nita. “Not like the rich girl. She’d have been dead a long time ago, if it wasn’t for me saving her swank ass.” He smiled at her. “I’m almost hoping your dad doesn’t show up, girl.”

Nailer sat up and folded his legs under himself. “Her crew hasn’t showed?”

“Not yet.”

His father took a swig of whiskey and offered the bottle to Nailer. Pima spoke up from across the circle. “Doctor said he’s not supposed to drink.”