The Iron Ghost by I. O. Adler

Author:I. O. Adler [Adler, I. O.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cyberpunk, Post-Apocalyptic, scifiaction, cattlepunk
Amazon: B09Z9MLHRK
Publisher: Lucas Ross Publishing
Published: 2022-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

An hour later, and Miles regretted drinking all that tea.

The party in the No Name Club was breaking up. Cars and motorcycles drifted past at a steady trickle.

Miles and Santabutra remained in her pickup, seats back and heads low. He fought off the yawns as he glanced at each face. His focus became more acute as none of the ones leaving were the wagon driver. He was a big man with a beard, and unless he was packed away in a cargo compartment, he remained inside the bar.

He also checked the rearview mirror. If Hughes was onto them, he might have called someone. No one coming, only people leaving. Miles was left to wonder if Dawn Moriti was out there watching. It would be foolish to believe she couldn’t have followed them. But for what purpose?

Why would a highly trained thief and spy be interested in Hughes and his operation? What did any of the people picked up by the black van have to do with each other?

Too many riddles and he was too tired.

Meanwhile, Santabutra was drumming her fingers on the inside of the door.

“You realize someone will hear that,” Miles said.

“My ears are still ringing from the inside of the club. There’s no one hanging around. If there are, they’re deaf.”

“Did you take something? You were fidgety while driving.”

She flexed her hand. “Just nerves. And I added a couple of drops of caffeine to my tea. Third shift shakes. I forgot how much I hate them. How many people have left?”

“Fifty-seven.” A motorcycle with a driver, passenger, and another on the handlebars zipped past. None of the three were the driver of the orange and beige wagon. “Sixty. Why don’t you shut your eyes for a spell?”

“Don’t coddle me.”

He surveyed another three departing cars. Dark windows obscured two of them, but the drivers in each case were young. The man Miles was looking for appeared to fit in with Hughes’ inner circle and not the regular club goers. In fact, he had seen none of the rougher group leave.

Flashing blue and white lights pulsed from behind them. A pair of Yellow Tiger cruisers rode past, heading for the bar.

Miles sat up. “What are they doing here?”

Santabutra clipped on her monocle. The replacement device was larger than her damaged unit and it took her a moment to fit it on. Her eyes began darting back and forth. “Call from the club. It was flagged by Detective John Deng. He sent the two patrol units to the scene.”

“What’s the call for?”

“Someone wants to turn themselves in.”

Santabutra started the car and drove to the club. Most of the street parking was empty. The two militia cruisers were out front, one blocking the driveway. The rolling gate stood open. Four armored cops were getting out of their vehicles as Neil Hughes and the driver of the orange and beige wagon approached the troopers.

Miles didn’t wait for Santabutra to come to a complete stop. He approached the group.

One officer stepped in his way with a hand up.

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