A Fistful of Mechs: A Battle Mech Sci-Fi Series by Jake Bible

Author:Jake Bible [Bible, Jake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2023-07-17T23:00:00+00:00

18

Clay wanted to make a grand exit, shove his way through the crowd, and bolt out onto the Del Rado main drag. He wanted Nasta to know he intended to have no part of anything where comunistas were involved. But the saloon was so crowded, and his guts were hurting bad enough, that he only made it about two meters before she caught up to him.

“Clay!” she yelled from behind him. “Clay! Stop!”

No one in the saloon cared that she was yelling, they didn’t even care as the comunistas continued their chant of “Viva la revolucion!” another six times before yelling at a waitress to bring them more pitchers, many more pitchers. The crowd only cared about the drinks in their hands and the barely clad women and men who had stepped out onto the stage.

Clay ignored Nasta’s shouts, although the fact she used his name and didn’t call him pilot boy was not lost on him. He tried to aim for the saloon’s doors, but the crush of the crowd drove him in the opposite direction and he found himself shoved up against the end of the bar.

He caught the bartender’s eye and held up three fingers. The man nodded and poured three fingers of brown liquor into a dirty glass and slid it down the bar to Clay. Everyone at the bar lifted their glass to let the drink pass as if they’d choreographed and rehearsed the move for days. Clay knew Haggie Ventura wasn’t going to go broke anytime soon with solid regulars like that.

“Clay!” Nasta shouted from his side.

“Hey there, little lady,” a fat drunk said. “You looking for some companionship?”

Nasta nut punched him and he went down hard.

“Damn,” he gasped. “No need to be rude.”

“She can’t help it,” Clay said and fished around in his pockets for coins or scrip. But, of course, he didn’t have any. He noticed the bartender giving him the stink eye and returned the look with a wide, disingenuous smile.

“They hang folks who can’t pay their bar tabs around here,” Nasta said as she slapped down a pile of scrip on the bar and pointed at the bartender.

The man smiled and slid a full bottle down the bar. More well-rehearsed choreography from the locals and the bottle came to a stop right by Clay’s drink, a second glass following right behind. The scrip was grabbed up and passed from hand to hand down to the bartender without a single slip being pocketed. Solid regulars indeed.

“They hang folks who can’t pay their bar tab everywhere,” Clay said. He picked up his drink and downed it in one gulp. His belly turned to pure fire instantly, but he refused to let the pain show on his face. He wouldn’t give Nasta the satisfaction. “That’s a universal offense, I’m fairly sure.”

Nasta filled her glass and downed it, drinking twice as much as Clay in one swallow.

“What’s your beef with comunistas?” Nasta asked.

“Beef? I got some beef right here,” the fat drunk said as he got back to his feet, obviously having forgotten the previous few seconds of pain.

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