A Planet with No Name Page 7

  Veronica slid her fingers over the numb spot on her butt. She kept her voice calm. “The evidence is for you and me.”

  Steve nodded, his jaw muscles twitching with barely restrained anger. He pulled bullet fragments from the seat and side doors.

  She was not a ballistics expert, but when she compared them to her collection from Cal’s death, they had the same striations and rifling. Since these recent bullets had gone through glass instead of a metal field robot and settled into soft truck seats and doors instead of jamming into hardened metal, there were enough partial fingerprints for the desktop base reader in Veronica’s living room to match the swirls, whirls, and ridges. It generated a clear thumbprint and a partial print from an index finger.

  Not that fingerprints mattered. No one on the planet had been fingerprinted. The Pioneer Compact had refused to allow criminals to emigrate with them, so they determined there was no reason to supply any fingerprints or DNA for a planetary database. She wondered, not for the first time, how comprehensive the Compact investigation actually was when looking for criminal records.

  No one had seen the Halberds at her place. She had no way to compare two fingerprints and ballistic evidence against the Halberds or anyone else. She made a mental note to try to get samples of prints from the Halberds, but it would be difficult; she would need a complete set of ten prints on all of them to compare against her small sample.

  Proof or not, she knew who had shot up her truck. It may sound like childish mischief, but a five-year-old boy was hurt as the result. There were no laws on the books about any criminal actions occurring outside of towns or cities. In fact, there were no books to jot down the laws. Law or no written law, hurting children was against Veronica’s personal set of moral codes.

  After thinking a while, she pushed herself back from her computer desk in the living room. “Twisted City will have to wait. I need to get changed and go into Peaceful Junction.”

  It was Saturday. She was sure Dillon and Maine would be there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Veronica was angry enough to spit. It was not a long drive into town, but the constant, hot wind in her face made her keep the speed of the truck down to a minimum. Her butt still felt numb where Pushta pulled out the slivers of broken glass.

  She had come to love her truck and to have it deliberately damaged made her almost as angry as losing Cal. Hurting Ransom caused her anger reservoir to boil over.

  She pulled the truck into a small stand of trees along the side of the road at the edge of town. It provided enough shade to keep the truck cab cool as the air conditioner was useless without windows. She hated the thought of walking even this short distance to town in her red cowboy boots, but the high-heeled boots made her legs look shapelier, accentuating her heart-shaped derriere.

  Due to the heat, Veronica wore a short, flowered sundress covered with roses matching her boots and hat. Pushta had combed her hair out and re-braided it for her. She even used a bit of makeup, although Pushta wiped it off and reapplied it. The woman was unaware of Veronica’s full plan for revenge against the Halberds, but she was more than willing to help if it meant payback on the people who hurt her baby boy.

  The two women almost had to tie Steve up to keep him from going after the Halberds alone. Finally, Steve and Pushta promised to trust that Veronica would get justice from the Halberds. They had even pledged to be patient. Steve did not promise to forgive. Pushta promised she would never forget.

  The walk into town was much easier than her last walk out of town. She smiled at the memory. This trip was downhill, short, and without a pack. She passed the livery stable and waved at the farrier. He did not wave or smile back, but he watched her.

  The town was busy. Other farmers must have completed their harvests as they loaded goods into their vehicles from stores all up and down the street. She angled away from the saloon and walked directly towards Tatum’s office.

  Sheriff Eustace did not bother to rise from his chair. He called to her from his perch on the sidewalk. “No trouble this week, Mrs. Smith.”

  She held her arms out at shoulder height and turned in a slow circle. “I didn’t bring anything with me that can get damaged this week, Useless. I only brought my body. I suppose you can protect me from rape and murder?”

  Eustace shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll sure investigate some after it happens. I can guarantee I’ll write up an excellent report on it.”

  She said, “Well, I’m sure comforted by that.”

  No one else on the street would meet her eyes. She was not sure what hold, if any, the Halberds had over the people in this town or the farmers who came into town. Everyone seemed to be wary of her. Maybe they were afraid of being caught in the crossfire.

  She stopped in front of Tatum’s office. She remained in the street, careful not to step onto his property. She casually fanned herself with her hat and waited.

  It was not long before a couple pulled up in an old flitter. Veronica did not know the people, but as they started towards Tatum’s office, she stopped them.

  “Hi. Sorry, but I don’t know you,” Veronica said. “I’m not selling anything or trying to convert you to a cult. I just want to give you something.” She pulled out Chuck Reynolds’ business card and handed it to the man.

  Farmers were free to use any produce trader on the planet. Most ranchers and farmers used the local agent. Chuck Reynolds told her of an unwritten agreement among agents; they were not to advertise in another agent’s territory. Reynolds had informed her that she had ended her agreement with Tatum, making her a free agent. Still, in the eyes of many produce agents, even his contacting Veronica was a gray area. He would never talk directly to any of Tatum’s current customers, but if anyone called him, he would be happy to talk to them.

  Veronica decided just because Chuck Reynolds could not advertise, that did not mean she could not do it for him. Tatum tried to cheat her. She was convinced if he did it to her, he would try it on others.

  “I’m Veronica Smith. Now, I know you don’t like me—”

  “Nonsense,” the man interrupted. “I’m Conner and this is my bride, Lizzie. I don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you.”

  The woman whispered in his ear.

  Conner said, “Oh, you’re that Smith woman. Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t like you.” He waved the business card in her face. “I don’t know this man, so I can’t say if I like him or not.”

  Veronica said, “Fair enough. I just want to give you a choice you may not be aware you have. Chuck Reynolds is the produce buyer over in Twisted City.”

  Conner said, “I can read, you know. I do my business with Manning Tatum. I’ve always done business with local businesses.” His wife tugged at his arm, but he pulled away, continuing to face Veronica. His belligerence was apparent.

  Suddenly she wondered if Conner was his first name, last name, or a nickname. Instead of asking, she said, “Yes sir, I respect that. All I’m suggesting is that once you get pricing from Manning Tatum, you then call Chuck Reynolds to check his pricing before you sign anything.”

  The man said, “Tatum told me you might complain about his cheating you. He said it wasn’t true. He said that you don’t understand farming and finance.”

  She said, “Sir, this isn’t about me and Manning Tatum, it’s about getting you not only a fair price but the best price for your crops. Call Chuck or don’t, it’s your choice.”

  Conner shoved the card in his pocket and walked away without another word.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Manning Tatum noticed a couple enter his building and step into the foyer. His building was secure and well insulated, but he listened carefully to the audio feeds of his security system put in place to protect his interests. The auditory pick up had limited range and could not detect conversational tones beyond the curb to the street. Keeping the volume low, he usually managed to hear his customer’s conversations while they stood outside his doorway and in the
elevator foyer. It was incredible to him what a wife would tell her husband or vice versa, immediately before they met with him.

  Innumerable times he heard the words, “Don’t take less than…” or “Remember to negotiate for better…” Such conversations stacked his deck of cards during negotiations. Since his doorstep was technically his property, he never felt he was invading anyone’s privacy.

  Tatum enjoyed hearing the last minute instructions between couples for they carried the most weight. The liveliest conversations usually occurred at the elevator doors.

  He grinned recognizing the couple, Amil and Elizabeth Conner. It should be a smooth transaction. He already had a verbal agreement with them. All he had to do was set it in motion and order up the produce containers from Landing City. He called up their file on his system and adjusted the thumbprint pad at the edge of his desk.

  As the elevator doors closed, Tatum overheard Mrs. Conner say, “Don’t you listen to that woman. Mr. Tatum has been good to us so far.”

  Tatum wondered what woman Mrs. Conner was referencing. He stood and smiled as the couple stepped off the elevator. “Come on over, folks. Can we get you a cold drink for this hot day?”

  Mrs. Conner started to nod, but the man stopped her with a stare.

  Conner said, “Thank you, but no, Mr. Tatum. The missus and I can afford to buy our own drinks and I prefer not to be beholden to you for even a cold beverage.”

  Tatum smiled, “I understand, of course, I feel the same way myself. I asked because my wife says I should. You know how some women are.”

  Conner nodded but did not smile. “My crops will be harvested next week. You ready to buy ‘em?”

  Tatum nodded. He tapped a button on his vid. It opened a reverse display so the couple could see exactly what was on his screen. “Here’s our agreement. Please sign the pad in front of you and give me a thumbprint. You’ll have as many containers as you can fill by next week.”

  Conner shook his head. “Those prices were set before my crop was even in the ground. What has the price done since then?”

  Tatum said, “Well, to be honest, an eight-month-long rainy season caused some ups and some downs in pricing, especially coming on the tail end of last year’s dry season. Not to mention all of those storms that practically blew us off the face of the planet when we went from last year’s dry to this year’s wet season. I can tell you that this price is a bit high for today’s pricing, but it’s what I offered.”

  Conner took a card out of his pocket, flipped on his data-patch and with a few strokes sent a message.

  Tatum frowned. “Is something wrong—”

  The farmer stopped him with a raised finger. It only took a minute before Conner received a response to his message. He switched the data-patch to visual so his wife could read the pricing. The woman frowned as she compared the price on Tatum’s screen to her husband’s display. The man’s face turned florid in anger as his wife studied the two sets of numbers.

  The woman gestured to her husband. Without waiting for him or saying a word, she headed to the elevator. The man followed her.

  Tatum looked up at his wife, “What was that all about?”

  Mrs. Tatum said, “Maybe they got bad news from somewhere.”

  Tatum heard shouting through his security system’s audio pick up. It was coming from the street below. He reached for the video pick up and repositioned the camera to the street.

  Tatum shouted, “It’s that Smith woman out there.” He raced for the elevator doors and jabbed the call button a dozen times in frustration.

  Chapter Twenty

  Veronica tried to hand out more business cards. She had ten and managed to give three out before the man and his wife came storming out of the building.

  “Lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch,” the man said with a shout. “Hey you—Smith, you got more of them cards?”

  She said, “I only have a few, sir.” She held them up.

  He ripped them from her hand and turned away. “Here, Jim Owens. You come here and take one of these cards. Hey! Gilbert Arcoa, you come here and talk to me.”

  Veronica smiled. She was about to turn and walk away when Manning Tatum stomped out of his building.

  He pointed a thin, well-manicured finger at Veronica and shouted at her. “What are you doing? You can’t come here and chase my customers away!” He yanked a card out of Owens hand and read it before crumpling it into a wad and throwing it on the ground.

  Veronica did not say anything.

  “Reynolds is going to hear about this.”

  She said, “Mr. Reynolds has nothing to do with this. He didn’t ask me to talk to my neighbors and he didn’t authorize this in any way.”

  Tatum said, “He gave you enough business cards to hand out, didn’t he?” He spat out the words like a damaging accusation.

  She said, “No. I printed them out on my own computer. Mr. Reynolds doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Sheriff Eustace walked up. “What ruckus have you stirred up now, Mrs. Smith?”

  Tatum turned on Eustace, towering over the man. “She’s telling people to call the produce buyer in Twisted City and to go through him instead of me.”

  Veronica said, “I only suggested they talk to another buyer to receive the full range of pricing options available to them. I don’t think there’s a person in town that’ll actually do what I tell them to do.”

  Eustace said, “You’re advertising for this other produce buyer?”

  Tatum said, “Yes she is, sheriff, and my taxes pay your salary, not taxes from Twisted City.”

  Eustace asked, “Are you doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

  She said, “Actually, I’m not advertising for Chuck Reynolds, I’m advertising against Manning Tatum. I don’t care who my neighbors call to get comparison pricing. No one’s paying me and I never stepped onto Tatum’s property. I haven’t littered either, although he has.” She pointed at the crumpled business card laying in the dirt at Tatum’s feet. “I haven’t forced anyone to do anything. I have read the town bylaws and ordinances so I know I am not breaking any of them, plus I guarantee I know the Pioneer Compact better than either of you.”

  Tatum was so angry his face was pale and his voice shook when he spoke. “You make her stop or arrest her, Sheriff Eustace. That’s what I pay you for.”

  She said, “Never mind, gentlemen. I’m done here. I promise I won’t do this again.”

  Tatum said, “I’m not done with you, Smith. You lied to get on this planet and you don’t deserve to be here.”

  Veronica ignored him and walked away.

  Tatum shouted at her. “You come back here.”

  She refused to acknowledge him. She heard him working the crowd against her. Some sided with him and shouted vile insults at her, but she ignored them. She took a chance and stepped into the saloon. It was quiet and dark compared to the busy street. Dillon and Maine sat alone at a corner table. Their parents were not present.

  She bought a bottle at the bar and grabbed a glass. Doing her best to strut across the room, she slid a chair up next to Maine and sat down. She crossed her legs causing the flimsy dress to slide up, exposing her thighs. She sat close enough to lean against him. She poured a drink of whiskey and slid it across to him. She turned her head so Dillon could not see her face when she winked at Maine.

  She poured another drink into Maine’s empty glass. Grabbing the bottle away as Dillon reached for it; she set it on the chair between her legs. The symbolism of the upright neck of the bottle clenched between her thighs was not lost on either man, especially Maine. The man was definitely the slower of the two brothers, but not completely helpless. Drinking did not seem to help Maine’s wetware in the least.

  She said, “Maine, can’t you and I be alone for a bit?”

  Maine said, “Sure enough.”

  Dillon said, “No. Pa and Ma will be along any minute. You keep your backside in that chair.”

  Veronica poured Maine another drink. “
Maine, you come to see me out at my place this week. You don’t need to bring him along.” She slid the bottle between Maine’s legs, resting her hands on his lap. “You keep that, it’s all for you. I’ve had enough for the day.” No matter what she said, she expected Maine to pass the bottle to Dillon before she was out the door. She gave her butt a little swish, as she headed for the door, but did not look back.

  Veronica had not quite reached the door when the rest of the Halberd family arrived.

  Dee looked at her sons and back at Veronica. “You leave my boys alone. They don’t need some hussy out trying to stir them up.”

  Veronica smiled pleasantly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Halberd. I’m not your daughter-in-law yet, and even if I was, I’m not sure I would care to respond to your tone of voice.”

  Mr. Halberd said, “You’re a liar and a tramp to boot. This country will be well shed of you, times a’coming.” He ushered his wife into the room and reached for his young daughter. The daughter did not pull away though she seemed to shrink away from her father’s touch.

  Veronica had seen that look often enough during her training to become an educator as well as in practical application. It was the look of an abused thirteen-year-old girl. Veronica could not do anything about it now, but she added it to the list of things the Halberds were going to pay for.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Veronica laughed at Ransom’s attempt to get around the house without his feet touching the floor. Pushta had wrapped his feet in bandages; the extra padding did not slow the rambunctious boy. If anything, it added a challenge to his high jinks.

  It had been a productive morning for a Saturday. Except for the broken glass in the truck, it had gone well, both on the farm and in Peaceful Junction. She had not yet been able to drive much of a wedge between Dillon and Maine, but she realized that would take time. She had planted another seed. Actually, two seeds because she had introduced the idea of marriage. It was a backdoor introduction, but with a little luck, the seed would stick in the Halberd’s brains.