A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) (25 page)

"Then what do you suggest?" asked Jeff.

"The answer's inherent in what I just told you," said Nighthawk.

Jeff frowned. "It is?"

"Reason it out," said Nighthawk. "We know she's on Bollander. That's a given. Friday told us so, and Jason came directly here. What's the one other thing we know about her?"

"That she lived on Sylene?"

Nighthawk merely stared at him.

"Oh, I see!" said Jeff suddenly. "Hell, it shouldn't take much time at all."

"Would one of you please tell me what the hell you're talking about?" demanded Kinoshita.

"The one thing we know about Pallas Athene," said Jeff, "the defining fact about her, is that she's almost as lethal as Jason. You've said so often enough."

"So?"

"So I don't know if she drinks or drugs—but I do know the one spot she's
got
to have done business with if she's been here for a few years, the one spot most likely to know where she is."

"And what is that?" asked Kinoshita, still puzzled.

Jeff smiled. "A weapon shop."

28.

They tried two other weapons shops without success before they came to The Sharpshooter. It was run by a pair of elderly women, pudgy, pink and rosy-cheeked. Each wore a satin ribbon in her hair, they both wore old-fashioned (perhaps, thought Kinoshita, the term should be "ancient-fashioned") spectacles, and they had a pot of tea sitting right on the main counter.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said one of them. "Welcome to The Sharpshooter. May I offer you some tea?"

"That would be very nice," said Nighthawk before his two companions could offend by refusing it.

"I'm Winnifred Dugan, and this is my sister Wilma. I can't tell you how honored we are to have both the original Widowmaker and the newest version in our little shop."

"You know who I am?" said Nighthawk, surprised.

"Bloodletting is our business, in a manner of speaking," said Wilma. "And who is better at it than the Widowmaker? Ah, the sights you've seen!"

"And the men you've killed!" added Winnifred with undisguised enthusiasm.

"And so many have doubtless gone unreported," said Wilma. "You're one of our ideals, Mr. Nighthawk." She turned to Jeff. "And so, of course, are you, young Mr. Nighthawk. Such a record of death and destruction!"

"I prefer to think of it as a record of justice meted out," replied Jeff.

"Of course you do," said Wilma soothingly. "What would you gentlemen like in your tea?"

"Nothing," said Nighthawk.

"Whisky," muttered Kinoshita too softly for them to hear.

Winnifred poured three cups of tea, placed the delicate cups on a silver serving platter, walked out from behind the counter, and bought a cup to each of them.

"What can we sell you today?" asked Wilma. "We're having a special on pulse guns with both infrared and ultraviolet telescopic sights. Perhaps you'd prefer a pistol with a barrel that will extend at your command; you simply estimate the distance and it will instantly become the proper length to afford you the greatest accuracy. And we have a state of the art burner that will function under thirty-two fathoms of ocean, regardless whether it's composed of water, chlorine or ammonia."

"What we'd like is some information," said Nighthawk.

"Certainly," said Winnifred, returning to her place behind the counter. "Information is one of our most popular commodities, and always our most expensive."

"We're looking for a woman . . ."

"There's an excellent upscale brothel on the next block," said Wilma. "If you tell them we sent you, you'll receive a ten percent discount."

"And you'll receive a twenty percent kickback?" asked Nighthawk with a smile.

"Twenty-five," replied Wilma, returning the smile.

"Thanks anyway, but we're looking for a particular woman, and she won't be working in a whorehouse," said Nighthawk. "At various times she's been known as Pallas Athene and Helen of Troy."

The two sisters frowned as one. "It's not a name we're familiar with," said Winnifred at last.

"She's probably changed it again," said Nighthawk. "If I were to ask you who was the deadliest woman on the planet, what would your answer be?"

Wilma smiled. "Our answer would be: five hundred credits."

Nighthawk smiled and pulled out five one-hundred-credit bills.

"We can make a bank transfer from your account if you prefer," said Winnifred.

"Why should you pay taxes on it?" said Nighthawk, placing the money on the counter. "This is a private transaction. It's nobody's business but our own."

"I
knew
I would like you if I ever met you, Mr. Nighthawk!" said Winnifred. "Isn't he thoughtful, Wilma?"

"He's thoughtful and he's courteous," agreed Wilma.

"He's also five hundred credits poorer than he was half a minute ago," put in Nighthawk.

"Oh! Forgive us, Mr. Nighthawk," said Wilma. "We're not used to being in the company of two living legends."

"The name?" said Nighthawk.

"Certainly," said Winnifred. "The deadliest woman—probably the deadliest person on the planet, human or alien—is named Hera."

"No last name?"

"None."

"That's got to be her!" said Kinoshita. "It's yet another name from the Greek myths."

"Well, she's consistent, anyway," said Nighthawk.

"Except that she's not the deadliest person on the planet any more," said Wilma. "You are—you or the younger you."

"Speaking of younger," said Nighthawk, "have either of you ever heard of the Younger Brothers?"

"Villains from ancient Earth's Wild West," answered Wilma promptly. "Their names were Cole, Bob and Jim."

"Nothing more recent?"

"I've heard rumors about a gang of that name on the Inner Frontier," said Winnifred, "but no one seems to have any reliable information. Why?"

"Just curious," said Nighthawk. "What can you tell me about Hera?"

"Are you here to kill her?"

"No."

"Then why is the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy interested in her?"

"I'll be happy to tell you," said Nighthawk. "For five hundred credits."

Winnifred laughed aloud; Wilma merely smiled. "We'd rather think you're here to hunt her down," said Wilma. "It's much more exciting. And it's certainly not worth five hundred credits to us to find out that you're not here on some excessively bloody business."

"As you wish," said Nighthawk. "Are you ready for another five hundred credits?"

"Certainly," said Winnifred. "You want to know where to find her, of course?"

"Of course."

"How come the young Widowmaker hardly speaks?" she asked suddenly.

"He's taking notes."

"And the little man? Wherever a Widowmaker has been seen, he's always there too."

"My name is Ito Kinoshita, ma'am," said Kinoshita, bowing low. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"What's your relationship to the Widowmakers?" continued Winnifred. "Errand boy or secret master?"

"Friend," answered Nighthawk. "The address?"

"The five hundred credits?"

Nighthawk peeled off five more bills.

"She lives at 43 Macabee Street," said Wilma.

"Where is Macabee Street?"

"Three blocks west of here."

"Thank you," said Nighthawk, turning and taking a step toward the door.

"But you won't find her there," said Winnifred.

Nighthawk stopped and turned back to face the two sisters.

"She went into hiding five days ago," said Winnifred.

"But you know where?"

"Certainly. We shipped a supply of weapons, batteries and ammunition there before she left Macabee Street, so that no one could intercept them or follow our messenger."

"And how much do you want for that information?" said Nighthawk.

"We don't want any more of your money," said Wilma. "We're merely avaricious, not rapacious."

"Of course not."

"We will freely give you the directions," said Winnifred.

"That's very generous of you," said Nighthawk suspiciously.

"Just as soon as you sign a piece of paper," said Wilma.

"Promising you my life, my fortune, and what else?"

"Merely stating that you always buy your weapons at The Sharpshooter, and that even when you're in the Spiral Arm or out on the Rim or in the Magellenic Clouds, you have them shipped to you from Bollander III."

"You are two of the cuter extortionists it's been my experience to meet," said Nighthawk wryly. "Give me a piece of paper and a stylus."

Winnifred reached behind the counter and promptly withdrew a sheet of paper, while Wilma produced a quill pen. Nighthawk scribbled his endorsement and handed the pen and paper back.

"Map," commanded Wilma, and a printer instantly spat forth a complex map. "No, not of the Cluster," she said. "I want a map of Bollander III." Another map instantly appeared. She studied it and frowned. "No, this will never do. It's the whole planet. If I circle the location they need, it could cover ten thousand square miles. Let me try once more. Computer, I want a map of Orbach and Swenson counties on Bollander III, and make sure you include all the major roads." The map appeared two seconds later, and she laid it down on the counter top. "Much better," she said. "I just hate computers, don't you?"

"I never gave it much thought," said Nighthawk.

"Well,
we
loathe them," said Winnifred. "How can you invite a computer to tea, or discuss beauty with it?"

"I got the impression that what you mostly discuss is bloodletting," said Nighthawk.

"But there's a beauty to a well-planned hunt," said Winnifred. "And a certain exquisite mathematical precision to an efficient kill."

"The only beauty is coming out of it alive," said Nighthawk.

"Oh, tosh!" said Winnifred dismissively. "You find the same beauty in it that we do, or else why would you do it?"

"Because I can."

"Now that's an interesting if unexpected answer, Mr. Nighthawk," said Winnifred. "We'll have to think about that very seriously."

"In the meantime," said Wilma, handing Nighthawk the map, "I've circled the place where you'll find Hera, always assuming the man or men—or aliens—she's hiding from haven't found her first. Her location is indicated in red, and our shop is circled in blue. She's quite some distance out of town. In fact, she's in the next county."

Nighthawk handed the map to Kinoshita. "We'll find her."

"May we ask who a woman of her obvious talents is hiding from?" said Winnifred.

"You can ask."

"It's not worth five hundred credits to us," said Wilma apologetically.

"It's worth a lot more than that to me," said Nighthawk. "I wish I knew the answer. I guess there's just one more question, and then we won't bother you ladies any further."

"It's no bother," they said almost in unison.

"What's your question?" added Wilma.

"What weaponry did you ship to Hera's new location?"

"Just the usual."

"Nothing exotic? No molecular imploders, no sub-atomic vibrators, nothing like that?"

"Even the Inner Frontier is becoming too civilized for weapons like that," said Wilma.

"Which isn't to say that we couldn't get them for the right price," added Winnifred with a wink. "Just in case you ever need one."

"True," said Wilma. "But Hera never asked for them. Just a few extra burners and screechers, a shotgun that fires radioactive pellets, and a supply of batteries."

"Too bad," said Nighthawk. "I'd hoped we could learn a little about what she was facing based on what weapons she needed."

"I have a question," said Jeff. "Are we the first off-worlders to visit your establishment within the past two days?"

"There was one gentleman," said Winnifred. "He looked a little like you two Widowmakers. Not an exact likeness, but maybe like a cousin."

"He was in a bad way," put in Wilma. "He tried to hide it, but there was blood seeping through the front of his tunic."

"What did he buy?"

"That was the interesting thing," continued Wilma. "He bought batteries and bullets for his weapons, but that wasn't all. He bought goggles—"

"Goggles?" repeated Nighthawk sharply. "What kind?"

"Infrared, ultraviolet, night vision . . . in fact, one of every kind we have in the shop."

"And a radiation meter," added Winnifred. "Don't forget that, sister."

"Yes, a radiation meter," agreed Wilma. "Oh, and sound and vibration detectors, too."

"Was that all?" asked Jeff.

"I think so. I can have the computer check to make sure."

"Do that, please," said Nighthawk. "And then we'll buy three of everything he bought."

"Let me pour you some more tea while Wilma is gathering the stock," said Winnifred, putting three clean cups on the tray.

"Don't you have a robot to do that for you?" asked Nighthawk.

"We don't trust robots."

He turned to Kinoshita. "Give Wilma a hand."

Kinoshita went off to help her fill the order, while Nighthawk and Jeff sipped their tea and tried to pretend it was simply flat beer. Wilma and Kinoshita returned a few minutes later with a large box, Nighthawk paid for it, and they went off to find the woman who was now known as Hera—and, hopefully, still another Widowmaker.

29.

They elected to rent an aircar. As soon as they were five miles out of town and passing a number of increasingly-large farms, Jeff, who was driving, ordered the vehicle to stop and climbed out.

"What now?" asked Kinoshita as Jeff and Nighthawk began examining the aircar inside and out.

"Now we find and disable every safety system that will enable the company that owns the vehicle to track us," said Nighthawk. "We'll have enough trouble with what's in front of us. We don't want to be looking over our shoulders, too."

"Got one," reported Jeff from behind the car.

"And here's one under the seat," added Nighthawk, ripping out the small device.

"Until we know if they left anyone in town, or have any residents beholden to them, it's better than no one knows exactly where we are or what we're doing," Jeff told Kinoshita.

"But the company will know what you've done," said Kinoshita.