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   Chapter 32 No.32

Loderunner By Christina Engela Characters: 5269

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


The diner slash galley was silent and empty. On the battered dining table was a small pile of objects. In his tired state he would call it clutter or perhaps something more descriptive or colorful. But he looked through it just to satisfy his peaking curiosity. Two mobile phones, two hand guns – small caliber projectile weapons. The smaller one was a stubby little revolver. Tim hadn't seen a revolver in real life before, at least, not outside a museum. It had quite a bit of surface rust and when he tilted it slightly while examining it, one of the bullets fell out the back. Smith & Wesson, he read. Young America. Thirty-two caliber. This wasn't a weapon, it was a curiosity. Perhaps an abomination, even. Something that belonged either in a museum or at the bottom of a harbor. The other was a Jupina Black Auto 10mm. Quite standard. A handy relatively modern gun. Made on Eden, he read. Nothing wrong with that. There were two mobiles, reasonably new. No complete names or addresses, just numbers. They were stored under descriptions like 'Johnny Spikes' and 'Freddy Boom-boom'. He didn't think he would fancy meeting Johnny Spikes or even mister Boom-boom. Especially without some serious hardware in his hand, and maybe some equally serious backup around the corner with tires screeching and sirens wailing. He yawned. There were no wallets or anything that could identify the two men tied to a large wooden box on his cargo deck – but all of that could wait a few more hours.

* * *

The next morning – or perhaps just later after the sun came up – there was a lot

r tongues would be very loose. The boss must know what he wants, and anyway, she thought, he is the boss. She punched a key on the control panel by the ramp entrance and grinned as it began to rumble closed.

* * *

Breakfast turned out to be surprisingly good, considering that the night had been almost non-existent. Tim was enjoying the meal. He liked fried eggs and bacon. Bacon made from RHWB, with very straight rinds. It reminded him of home. His mother used to make it as a treat Sunday mornings. And sometimes he'd twist Dory's arm to whip some up for him too. He gazed longingly into the clouds in his coffee. Deire was wiping bits of food out of his thick grey beard, while Bubba was still making food noises in the kitchen. Vic was sipping black coffee, resting on her muscular arms, leaning over an empty plate and looking well satisfied. Nurse was nodding off, his plate still half-full. Triple-J was notably absent. The main attraction at this breakfast was Jaymie, who was seated beside Vic and receiving stares from the men-folk.

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