The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 16

The boy with the pistols chimed in.

"Oh sure, there are a few left. But they all work for the Merchant now."

"Who's the Merchant?"

"He's the guy who basically runs the town. If you want anything, you have to go through him. But from the looks of it, you don't have much he'd want. Maybe the bike, I don't know. I think he's got a lot of that kind of stuff already."

"Where do I find this Merchant fella?"

"You won't have to find him. One of his guards is blocking the road up ahead. He'll stop you on your way in. I imagine if you ask, he'll take you to see him."

Tanner nodded his thanks and gave the bike a little gas. If getting a doctor required seeing the Merchant, then that's what he would do.

The boy with the rifle shouted after him.

"He won't help you though."

Tanner gripped the handlebars of the bike a little tighter.

"We'll see."

The man guarding 18th Street wasn't in uniform, but there was no doubt that he was all business-M16, high and tight haircut, and a clean-shaven face. He looked like a commando trained to inflict every manner of h.e.l.l on his enemies. As soon as he saw Tanner approaching, he took up a defensive position behind the barricade of cars.

Tanner raised one hand high into the air and waved. When he got to within twenty or thirty yards, he braked to a stop and waited for the man to make the next move.

Commando came straight at him, deliberate and practiced, rifle glued to his shoulder.

"State your business in Altoona," he demanded.

"I'm looking for a doctor."

"You got the pox? We don't allow anyone with the pox into town."

Tanner thought about using the same clap joke, but Commando didn't seem like a man who appreciated juvenile humor. Better to keep it simple and to the point.

"I have a sick kid a few miles outside town. It's not the pox. Folks told me to go see the Merchant to arrange for a doctor."

Commando took a moment to look him over.

"Doctors are expensive."

"I can pay."

He nodded. "Stay here. I'll call it in."

Commando returned to his position and radioed in the request. About ten minutes later, a red and white cruiser approached with the words Fire Chief painted on the side. A man got out, and the two of them talked briefly. When they were finished, Commando waved Tanner over.

"You'll surrender your weapons and follow me into town on your motorcycle. Understand that we have strict laws in Altoona. If you do anything illegal, I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"Don't worry," Tanner said with a rea.s.suring smile, "I've always done my best to stay on the right side of the law."

The Merchant was conducting business out of the Altoona First Savings Bank, a single-story brick building with stubby white pillars out front. The parking lot was clear except for a few potential traders coming and going. The entrance was guarded by four heavily armed men, all of whom looked like they had hired on from Blackwater.

Tanner was taken inside, made to wait a few minutes in the entryway, and then ushered into an office at the back of the bank. Behind a pedestal desk sat a sweaty little man with a round face and even rounder gla.s.ses. He looked like Harry Potter might if he had spent the last ten years at Hogwarts, carousing and womanizing. Despite his soft, disheveled appearance, his eyes shone with both intelligence and guile.

He studied Tanner carefully, motioning for Commando to wait outside the door.

"You want a doctor." It was a statement, not a question.

"My kid's sick. I need someone to come and take a look at her. Maybe give her some medicine."

The Merchant smiled slightly. "I'm sorry about your daughter. I really am."

Tanner nodded.

"Did my men explain how we operate here?"

"More or less. You've set up a barter system, trading goods and services."

"That's right. And do you have something to trade?"

"I've got a kid desperate for care. Surely, that's worth a couple hours of someone's time."

He offered a sad smile.

"No, I'm sorry, but it's not. We facilitate exchanges, not handouts. There are no exceptions to this, Mister..."

"Tanner."

"Mister Tanner. No exceptions whatsoever. As far as medical care, it is one of the most expensive services we offer."

"All right," Tanner said, not at all surprised. "Would it be okay to make my case to the doctors directly?"

"There's no law against it if that's what you're asking. But it won't do you any good. They all work for the town now."

"The town? Or you?"

"Mr. Tanner, despite what you might think, I am not a bad man. I was elected to help the town survive. A month ago, we had nothing. People were struggling to eat, to find clean water, to feel safe at night. Now, we have a system that everyone understands. Some bring in food. Others need that food. We simply facilitate the trading."

Tanner wanted to argue his case, but he saw no point. The Merchant was not a man who would be swayed by emotion or need. He was quite simply a businessman, and businessmen survived by carefully weighing profits and losses. And that, he thought, might be his way in.

"Understand this," he said, "if we can't resolve this peacefully, you and I will find ourselves on opposite sides of a disagreement. If that comes to pa.s.s, it would not be good for your business. I can promise you that." Tanner looked over his shoulder and weighed his chances of disarming Commando and shooting the Merchant in the face. Not good, but not impossible either.

The Merchant took a moment to consider his next move carefully.

"There might be a way," he said slowly.

"How?"

"Everything about you tells me that you're a very hard man, perhaps harder than any in my employ. That is a skill that could serve you well in Altoona."

"As what? A guard? I don't have time-"

"No, not a guard. We have," he hunted for the right words, "a fight club."

"A fight club?"

"People love to see a good fight. In fact, they pay handsomely to see and bet on such events."

"What kind of fights?"

"Bare knuckles, usually. The winner comes away with a white card, the loser a black card. Those cards can be brought here and traded for goods or services, anything from a box of food to a full night with a beautiful woman. They are quite valuable."

"What are you saying? That if I win one of these fights, you'll help my kid?"

"Oh heavens no," he said, waving the suggestion aside. "That wouldn't be a fair trade at all. Bring me three white cards, and you'll have your doctor and medicines."

Tanner looked over his shoulder at Commando. The man stared back at him with steel in his eyes.

"I should tell you that I'm considering just taking what I need."

"I understand," said the Merchant, "but I also sense that you'll make the right decision."

Tanner took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Fine. But if you cross me on this, G.o.d Himself won't stop me from burning everything you've built to the ground."

The Merchant managed a nervous smile.

"We honor all bargains. As I said, I am not a bad man."

"Those are words I've heard before, and they're usually spoken by bad men."

The Merchant stared at Tanner, waiting for him to move beyond threats and into acceptance.

"When and where?"

"The fights are held every evening up at Horseshoe Curve."

"Where's that?"

"Out to the west a few miles, but we'll escort you there." He smiled. "I wouldn't want you getting lost."

"What is it exactly?"

"Horseshoe Curve is a tight bend in Norfolk Southern Railway's Pittsburgh Line. It became famous in World War II when n.a.z.is sent a team to sabotage the tracks. Thankfully, they were unsuccessful, and it subsequently became a tourist site. And now," he let the words hang in the air for a moment, "now, it's a fight club. All things must evolve, yes?"

Tanner couldn't give three s.h.i.ts in the wind about the history of the railroad, but he tended to agree with the last part. Things had to evolve if they were to have any chance of surviving.

"Have a doctor and medicines waiting. When I bring you the three cards, I'll need him to be ready to roll."

"White cards. You must win the fights, Mr. Tanner."

"Understood."

The Merchant stood up and extended a soft, sweaty hand.

"It is customary to seal every important deal with a handshake. I think this one qualifies."

Tanner reached forward, and despite the man's a.s.surances to the contrary, it felt an awful lot like he was shaking hands with the Devil.

Before he released the Merchant's hand, he said, "There's one other thing I want, and it's nonnegotiable."

The Merchant's eyebrows rose with a mix of curiosity and amus.e.m.e.nt when Tanner told him of his final request.

CHAPTER.

12.

The rain had stopped, but not before Connie and Mason were both soaked to the bone. Even the truck's seat was wet from the window having been left partially open. Mason sat with his shirt off, examining her handiwork. The st.i.tches were clean and straight, but the cut still burned.

Bowie whined at the door, and Connie let him out to use the bathroom.

"Thank you, Marshal," she said, her voice breaking slightly.

"For what?"

She wiped her eyes. "For saving me, of course."

"I couldn't very well leave you to a couple of s.a.d.i.s.tic clowns."

Connie slid closer and leaned against him. Her hair hung in thick wet clumps, and her white shirt clung to her chest, showing the outline of a bra and the firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath. She was shaking, perhaps from the cold, more likely from the entire ordeal.

He put his arm around her with the intention of letting their body heat slowly warm each other. Without saying a word, Connie unb.u.t.toned her wet shirt, slid it off, and set it on the dashboard. Her skin was smooth and soft, perfect except for tiny freckles dotting her shoulders and the star-shaped burn on her chest. Before he knew what was happening, she slid forward and swung a leg over to straddle his lap.

"What are you doing?"