Freelancers: Falcon & Phoenix (2 page)

T
he smell
of outdoor cooking wafts through the windows of the bus as it drives into the town. Smaller buildings line a street that is alive with the foot traffic of pedestrians and sellers. The road is congested with people on bicycles or pulling makeshift rickshaws. The passengers of the foot cabs wear far nicer clothes than those of the operators.

Phoenix keeps her gun in Falcon’s side as she watches the private sellers already approaching the slowing bus to hawk their wares. Falcon keeps his eyes on the windows of war-torn buildings. Many of the taller office buildings and skyscrapers of the old world exist as shells of their former selves. The smaller buildings survive as new businesses and homes for some of the citizens.

The bus stops at a small kiosk and the occupants of the passenger vehicle hurry to collect their belongings and exit the bus. The recent fight and gun use was much more excitement than any of them cared for. The faster they distance themselves from the two Freelancers, the better.

Falcon steps off of the bus. Phoenix keeps the gun to his back and one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes dart around just to get a read of their surroundings. Falcon takes a longer gaze. He watches hanging signs as they swing gently from their awnings. Characters and kanji of different types and in different languages are painted on windows and doors. A mixture of languages roars through the air–English, Vietnamese, Japanese, Chinese. Korean, Taiwanese, Laotian. And those are just the languages that are the loudest. People haggle back and forth over prices. Others thank merchants for a good deal. Falcon doesn’t understand anything that isn’t English, only the gestures and mannerisms the people make in relation to one another. None of them seem threatening. Not near the bus stop, anyway.

“Now what?” he asks.

“Now we find a car and I take you to the Ivory Republic.” She pushes him forward. People weave in and out of the street on various modes of transportation. Only a few cars work their way, slowly, down the crowded street. Their horns blare for those in slower vehicles to move out of their way.

Falcon stops abruptly and turns to his left.

Phoenix almost bumps into him. “Quit stalling.”

“You ever been there, before?” He stares at a tall building. It is the only one of its kind. Ornate gold and red eaves adorn the building’s surface, sweeping skyward and resembling an ancient pagoda. It’s clear they are not original aspects of the structure.

“The Castle? Where do you think I got amnesty?”

“So you’re in good with the Emperor.”

“Who cares?” She pushes him forward.

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“Well stop trying and start walking.”

The two make their way through the crowd of buyers and merchants. They both have to wave off and stop people from shoving items toward them. The crowd is too dense for them to move very fast and the constant start and stop from groups of people blocking the path makes it difficult to move forward very far.

“How does a Freelancer get amnesty in one of the nations?” Falcon asks.

“Shut up.”

“Come on. It’s not like we’re gonna get a car any faster if you don’t tell me.”

“I said shut up. Does it matter, anyway? You said you’re not wanted here. What difference does it make if I’m welcome and you’re not?”

“Well I just want to know how I can get back in the Emperor’s good graces.”

“You crossed the man, himself?” Surprised, Phoenix pulls the gun slightly away from Falcon’s back.

“Who are you trying to fool, old man?” A loud voice yells over the din of the crowd.

“This good quality. You not find but my store.” An older voice replies in broken English.

Falcon and Phoenix get closer to the argument. A woman with a small cart backs up and joins the sea of bodies, revealing the two debaters. A seedy looking, wiry man in a fedora and cheap leather jacket throws a china doll down on the table. It shatters into several pieces.

“See? These things aren’t supposed to break,” the wiry man says.

“You buy now. You break, you buy now,” the old seller tells him.

“I ain’t buying nothing. My Grandma is from old Japan. She knows how to make these things for real.”

“You break you buy,” the old man repeats.

Falcon stares at the sight.

“Keep going,” Phoenix tells him.

“Slim Jim Soon?” Falcon ignores her.

The wiry man turns and his eyes go wide. “Falcon? What? Hey, good to see you, man. I heard you got banned from here. What are you—“

“There’s a contract on you from the BSN,” Falcon says.

“What? What are you talking about, man? I squared that with the King. I got amnesty in the Black Sovereign Nation.”

“Uh-uh.” Falcon shakes his head and steps forward.

“Yeah. I’m in good over there, now—” Slim Jim spins around and grabs the nearest pedestrian, shoving her between him and Falcon before bursting through the crowd, knocking over anyone in his way.

Falcon digs his boots in and runs after him.

“Falcon!” Phoenix raises the gun, ready to fire but it’s too risky with so many people around. She holsters it and takes off after him, trying hard not to knock anyone down.

Without her captive to block sight of her, those closest instantly recognize Phoenix. Hands hold out items in front of her. Voices in multiple languages plead with her to take their offers. They want her to have them for free. She tries to politely decline while forcing her way through. The only clear sign that Falcon is still in front of her are the heads of people being pushed to the side as he and Slim Jim barrel through the crowd.

Phoenix pulls her gun and fires straight into the air. Those furthest from her desperately try to run away. Those nearest merely duck.

That’s gonna be a black mark on my karma
, she thinks.

But the move pays off and a clear path forms. She catches a glimpse of Falcon, dashing around a corner and she takes off at a run after him.

F
alcon chases
Slim Jim down a narrow side street. It’s far less crowded than the main market but there are still many people walking up and down it. Slim Jim grabs objects and people nearest to his grasp and tries shoving them in the path of a quickly gaining Falcon. The Freelancer doesn’t slow. He runs around some of the items. Others he jumps over. If people are put in his way, he does his best to avoid running into them. Unfortunately not everyone is lucky enough to avoid an impact and some innocent bystanders are knocked to the ground.

“Stupid Anglo!” a man yells as he rises back to his feet after Falcon slams into him, forcing him to the ground.

Falcon watches Slim Jim dart down an alley way. He takes one look back toward the main street to see if Phoenix is behind him. She isn’t. He sees only a sea of people moving up and down the street.

Facing forward, he follows his quarry into the dim alley and stops just at the edge of the two buildings creating the narrow space. A few people sit or lean against the walls. Some of them shift in their spaces but none of them make any moves toward or away from Falcon. And none of them are Slim Jim.

A metal sound bangs from above. Falcon looks up to see Jim almost to the top of a ladder. The wiry man scrambles up it and over the edge, disappearing on the roof of the building.

“Dammit.” Falcon runs for the ladder and leaps to the second rung.

P
hoenix finally pushes past
the crowd and onto the side street. She squints her eyes to see if she recognizes anyone. She doesn’t. No one chasing after anyone. And no one being chased. Just more buyers and sellers moving forward to add themselves to the crowd now behind her.

“Great.” She holsters her gun and walks briskly down the middle of the street. She turns her head down the alley and sees only the same, barely moving people. A few vendors smile and wave at her. She replies in kind, though her demeanor is less authentic. Phoenix turns from the alley and back to the street then to the alley again, trying to decide which way to go. She decides on the street and runs to the next intersection.

“
W
rong move
, Jim!” Falcon yells as his feet clomp along the roof of the building. “You should have stayed in the crowd.”

“I know my town, Freelancer.” Slim Jim jumps over the wall dividing the adjoining buildings. He heads back in the direction of the market street.

“There’s nowhere else to go.” Falcon jumps over the dividing wall as Jim makes a wide turn back toward the alley. “You won’t make it. It’s too far.”

Jim’s foot hits the raised edge of the building and he launches himself into the empty air. Falcon watches as he disappears below his line of sight before running to the edge.

On the building across the alley, Jim scrambles up a steel balcony
.
“Too bad for you. No pay day for the Freelancer.” Slim Jim slaps his own chest in praise of himself.

Falcon stares at him then down at the concrete below. It’s only two stories up but a fall from this height will probably break something if he lands wrong. Even if he lands right, a sprain or twist is almost guaranteed. If nothing else, the impact shock will put him on his butt. Either way, Slim Jim gets away and getting away from Phoenix will prove nearly impossible. Of course, if he doesn’t try, Slim Jim still gets away. Falcon looks at the steel scaffold Jim stands on. He turns around and walks to the opposite side of the building.

“That’s right. Go back home. The Asian Empire’s not good for you,” Jim yells as he watches Falcon disappear on the roof.

Falcon stops at the other side of the building and turns to face the alley. He swings his arms in front of him, readying himself. “He did it. You can do it,” he says under his breath. Falcon inhales, deeply, and holds it for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, he exhales and bursts forward, sprinting for the alley.

Slim Jim Soon starts to make his way down the fire escape when he hears the sound of scraping concrete. He looks up just in time to see Falcon leaping over the gap between the buildings. Jim’s eyes grow wide as the man gets closer to him.

Falcon grunts as he collides with the balcony railing just below Jim. His fingers grip the steel, preventing him from falling. In a panic, Jim switches directions and heads up the stairs to the ladder leading to the roof.

Falcon pulls himself up and over the railing. The steel pops as his boots hit the metal bars acting as a platform. He continues racing after his prey.

Jim vaults himself over the edge of the building and onto the roof. Falcon mirrors his movements and makes it halfway across the roof before he sees Jim wink at him and slide down the ladder on the other side. Falcon double times it.

Several feet away from the edge, he leaps forward and grabs the rails of the ladder, flipping himself around to the other side of it. Falcon’s feet hit the rails and he slides down just as Jim’s feet hit the pavement below.

P
hoenix stands
on the corner of the intersection. She watches as more rickshaws and bicycles pass by. There are fewer cars on this street, though that isn’t saying much considering how few there are on the market street. She watches as drunk individuals-- and those on their way to drunkenness--meander sloppily along the side walk. Lights flash around her and loud music blares from the different bars and parlors, doing everything they can to entice those with money to come in and spend. After the day she’s had, Phoenix is tempted to do just that. She shakes the thought and turns her head just in time to see Falcon hit the sidewalk.

“Hey!” She starts after him.

Falcon sees her approaching but continues after Slim Jim, anyway.

“Not again!” she yells. It’s mostly for herself but it also doubles as an order. One that is quickly furthering itself from being heeded. “Stop!” She draws her gun and fires it into the air again. Falcon ducks down and looks back but he keeps moving forward.

“Falcon!” A deep voice bellows. The Freelancer faces forward and is met by a massive hand colliding with his throat. The hand is attached to the arm of a very large man who lifts Falcon into the air. Falcon watches over the man’s shoulder as Slim Jim turns around and salutes him before disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

Falcon tries to swallow. The man’s grip is tight but not too air restrictive. “Big Wang. Nice to see you.” Falcon tries to hit the large man’s arm, hoping the strikes will release him. They don’t.

“Falcon.” A smaller man appears from behind the larger one. “What are you doing here? You know you were banned from the Empire.”

“Little Wang,” Falcon starts. “You’ll have to ask her about that.” He flicks his thumb back at Phoenix.

“Well, hello, Phoenix. It’s a pleasure to see you again. You honor us with your appearance in our capital city.

“He’s my contract.” Phoenix walks toward Big Wang and Falcon.”We’re just here for a car. You let him go and I’ll get him out of your hair.”

“Actually.” Little Wang’s words cause Phoenix to stop. “It’s good that you’re here. Both of you. The Emperor has requested an audience.”

“How does he even know we’re in the city?” Phoenix asks.

“You Freelancers.” Little Wang laughs. “Don’t you know by now? The Emperor knows all. He sees all. Now, if you’ll please follow us.”

“To the castle?” Falcon asks.

Little Wang and Big Wang look at each other and laugh. As though the very thought of him going back into the castle was the funniest thing they’d heard in their entire lives.

“The castle?” Little Wang recomposes himself. “I forgot how funny you could be. Big brother, do you mind?” Little Wang looks at Big Wang.

Falcon’s eyes dart to the large man lifting his fist. “Is this really necces—” Darkness cuts him off.

T
he smell
of incense eases Falcon into consciousness. He slowly opens his eyes to a sparse but ornate room. One window gives the only view to the city outside. Four gold paper lanterns hang in the corners. And a large chair sits in the center of the room.

Chair is an understatement. It looks more like a throne. The seat and back cushions are of black velvet. The armrests are the open mouths of gold dragons. In one of their mouths rests a long, thin pipe. In the chair sits a man, impeccably dressed in a black and gold silk robe. Phoenix stands just to the side of the throne, speaking to the man. With the vice grip of Big Wang on the back of his neck, all Falcon can do is listen.

“I do appreciate you coming all the way here, my dear Phoenix. You are a most welcome guest in our empire,” the man on the throne says.

“It wasn’t the plan. He totaled my car. I just need to get another one and we can be on our way,” Phoenix replies.

“So soon? You have not been in the capital city for two hours and already you are prepared to leave? Why not partake of the many delights we have to offer? Especially in the castle. My chefs will prepare you a most succulent dish.”

“I appreciate the offer but the sooner I get him back, the sooner I get paid.”

The silk robed man stands and takes a few steps toward Falcon. “Though we would, very much, like to assist you in your hastened needs, it is with regret that we must inform you that transportation is as much as we can provide. Of course the mode is entirely your choice. But getting him back?” He points at Falcon. “This, I am afraid, is forbidden.”

“With all due respect, Emperor, what I’ve gone through to get him this far—“

“Is most appreciated. We are prepared to compensate you for his contract. Though it saddens me to say that it will not be quite the amount I am sure you were to receive.”

Phoenix stares at the Emperor’s back. Her eyes dart to Falcon. “In less than a day, he destroyed my car.”

“Easily replaced,” the Emperor tells her.

“He almost got me blown up.”

“Yet, here you stand.”

“I was attacked on a bus.”

“You overcame. As you have many times before.”

Phoenix takes a moment to come up with another logical argument. Some reason the Emperor should turn Falcon back over to her. “I always fulfill a contract. That’s my reputation. That’s my honor.”

The Emperor turns to her, intrigued by her new response. Honor is no material thing and is of such a high value that no price can be placed on it. He steps toward her. “Your reputation is your honor. I can certainly appreciate that. What are we, whether an Emperor, a King, or a peasant, without our honor? It is what sets us apart from those unmentionables of society. Even one such as myself cannot stand above the honor of another.”

“So you’ll—“

“But this is why I am intrigued. Honor coming from the mouth of a Freelancer?” The Emperor smiles.

His expression tells her everything she needs to know. He has no intention of releasing Falcon back to her.

“An individual who seeks only material wealth and glory has very little room in themselves for honor. Seeking the betterment for the people. That is honorable.” The Emperor walks back to his throne and sits down. He removes the pipe from the dragon's mouth and brings it to his own, taking a leisurely drag from it. “You are welcome here whenever you like. But what you do is far from honorable, dear Phoenix.” The smoke billows from his mouth as he speaks.

“What, not good enough for the castle?” Falcon strains to speak.

“You’ll never see the castle, again.” Big Wang tightens his grip on Falcon’s neck.

“Ah, he is awake.” The Emperor places the pipe back in the dragon's mouth and stands. “The jackal is awake. This will make a far more engaging celebration.”

“Celebration?” Phoenix asks.

“Sure. Slow needles. Sounds like a great party.” Falcon smiles sarcastically.

The Emperor walks quickly toward his new prisoner and back hands him across the face. “You do not speak unless spoken to.”

“I thought you were talking to me.”

The Emperor raises his hand again.

“What did he do?” Phoenix interrupts before a second strike.

“He did not tell you?” The silk robes gently flow as the Emperor spins to face her.

“He just said he wasn’t welcome here. The guys on the bus said the same thing.”

“It was to be a wonderful celebration upon his contract obligations. Sadly, the man does not know his drink. I very much loved that bonsai tree until he desecrated it.”

“When you gotta go. You gotta go.” Falcon shrugs. Big Wang squeezes tighter. Falcon’s hands, instinctively reach for the man’s fingers, futilely trying to pry them loose. The Emperor provides relief in raising his hand, signaling for Big Wang to loosen his grip.

Phoenix looks at Falcon with shock in her eyes. “You got drunk and you—”

“It is in the past,” the Emperor starts. “But you now understand why he must remain. His punishment will be most severe. For your time, gracious guest, you will be compensated forty cents on the dollar and the vehicle of your choice.” He walks by her and returns to his throne and his pipe.

“Forty cents? That barely covers—”

“Please understand. We do this out of the goodness of our hearts. While you are most certainly a treasured guest, it is our royal right that we take the prisoner with no consideration for reward.”

Phoenix stares at the Emperor while he takes another drag, indifferent to grievances. She turns to Falcon as though he might have a logical answer for all of this. Freelancer to Freelancer. The prisoner purses his lips and looks up at the ceiling. He has no answer.

She faces the Emperor again. “And this is honorable? Over a tree?”

The Emperor exhales. “Do not forget yourself, dear Phoenix. You may have amnesty in our empire but you are still a Freelancer and it takes only my word to relieve you of your amnesty. It would sadden me if you were no longer able to seek out a living fulfilling contracts from here. It has done much good to be rid of the more undesirables of our society. But there are benefits to being rid of Freelancers, as well.” He takes another drag. “By the way, did you happen to acquire his beloved Rachel?”

“Rachel?” Phoenix asks.

“His car,” Big Wang says.

Phoenix stares at the Emperor, confused at how easily he can change the subject. As though the matter were over. Even more confused at how quickly she allowed it. “His car. No. It was just him.”

“A pity. I would have especially enjoyed owning such a thing. I have often dreamt of whether or not to add it to my own collection or to make him watch as I destroy it. As I recall, it is quite the machine. A perfect blend of speed and endurance.” He looks directly at Falcon. “But we do not need to inform you of that, do we?”

The Emperor’s words make Falcon struggle harder against the vice grip around his neck.

“We try hard to have everything but such is the way of the world. Even an Emperor cannot control fate. We tire of seeing this man for the moment. Daken.” The Emperor claps his hands one time and Phoenix watches as a man, nearly the size of Big Wang, step out from the shadows. He wears a tactical vest full of ammo magazines. A large machine gun rests in a sling around his back.

Falcon’s eyes go wide at the sight of the man. “Daken.” The words come out like an accusation.

Phoenix turns to Falcon and sees him staring daggers into the newcomer.

“Emperor,” Daken says.

“Take the dishonorable snake to a dark hole and begin preparations.”

“You want him to scream or just cry a little?”

“Start simple. Merely the basics. A pre-party if you will. It is our wish to be there for the main event.”

“Blunt force trauma it is.” Daken steps toward Falcon.

“My dear Phoenix,” the Emperor says as smoke, again, billows from his mouth. “You must stay the night, in the castle. I will have my accountant and personal assistant award you with your compensations in the morning.”

Without warning, Falcon kicks his foot backward, into Big Wang’s knee. The hit is not hard enough to break it but it’s more than enough to hurt. The large man releases his grip on Falcon to clasp his hands down to his injured knee.

“Stop him!” The Emperor stands.

“Daken!” Falcon rushes straight for the man. He throws his entire body into Daken and the two crash through the window.