A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2) by Paul Tomlinson (books on motivation TXT) 📗

said. “I’ll investigate further, but unless you can provide me with some real evidence to back up this conspiracy theory...”

“I don’t work for you,” I said. “You’re hunting me, remember? Different sides.”

“You called me,” she said.

“People here need your help.”

“You said that. You’re risking your freedom by contacting me, so I have to believe that there’s something real at stake there. But that doesn’t mean I trust you. I have to wonder why you are getting involved. It just doesn’t sound like you. What do you want out of this, Quin?”

“To stop a war,” I said. “And after that, in an ideal world, safe passage off this squit-hole planet.”

“An amnesty? I can’t give you that. We aren’t just talking about a bunch of unpaid parking tickets,” she said. “You’re a professional felon. If I got you off that planet, I’d have to transport you straight to an Alliance holding facility, you know that.”

“How about a head start?”

“I can’t promise.”

“Okay, forget I asked. Just deal with Colonel Hodge.”

“We will. But we need you as our eyes on the ground.”

“I’d like to help you, but I’m in a slightly awkward spot,” I said.

“You’ve been arrested again, haven’t you?”

“You make it sound like a regular occurrence.”

“It is. I’ve arrested you twice.”

“And I got away from you both times.”

“So escape this time.”

“Can’t you put in a good word for me?”

“I’m an ACID agent, I’m not supposed to lie.”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself. But I’m not going to sit around here and wait for you to turn up with the leg irons,” I said.

“You wanted to help your friends on Saphira. So help them. I’m sending an Interceptor, but they’re three days away from you.”

“What are we supposed to do if the robots arrive before then?”

“Stall them,” she said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Steal them or something.”

The interstat screen went blank. I sat and stared at it. I pulled a face at it. I picked up a coffee mug to hit the screen with, but the sheriff chose that moment to enter.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go the way you hoped,” he said.

“You might say that.”

“I’ve got boys fixing the jailhouse, but they’re still working on the roof,” he said. “You’ll be at Madam Fifi’s again tonight.”

I wasn’t really listening to what Sheriff Galton was saying. I was trying to work out what I should do about the whole crazy Colonel Hodge and his robot army situation. If Floyd had still been there, I might have come up with something. But without him, I had nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

In the movies, the hero is locked in a jail cell. His girl visits and gives him a passionate kiss. The kiss allows her to pass the key from her mouth to his and later he uses the key to escape from the jail. That’s more or less what happened to me. More or less. I should probably change the names here to protect the innocent, but that would just make things confusing.

I was handcuffed to the bed in the attic room at Madam Fifi’s. It was another warm night and I was lying under the sheet in just my boxer shorts. I had been unshackled so I could eat dinner – a to-die-for homemade lasagne this evening – but then my wrists were handcuffed to the bed frame again. The novelty had worn off by this time and the sounds coming from the lower floors were starting to annoy me. For a while, it had been fun trying to guess who was getting the spanking, but now I just wanted it all to go away. There must be some Alliance human rights laws to forbid this sort of thing. Locking a prisoner up in whorehouse is cruel and unusual punishment.

The bedroom door swung inwards.

“I have your dessert,” a husky voice said.

“I didn’t order dessert.”

“I’m sure I can tempt you,” the voice said.

The young man in the doorway was wearing an outfit that consisted of only inch-wide leather straps. His head was covered by one of those skin-tight gimp masks that superheroes love so much. He was holding a bowl of chocolate sponge and a spoon.

“I forgot to bring the key to the handcuffs,” he said, “so I’m just going to have to feed you myself.” He sashayed over to the bed, his bare feet making soft sounds on the floorboards.

The sheriff’s deputy guarding my room stood outside in the corridor watching through the open door. I think he was enjoying this.

The young man climbed onto my bed, carefully holding the bowl so as not to spill anything. He knelt, straddling my legs, and loaded the spoon with chocolate sponge and gooey fudge sauce.

The whole leather and bondage thing doesn’t really do anything for me. And having this half-naked young man leaning towards me made me uncomfortable. But the sight of all that smooth pale skin was starting to have the intended effect. I’m only human. The young man could see that I was responding under the sheet.

“Quin, it’s me!” he whispered urgently.

“Danny?”

“I’m here to help you escape.” His voice was muffled by the mask. “Eat the pudding and pretend you’re enjoying it.”

I opened my mouth to speak and he shoved the spoon into it.

I was lying in bed being fed chocolate pudding by an attractive young man. It’s the sort of thing you fantasise about. And the chocolate pudding was the best I’d ever tasted. But the whole situation left me feeling deflated. There was no pleasure in it for me.

“One spoonful left,” Danny said. “This one has the special ingredient.”

It did. I almost choked on it. The special ingredient was a key.

“All done,” Danny said, wiping my chin with a napkin. He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “I’ve got something else that you’ll want.”

He thrust two fingers inside his little leather jock strap and fumbled around in there. I wasn’t sure what he was going to pull out. It was the remote control for reactivating the link between Floyd and his robot suit. There wasn’t time to