The waitress winked. "Mister, you keep tipping this good, and you can bite off whatever you like."

As the woman turned away, Ryan looked out past her and spotted twin men dressed in the forest green of mall security as they stepped into the dimly lit bar.

Ryan couldn't quite make out their faces in the gauze-like texture of the air, which hung heavy with a mix of cheap cigarette and marijuana smoke. The sec men could be off duty, but Ryan doubted it. Something about their demeanor indicated they were alert, on the job and looking for an unlucky mall visitor or resident.

They paused at the head of the long pub bar. The bartender shrugged and pointed at the small table in the rear where Ryan and Doc were sitting. The pair of sec men turned and started making their way back at a deliberately measured pace. "Fireblast," Ryan hissed.

"What, pray tell, has happened now?" Doc asked, his head still on the sticky tabletop and nestled in the crook of his elbow. Doc's back was to the bar. He couldn't have seen the new arrivals. Ryan was surprised when his drinking companion had spoken. He believed Doc had finally pa.s.sed out from the limpness of his body and the slowed breathing pattern he entered into after consuming the contents of his final gla.s.s of whiskey.

Now Doc's eyes were half-open and staring at him, struggling to raise themselves from the alcoholic mire. Even in the midst of tying one on, Doc had caught the hint of anxiety in Ryan's muttered epithet. "Company, Doc. Two Freedom sec men," Ryan murmured. "One of them is that Rollins guy we met outside. Keep stillI'll give you a signal in case there's trouble. They won't be expecting anything from an old drunk."

"Hic," Doc whispered, and winked in reply before closing his eyes and letting his upper body ooze into a pose of slack drunkenness once more.

Once the men got closer, Ryan could see there was a wide age difference between the two. Off his horse, Rollins was as tall as Ryan, with a similar posture and build. That's where the similarities ended. The sec leader was bald, but had compensated for the lack of hair on his scalp by growing a wide mustache. He carried a huge long blaster cradled in his arms, held in a nonthreatening fashion but still within easy reach and use.

The backup was a young punk that looked about twenty, but with a much larger frame than the leader's, and that was saying something since Rollins wasn't exactly tiny. His hair color was hidden under a riot helmet. His eyes were behind a pair of polarized sungla.s.ses. Tough guy. Or a weak, uncertain guy playing at being tough, reveling in the inhuman guise of a walking insect.

"Evening, Cawdor," Rollins said.

Ryan turned to fully face him, while trying to keep his a.s.sociate framed in his peripheral vision. The younger of the two had apparently received some training, since he was using Ryan's eye patch as a blind side.

"You're up late tonight, Rollins."

"A sec man never sleeps."

"Who's the kid? He hanging out with you for extra credit in sec school or what?"

"It's a young man's world, Cawdor."

"Isn't that the d.a.m.n truth. Tell your lapdog no insult intended," Ryan replied. "Well, unless you and your sidekick are here to apologize for those clowns who tried to jump me and my friends yesterday out on the road, I'm going to ask you to leave. You owe me a night's peace for my generosity."

"What generosity is that?" the younger man asked, speaking for the first time.

"It talks, too?" Ryan retorted.

"He hasn't heard about Michaelson and Isaac." Rollins said.

"You mean Mike and Ike. Yeah, I was going to chill them both with extreme prejudice, but since you came along and told me ridding the world of their sorry a.s.ses might be a problem since I was planning on coming here for a visit, I declined."

"We've got your boy, Cawdor." On those words, Ryan forgot the pretense of playing it cool. A hot flush of blood ran into his face and brain, feeding the impulse to kill Rollins right on the spot. Ryan was on his feet and over in the black man's face in an instant, his panga drawn up and out of the oiled sheath. As Ryan moved, so did Doc, who spun with his swordstick and placed the shining blade right up against the crotch of the second mall security guard.

"No, son," Doc said to the younger sec man, all pretense of snoozing off a drunk now lost to adrenaline and concern for Dean. "Keep your hands up toward heaven and your blood pressure down toward h.e.l.l and maybe, just perhaps, I won't have to flick my wrist and turn you into a eunuch."

"Aa what?" the hapless sec man replied.

"An unfortunate who has faced the blade and had his s.c.r.o.t.u.m removed, complete with contents," Doc said, twisting the swordstick ever so slightly and increasing the pressure. "Both contents."

"Are you insane, Cawdor?" Rollins rasped, sweat popping out in tiny crystal beads on his forehead.

"When it comes to my boy, you're d.a.m.n right. I'm a f.u.c.king loon," Ryan said. "Now, elaborate. What do you mean by 'got'?"

"Exactly what I said. He's in lockup, along with the albino. They're printing and booking them both into the Wings even as we speak," Rollins replied. "And I suggest you put the blade down before you cut yourself."

"I'd be more worried about me cutting you a new a.s.shole," Ryan hissed. "What are you talking about 'booking him in the Wings'?"

"Cop jargon. Means he's being processed and arrested. For our files. We like tracking repeat offenders. Get into too much trouble and you're no longer welcome in Freedom. He and his pasty white pal nearly blew the vid arcade apart in a knife fight that went bad. One customer is dead, another one wounded and the owner is furious."

The one-eyed man reined himself in and took the knife away, stepping back and keeping his distance from Rollins. "Dean all right?"

The man stared back angrily at Ryan. "He's a d.a.m.n sight better than the boy he helped chill."

Ryan poked a finger into Rollins's broad chest. "Listen, my boy chills somebody, you can be d.a.m.n sure they were asking for it, and asking for it on bended knee. He's not a coldheart, and neither is Jak Lauren."

The big sec man didn't looked impressed. "Whatever. We don't really give a s.h.i.t about the stiff. He was one of the repeat offenders I was telling you about earlier. Problem child, but his father had the jack to keep buying his way back into Freedom. Now he can use it to bury the boy's worthless a.s.s. Way I look at it, your kid did us a service. One less sc.u.mbag cluttering up the mall."

"I'm glad for you my son's ended a teenage crime wave, really. One of you two guardians of Freedom going to take me to him?" Ryan asked.

Rollins smirked. "All in good time. First tell your drinking buddy to let my sec man keep his nut sac."

"Ease off, Doc," Ryan said.

"See?" Doc told the young sec man in training as he sheathed the blade info the ebony stick. "Safe to procreate another day."

"What else, Rollins?"

"You have to make a detour. Morgan wants to see you before you can speak to your boy or Lauren."

"What's your baron want with me?"

"He's not a barontold you that before. He just wants to talk, to deal, to offer. Yeah. If you impress Morgan, all this stink might just up and blow over like a bad dream."

Chapter Nineteen.

Ryan sent Doc into the Freedom Center complex to tell Krysty, J.B. and Mildred about Dean and Jak, then walked with the two sec men to a boarded-over mall front. An old sign overhead identified the site as a former Spencer's Gifts. A single door with a sec keypad and a card slot was recessed into the solid front. Rollins slid an ID card into the slot, then punched in a quick seven-digit code.

"Go straight down the hallway until it ends, then go right. You'll pa.s.s a few doors on the trip. Don't bother trying them, they're locked. They're just back doors into some of the other mall stores anyway. Keep going until you come into a gla.s.sed-in waiting area. A guard will be waiting for you. He's got your description. Tell him you're Cawdor, and he'll send you through."

"You're not coming?" Ryan asked. "Surprised you'll let me in to see Morgan alone."

"Frankly, Cawdor, I've got better things to do. This mall doesn't police itself. Besides, Morgan can take care of himself."

"When do I get to see Dean?" Ryan asked.

Rollins sighed heavily. "Haven't you been paying attention? You can talk with the boy after you've spoken with the boss."

As Rollins turned to walk away, Ryan grabbed him by the upper bicep. The big man whirled and knocked off Ryan's grip with a snarl.

"I'm getting d.a.m.n tired of you laying hands on me. Do it again and they'll be hosing you up off the floor, pit champion or no pit champion."

Ryan's face was a grim mask. "I just wanted you to know that if anything happens to Dean or to Jak, I'll cut your heart out."

"See the boy comes by chilling honestly. Both of them are fine. h.e.l.l, after what they've been up to tonight, I'm glad they're locked away to protect innocent mall citizens from their reign of terror."

"Good. Then I won't be taking you on," Ryan gritted. "At least not yet. I just want to know what kind of man this Morgan is."

"What do you mean?"

"Most places I've been in like this, the man behind the curtain is usually crazy. Power goes to their minds and rots their brain from within, like some kind of rad sickness. They start thinking they're a G.o.d or some other higher power, barking out orders to yes men like you, reveling in their twisted fantasies as long as they're backed up by a blaster and their own private army."

"Then you're in luck, Cawdor. Morgan is probably the most rational man I ever met. His private army is busy watching over his domain, not over his own a.s.s. Why he wants to talk with a loser outlander like yourself is beyond me."

"You shooting straight?"

"Why wouldn't I be? After you wrap up with Morgan, get the boss to send you down to the Wings and you can talk to your boy."

Ryan watched Rollins stride away, talking into one of the portable radios he'd seen hanging from many of the sec men's waists. He wasn't thrilled with having to walk into a discussion with the mall's baron alone, but the way the cards had been dealt so far, he didn't have much of a choice.

The one-eyed man crept down the long hallway, following the directions Rollins had given to him. Just for the h.e.l.l of it, he tried a few of the doork.n.o.bs belonging to the numerous doors he was pa.s.sing at regular intervals, but all of them were frozen in place. Locked, as Rollins had said they would be. A few bullets from the SIG-Sauer would solve that problem, but the m.u.f.fled sound would carry and what would be the point anyway?

The gla.s.sed-in area outside Morgan's office had a few padded metal chairs, a freestanding ashtray and a low coffee table cluttered with tattered predark magazines. Ryan entered through the swinging gla.s.s door and chose a seat where he could get the best view of anyone entering or exiting.

He picked up one of the magazines and flipped through the glossy pages. The mag was called Premiere . Ryan glanced at the face on the cover staring back at him. A Candid Talk With Kurt Russell the mag promised. Ryan tossed it back on the table. He had no interest in what someone called Kurt Russell might have to say, candid or not.

A ma.s.sive wooden desk was near the door, and Ryan imagined Morgan did business behind that door.

Sitting at the desk and frowning at Ryan was another sec guard, with a furrowed brow and a three-day growth of beard. Ryan estimated the guard topped the scales at over three hundred pounds of muscle. The huge sec man also seemed to serve as part-time secretary.

"Cawdor. I'm here to see Morgan," Ryan said.

"I know," the sec man replied.

An obnoxious buzzing sound came out of a yellow box on the edge of the desk. The frowning sec man reached out and punched a b.u.t.ton before picking up an attached phone receiver.

"Yeah, he's here," the ma.s.sive sec guard said, eying Ryan suspiciously.

"Good," a voice over the intercom replied. "Send him right in."

"He's packing a blaster," the guard said in a lower tone. "A big one."

This time the voice over the intercom had a hint of irritation. "So am I, Genge. Everyone in Freedom is armed. Part of the 'Welcome to our neighborhood please shop with us again thank you you're welcome bye-bye' kind of charm. Now, do what I said and send the man right in."

Genge stood and gestured toward a door near Ryan's seat. "Mr. Morgan is expecting you, sir."

"So I heard," Ryan said simply.

Ryan pa.s.sed Genge and stepped into the open doorway, his eye taking in the layout of the colossal yet Spartan office. He heard the door close and click behind him. A single desk of immense size similar to the one in the waiting area was in the middle of the room, flanked by two plush black leather chairs and a matching sofa. A single comp and monitor stood on a smaller table beside the desk, along with a phone-intercom, both within easy reach if seated. The walls were all drab, painted in neutral tones of soft amber.

The rear wall behind the desk was the only exception. It was home to a ma.s.sive bank of vid screens and security viewing-recording devices. Half of the screens were lit, showing various parts of the interior of Freedom Mall flickering dimly in grainy black and white. There was also a shot or two of the mall exterior, but these images were even harder to make out.

The man seated on the edge of the desk was in his midforties, with dark brown hair graying at the temples and a matching brown beard that was starting to gray in sympathy. The beard tapered down to a point. His hair was too long for the collared shirt he wore and as a result gave him the air of a man in bad need of a haircut.

He was average height, average weight, and the color brown had been visited upon him a third time with his eyes, which would have completely added to the lack of any distinguishing characteristics if not for the vibrancy shining through as he looked Ryan over. The man oozed vitality and intelligence, but not in the usual arrogant way of many smart men who strove to a.s.sure their domination over their own pocket kingdoms in Deathlands.

In addition to the white long-sleeved shirt, which was immaculate, appearing to be either new or pressed, the man wore long black trousers and high black boots. A small golden cross could be spotted hanging on a chain from around his neck, flickering now and then as he moved, the metal catching the soft lighting within the office.

He also wore an expensive wrist chron, an old-style one without a digital readout or liquid crystal. A simple wrist.w.a.tch with an hour and minute hand, and tiny inset window for the date.

"You Freedom's baron, Morgan?" Ryan asked. The man turned to the left, to the right and then glanced behind himself. "I must be, or else I'm loitering in his office again," he muttered before turning back to face Ryan. "No. Not hardly. Freedom has no baron or boss or lord. I'm merely the administrator."

"Ah, is that what barons are calling themselves now?" Ryan said, keeping his hands out in the open, friendly, nonthreatening. "I've met all kinds, admirals, princes, bosses and commandersall the same. Barons. Still, you might be telling the truth. You're not overweight enough to be the genuine article, and you don't have any toadies or s.l.u.ts kissing your a.s.s and falling over your feet."

"I like my privacy. And I've never claimed the t.i.tle of baron in my life. The name is Beck Morgan. I never got into calling people by their last names," Morgan said easily, sticking out a hand to shake.

Ryan looked at the offered hand as if it was covered in pus.

"No manners where you come from, outlander?" Morgan asked as he slid the offered hand back.

Ryan felt his face flush. The scar running down his left cheek from the injury that had taken his eye darkened. "I've got manners, Morgan. But if I took your hand right now I'm afraid I might try to keep it by ripping your d.a.m.n arm clean off and beating you to death with it."

The mall administrator chuckled. "Like you did to the sec droid in the pit? I watched the battle from here. Very impressive, and clever. You fought with courage and wit."

"And fearn.o.body bothered telling me when going in I was supposed to be fighting hand-to-hand with an android," Ryan snapped.

"You dealt with the unexpected quite well, Ryan. I hear you're good at that," Morgan said. "A talent for survival is a most useful ability."

"Look, Morgan, you can save yourself some time and cut the diplomatic smile, the first-name calling, the compliments on my fighting abilities and the firm, dry handshake." Ryan rubbed his forehead with his right hand. "Do us both a favor and spare me the lecture. I don't plan on being here long enough to get on a first-name basis with you. I'm here for one reason. I want my son."

The bearded man shook his head wearily. "It's not that simple. Certain parties have been injured. Certain parties demand justice."

"Don't they always? My guess is, way things work in Deathlands we're looking at Dean's word and Jak's against the man they chilled. Dead men can't talk."

"Not a man, a boy. And there are living, breathing witnesses. Well, a witness, anyway. No question your son and friend were minding their own business, and once they were provoked, they brought out the scythe and started mowing down the opposition," Morgan said. "Are all your people as deadly as you those two and yourself, Ryan?"

"I hope for your future here as boss man of Freedom you never have to find out," Ryan replied. "And don't call me Ryan."

"What should I call you?"

"I don't give a d.a.m.n," Ryan said dismissively. "I'll say it again. I want my son."

"Fair enough. We're not unfair here in Freedom. You'll have himsoon as you make rest.i.tution to the arcade owners and pay his fines. Along with the albino's."

"How much?"