Two Mercs: Part Seven

Vic emerged, along with a team holding syringes loaded with already prepared tranquilliser serum, and the arena master moved into the middle of the chessboard, skirting around the corpses and pools of blood.
"What a match folks! Did I not say it would be better than what was advertised!" The crowd roared in response and Vic turned to gesture first at Lucas and then Dave. "Our defeated player and our victorious one!"
Stepping down from the pulpit Dave made his way towards Vic, an eye on Lucas in case the gangster tried anything, and slowly the arena master also spun to face Lucas, a single question written on his face. He eventually descended, retrieving his pistol from its holster, and he handed it to Dave when he stood on Vic's other side.

Leaving the fight club Dave meandered through one of the hundreds of markets in the low-city as he headed back to the flat. He'd grown up in the area, knew all of its secrets, and many of the older street merchants kept their hands near a weapon when he passed, no doubt remembering being robbed by him or another of the Bexleyheathens. Hauling a lightweight barrier from its place in the entrance-way of an apparently abandoned housing complex Dave stepped into the courtyard. He could see three lit fires from where he stood, although one was extinguished even as he watched, and felt at least a dozen sets of eyes on him.
"Any of you 'heathens remember your manners?"
Dave's voice rang out within the courtyard and a small figure popped from hiding, the scrawny girl holding a pistol like a professional.
"We know manners old man. But manners are only for family."
Dave laughed at the girl's spirit and glanced around the courtyard before walking towards one corner. Crates of ammunition sat there, as they had years before when Dave had been a member of the Bexleyheathens, and he went to open one after checking the writing on its side. The click of a cocking gun made him stop and he turned his head to see the girl aiming her pistol at him.
"Going to use that girl?"
"I have before. Took down a thief who tried to steal from us with one shot."
"Good thing I'm no thief then."
The girl paused in confusion, eyeing Dave's face while searching his clothing and bare hands.
"You say you ain't a thief but you ain't got no family mark."
"Course I have a mark." Taking off his jacket Dave showed the crude image of a windmill's sails tattooed onto the inside of his wrists. "The Edith/Mayplace windmill. Now, can I have some bullets, as is my right as part of the family?"

---

It was dark when Dave returned to the flat, the clubs and bars on the ground level already open for hours. Emily was reclining on the bed, what looked like a book in her hands, and Dave saw the silhouette of her head turn towards him.
"Did you have luck finding a weapon?"
"I did." Dave produced Lucas' pistol and then a few clips he'd taken from the Bexleyheathens. "Got ammo for it too."
Emily got up from the bed and crossed to take the pistol, feeling it in her hands.
"So you'll take me to shooting tomorrow? Anywhere nice?"
Dave settled onto the sofa, turning on the TV in time to catch an up-city broadcast. A stern-faced corporate security officer was seated behind a table, a grainy image of Emily as she'd appeared last week projected onto the wall, and Dave grinned at her.
"They are looking for you then."
"As long as they don't connect her to any other time I've been in the up-city."

Returning to the bed Emily kept half an eye on the TV as she resumed reading her book. Dave was channel-surfing, sometimes pausing on an up-city channel, and she leapt from the bed as Dave flicked away from a news bulletin.
"Go back!"
Dave put the news bulletin back on and Emily sat on the sofa, intently watching the three people on screen. It appeared to be a family of three, a mother and two children, and Dave noted a similarity between Emily and the son.
"You know them?"
"That was my family." Emily was silent as she focused on the bulletin, quietly gasping when she realised that it was linked to the death of Mr Kerwynn and was an appeal for information. "He married my mother. Mr Shadow must have known."
"So what do you want to do?"
"He needs to pay. We'll do his job, get his money, and then he'll pay."