CHAPTER 6
Tibbs
hovered in a nearly deserted passageway.
He pretended to be a beggar as he eyed a passing soldier and his girlfriend.
“Excuse me, mister, could you help out a fellow vet?” he said, holding his hand
out.
The soldier looked at Tibbs. “What
outfit were you in?” he asked suspiciously.
“Twenty-fourth Armored Expeditionary
Brigade. I was a tank pilot,” Tibbs
lied.
“You? A tank pilot?”
“Oh, give him something,” said the
girl in a hurry to get away from the unpleasant beggar. “This isn’t a reunion.”
“You were at the Battle of Lander's
Fjord?” the soldier quizzed Tibbs.
“Sure, I was there.”
“You’ve never been in a tank, much
less pilot one. The 24th wasn’t at Lander’s
Fjord.”
“You gonna give me a handout or you
gonna give me crap?”
The soldier flipped Tibbs a small
coin.
Tibbs watched it fly through the
air and let it fall to the floor. He
smiled at the soldier. “Thanks for nothing,” he said and looked at the girl. “Hope
he pays you before he lays you.”
The soldier’s eyes flared and he started
toward Tibbs. The girl grabbed his arm.
“No, he’s not worth it. You don’t need
his kind of trouble.”
The soldier held his anger, just
barely.
Tibbs grinned at him, edging the
younger man on. “Better mind her, soldier boy.” He leered at the girl. “You
might be taking on more than you can handle.”
The soldier had enough; he stepped
toward Tibbs. “Why, I ought to—”
Tibbs pulled a huge, ugly serrated
knife from under his long coat. The soldier stopped short of punching him.
“Now you’ve got the picture, sonny,”
Tibbs said.
“Let’s get out of here,” the girl
said pulling at the soldier’s arm until his better judgment kicked in over his
wounded pride and they left. He watched
Tibbs warily over his shoulder until they disappeared around the corner.
Tibbs chuckled to himself over his
little victory. Then he saw his real
target, Moore, coming down the hall. He put the knife away and went into his
act again as Moore approached. “Excuse me, mister, could you spare some change
for a guy down on his luck?”
Moore didn’t hesitate. “Why sure,
fella,” he said as he reached into his pocket and came up empty. “Oh, I'm sorry;
I don’t seem to have any coins. If you
happen to have a pocket cashbook—”
As Tibbs stepped out of the
shadows, Moore stiffened. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Mr. Moore, isn’t it?” Tibbs said
meekly. “I’m afraid I must apologize for
my earlier behavior.”
“You need to apologize to the sisters...not
me,” Moore reproached.
“Yes, I’ll do that. The very next time I see them. It’s a curse.”
“What?”
“My bad luck is only surpassed by
my temper. Maybe one has something to do
with the other. Do you think?”
“That’s very likely.”
“I assure you, sir, I will humbly
apologize to the sisters at tonight’s meal.” He held out his hand. “In the
meantime—”
“I told you, I have no coins,”
Moore said then thought of something. “Would you have an electronic account?”
“Do I look like someone who would
have—” He caught himself. “I’m sorry.
No, I don’t. I’m a cash-and-carry
kind of guy.”
Moore spotted the bank cash machine
that Tibbs had conveniently placed himself near. “Cash?”
Tibbs shrugged, as if embarrassed
by the fact that he dealt with cash rather than electronic credits.
“Very well,” Moore said as he went over
to the wall-mounted machine and typed in five credits on his instrument, then
started to scan it at the machine.
Tibbs watched over his should and
smirked at the small amount being transferred. Just as the number on Moore’s instrument
registers on the cash machine and he started to verify it, Tibbs slammed his
fist into Moore’s back then hit him in the side of the head, knocking him to
the steel deck. “Cheap son-of-a-bitch!”
Tibbs screamed as he kicked Moore in the chest and head.
Moore tried to shield his face with
his arms. “No, please...don’t.”
Tibbs kicked Moore viciously in the
side of the head and back several times.
He beat Moore until he was unconscious, took the cash device, aimed it
at the wall machine and typed in three zeros. The machine showed $5,000 and gave him a choice
of electronic credits or coins. Tibbs
chose the coins. He scooped them up and slipped them into his coat pocket. Then he dropped the cash device and stomped
on it.
He smiled down as Moore moaned
slightly and took out his knife as he knelt down. He slapped Moore’s face until his eyes
fluttered open and slid the knife under his chin. Tibbs looked up when he heard
someone approaching.
“This is your lucky day,
Samaritan,” he said as he slipped the knife into his pocket and disappeared
down the passageway, whistling as he went.
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