Free A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) by Mike Resnick Page B
Authors: Mike Resnick
now the word has spread throughout the District."
"Maybe you need me to stick around and watch your back," suggested Kinoshita.
Nighthawk shook his head. "They're going to take their time. After all, I just killed a man who everyone knew couldn't be hurt. They're going to spend a while studying me before they make a move."
"You'd better be right."
"I didn't live this long by being wrong."
"Or being modest," said Kinoshita.
"There's no place in this business for false bravado or false modesty," said Nighthawk. He stood still and closed his eyes for a moment, listening intently. Suddenly he smiled. "One of them's got a prosthetic leg. The right one, I think. He hides it well."
"Shit!" said Kinoshita. "You're enjoying this! You can talk all you want about living in peace and raising your goddamned flowers, but you love being the Widowmaker!"
"There's already a Widowmaker," said Nighthawk. "I'm just his coach."
"There's already a Widowmaker," agreed Kinoshita. "And I'm standing next to him."
"That's not the safest place to stand," said Nighthawk. "It's time to start hunting up hotels. I'll see you in an hour or so."
Nighthawk turned and headed off toward Horatio's. He had assumed the two men would split up, and a moment later they did. He could easily have lost the man who was tailing him, or simply waited for him and killed him, but instead he kept on walking, and reached his destination a few minutes later.
"Hi again," said Minx as he stepped out from the airlift and into Horatio's. "I thought we'd seen the last of you for the night."
"I got thirsty," said Nighthawk, sitting down at an empty table. "Bring me a beer, please."
"They say you and Hairless Jack had a little argument out in the street," continued Minx, and Nighthawk became aware that every eye, human and alien alike, was trained on him.
"A little one."
"I hear he's Lifeless Jack now."
"Well, you hear all kinds of rumors in a place like this," said Nighthawk. "How about that beer now?"
She vanished into another room, then returned with a beer in a tall iced glass.
"How'd you do it, Mister?" asked a thin man clad all in black who was sitting at the next table.
"Relentless logic wins most arguments," answered Nighthawk.
"They say you carted him off somewhere."
"I was taught to clean up after myself."
The thin man stared at him for a long minute. "You ain't much for giving straight answers, are you?" he said at last.
"I've answered everything you've asked," said Nighthawk.
"All right, how about answering this one: are you the Widowmaker?"
"I've been called that," he acknowledged. "I've been called worse."
"You don't belong here, Widowmaker," said the thin man. "This is the District."
"My money spends as good as yours," said Nighthawk, taking a swallow of his beer. "I figure as long as I'm not breaking any laws I've got as much right to be here as you do."
"You can't break any laws in the District!" snapped the man. "We don't have any."
"Then what's your problem?"
"Everyone knows what you do. The District is off limits to lawmen and bounty hunters."
"I must have missed the Keep Out sign on the door," said Nighthawk.
There was an uneasy murmuring in the room.
"I suggest you all relax," said Nighthawk. "If I wanted any of you, you'd be dead by now."
And with that, they did relax.
"Then who do you want?" asked a Canphorite from the far side of the room.
"That would be breaking a professional confidence," said Nighthawk with a humorless smile.
"It's got to be the Wizard," said the thin man. "They say he's worth eight million credits dead or alive."
"Nobody wants him alive," added a Lodinite, looking up from the green bubbling stuff he was drinking.
Nighthawk knew the price on the Wizard, of course, but he hadn't known he was in the District until that moment. He decided to see what further information he could elicit without seeming to ask for it.
"I'm after bigger game than the Wizard," he said.
"There isn't any," said a man who was
"Maybe you need me to stick around and watch your back," suggested Kinoshita.
Nighthawk shook his head. "They're going to take their time. After all, I just killed a man who everyone knew couldn't be hurt. They're going to spend a while studying me before they make a move."
"You'd better be right."
"I didn't live this long by being wrong."
"Or being modest," said Kinoshita.
"There's no place in this business for false bravado or false modesty," said Nighthawk. He stood still and closed his eyes for a moment, listening intently. Suddenly he smiled. "One of them's got a prosthetic leg. The right one, I think. He hides it well."
"Shit!" said Kinoshita. "You're enjoying this! You can talk all you want about living in peace and raising your goddamned flowers, but you love being the Widowmaker!"
"There's already a Widowmaker," said Nighthawk. "I'm just his coach."
"There's already a Widowmaker," agreed Kinoshita. "And I'm standing next to him."
"That's not the safest place to stand," said Nighthawk. "It's time to start hunting up hotels. I'll see you in an hour or so."
Nighthawk turned and headed off toward Horatio's. He had assumed the two men would split up, and a moment later they did. He could easily have lost the man who was tailing him, or simply waited for him and killed him, but instead he kept on walking, and reached his destination a few minutes later.
"Hi again," said Minx as he stepped out from the airlift and into Horatio's. "I thought we'd seen the last of you for the night."
"I got thirsty," said Nighthawk, sitting down at an empty table. "Bring me a beer, please."
"They say you and Hairless Jack had a little argument out in the street," continued Minx, and Nighthawk became aware that every eye, human and alien alike, was trained on him.
"A little one."
"I hear he's Lifeless Jack now."
"Well, you hear all kinds of rumors in a place like this," said Nighthawk. "How about that beer now?"
She vanished into another room, then returned with a beer in a tall iced glass.
"How'd you do it, Mister?" asked a thin man clad all in black who was sitting at the next table.
"Relentless logic wins most arguments," answered Nighthawk.
"They say you carted him off somewhere."
"I was taught to clean up after myself."
The thin man stared at him for a long minute. "You ain't much for giving straight answers, are you?" he said at last.
"I've answered everything you've asked," said Nighthawk.
"All right, how about answering this one: are you the Widowmaker?"
"I've been called that," he acknowledged. "I've been called worse."
"You don't belong here, Widowmaker," said the thin man. "This is the District."
"My money spends as good as yours," said Nighthawk, taking a swallow of his beer. "I figure as long as I'm not breaking any laws I've got as much right to be here as you do."
"You can't break any laws in the District!" snapped the man. "We don't have any."
"Then what's your problem?"
"Everyone knows what you do. The District is off limits to lawmen and bounty hunters."
"I must have missed the Keep Out sign on the door," said Nighthawk.
There was an uneasy murmuring in the room.
"I suggest you all relax," said Nighthawk. "If I wanted any of you, you'd be dead by now."
And with that, they did relax.
"Then who do you want?" asked a Canphorite from the far side of the room.
"That would be breaking a professional confidence," said Nighthawk with a humorless smile.
"It's got to be the Wizard," said the thin man. "They say he's worth eight million credits dead or alive."
"Nobody wants him alive," added a Lodinite, looking up from the green bubbling stuff he was drinking.
Nighthawk knew the price on the Wizard, of course, but he hadn't known he was in the District until that moment. He decided to see what further information he could elicit without seeming to ask for it.
"I'm after bigger game than the Wizard," he said.
"There isn't any," said a man who was