Free THUGLIT Issue Four by Roger Hobbs, Eric Beetner, Patti Abbott, Sam Wiebe, Albert Tucher, Christopher Irvin, Anton Sim, Garrett Crowe

might. Myself, I’m living a fulfilling retirement.”
    “But you’re here.”
    “Only to prevent you coming to me. But yes. I’m here. Speak.”
    “I’ve had health problems,” the Old Man said. “I come through ‘em all right, but I got to thinking about regrets. ‘Member the last time we saw each other?”
    “That would be Bonn,” the Bastard said. “Shortly before the Amnesty.”
    The Old Man nodded. “I saw you come out of a picture show. You’d gotten Higgs and Mulcahy the day before. And Chen, I think, though we didn’t find her till after.”
    “I remember Chen,” the Bastard said fondly. “Now that was a job.”
    “I followed you three blocks, arguing with myself, whether or not to kill you.”
    “And?”
    “I made the wrong choice.”
    “Since we’re both still here,” the Bastard said, “I’d respectfully disagree. And perhaps remind you that it was your side that declared Amnesty and forced retirement on us all. One can’t break rules to uphold rules.”
    “I don’t know that the rules apply to you.”
    “Do you have a gun within reach?”
    The Old Man nodded. The Bastard smiled.
    “I’ve never found much use for them.”
    “Too fast for you, I expect. Over too soon.”
    “Hardly,” the Bastard said. “I consider firearms a tool of domination. They’re most effective, as you know, in situations that don’t absolutely necessitate their use. Cowards oppressing cowards. The righteous tool is the one that consumes both wielder and adversary, making each encounter a battle of destinies.”
    “Tell all that to Chen.”
    “I did,” the Bastard said. “Showed her the detonator and she surrendered herself to me.”
    “And you took her apart. ‘Long with three or four civilians.”
    “Weapons of absolute liberty are indiscriminate.”
    The Old Man thought about this. “You’re wired now?”
    “Of course. Always.”
    “Since retirement? Even in your home?”
    “It’s only paranoia if you can guarantee no one’s coming for you. If people will hold to the rules of retirement without exception. Your call disproves that.”
    The ferry was now taking in cars for its return trip. The parking lot had been emptied save for the Old Man’s rental and two others. A line of cabs waited by the terminal entrance, the drivers gossiping under the awning.
    “As I see it,” the Bastard said quietly, “it comes down to whether your late-blooming sense of justice equals my need for unqualified, unhindered freedom. Whether you wish to make that trade.”
    The Old Man lifted the armrest and produced the gun. Carefully he placed it on the dashboard. They stared at it. The killing machine’s barrel stared back at them with the simple blunt defiance of an unadorned fact.
    The Bastard nodded. He didn’t gloat. “I believe I’ll catch that return ferry.”
    The Old Man’s hand wavered over the lock mechanism. “What if I told you I accept that trade?”
    “I don’t know I’d believe you,” the Bastard said.
    “Then hit the damn detonator.”
    The foghorn of another inbound vessel sounded.
    “Seems a shabby end for two professionals,” the Bastard said.
    “One professional. One war criminal.”
    “As you fancy. How about something more sporting?”
    “You’re talking a fair fight?” The Old Man listened attentively.
    “I saw a film once,” the Bastard said. “Two great swordsmen agree to duel to the death. They set a year for preparations. They choose a remote island. One year to the day, they row to the beach and do battle, steel on steel. I won’t ruin the conclusion.”
    “I can guess,” the Old Man said. “Name the island.”
    “There are two in Nanaimo Harbor. Protection Island is residential. Newcastle is a public reserve.”
    “So Newcastle.”
    “Protection. After dark. At an aptly-named landmark called Gallows Point.”
    “Civilians--”
    “We’ll be discreet.”
    The Old Man thought it over and nodded.
    “One year from today then,” the Bastard said.