Marooned

Howdy Folks. First, Marooned update – I’ve color flatted the latest comic, and I will be coloring it over the weekend. Expect #292 to post on Monday.

Second, as you know I am working on a fantasy novel. In addition, I’m working on another, more lighthearted story that I had started a couple months ago as well. Frankly, I need to get some real writing experience under my belt before I really tackle such a huge project as the fantasy novel. So the goal is to get some experience (and have some fun) with this first story, with a working title of “Lantoro the Red.”

Previously I had posted the first version of this, which actually describes some events that take place later. Since then, I have worked out what the story is about, and I’ve written a rough first chapter that introduces two of my main characters. I don’t quite expect this story to be novel length. I’m thinking it’s something of a novella length. I guess we’ll see. Anyway, here’s a first go at chapter one. It needs a lot of work yet, but I would love to get some feedback.

Chapter One

Story Copyright 2011 Tom Dell’Aringa. All Rights Reserved.

The cantina was dark, smoky, and smelly. Dirty leaselanders of every type hunched over their rusty cups, drinking and cursing with – or at – each other. Lantoro stepped inside the dark, warm interior, his boots sticking to the muck on a floor that had probably never been cleaned. At a table to his left, two drunks were slapping each other in the face as hard as they could. Against the back wall on a rickety stage a mixed human-alien band jammed on post-apocalyptic punk, completely out of tune.

The place was perfect.

He was vaguely aware of at least a dozen pairs of (and a few single) eyes on him, not one of them friendly. A childlike shiver of excitement went up his spine. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he coolly sidled up to the bar, ignoring the stares. This moment had been a running movie in his mind for over 30 years, and now it was finally happening. Tipping up his wide brimmed hat, he signaled the barkeep.

A dark man with a wide torso turned around. He was wearing what appeared to be a black leather apron (although it was so dirty, it could have been any color) and no shirt. His heavily muscled upper body seemed to be half implants of the bargain basement variety. Any skin that was still visible was covered in tattoos. The largest one said “Mother” but had been crossed out with a big red “x.” The barkeeper frowned and spit on the floor.

“Charming,” thought Lantoro.

“Whadday’ll have?” grumbled the barkeep.

“Listen, I’m new in these parts, and…”

“I could give two rats if you’re new, old or dead.” growled the bartender.

Well, this wasn’t exactly the way he had pictured it. The barkeep was all wrong. He told himself it didn’t matter, though. He would simply have to adapt. This wasn’t a daydream anymore, this was real. Nonplussed, Lantoro carried on. “I’m Lantoro the Red. I’ve heard this is a handy place to find some… ah… help… for a job I’ve got planned.”

The barkeep stared at him funny. “You gonna order a beer? You wanna talk, you gotta order a beer. I ain’t here to chit-chat.”

“Oh, well… of course I want a beer!” Lantoro exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. A one-armed Lizaphent to his left frowned at him. “What do you have on tap?”

The barkeep gave him that funny look again, frowning. “Well Lantoro the Red (and he stressed the word “Red” and smiled in an unfriendly manner), we’ve got beer, or BEER. Take your pick.”

Lantoro sensed the barkeep’s impatience. “I’ll take a beer,” he answered quickly.

The barkeep produced a dirty mug from a dirtier shelf, pulled a beer from the tap, and slammed it on the bar.

“That’ll be 12,” growled the barkeep.

Lantoro paid for his drink, and quickly pushed on with his earlier line of questioning, not bothering to taste the unsavory looking fluid that had been placed before him. “As I was saying, I’m looking for some men to hire for a job.”

The barkeep slid the credit notes into a pocket in the front of his apron as he eyed Lantoro suspiciously. Lantoro was dressed in black boots with snakes emblazoned on them, rusty colored leather leggings, brown Ultrawick(™) shirt and an extremely wide brimmed brown cowboy hat. A black vest completed the outfit. A blaster was slung low on his left leg. It shined and sparkled when the lights from the band’s light show passed over it.

“You’re not wearing any red.”

“What?”

“You said you’re Lantoro the Red,” said the barkeep, stressing the red again. “I don’t see any red.”

“Yes, well,” said Lantoro, a bit flustered, looking down at his outfit, “it’s kind of a work in progress. But I’m sure you’re not interested in my outfit, nor how I came about my name. Now about the men?”

The barkeep spit again. “What kinda men?”

Lantoro smiled. Finally he was getting somewhere. “I need some – experienced – men, if you know what I mean. Men who can do a job and not ask questions,” he said in a lowered voice. “Men who can follow orders, handle a weapon, and ride hard. And the nastier, the better.” He said that last part with a bit of a wink, and puffed out his chest, nodding his head knowingly.

The barkeep chuckled and shook his head. “There must be sometin’ funny in the water today. Buddy, I think I got just the guy for you.”

****

Lantoro found himself sitting at a small table in the smokiest corner of the place. In front of him sat a thin, wiry fellow with black, short hair graying around the ears, a hawk nose, and beady brown eyes. He was all dressed in well worn khaki, sported a light tan where his arms were showing and wore what could only be an ancient black bowler hat on his head. Holsters crisscrossed his chest, each one sporting a worn blaster hanging under an armpit.

The strange part was that he was sitting with three lizaphents, each one sipping beer with their trunks,  pointedly ignoring Lantoro. One of them was picking at a festering scale with one of his three claw-tipped fingers. It wasn’t improving the smell of the joint at all.

“Forget about them,” the wiry man was saying, “they do what I say, when I say it. They don’t speak English very well anyway. I’m the one you need to talk to. Thann’s the name.”

Lantoro shook a thin but strong hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Lantoro the Red. I understand you and your… men… here are capable of helping me out with a little job I have.”

Thann frowned. He looked Lantoro up and down briefly, then peered under the table and looked up again. “The ‘Red?’ I don’t see any red.”

Lantoro sighed. Why did people have to take things so literally? “Yes, I know. It’s a work in progress. Can we stick to the question at hand? I need some experienced help, and I was told you were the guy I needed to talk to. Have you and your gang raided much? Have you, you know, pillaged?” Lantoro’s eyes gleamed as he said “pillaged.”

“Yeah, I still can’t get over that,” muttered Thann.

“Pardon?” asked Lantoro. I was asking if you had raided much…”

“Who us? Oh yeah, buddy! You kiddin’ me?” said Thann, waving a hand in dismissal and sticking out his lower lip. Raiding… pillaging, shoot, that’s our business! And business is good, eh fellows!” He nudged one of the ‘phents, who made a sort of gutteral sound followed by a couple of pops, then returned to his drink.

Lantoro assumed that meant the creature was agreeing. “Well, that’s great. So how many raids would you say you’ve been on, then?”

Thann snorted in his beer. “How many?” he repeated. “Well, sheesh, Lantoro. Lemme see. Ah…, well it’s hard to remember them all, but let’s just say you could’t even count the number of raids we’ve been on.” He hooked a thumb into one of his holsters, and smiled a crooked smile. “But listen, Lantoro, we don’t just raid for nothing. I’m looking for a big score, if you know what I mean. My boys here, they’re natives, as you can well see. They know the land and its secrets. Therefore I know them secrets. We may not be a large band, but we can take on any job in the leaselands you’ve got. But it’s gotta be worth our while, see?”

“Of course! I’m a business man myself, so to speak.” Lantoro cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “And there’s a big payoff in it for all of us, if we do the job right.”

“I’m still listening,” said Thann, pushing away one of the lizaphent’s trunks that had wandered over to his pocket.

Lantoro continued. “Our target is a sleepy little settlement in the leaselands. They’re sitting on something that’s worth fifty times what they think it is, and they are completely ignorant of the fact. They’re being completely taken by the big export corps. They’re idiots, and their ripe for picking. Heck, if they were smart, they wouldn’t be leaselanders, right?” grinned Lantoro.

Thann chuckled and adjusted his bowler hat. “Right,” he agreed.

“Anyway,” continued Lantoro, “they have little or no defenses. We don’t need a big group to ride in and take what we want. So you and I and your… guys, here should do the trick. Less pieces of the pie, bigger slices, if you know what I mean.”

“I do indeed, I do indeed,” smiled Thann. “So you’re calling it equal portions between the five of us then?”

“Uh, well no, not exactly like that.”

Thann frowned.

“Look, I’m the one who has the information on where the score is, and more importantly, I’m the only guy who knows how to sell it to the right people. I’m the brains, and I’m the boss of the operation. You’re the brawn. So I’ll split the take 50-50 with you. You then pay your guys however you want. That’s the deal. But I’m telling ya, it’s easy pickings. It’ll be easier than taking candy from a baby.”

Thann was still frowning. “What’s the expected profit, then, from this little idea of yours?” he said as he began to take a drink of his beer.

Lantoro leaned in toward Thann. “North of 750k,” he whispered.

Thann choked on his beer, and half of it shot out of his left nostril. The lizaphents hooted and one of them slapped Thann on the back with his tail.

“You’re crazy!” choked Thann, wiping his nose. “That’s more than my… er, that’s more than most colony companies make in a year!”

“Keep your voice down! I told you, it’s a big score.” said Lantoro. “I figure after expenses, your take will be around 350k. But you play by my rules. You do what I say. Deal?”

Thann considered for a moment, his eyes still watering from having beer shoot out his nose. “You lay down 5k for me and my guys, and you got a deal. But you better be on the level. Because if you aren’t, my boys will make stew out you.”

Lantoro smiled. “Oh, it’s on the level. Don’t you worry. Meet me in the stables at daybreak, and I’ll have your 5k. We ride at first light.”

Lantoro got up and tipped his wide brimmed cap. Thann nodded, and began conversing with the ‘phents in their language, probably bringing them up to speed.

As Lantoro headed toward the door, the band in the back of the room entered the climax of their song which involved lots of crashing cymbals, heavy power chords, and layered synth tracks – still all woefully out of tune. He ignored the smirk and the funny looks he got from the barkeep and the cantina patrons. Soon he would pillaging! And soon, people would no longer wonder why he was called Lantoro the Red.