The Widowmaker: Volume 1 in the Widowmaker Trilogy by Mike Resnick Page A

but the words stayed with Nighthawk long after he reached the casino.
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6.
    The Marquis proved to be a man of his word. Whatever Nighthawk asked for, he received, and payment was never requested.
    Nighthawk spent a couple of days exploring the city of Klondike. He visited each of its four restaurants, all of its many bars and casinos and brothels. The drug dens he avoided; his borrowed memories were increasingly vague as they were replaced with his own experiences, but those that remained told him that nothing good or useful ever came of drugs or users.
    Most of his time, though, was spent in the Marquis’ casino, where he was on call for anything the Marquis might want. Lizard Malloy stuck close to him, as if he were the little man's only protection in this hostile environment, and in exchange for offering that protection Nighthawk picked his mind, learning the names and dubious accomplishments of most of the men and woman who worked for the Marquis.
    There was another reason for spending time in the casino, and Malloy was quick to spot it.
    "Don't even think about her,” he said as Nighthawk watched the Pearl of Maracaibo undulating atop her floating platform.
    "Last time I thought about her, it got me a job with the Marquis,” replied Nighthawk.
    "All the more reason not to push your luck twice,” said Malloy.
    "I wonder what she sees in him?"
    "You mean, besides the fact that he's ten feet tall and owns forty or fifty worlds?” asked Malloy.
    "He's not that tall, and he only owns eleven worlds."
    "Well, that makes all the difference in the universe,” said Malloy sardonically.
    "Where does she come from?"
    "I don't know."
    "Find out for me, by tomorrow,” said Nighthawk, smiling up at the Pearl of Maracaibo as she finished her dance.
    "You got yourself a serious death wish, you know that?” said Malloy.
    "Just do it."
    Malloy shrugged and fell silent. A moment later one of the Marquis’ men approached Nighthawk and took him to the office.
    "What's up?” asked Nighthawk as he sat down opposite the Marquis.
    "We've got a little problem over on Yukon that I want you to clean up."
    "Oh?"
    The Marquis nodded. “Seems someone has set up shop there without my permission. I sent an emissary to explain that this was a breach of etiquette, and she killed him on the spot. We can't allow her to get away with that. Too many other people might start flexing their muscles."
    "'She'?” repeated Nighthawk.
    "Name's Spanish Lace."
    "Sounds intriguing."
    "There's nothing intriguing about her. She's operating on my territory without a permit. That's against the law."
    " Your law?"
    "You know of any other?” said the Marquis.
    "Not on Yukon and Tundra,” admitted Nighthawk.
    "Well, then, that's your job."
    "I'm not quite clear,” said Nighthawk. “Do you want me to sell her a permit to operate, or run her off?"
    "I want you to kill her,” said the Marquis. “And then I want you to take what's left of her and nail her to a cross or hang her from a tree—anything out in the open—as a warning to anyone else who might be having similar ideas."
    "There are only a few thousand people on Yukon,” noted Nighthawk. “How many are likely to see her stretched out on a cross or spinning slowly in the wind?"
    "It's cold there. She'll keep."
    "Why not just charge her a couple of million credits and send her packing?” suggested Nighthawk.
    "I'm going to answer you this time,” said the Marquis, “because you've just started working for me and you don't know that I have a reason for everything I do. You haven't learned that you never question one of my orders; that's the same as arguing with me, and I won't tolerate that in an employee.” He paused. “If you ever question another order, you'd better have a nice cemetery plot picked out. I don't care how good you are, I'll kill you on the spot—and if I can't, I've got 200 men who'll see to it that you don't live long enough to leave