Black Stetson (standard:science fiction, 2002 words)
Author: Nathan K. Vu	Added: Sep 21 2002	Views/Reads: 3393/2333	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It's a SF story about a bounty hunter in the big city.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

"Oh, some do it for fun, but not many. If you want to see the pictures
they took, why don't you go downstairs" With this, the bartender 
indicated a small stairway that was barely illuminated in the dim bar. 
Parker nodded and proceeded down. Once he got down, Parker found that 
the room was very small and that pictures dominated every wall. These 
pictures of the city showed a steel grey morning sky and dark spires 
that reached towards the heavens in Babel-like futility. These pictures 
weren't very good, a bit too cliched and Blade Runner-esque, but below 
each one was a price tag with the label: (Name) took this photo and 
received an amount of $x. Parker smiled briefly and imagined himself as 
one of the photographers. They weren't really so different, they both 
did things for money, it was just that Parker's work was of a higher 
quality. 

The woman reached the wooden door of her room, opened it and walked into
a musty smelling place with an unmade bed and navy blue carpeting. It 
smelt of the mixed sweat of man and woman and of cheap champagne. The 
woman didn't consider this, she was exhausted, so exhausted that she 
didn't even reach the bed and collapsed on the floor. The woman woke a 
few hours later to the noise of innocent children, an all too rare 
commodity in the city. She opened a window and in the alley below saw 
two children playing with a hologram dog. Around them, the reactor 
steam of the city flew up into the steel sky and past it, into the blue 
heaven and warmth of the sun. She was envious of the steam; she wanted 
to be like it, to reach to the heavens and a new, better tomorrow. 
'That's why I did it', the woman reflected, 'that's why I stole this 
thing; she reached into her shirt and withdrew a bag hanging by a 
necklace, but what's it all for? I'm done for, dead. Maybe I should 
just lie down and die'. The woman slumped into the bed and fell asleep. 


Parker had wasted time in the bar but he didn't care, as long as the job
was done the period meant nothing; after all, he was being paid a fixed 
amount. Nevertheless, as a true professional should, Parker wandered 
the markets in search of his quarry but he found no trace of her. He 
passed the spot where he had seen her last and decided that the 
smartest thing to do was to walk in that direction and see if any sort 
of shelter was available, because even the hunted have to rest. Parker 
decided that this train of thought was logical but it might be wrong, 
people being pursued don't always do rational things and, as he thought 
about this, Parker touched a tender spot and scar on his neck where a 
bullet had once grazed him. In this day and age it was possible for 
Parker to have the scar removed but he decided not to, it was a 
reminder of the most valuable lesson that he had learnt at the cost of 
his own blood and it was a reminder of his foolish arrogance and pride. 
It still ached when it was cold. Parker found a hotel, a dirty and 
dilapidated hotel, lit by a neon sign. It may have been true that the 
sign cost more than the hotel but it didn't matter, the hotel was the 
only one in sight and was the most likely place for his quarry to be. 
He walked into the reception area and found a short and stocky man 
waiting for him, in his hand was a silver shotgun with an extremely 
large barrel. The weapon slightly worried Parker because even the worst 
of aims was bound to hit something with the large rounds it fired; 
Parker hoped that it wouldn't come down to that, however, because the 
best job is always the silent one. 

"Something I can do for you, mister?" the short man asked, his voice was
a deep one that probably was more suited to a parade ground. It really 
wouldn't have surprised Parker; the government had a shocking record 
when it came to war veterans, especially those from the last war. 

"I'm looking for someone" Parker replied and handed the man a
photograph. 

"Sorry bub, never seen this lady before" the man responded. It was an
obvious lie, the man's pupils shrank a little and a cold sweat came 
down his forehead. Such signs were very obvious to Parker. 

"I'll take a room for the night then" Parker said calmly, not giving
away that he was aware of the ruse. 

"$15" the man said. 'Hell', he thought, 'if this goes down quietly then
it's no business of mine. I might as well make a profit from this'. 
Parker reached into his grey coat and withdrew some bills, much more 
reliable and durable than electronic currency. The man accepted the 
bills and Parker smiled a smile that one may see on a burial mask of 
some ancient culture. 

The woman awoke with the premonition that deer sometimes have when they
feel a hunter is near. Suddenly, it all came back, the fear and 
adrenaline mixing into a vicious cocktail many times more potent than 
any alcohol. She sprang up from the bed and immediately went for the 
window and hoped that she could jump down and run out to be lost in the 
mass organism of the crowd. Parker walked slowly up the staircase and 
hugged the walls in turn so that his ear was near the doors to the 
rooms. In most rooms he found that there were tortured cries of 
pleasure and decided to ignore them but when he came to the woman's 
room Parker only found silence and decided to act. He withdrew a 
pistol, a large and durable chrome revolver with an argon laser sight 
on the bottom of the barrel, which made sure that Parker's good aim was 
almost infallible. He raised the pistol to the door and fired a shot 
with a force so great that the door splintered and smoke flew into the 
room, obscuring Parker but not the sound of his deadly weapon. She 
turned from the window and saw Parker walk through the clearing smoke. 
Instead of jumping out and into the alley, she stepped back and gave 
Parker a look of absolute defiance. Parker holstered his pistol, smiled 
and stood at the ready; it had been a long time since he had fought 
hand-to-hand and this would be a good test of his skill. 

The woman charged at him, leaping into the air with outstretched arms.
Parker turned on his side and let the woman glide harmlessly past, 
giving her an open-handed strike to the kidneys, his grey coat flapping 
and making him look like a giant bat. She fell and writhed on the 
ground but immediately got up and executed a flying kick at Parker's 
head. Parker deflected her leg, moved forward and punched her in the 
face with such power that he felt her nose shattering like a vase 
beneath his fist. Blood with the consistency of red wine dripped from 
his hand and he backed off a little, allowing the woman to pick herself 
up. As she did so, Parker was looking for a way to end the matter 
lightly and politely and the woman gave him the opening required. In 
her rage, she blindly charged head first at Parker, allowing him to 
dodge her strike and execute a back fist at the base of the neck. With 
the strike she dropped to the floor, unconscious and Parker stood over 
her body, scanning it for what he needed. Eventually, Parker found the 
bag, picked it up and jumped out of the window into the cold alley 
below. 

THE END 


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