Gangs of Galis Read online

  Gangs of Galis

  A Warpmancer Short Story

  Nicholas Woode-Smith

  https://nicholaswoodesmith.com/

  Gangs of Galis is a short story side-story set in the Warpmancer

  Universe.

  Enter the 36th century by checking out Shadow, a thrilling action

  space opera available on Amazon.

  Check it out here!

  Copyright © 2017

  Warpmancer Universe

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or

  dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

  retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise

  without the prior written permission of the publisher and the

  copyright owner.

  A pale red light flickered. Its audible click-click and hiss melded

  with the flashing of its sanguine illumination upon the broken

  concrete. Red sand seeped through cracks in the badly maintained

  ground. The light, while pale, still managed to enhance the hue of

  blood, steadily spreading across the tarmac, staining Michel

  Fulken’s white dress shirt as he lay, splayed like a shrivelled insect,

  in one of the many alleys of Galis City.

  Danny Marzio took a drag from his cigarette and then grimaced.

  He blew out the acrid smoke and tossed the cigarette into the

  growing crimson puddle. Galis hadn’t received a shipment from the

  Grengen tobacco plantations in months. The lab-grown stuff was

  all there was left, but it didn’t come close to the real thing.

  Zito Gorlea clicked his tongue in disgust as the cigarette was

  extinguished in the blood.

  ‘That necessary, Don? Best be honouring the dead.’

  ‘Best way to honour the dead is not to make so many of them,’

  Danny responded, surveying the scene.

  Zito stared blankly at his boss. He was sweating. The rotund man

  with the balding pate always looked nervous, but his colleagues

  knew that was never the case. Despite the moisture on his brow and

  beneath his pits, Zito Gorlea was as unfeeling as a syn.

  Bullet casings were scattered around the area. 9mm. Locally

  sourced metal. Non-Corporate. Galis smiths.

  Danny lifted one of the scattered shells and sniffed it.

  Gunpowder. Not a Trooper killing, then.

  The uppity self-appointed law enforcement had been known to

  eliminate criminals like Michel Fulken before. It could still just as

  well be them. They would have had the motivation. Michel had been

  the one leaking the Trooper patrol schedules. He was a professional

  spy, one of the best. But even the best slipped up eventually. And,

  even so the Trooper’s mainly used carbon and CC-rounds, many of

  the new recruits had to utilise Galisian-smithed weapons, and cheap

  Galisian rounds. This could be a Trooper killing – but Danny

  doubted that.

  It was messy, but effective. Michel’s blood and bits were strewn

  around the alley, a chunk of brain stuck to the aluminium door to

  Michel’s home. A splinter of lead had split off and hit the red light,

  damaging it. Troopers, even the new recruits, had better aim. They

  didn’t spray. They summarily executed. A single-shot to the head.

  Sometimes, they even had a trial. This wasn’t an execution. This was

  an assassination – and the Trooper Order were not fond of such

  dishonourable acts.

  Michel was face down in his juices, two holes in the head and

  five in the back.

  ‘Neighbours say they heard rapid-fire, boss,’ Zito added, hands

  in his pockets as he looked around, bored.

  ‘Probably a Scorpion?’

  ‘Yep,’ Zito agreed, uninterested. He preferred using guns to

  discussing them.

  Danny stood and took in the whole picture. Capo dead. His link

  to the informers in the Troopers – gone. Danny rubbed his chin.

  His link. Not everyone else’s.

  ‘It’s hot out, boss. Can we get back to the ‘butcher’?’

  Danny didn’t reply, but he did withdraw his fedora to wipe his

  forehead.

  Troopers couldn’t have known about Michel, but the informers

  did. And disloyalty was an informer’s business. Raise the bid, and

  the snitch will cross the floor.

  ‘Zito, we’re going for a drive.’

  Zito grinned.

  ‘We blasting tonight, boss?’

  Danny laughed. ‘When are we not?’

  

  Despite his nonchalant jovialness, Danny was not pleased.

  Blasting was never what he wanted to do. But he was good at it. So,

  despite other preferences, Danny kicked down the door of the only

  informant he knew – Mac “Machine Gun” Corvette. While Michel

  had maintained the cover of his snitches well, Danny had happened

  across Mac’s identity after a run-in with a corporation who had

  wanted him dead.

  As the scrap-metal door fell off its hinges, a bullet drove itself

  into the doorframe, clinking and ricocheting off the steel-frame into

  the concrete floor. Danny fired once, hitting the assailant in the leg.

  Zito followed through, tackling the gunman to the ground.

  ‘Apologies for not phoning ahead, dear Mac.’

  Danny sauntered towards the struggling man as he bled on his

  plastic-fibre carpet. Danny didn’t pity him. The blood would wash

  out.

  ‘Grako! Skiting grako! Get off me!’ the man swore, wincing at

  the bullet in his leg.

  Danny squatted beside him, as Zito grunted.

  ‘That’s no language to use… wait…’

  Danny looked closer. The man was a thug. Thick muscles.

  Tattoos. Green-dyed mohawk.

  ‘You ain’t Mac!’

  ‘Who the vok is Mac? Get off me, grako!’

  Danny indicated to Zito to stand up. Zito grunted again, but

  stood up with a feigned struggle, lifting the man’s gun with him,

  pocketing it.

  Danny offered a hand. The mohawked man sneered as he pulled

  himself up onto a nearby couch, wincing.

  ‘Zito, clean him up.’

  The fat man rolled his eyes and drew out a small first aid kit.

  ‘Now, tell me. What you doing in Mac’s apartment?’

  ‘This ‘ere is my place,’ he replied, eyes angry but voice calm.

  Danny glanced around the room. The man hissed as Zito used a

  tool to pull out the bullet and stitch the wound.

  It was a clean room – Spartan, except for the couch. Grey walls.

  No artwork. A single, barred, window. There was a table and two

  chairs. Another door, to the right of the entrance.

  ‘What’s through there?’ Danny asked, indicating to the door with

  his thumb.

  ‘Bathroom,’ the thug replied, a little too fast.

  Danny raised his eye brow.

  ‘Zito, didn’t you need to go to the bathroom?’

  Zito grinned and drew his gun.

  The thug balke
d but noticed Danny’s gun pointed straight at him.

  Danny smiled and brought his finger to his lips.

  Zito sidled to the door, taking cover by the side. His hand drifted

  to the handle…

  ‘Mac!’

  The door burst open. The thug pounced. Danny fired as he

  jumped to his feet. The thug fell to the ground. Mac came speeding

  out of the bathroom towards the exit, meeting the butt of Danny’s

  gun along the way. He fell to the floor with a harsh crunch and

  oomph.

  ‘Well, well, Mac. First, you snitch on your handler,’ Danny

  squatted, staring the man in his eyes as he blinked away the

  inevitable concussion. ‘And then try to get your boss killed.’

  ‘D-d-don! I didn’t know it was you. I swear.’

  ‘Swearing is bad, Mac. Your bodyguard did too much of it and

  look at him now.’

  Mac gulped. A bloody lump was forming on his forehead.

  ‘Michel’s dead.’ Danny was no longer smiling.

  ‘R-r-really?’ Mac stuttered. ‘No wonder he didn’t make the meet.’

  ‘What meet?’

  ‘Michel was arranging meet-ups with all the informants. Said

  some changes were gonna be made.’

  ‘Do you know what these changes were?’

  ‘No…no. I went to meet him two hours ago. He didn’t show.

  When I left the meeting place, a car started tailing me. Spooked me.

  So, I hired this guy…’

  He indicated the corpse.

  ‘…for protection. Come on, Don. I ain’t a bad snitch. I’m just a

  snitch – but I snitch for you. I don’t know what’s going on. Really.’

  ‘But you do know some of the other informers?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to…’

  ‘Spare the pretence.’

  Mac sighed. ‘Yeah. I know a guy. But he’s not one of us. He’s

  Galis Blade.’

  ‘That mercenary crew? How they afford an informer?’

  ‘Blades been raking in notes, boss,’ Zito interjected. ‘They know

  what they’re doing.’

  Mac nodded. ‘This guy I know has been their link to the patrol

  schedules. They need the info to fulfil operations for their clients.’

  ‘We aren’t on bad terms with the Blades,’ Danny thought, aloud.

  ‘Let’s go pay them a visit.’

  ‘That wise, boss?’ Zito was concerned, but didn’t show it.

  Danny turned and grinned. ‘The Blades are professionals. I’m a

  professional. This is just business.’

  ‘If you say so, boss.’

  

  Danny hated and loved this city. He hated what it was. Its dirt.

  Its lack of class. The greyness. He hated the desperation that could

  be smelt in the form of sweat, blood and faeces. He hated how

  everything in this city had to be a firefight. He hated that Zito

  glorified the ‘blasting’ that had become their nightly routine. While

  not adverse to killing – Danny had done too much of it already for

  it to affect him anymore – he did see it as a waste. Why kill the

  denizens of this glorified slum when you could charge them? Why

  rob them when you could sell to them?

  And that is what Danny loved about Galis. The potential. In

  every grey window, Danny saw a red light. Above every dingy

  drinking hole, a neon sign, trucks filled with pleasure drugs and

  booze. Real tobacco, real narcotics. Danny hated what this city was

  – a warzone – but loved what he knew he could make out of it. A

  business. A utopia of vice, pleasure and credits. Without a city

  charter or council like in Dead Stone, there was nobody to stop him

  from turning this shanty sea into his dream.

  But no empire, of glitz or grit, was easy. The Marzio Mafia, his

  gang, dressed in the manner of his dream. From a small crew of

  fedora and suit wearing gunslingers, he had grown his business.

  While the Troopers failed to protect the people in the outer districts,

  the Marzios reigned supreme, protecting businesses, households

  and communities – at a price. Marzio turf was safe. But it wasn’t

  good enough. Danny didn’t want to own Galis – far from it – but

  he wanted to make Galis suitable for profit. Keeping the psychos in

  line was part of the job.

  Losing employees was never good for any business. Losing a

  Capo, a trusted officer, was disastrous. As such, Danny was forced

  to partake in what he hated, but was so damn good at. With Zito,

  born killer that he was, he went blasting. When a crew spited a client,

  Danny put a bullet through their noggin. When some hoods tried to

  sling drugs in his alleys, they either joined up or found themselves

  in a highway ditch. He hated all of this, but even so, he did it all with

  a smile.

  Zito turned right. Danny jumped up in his seat as they hit a bump

  in the road. Two hooligans were illuminated by the headlights and

  ran into the alley.

  ‘How’s that associate of yours doing,’ Danny asked of Zito.

  ‘Passed his test. Blew that scab’s head off.’

  Danny nodded. Zito didn’t continue. That was the end of the

  conversation.

  They pulled up by Galis Blade turf. While most of the gangs of

  Galis maintained control over a wide area, tormenting or

  ‘protecting’ its residents, the Galis Blades conservatively utilised

  only a single compound. Despite not being as large as Marzio turf,

  however, Danny was impressed by the Blades’ fortress. Ten-metre

  high steel-enforced concrete walls. Guard towers and kill holes at

  every strategic location. Only a single noticeable gate. A dried-out

  canal as a moat. This mercenary group could be so much more.

  Danny was relieved that they didn’t want that.

  They pulled up by the bridge to the fortress. A man wearing a

  leather jacket with Kevlar padding leaned in.

  ‘The Don himself? You wanting to play dress up with us, then?

  Sorry, sport, but we don’t have time for kiddie games.’

  ‘Charming. Jherad, right? You did a job for us awhile back.

  Despite your mouth, you did a good job.’

  Danny nodded, then continued.

  ‘Here for information.’

  Jherad scratched his head with a sheathed knife.

  ‘Well, can’t hurt. Come right in.’

  Danny smiled in thanks, as the gates opened and Zito drove right

  in. Past the walls and fortress, the compound opened into its own

  community. Men and women in similar uniforms to Jherad were

  socialising and working, even at this late hour. Zito parked in an

  indicated bay, in front of some Blades who were playing cards. They

  didn’t reach for their guns. They felt safe behind their walls.

  One of the players looked at Danny and voicelessly indicated the

  door behind him. Through the door, Danny found the leader of the

  Galis Blades – Immondo Jefferson.

  The man had light chocolate skin, short-spiky hair and a well-

  shaved face. He turned as the door opened and grinned.

  ‘Don! Got a job for us?’

  ‘Always, Immondo. But later. Here for information.’

  Zito leaned against the wall as Immondo indicated for Danny to

  take one of the two seats.

  ‘Forgive the lack of pleasantries, Immondo. You know me. I’d
/>   love to chat, but things are pressing.’

  ‘No worries, Donny-don. This is Galis, eh? No time for

  pleasantries. What ya need?’

  ‘My snitch-master is dead. Only snitch of his I know only knows

  one of your snitches. Not making accusations, but need to fish at

  any pond I can.’

  ‘Don’t think Troopers did it?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘Too messy. And doesn’t make sense.

  Troopers would have interrogated him somewhere else. There

  wasn’t any sign of struggle. It was an assassination.’

  Immondo nodded. ‘Gang killing. Got to be. This is odd, though.

  Only gangs who’d want a piece of you don’t have informants – that

  we know of. They rely on our information to dodge patrols.’

  Danny looked him in the eyes.

  Immondo laughed, but then looked serious, meeting Danny’s

  gaze.

  ‘The Blades don’t want any piece of your empire…’

  ‘Business.’

  ‘Whatever. We’re running a tight operation. You’re a good client,

  but you might not always be. Got to have our own connections. But

  we aren’t going to go around killing your guys. We make too much

  credit from you. We are in different businesses, Donny-don. You

  don’t skite in our canals, we don’t skite in yours.’

  ‘But,’ Danny whispered, all semblance of a smile gone, ‘there’s

  always room to grow. And skiting in someone else’s pond may be

  risked when the reward is great.’

  Immondo enhanced his glare, hand slowly drifting to his front

  chest holster.

  The door burst open. Immondo and Danny spun their heads to

  the new arrival. Zito yawned and gave the young man a glance.

  ‘Commander! Spymaster’s dead…’

  He saw that they were not alone.

  ‘Uh, um… sorry, Commander.’

  Immondo waved him out. As the door closed, he stood up and

  walked towards a liquor cabinet. He started to pour some cheap

  brandy. He spilled a glob onto the table top. Danny didn’t flinch as

  the Blades’ boss tossed the glass at the wall, letting the glass collect

  in a shining pile on the floor.

  ‘Well, well, Immondo. Please accept my apology. It seems we’re

  both victims here.’

  Face red, and through gritted teeth, Immondo replied, bottle in

  hand.

  ‘It seems so, Don. It may also seem that we may need to work

  together in this. Someone is skiting in our canals, and I like clean