Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

him. He was gone, for the moment.
    Lewis made his way across the city, using public transport as much as possible, dodging guard checkpoints when he had to. He was pretty sure his fake ID would hold up, but it had been some time since he'd last used it, and he didn't feel like putting it to the test until he absolutely had to. He couldn't be sure exactly how many of his secrets he'd shared with Douglas, or Finn for that matter, and how many of those secrets his ex-partners might remember. Either way, dodging around the checkpoints wasn't exactly difficult. The guards and peacekeepers couldn't be everywhere, and no one knew the ins and outs of the city like Lewis. He knew all the scams and dodges because he'd busted most of them, and there wasn't a secret door or hidden passageway he hadn't chased someone through in his time.
    It didn't take him too long to get to the Rookery. Getting in was no problem; he'd been there before, in various disguises. Certain people would be very surprised to find out who their old drinking partner really was. Lewis pushed back his cloak so that his gun and sword showed clearly, and changed his anonymous shuffle to a broad and cocky swagger. Most people then had enough sense to leave him strictly alone. One bravo lurched out of a bistro to brace Lewis, to impress his drunken friends, and Lewis immediately beat the crap out of the idiot with such vicious thoroughness that even the hardened bravos watching from the safety of the bistro were impressed. Lewis left the unlucky bully crying in a corner, trying to find at least some of his teeth before his eyes puffed shut, and strode off down the street, whistling cheerfully. He'd been hoping to find someone dumb enough he could take out his bad mood on.
    No one else bothered him after that. News travels fast in the Rookery, and they all knew a complete psycho when they saw one.
    Lewis ended up at a small inn with smoke-stained walls and windows that were never cleaned. The Mucky Duck was cheap and nasty, its booze was barely adequate, and its food was actually distressing, but it let rooms by the day or the hour, and asked no questions as long as your credit held out. Lewis had used the place before, and always had to take a long shower afterwards. Sometimes he burned his clothes too. Still, the inn had the useful quality of being centrally located, on one of the main intersections in the Rookery, which meant people were always coming and going, and the gossip in the bar never
    stoppped. If Finn actually tried sending people into the Rookery, in search of Lewis, The Mucky Duck would know the moment the poor sods crossed the boundary. The Rookery had no time for would-be undercover peacekeepers.
    Lewis sat on the edge of a very hard bed, and stared glumly at the bare and grimy walls. No one would pay any attention to one more hard case like him, probably just looking for work as muscle-for-hire. And the inn wouldn't give a damn as long as his credit was good. Lewis shut off his holo face, to preserve the energy crystal in the collar. He had the door locked and bolted, with a chair jammed up against it, just in case. There wasn't a lot of credit left in his fake card. He'd been meaning to transfer some new funds into it for some time, but given how tight his finances had become of late, he'd never got around to it. When he'd been made Champion, he'd thought he'd never have to come back to places like this . . . So; he had enough credit to last two days, maybe three if he was careful and lucky, and then . . .
    Oh hell, maybe he'd just rob a bank. He couldn't be in any more trouble.
    He lay back on the hard, unforgiving mattress, his bare skin crawling where it touched the sheets, and stared up at the long crack spreading across the gray plaster ceiling. He had some hard thinking to do. If there was evidence condemning him in his computer (and he saw no reason to doubt Finn's word) it could only be because some very professional person had planted it there. Which meant. . . there was a conspiracy against him. A disturbing thought. Shadow Court, maybe. This had the feel of the kind of thing they delighted in. Why kill a man, when it was so much more fun to destroy his reputation and ruin him?
    Or maybe the ELFs had hired someone here in the Rookery, to get back at him . . . You could find any kind of crooked pro here.
    But if it was a conspiracy, he couldn't hope to fight it on his own. Not with a death threat hanging over his head. No one would