Judge Dredd

THIRTEEN

Fergie couldn’t think of any painless way to die. There were a lot of ways to do it. People did it all the time. There were illegal shops in LA if you knew where to go. If you had enough bucks, they’d fix you up fine. If you had a whole lot, you’d leave your miserable life feeling like a thirty-ton orgasm blasting off for outer space.

The only thing wrong was, he wasn’t in LA any more and he didn’t have a Reagan dollar to his name. That, and the fact that he was down in a concrete pit somewhere, waiting for the shuttle to whisk him off to Aspen again. Other than that…

Someone threw up nearby. That inspired somebody else. Fergie didn’t care. There were sixty-two men in the pit and they’d been there crowded up together for twenty-nine hours or more. He’d done his throwing up the first three. He couldn’t get sick anymore, and there was nothing on earth he hadn’t smelled by now.

Fergie spent most of his time thinking up tortures for the guy with purple ears. He knew the droog was dead, but he was very much alive in Fergie’s head. Alive and in excruciating pain. Every time he died, Fergie brought him back again. Sometimes he thought about Dredd, and the good-looking Judge who’s name he couldn’t recall. He didn’t have any quarrel with them. Judges were simply a fact of life. You don’t look where you’re going, a truck’ll squash you flat. You stay in a cheap hotel, a rat’s going to bite you on the ass. When you’re in the law-breaking trade, you’re going to get caught now and then.

What drove Fergie nuts was the fact that he hadn’t done anything at all. That wasn’t right. Fate didn’t have any business pulling such a lousy trick when he just got out. If you steal you get caught, but they shouldn’t ought to cheat you like that.

When he got tired of thinking so hard he closed his eyes and slept. Sometimes the dreams were awful, sometimes they weren’t bad at all. One was a real good dream about him and Maggie. It was a real lazy day and they’d paid to ride up the Electric to the top of the LA Wall. They had a big railing up there but it was still real scary if you stood and looked down. The sign said the Wall was two thousand twenty-seven feet high. Who could get over that? Fergie wondered. Who the hell was dumb enough to try?

It was hot on the Wall, but Maggie leaned in close and trembled against his shoulder. Fergie didn’t blame her. It was an awesome thing to see. Cursed Earth stretched out to the east, the land disappearing in a wavy mirage that looked like a pig-iron sea. The sky in that direction was always brick-red from the dust storms that howled day and night across the Cursed Earth.

There were telescopes on the railing. You could put in a token and look out over the wasteland and bring everything up close. Hardly anyone did. And no one ever did it twice. There was always a chance that you’d see something more out there, something worse than the parched red earth. Something you didn’t want to see like a Krazy or a Cull. A Booter hopping on a single leather foot, or a Dusteater with skin the color of clay. Outcasters came up to the LA Wall all the time, especially at night. You weren’t supposed to feed them, but sometimes a guard would toss something off the Wall. Sometimes something would fall off a shuttle or a barge. A lot of the time, Fergie knew, an Outcaster came out of the wild just to look at the Wall, to see where he couldn’t be.

Fergie dreamed Maggie was beside him. He dreamed she touched his leg and slid her hand up his thigh. Fergie opened his eyes and saw the skinny con squatting over him, grinning with rotten teeth.

“You son of a bitch,” Fergie yelled, “get out of here!”

He knocked the man’s hand away, raised his foot and kicked him in the chest.

The con coughed, spat on the bare ground, and pulled himself up. He wiped a ragged sleeve across his face.

“You don’ have to get all heated up,” he said. “I wasn’t doin’ what you thought it was I did.”

“Yeah? What are you, then, the local massage parlor, or what? I’m going to get a free rub?”

The man smelled like he’d just won the hundred-meter cesspool event. Fergie wondered if he smelled as bad, and decided he didn’t want to know.

“I’m Dix,” the guy said. “Donnie Dix.”

“I’m not,” Fergie said. “Beat it, pal.”

“Listen, ol’ Donnie ain’t offended. I got a real thick skin. Don’t anything much bother me. Say whatever you want, it don’t mean anything to me.”

Fergie gave the con a curious look. “Nothing, huh?”

“Not a thing, friend.”

“If I was to maybe hit on something, you’d tell me, okay?”

Donnie grinned, showing jagged rows of green teeth. “I don’t just side up to anyone, mister. I been around the track once or twice an’ I can pick the right feller out ever’ time. I got an insight into people won’t quit.”

“And you picked me.”

“Right off. Minute I spotted you sittin’ over here.”

“What for?”

“What for what?”

“What did you pick me out for? What did I win, a free trip to Hell?”

Donnie looked puzzled, then his eyes lit up. “Well, say, I might’ve got you wrong, friend. It sure ain’t likely, but I won’t say I didn’t or I did. This is your first time goin’ up, ain’t it? I got to figure it is.”

“Yeah, first time up,” Fergie lied. “How can you tell?”

“Like I say, it’s a gift.” Donnie raised a dirty finger. “You got to look real good, is all. There’s a first-timer look and that’s what you got.”

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was close.

“You’ll learn about that once you get up there. I’m not supposed to say anything an’ I’d get in a whole lot of trouble if anybody found out I did.”

“Did what?”

“Told you about the ERP. That’s the Extra Ration Plan. Prisoners get extra rations on Sundays and holidays. The thing is, a new guy like you, a fish, the old cons, they’ll take away your ERP. Unless you join up with one of the guilds. You do that, you got protection, see? Nobody’s going to screw with you, you’re in a good guild. Am I coming through okay? You got any questions, you let me know.”

“No, I think it’s pretty clear.”

Fergie had figured the scam about the first two seconds the droog started talking, he just didn’t know the wrap-up, the end.

“So what do I do when I get to Aspen, I join one of the guilds, right?”

Donnie looked pained. “No, man, you get it up there, it’s going to cost you a mucking arm and a leg. What you want to do, you want to join before, you want to join now and save half of what you’d have to pay.”

“Half sounds good,” Fergie said.

“Sure it does. Now you’re talking, man.”

“No I’m not,” Fergie said. “I haven’t got any bucks and neither do you. Neither does anyone else in this hole because the Judges took everything away.”

“Don’t I know that? Don’t Donnie Dix know that?” Dix looked irritated. “The guild don’t expect you to have any cash. They know how it plays here, man. That’s why I’m authorized to take goods instead of dough.”

“Goods.” Fergie looked at him. “Like, what kind of goods?”

Donnie tried not to let it show, but Fergie caught the look, caught the hunger and the need.

“You got stuff, man. Like boots, okay? You got real boots and good socks.”

Fergie didn’t blink. “You want my boots? I’m going to freezing-ass Aspen Prison, you want me to give you my boots?”

Donnie waved him off. “Don’t matter. You can get some more when you get there. They got boots, warm clothes, anything you want. I mean, Aspen isn’t no vacation spot, I’m not about to tell you that, but it’s not as bad as everyone thinks. You keep your cool, they’ll treat you okay.”

“Forget it,” Fergie said.

“What?”

“I said forget it. Get your sorry ass out of here. Now.”

A vein began to throb on the side of Donnie’s head. “You don’t want to mess with me, pal. You don’t want to mess with me at all. You screw around with me, word gets back to the guild, and they ain’t going to be happy at all.”

Donnie scooted in closer, and Fergie smelled the fury and the fear, saw the light of the wolf in Donnie’s eyes.

“I work for people up there you don’t want to piss off. Guys that can do stuff to you you don’t even want to think about.” Donnie paused to let that sink in. “You ever heard of Jimmy Eyes? You ever heard of him?”

“I heard of him,” Fergie said.

Donnie showed him a nasty grin. “Yeah, I thought you maybe did.”

“What I heard is he’s out, he’s not in. He got in off the shuttle a couple of days back.”

Donnie blinked. “Where the hell you hear that?”

“Dinner last night. Before the Judges picked me up. It was a setup is what it was, I wasn’t doing anything at all. All I was doing was coming out of Jimmy’s house.”

“You was—huh?”

“Coming out of Jimmy’s house.” Fergie grinned. “You don’t get it, do you? You stupid groon, I’m Jimmy’s brother. I’m Fergie Eyes.”

Donnie went white. “No, you ain’t either.”

“You want Fergie Eyes’ boots? You want his mucking socks?”

“Hey, forget it, okay?” Donnie shook his head and scuttled off like a crab who wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. “I don’t want nothing, man!”

“Right,” Fergie said. “Go straight to hell, man.”