Part 4 (1/2)
Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering some four hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recently declared war on the cops.
After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sore from small missiles, and his suit filthy from a.s.sorted muck. He had a beautiful s.h.i.+ner where a stone had clipped him.
The captain smiled. ”Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on your beat last night. Fine work, Gordon. We need men like you. Hate to do it, but I'm afraid you'll have to take the next s.h.i.+ft at Main and Broad, directing traffic. The usual man is sick, and you're the only one I can trust with the job!”
Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported back to the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itching for the donation agreement.
The captain took it, and nodded. ”I wasn't kidding about your being a good man, Gordon. Go home and get some sleep, take the next day off.
After that, we've got a new job for you!”
Chapter IV
CAPTAIN MURDOCH
The new a.s.signment was to the roughest section in all Marsport--the slum area beyond the dome, out near the rocket field. Here all the riffraff that had been unable to establish itself in better quarters had found some sort of a haven. At one time, there had been a small dome and a tiny city devoted to the rocket field. But Marsport had flourished enough to kill it off. The dome had failed from neglect, and the buildings inside had grown shabbier.
Bruce Gordon was trapped; he couldn't break his job with the police--if he did, he'd be brought back as a criminal. Some of Mars' laws dated from the time when law enforcement had been hampered by lack of men, rather than by the type of men.
The Stonewall gang numbered perhaps five hundred. They hired out members to other gangs, during the frequent wars. Between times, they picked up what they could by mugging and theft, with a reasonable amount of murder thrown in at a modest price.
Even derelicts and failures had to eat; there were stores and shops throughout the district which eked out some kind of a marginal living.
They were safe from protection racketeers there--none bothered to come so far out. And police had been taken off the beats there after it grew unsafe even for men in pairs to patrol the area.
The shopkeepers, and some of the less unfortunate people there, had protested loud enough to reach clear back to Earth. Marsport had hired a man from Earth to come in and act as chief of the section. Captain Murdoch was an unknown factor, and now was asking for more men. The pressure was enough to get them for him.
Gordon reported for work with a sense of the bottom falling out, mixed with a vague relief.
”You're going to be busy,” Murdoch announced shortly in the dilapidated building that had been hastily converted to a precinct house. ”d.a.m.n it, you're men, not sharks. I've got a free hand, and we're going to run this the way we would on Earth. Your job is to protect the citizens here--and that means everyone not breaking the laws--whether you feel like it or not. No graft. The first man making a shakedown will get the same treatment we're going to use on the Stonewall boys. You'll get double pay here, and you can live on it!”
He opened up a box on his desk and pulled out six heavy wooden sticks, each thirty inches long and nearly two inches in diameter. There was a shaped grip on each, with a thong of leather to hold it over the wrist.
He picked out five of the men, including Gordon ”You five will come with me. I'm going to show how we operate. The rest of you can team up any way you want tonight, pick any route that's open. Okay, men, let's go.”
Bruce Gordon grinned slowly as he swung the stick, and Murdoch's eyes fell on him. ”Earth cop!”
”Two years,” Gordon admitted.
”Then you should be ashamed to be in this mess. But whatever your reasons, you'll be useful. Take those two and give them some lessons, while I do the same with these.”
For a second, Gordon cursed himself. Murdoch had fixed it so he'd be a squad leader, and that meant he'd be unable to step out of line. At double standard pay, with normal Mars expenses, he might be able to pay for pa.s.sage back to Earth in three years--if Security let him.
Otherwise, it would take thirty.
He began wondering about Security, then. n.o.body had tried to get in touch with him. Were they waiting for him to get up on a soapbox?
There was a crude lighting system here, put up by the citizens. At the front of each building, a dim phosphor bulb glowed; when darkness fell, they would have nothing else to see by.
Murdoch bunched them together. ”A good clubbing beats hanging,” he told them. ”But it has to be _good_. Go in for business, and don't stop just because the other guy quits. Give them h.e.l.l!”