Problem Solver
I've never cared for the term “bounty hunter”; to my mind, “incentive-based problem solver” is a more apt way of describing what I do, especially if one wants to be precise.
In my line of work, precise is the only option if you want to stay alive.
Take the man I'm going to go see, as an example. I wasn't hired to kill him outright, but scare him so badly that he'll do whatever my employers want. If he decides to grow a spine even though he's got bruises from my black gloves above his collarbone, then I'll come back and finish the job. Precision is the key to success, here.
Bounty hunting always ends for the hunter one of two ways: with a completed mission and the “bounty” in their pocket, or their death for failing to get the job done. What exactly that job is varies wildly from client to client.
I like to think that I've built up some goodwill in the community, but that's because I'm an optimist. Any of the people I work for on a regular basis would sell me out in a heartbeat if it suited their needs, and while I'm not so crass, I'd be willing to destroy large swaths of criminal compounds if I believed my life was in any danger. I'm a pistols expert, mainly, but that doesn’t mean that I can't throw around a bomb or two to keep things interesting, and I've always got three charges strapped randomly on my person. They've come in handy on more than one occasion.
I won't bore you with the details of my interaction with the merchant I'd been hired to “convince”, but suffice it to say he was more than willing to comply with my reasonable demands. A small video to show proof of my work, and I was off to a holo-mat to upload the data. Within ten minutes, my bank account had the funds I'd been promised, and a new job had come through on my personal data implant. The world of incentive-based problem solving had changed significantly in the past twenty years, and I'd had to change along with it or be left behind. I was one of the few who was still willing to meet clients in person, or speak to my targets before they were eliminated. To my mind, it gave the work a legitimacy, a human touch that cold-blooded killing lacked. Others thought I was crazy.
My next job was off-planet according to the specs, but came with a big payday. I checked the job owner, but the implant gave a sharp, buzzing error. No surprise there – high-risk, high-paying assignments were often contracted out by organizations that had no business arranging hits, organizations like planetary governments, churches, or the scientific community. All three groups could be equally ruthless on their own ground, and had people eliminated for what I would describe as extremely poor reasons.
It was not up to me to decide what constituted the right reason for a hit, though there were some jobs I'd turn down. Forty years in the business has taught me there are certain things I just can't do. It helps me sleep at night.
The transport schedule showed a ship heading my way in less than an hour, so I made for the station as quickly as I could. After this job, I had a break coming to me, and I one I planned to enjoy. I'd solved enough problems for the time being.
***
Funny that I didn't see this coming.
You'd think that after so long looking over my shoulder and watching my step that I would have started to question the details in assignments, wonder if someone might not be looking to get me. You'd think, but here I was, lying in a pool of my own blood, staring stupidly at the man who'd attacked me.
“Done” is what they called him, though years ago I'd known him by another name. He'd picked up the handle because no matter the job, no matter the difficulty, it was as good as done once he had his hands on it. For a time we'd worked together, but I found him too impulsive, too in love with what he did for my tastes. I solved problems because of who I was, how my mind worked. He was a bounty hunter, through and through, living for the thrill of the hunt and the ease of the kill, and never shying away from money, no matter the assignment. We'd parted ways amicably, and I remembered thinking at the time that he'd probably be the one to kill me when the time came. Honestly, I thought I had a few good years left.
I didn't say a word as he advanced; there was no point begging for my life or trying to make a deal. He liked to finish his targets up close and personally, though it wasn't as if he'd given me a fair chance to fight back. Fair wasn't in Done's wheelhouse, something that helped to make him one of the best.
“You got anything to say?” He asked. It wasn't meant to be cruel – if I had words I wanted taken somewhere, to someone, he'd take them. It was part of the code. As a group, we had little in the way of honor or decency, but the last words of a hunter were considered sacrosanct.
“Yeah,” I said shortly, twisting my hand so that it rested on the timer edge of my closest detonation charge, “you probably shouldn't stand so close to a man who's got bombs strapped to his chest.”
Done's eye went wide, and he was moving before I thumbed the timer lock, but it was too late. I could feel the blast ripple outward from my chest, throwing me back against a wall and vaporizing Done where he stood. Directional dissolution charges were expensive, but with the right gallosteel backing, they could be used to great effect – and keep the user alive.
Grunting, I flipped onto my side and started working on my bonds. As soon as I was free, I'd head down to the holo-mat and let my “employer” know that I was successful. He wouldn't like it, and I wouldn't be getting paid, but I was a problem solver, and loose ends weren't my style.
- D
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