The Widowmaker: Volume 1 in the Widowmaker Trilogy by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page A

Nighthawk, holstering his gun and sitting back down.
    Malloy was silent for a moment. “I could make a break for it,” he said at last. “The door's not that far away."
    "You could,” agreed Nighthawk.
    "Just how good a shot are you?"
    "Pretty good."
    "Pretty good,” repeated Malloy sardonically. “I'll bet you could hit a speck of dirt at four hundred feet."
    "Maybe even five hundred,” said Nighthawk easily. “Now have a drink and relax. I'm buying."
    Malloy frowned. “I don't understand you at all. First you save me, then you threaten to kill me, and now you're buying my drinks."
    "It's easy enough. As long as you are under my protection, I pay your way."
    "And how long is that ?” asked Malloy suspiciously.
    "You'll know when it's over.” Nighthawk signaled the bartender to bring two more drinks.
    "No more for me,” said Malloy. “I want to be sober enough to duck if I have to."
    "Just relax. Nothing's going to happen to you."
    "What makes you any better than every other kid who's gone after the Marquis? They were all good, and now they're all dead. Are your hands any faster? Are your eyes any better? Why should you succeed when so many have failed?"
    "Because I'm the best there is."
    "You're just a kid, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three years old,” said Malloy derisively. “Who'd you ever kill? What makes you the best?"
    "Take my word for it,” said Nighthawk.
    "If we were just two guys talking in a bar on some other world I would—but we're on this world and you're using me as bait, so no, I don't take your word for anything. Who have you killed?"
    "Cherokee Mason,” said Nighthawk. “Zanzibar Brooks. Billy the Knife."
    "Wait a minute!” said Malloy. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? Those guys are all out of the history books!"
    Nighthawk shrugged. “So am I."
    Malloy stared at him and frowned. “Jefferson Nighthawk, Jefferson Nighthawk,” he repeated. “It's familiar, but I don't place it. And you're not out of any book more than a year or two old."
    "Maybe you know me by another name,” said Nighthawk.
    "Maybe I do,” replied Malloy dubiously. “What is it?"
    "The Widowmaker."
    "Bullshit! He died a century ago!"
    "No he didn't."
    "Well, if he's alive, he's a hell of a lot older than you ."
    "He's in DeepSleep in a cryonics chamber on Deluros VIII,” said Nighthawk.
    "What are you trying to tell me?” demanded Malloy.
    "I'm his clone."
    "I don't believe it!"
    The two orange-skinned aliens looked up briefly at Malloy's exclamation, then went back to conversing in their low, hissing voices.
    Nighthawk shrugged again. “Believe what you want."
    Malloy stared at him, puzzled. “Why would they clone him? You even think of cloning a human, you're looking at thirty to life on a prison planet.” Suddenly his eyes narrow. “Are you telling me they cloned you just to kill the Marquis?"
    "That's right."
    "What happens to you after you're done? Do they send you back to the factory?"
    "I don't think they've thought that far ahead,” said Nighthawk. He paused. “But I have."
    "And you're really the Widowmaker?"
    "Yes."
    Suddenly Malloy grinned. “I'll have that drink now.” He turned to the bartender. “Hey, Gold Eyes! Another round here!” As the bartender prepared the drinks, he turned back to Nighthawk, speaking in low tones. “You know, there may be a way for everyone to profit from this."
    "How?"
    "Watch."
    The bartender approached them and delivered their drinks.
    "Hey, Gold Eyes, what's the odds on the kid here living til tomorrow?"
    The bartender shrugged. “Beats me."
    "What are the odds if he goes up against the Marquis tonight?"
    Gold Eyes stopped and scrutinized Nighthawk for a long moment. “Three hundred to one, against."
    "I'll take twenty credits’ worth of that,” said Malloy.
    "Where's your money?"
    "Hey, Jefferson,” said the small man, “loan me twenty credits, will you?"
    "I buy your drinks,” said Nighthawk. “I don't pay for your bets."
    Gold Eyes kept