Can't Shoot Straight Gang: A Handsome Rob Gig, #1

By Blaze Ward

Handsome Rob, Secret Agent. 

At least until the Lincolnshire government mucked everything up, reactivating his commission in the space fleet.

Time for another impossible mission: destroy a secret space station set up by a crime syndicate.

Just him. All by his lonesome. Against an entire fleet of criminal warships.

Luckily, Handsome Rob knows a guy...or two.

Time to get the band back together.

"Can't Shoot Straight Gang Returns"--a new novel set in the Alexandria Station Universe--pits pirates and crime bosses up against the greatest conman of all time, and a few of his friends.

Be sure to read the other Handsome Rob gigs! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knotted Road Press
• Release date: Mar 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781644701256

Blaze Ward

Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe (Jessica Keller, The Science Officer,  The Story Road, etc.) as well as several other science fiction universes, such as Star Dragon, the Dominion, and more. He also writes odd bits of high fantasy with swords and orcs. In addition, he is the Editor and Publisher of Boundary Shock Quarterly Magazine. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places. Blaze's works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors. His newsletter comes out regularly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!

Book preview

1

He checked the ID card one last time in the afternoon gloom as the repulsor-taxi landed in front of the bar.

Roberto Segura. Six-foot-one. One-ninety-five. Brown eyes. Black hair. Hispanic genotype.

At least the last five were accurate enough for government work.

And Roberto was what everyone in the field was going to call him, as long as he didn’t accidentally run into his mother at some unfortunate moment. Fortunately, she was seventy light-years away, Good Lord Willing. He would even answer automatically to it these days, the trainers having pounded that name into him over the last year.

The good-looking Courier was now a licensed Field Agent.

Roberto took a deep breath and exited the taxi, tipping the driver just enough to not be memorable either way.

The inside of the club was seedy and run down. About what he had been led to expect from the address, but this destination had not been his decision. Roberto had been instructed to simply call the man, and then let him drive the conversation. Roberto had only ever met the legend when delivering papers.

So a below-street dive, two blocks from El Ayuntamiento. In the wrong direction.

At least Roberto had a pulse pistol concealed under one arm, if he needed it.

Up on the stage, a lonely-looking, Anglo guy with an unfortunate flattop played blues on an electric guitar. The man himself sat in a booth towards the back of the mostly-empty club, across from the long bar with the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind it.

Roberto’s Agency training took over.

Be suave, be cool, and have a plan to kill every single person in the place.

Bartender. Waitress. Two sailors at the bar. Blues man. Contact.

Roberto approached his target, conscious that he was possibly over-dressed for the setting, with a red-silk neck cloth and a subdued, black suit, while his contact was wearing an open-necked, silk shirt in peach that showed off the man’s hairy chest and legendary tan.

Hispanic male. Mid-fifties. Clean shaven. Hair probably dyed. Some plastic surgery around the face. Ruggedly handsome in that way that women fawn over.

Good morning, Señor Royo, Roberto said as the man smiled up at him.

Please, call me Jorge, the man responded breezily, an empty martini glass in one hand. Mr. Royo is my father, and he’s not dead yet, last I checked.

Jorge slid to one side from the exact back of the round booth and patted the back.

Have a seat, kid, he continued, holding up the glass as a toast. And congratulations on the promotion. ’Bout time, too.

The waitress was approaching now. A tall, slender local, with bottle-blond hair and a shirt buttoned just high enough to barely-contain her ample chest.

Tallia, baby, Jorge turned his charm on her like a spotlight. "Fix me up another round, please, and get my friend here a whiskey, neat? Say, what are you doing tomorrow? Could I hire you for the day at double whatever Enrique’s paying you? I’ve got a golf date with the Mayor and a few of his business contacts. It’d be nice if