Chapter 6

Hello, Malcolm.

Mal jumped slightly and whipped his head around as the smooth, tenor voice filled the empty warehouse, forgetting for a moment that it came from the little device in his hand.

Actually, I think I’m gonna call you Mal, since I feel like I know ya so well. An’ I guess I should be sayin’ howdy to your little posse, too. Welcome, Jayne and Zoë.

Jayne’s eyes bugged out and he jerked around to look at Mal. “He’s watchin’ us!” the mercenary hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening alarmingly on Vera.

“He ain’t. It’s a recording, Jayne,” Mal told him, pretending he hadn’t done the exact thing seconds earlier when addressed by name and trying not to show how much it irked him that the knew enough to predict who would be listening. “Hush up so’s I can hear it.”

The message continued on, oblivious to the reaction it was causing. I suppose I should give a little apology to Zoë for the manner in which I returned her spouse, but then again, my mama always taught me it ain’t polite to say things ya don’t mean.

The recording paused, as if the speaker was stopping to take a long breath. Or maybe for a good laugh.

I reckoned you’d come, Mal. Told your pilot it would be pointless ta come here, as I’d be long gone, but I ain’t too sure the message penetrated very well. None too bright that one, but mighty stubborn. Had ta resort to measures I hadn’t planned on ta make sure the fool got the point.

The sound on the recording changed, like a channel had been switched. It was more distant, fuzzy, as if it were father away, and there were several muffled voices that could be heard in the background. Suddenly, all of that was drowned out by a sound like something swooshing through the air and then a harsh crack, followed by a man screaming. Mal instantly recognized Wash’s agonized voice and shook with anger as he remembered the bloody welts across his friend’s back. He deliberately didn’t look at Zoë as the tape continued, the sharp crack and following tortured cry repeating three more times.

Then, just as abruptly as it had started, the second recording cut off; example over. The casual voice was back.

As I said, none too bright. But then, you hired him, and as birds of a feather tend to flock, I’m not exactly all that surprised like. I told the man there was no point in ya’ll comin’ back here, but I also knew you wouldn’t be able ta stay away. Predictable, Mal, that’s what you are, predictable to a fault.

Which brings us to the point of this little message: you. Painting Washburne up all pretty like in tar and feathers was great fun, but that ain’t why I did it. I did it because I know you; know you better than ya might even know yerself. I know you ‘cause I’ve spent the better part of many years preparing for this; watching ya, waiting, planning… I’ve learned all about you, how you work, your little quirks. An’ I’ve learned that the best way to hurt you is to take it out on those ya care about, those you feel responsible for. So, that’s the plan, because yes, Mal, I want to hurt you. Want ya ta feel the hurt so badly ya come crawlin’ ta me to make it stop.

You see, I’ve not just watched you all these years, I’ve watched your crew. I’ve learned all about your merry band of outlaws. There’s good ol’ Zoë, your second in command and undisputed right hand. There’s Jayne, your semi-faithful guard-dog. Wash, the class-clown and resident flyboy. Kaylee, that sweet, innocent grease-monkey. And the oh so lovely Inara. An’ let’s not forget your recent acquisitions: the preacher and the dotting doctor and his nutty sister.

Mal breathed in sharply, something the man on the recording almost seemed to anticipate. Oh yes, I know all about the Tams. My mama also said, if somethin’s worth doin’, it’s worth doin’ right, and my sources are the best. I’d considered just setting the feds on ya, seein’ them haul the girl and her brother off and then watchin’ the rest of ya squirm in an Alliance prison, but there’s just something so impersonal about them doin’ my work for me. Not nearly as much fun, an’ I’ve waited so long for this.

So we’re doin’ this my way. It’s my little game, the ball’s in my court, an you’re all gonna play, like it or not. So what’s it gonna be, Mal? Who’s next? Cobb in a back alley, bullet to the brainpan after one too many beers down the gut some night? Kind, trusting Kaylee disappearing one day, right under your nose? Or maybe I should take Zoë? Finish the Washburne pattern I started, an’ I’m partial to a good challenge…

See where I’m goin’ here, Mal? It could be any one of them, at anytime. Washburne was a strategic strike, but the rest of the game is up for grabs… An’ you’ll never know when the next hit will come. Could be tomorrow, could be next year. I’ve waited most my life for this; I can be a very patient man. You can try an’ hide, or run, but it won’t work. I will strike again, and you will suffer for it.

Maybe next time, I’ll even tell ya why.

Goodbye then, Mal. Run back to your little ship and warn your crew. Tell them not to talk to strangers, not to wander off, never to go unarmed. It won’t do ya a bit of good, but it might make ya feel better.

Oh yeah, and you might want to hurry. Ya could still have time for the good Doctor Tam to find the antidote for the poison percolatin’ through your pilot’s veins. But then, ya might not. So many unaccounted variables…

The recording clicked off, it’s message finished. For a moment, complete silence hung in the air as Mal stared with stunned shock at Zoë and Jayne. No one, not even Zoë seemed to be able to process all the craziness and creepiness they’d just heard, least of all that last statement. Then the captain shook his head and swore loudly.

“Gorramit, Wash!” he cried helplessly as Zoë suddenly rushed from the building. That kicked Mal into motion as well, reminding him that his pilot’s life was hanging in the balance here, and he quickly followed her. As he ran, he fumbled in his pocket for the hand-held comm. only to remember he hadn’t thought to bring one. Cursing himself six ways to Sunday, he pulled into a flat-out sprint, chasing Zoë’s heels and not waiting to see if Jayne kept up. The big man could take care of himself, which was more than could be said for their pilot at the present.