Read America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War for Free Online

either!”
    “You’re a punk! You know that? Untie me, see what happens. This is cruel and unusual!”
    “Jail-house lawyers everywhere.”
    “I mean it, punk. Not feeding me is a war crime!”
    “Quiet, crazy tattooed human pestilence!”
    “I’m not crazy. The Legion had me tested.”
    “Ha, another use for duct tape,” sneered Blue-Claw, shutting Higuera up with a generous application of the sticky silver tape. “Duct tape is the one thing you human pestilence do right.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
    The joint Arthropodan-American effort to rout out the Polish Cartel from the Web bogged down because the mostly spider fighters were little affected by nerve agent. More effective insecticides had been banned by galactic treaty, putting American resolve in doubt. Refugees continued to stream south. Missing legionnaire Higuera’s face was posted on every milk carton and beer can on the planet as the Legion belt tightened. General Daly demanded bold action, or else. I was just beginning to despair when spider drug kingpin Blue-Claw called my personal communications pad.
    “Colonel Czerinski, we finally meet. I am willing to make you a deal you can’t refuse on your boy Higuera.”
    “The answer is no,” I countered, ever the tough seasoned negotiator sticking to the Legion hostage negotiations manual. “America does not negotiate with terrorists.”
    “Technically I am not a terrorist,” bristled Blue-Claw. “I am a Lord of Drugs.”
    “Drug lord narco-terrorist is more like it.”
    “I prefer undocumented pharmacist. We’re thinking about going corporate.”
    “You are a ruthless scumbag drug dealer.”
    “Sticks and stones. It’s in both our interest to resolve our differences. Your failed Legion invasion of the Web is nevertheless cutting into my profits, upsetting investors. You want Higuera back to avoid more bad press. Let’s make a deal we can all live with. We swap prisoners. I’ll return your legionnaire unharmed, you leave the Web.”
    “Higuera is just a private. I want more.”
    “What else is there to negotiate?”
    “Money. It’s as good as cash. Do you have any idea how much it costs America to put all those refugees on welfare?”
    “No.”
    “It’s probably a lot. They’re never going to want to leave, once they get their EBT cards.”
    “And you call me the Mafia,” hissed Blue-Claw. “I will not stand for your shakedown.”
    “There is no such thing as the Mafia.”
    “Big Tony has already admitted under torture that he’s a Teamster and Mafia want-to-be, so don’t tell me there’s no such thing as the Mafia. Teamsters thug Carlos O’Neil has been organizing my employees for a long time. My drug dealers demand eight hour shifts, weekends and holidays off, and overtime. What ever happened to good old fashion entrepreneurial spirit? It’s criminal if I go out of business because of your human pestilence Teamsters Mafia.”
    “Tell me about it,” I lamented. “I have a pile of unfair labor practice grievances on my desk, and the War on Blue Powder has only just started. It’s all your fault by breaking Kosminski out of jail. If you want to return Higuera, I want five million to cover America’s inconvenience.”
    “What? Bloody hell, I’m the terrorist. You pay me .”
    “You’re a drug dealer,” I argued, fine tuning my translation device to edit out the annoying British accent. “I’m firm on the five million.”
    “Arthropodan credits?”
    “Pounds.”
    “No way.”
    “Fine. U.S. Dollars.”
    “Even more ridiculous. Do you think American money just grows on drug-trees?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll pay one million, and feel egregiously cheated by your human pestilence Mafia tactics. Where is the goodwill?”
    “We are sworn enemies, to the death,” I explained patiently. “There is no goodwill. Four million.”
    “Two-point-five million is all I can do, what with the downturn in the economy, high taxes, a union closed shop, and increased