Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“No,” I stated. I looked around to see if this was a set-up, but I couldn’t figure out what the punch line could be.

“What’s your name, son?” He put out his hand.

“Hank.” I shook.

“Hank. Just Hank?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what I like about this part of the Confederation. All straight talk. Yes, sir. No ma’am. Corned beef and ham. Don’t break my hand! Woo! My name is Bronze Badel Bardel. Say that three times fast and you get a prize. Up to a three credit value,” he said, holding his hand up by his mouth conspiratorially. “Yeah, my parents had a sense of humor. How long you been around here? I’m new myself.”

“You mean in Deadsouth or Belvaille?” I asked. Bronze was a jovial person. He just oozed it. I found myself grinning just listening to him and I had very recently been worked over by a bunch of heavy machine guns.

“Whatever you want to tell me,” he responded. He put his hands in his pants pockets then quickly took them out. As if he couldn’t stand still that long.

“I’ve been on Belvaille maybe 140 years or—” I started.

“Wow!” He said, and pretended to keep his hat from blowing off his head from that information, but he wasn’t wearing a hat. “Hey, I need you to show me around. This place is so confusing. One minute you’re on 22 ndStreet then you take three steps and it’s Jagnope’s Nosesocket Avenue. I feel like I’ve been walking in circles but they say that’s impossible because the city is a square. Figures I’d even screw that up.”

“I need to clean up a bit and I have to stick around here a while.” I didn’t want to tell too much to this stranger and he got that.

“Sure! Sure! I don’t mean to pry. If you want, you can step into my pad right over there and you can do what you need. I got a few credits to my name and I’ll buy you a drink.”

I had been planning on basically breaking into one of the many abandoned apartments in this area and using the facilities. But I might as well have some company.

“That sounds great Bronze, uh,” I had forgotten all his name. He spoke so fast.

“Just call me Bronze. Or Badel. Or Bardel. Whatever it is, I’ve been called worse.”

We walked a few blocks. People literally were lying on the sidewalks and in the street. No vehicles drove around here. There was no reason. The people here probably didn’t know Belvaille had changed at all.

We went into a building and headed up the stairs. Bronze took them three at a time, but I was not a fast stair-climber. I was even slower carrying an autocannon and tired from my ordeals.

At the first landing, Bronze stopped and looked back. I had gone up maybe four steps. He chuckled and then watched me for a few moments as I struggled on.

“I thought you were pulling my leg there, Hank. But I guess a guy as big as you can’t also be quick on his feet. I’d say take the elevator, but it’s broke. And I’d offer to give you a hand but I think you’d pull me down the stairs.”

“It’s fine,” I huffed. “Please tell me you’re not on the top floor.”

“Just one more flight,” he said congenially.

I finally got up, sweating and my back tired.

He opened the door to his apartment and I noticed absently he didn’t use a key or code. He held the door for me and I went in first.

Inside it was spare, with barely any furniture and only some small boxes on the floor.

There was a man inside hurriedly digging through the boxes while on his knees. He had long orange hair, a torn black synth coat, and a long scraggly beard. He looked up at our entrance and his eyes bugged out in panic.

Bronze slipped by me at the door.

“Hey, brother, what can I help you with?” Bronze asked the man in good humor.

The man didn’t answer. He looked at Bronze and looked at me. Particularly me.

“We were about to fix ourselves something to drink, you want anything?” Bronze continued.

No reply.

“Do you know him?” I asked Bronze.

“Nope.”

Bronze walked into his kitchen and I heard him clanging around with what sounded like cups and bottles and cabinets.

I was blocking the door and the man in the room seemed acutely aware of that.

I took my autocannon off my back and swung it around to my front, holding it like I meant business. Every gun means business, that’s what they’re for. Laugh all you want at a little .22, you get shot by one you’re not laughing. But an autocannon that hurls a grenade four or eight or whatever miles, takes business to a whole other level. It was an advanced degree in business.

I motioned with my head to the door and stepped aside.

The guy who had been going through Bronze’s things took the hint and in one motion got to his feet and ran past me without looking back.

Bronze entered the room with three cups of mismatched colors and sizes. He seemed surprised it was just us.

“Where did that other guy go?”

“I don’t know,” I said, closing the door. “Bronze, you’re in Deadsouth now. You need to lock your door.”

“What for? I don’t have nothing to steal. I don’t even pay rent here, doesn’t seem right I should be barricading the place.”

“Someone could slit your throat while you’re sleeping,” I explained.

“Seems like an awful hassle to get some dirty socks. Bathroom is through there. Take a swig of this. It’s not good, mind you.”

I disconnected my autocannon and put it on the ground. It was so nice to be free from its bulk. I thought it was pretty cool that Bronze hadn’t even mentioned it.

I drank from the cup as Bronze pounded his.

I might not be the richest guy in the galaxy any more, but I was used to drinking good booze. I could hardly swallow this and when I did I coughed and got some in my nasal passages which was probably worse than a machine gun bullet to the eye.

“Yeah, not the best, I know,” he said.

I tried to recover and make conversation, but my nose burned and I was on the verge of sneezing.

“Wh-what do you do here on Belvaille?” I finally got out.

“Mostly I’m avoiding twelve ex-wives,” he laughed. “Or thirteen depending on who you’re going to believe. I heard there was good jobs here and no one bothered you.”

“Good jobs? Who said that?” I asked skeptically. I can’t think of any time when Belvaille was exactly a boomtown.

“Hey, I got this nice apartment. I got all the water I can drink, all the showers I can take, and I got free food,” he said, like Deadsouth was paradise.

“Where do you get free food?” Food was probably my greatest expense.

“I work at restaurants here and there. Do the dishes. Scrub the bathrooms. Man, you guys sure do a number on the toilets. It’s all that space food, I think.”

“That work doesn’t bother you?” I asked.

“Hank, I was a hard rock digger for ten years on three different planets,” he said. Then he flashed those wonderful teeth again. “Belvaille is a sweet slab of honey. You got a space station, not even orbiting a star, a million billion trillion miles from anything and it’s not only working, it’s luxurious. You got people sleeping in the streets without a care. Perfect temperature day or night. You got casinos! You know how many planets would die for a city this nice? And any time I want work I just go out and sniff around for clogged urinals.”

“Speaking of, let me go use your bathroom if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, sure, sure. I’ll fix us some more drinks. I got two bottles.”

I was walking to the bathroom when I thought:

“Hey, Bronze, I eat space food too. I mean, I can use a bathroom in another apartment, mine is kind of broken right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll give me practice.”