Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“I don’t know.”

“How much does it pay to find her? As much as the other one?”

“Not even close.”

“Then I say you better find another job. It’s a big city. Especially since the corporations have cut the city into pieces. You can’t search those areas easily. And she could be lying in the bathtub in some flop in Deadsouth and no one would ever know.”

“Yeah.” It did seem like a hopeless assignment when put that way.

Just then we heard some shouting and scuffling and then a full-on fight broke out behind us. Fists flying and noses breaking. Must have been eight guys going at it.

I had never seen a real fight in the Gentleman’s Club. This was where people came to get away from fights. The food was bad and expensive and it cannot be overstated how poorly the place smelled.

This was the last refuge of the gangs. The corporation soldiers didn’t come here. They were too good for this place.

I watched the guys fight and couldn’t help but think it looked like a bunch of wild animals fighting over the last scraps of food after they had lost their natural habitat.

“Hank, I need your help, man,” Bronze’s face came on my tele looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I need you to double date with me.”

I hardly considered that an emergency.

“I didn’t think you had a tele,” I said.

“I don’t, it’s Qindol’s. Isn’t she pretty?” He held the tele up to her and the woman smiled as if she were not very comfortable with the situation.

“Why do you need me?”

“I don’t know anyone else and they said they knew you. There’s two of them.”

“I’m at the Gentleman’s Club. I need to go home and shower.”

“Fine, we’ll meet you at your place. Where do you live?”

“One. One. Hank Block.”

Bronze stared at the tele.

“Are you serious? Is that named after you?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. You are without a doubt the coolest person I have ever met! Guy has his own street! We’ll be right there.”

Hey, a date. When’s the last one of those I was on? I finished my sandwich because I didn’t want to be hungry on a date when I suddenly remembered:

“Damn!”

I jumped up and ran as quickly as I could through the cafeteria, knocking three guys out of the way.

If I ever wished I was faster it was now.

I was bouncing my feet on the train ride home hoping they were coming from Deadsouth in which case I would get there before them. When I finally showed up, there were two women, Bronze, Toby, and my toilet waiting outside my apartment building. The women looked none-too-happy.

I had put my toilet outside because without the water and chemical flow, it dried out and started to stink up my apartment. So I did like the plumber said and put it outside—though I didn’t use it of course. The dead body was harder to explain.

I hurried up, in my bare feet, smelling of the Gentleman’s Club with an autocannon as a sidearm.

Bronze hugged me like I was his long-lost brother.

“This is too much. Are you like the king of Belvaille or what? Is this whole street yours?”

“No one lives here. It’s not that I own it.”

The women were huddled together and whispering and glancing like they were trying to figure the safest way out.

“I can explain this stuff,” I said, indicating the deposits on my front door.

“No one’s asking,” Bronze said, as if it were beyond rude to question outdoor plumbing and corpses. “This is Qindol.” He pointed to a shapely woman with not a stick of hair on her. She had tattoos in their place. She had great bone structure and, as I said, a great body.

“And this is Byo’lene.” He then indicated the other woman, who was presumably my date. Her expression was a mixture of horrified and terrified. It was tough to gauge her actual looks beyond that. She wore tight, skimpy, synth clothes that were nonetheless classy. From her wardrobe alone I could surmise Bronze hadn’t met her anywhere near Deadsouth.

“So,” I said, hoping to talk about anything. “How do you ladies know me?”

“We don’t know you, we know of you, that’s what we were trying to tell him,” Qindol said, exasperated.

My stomach dropped. It was crystal clear to everyone except Bronze that these ladies did not want to be here. Maybe they wanted to be with him, but they were not remotely interested in hanging out with Hank of Hank Block.

“Want to come inside?” I asked.

“Sure!” Bronze volunteered.

I tried my best to mentally will the women to come up with some excuse to leave, but they dutifully followed him. They both hung around him like he had a protective force field and the closer they got, the gigglier and happier they became. He just had that effect.

Inside I took off my autocannon and looking around I realized my apartment was still a bit disheveled from when I fought the pale sisters. They hadn’t done much damage, but I had smashed around trying to hit them.

“How about something to drink?” I offered.

“If it ain’t a bother. I can have water. Or anything you got,” Bronze said.

He sat on the couch and the women sat on either side of him.

In my kitchen I thought about which brand to get. Bronze probably didn’t care, but I kind of wanted to splurge—and maybe show off a bit.

So that’s what I did, I poured some of my best alcohol. Bronze slammed the drink. I’m not sure if it even touched his tongue.

“Thanks, Hank!”

The women held their glasses and didn’t drink. As if they were expecting me to poison them.

Bronze and Qindol began canoodling on my couch. Tickling each other and petting and kissing. While Byo’lene looked beyond awkward and stared into her drink like her very soul depended on counting the molecules in the liquid.

I sat in a chair and drank.

“Byo’lene,” I began, “what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a dancer,” she said, not raising her eyes.

“Which club?”

“Tamshius qua-Froyeled’s,” she said, pronouncing his name expertly.

“Oh, I know him. I’ve worked for him a lot. Nice guy.”

She didn’t answer. She looked over to her friend who was busy.

“You know I get on them about the uniforms they make you all wear. I mean sure they can look good, but they’re a little demeaning and silly.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, finally looking at me.

“Is that your work uniform?”

“No.” Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what I was saying.

At this point, I wasn’t sure what else I could do to make things worse. Maybe drag my toilet inside and use it right in front of the couch.

Bronze finally came up for air and he was either a great kisser or a great something, because Qindol was putty.

“Sorry, Hank, who were you saying you worked for?”

“Oh. Just her boss, Tamshius.”

“See? Small city. What did you do for him?” he asked conversationally.

“Killed people,” Byo’lene offered with venom. I think she had finally deduced I had been poking fun at her clothes.

Bronze jumped to his feet and turned to the couch.

“Whoa. Whoa. You just take it easy. You know what this guy has done for this station?”

“Let’s go to your place, baby,” Qindol purred, her hand reaching out to him.

“Look, we are guests here. This guy has been nothing but kind. On his own street, mind you.”

“Just a block,” I said.

“I want to go,” Byo’lene huffed.

“I’m getting a little tired anyway, Bronze. Maybe you guys should head out and I can talk to you some other time,” I said.

But Bronze Badel Bardel wasn’t having it.