Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“They hired you.”

“As a senior officer,” I jabbed.

“Yeah, for two weeks or whatever. And you never got paid.”

“So how are you stopping the assassination?”

“Easy, we have to keep track of each other. This is my territory—as bad as it is. They requested to kill someone here, I said no.”

“What are you, their boss?”

“No, it’s just common decency. I can’t go into someone else’s territory and set up.”

“Territory? Is killing people here your job?”

“Look, what did I do as Adjunct Overwatch?”

“I don’t know. Navy stuff.”

“Besides that. What did you and I work on?”

“When we dated?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“No. When we just worked on anything. When I hired you to do something.”

“I don’t know. Protect stuff, break stuff, buy stuff—”

“Exactly, that is what I do in my territory and I don’t want outsiders coming in assassinating people.”

“People get killed all the time,” I argued.

“Locals, by locals. It’s a whole other thing to have members of the Quadrad come here and assassinate folks.”

“So you’re fine with tanks rolling through the streets and bombs going off in casinos but some skinny ladies with knives is too much?”

“They wouldn’t use knives, they’d use whatever they needed. Hank, I would love to tell the corporations what they can and can’t do. And they would ignore me—at best. I can tell members of the Quadrad.”

“So you’re in this Quadrad still?”

“By birth, by death.”

“Why don’t you look like them?”

“Because I’m not bleaching my skin and dying my hair, maybe. You’d look like them too if you did that. Well, maybe not.”

“But you do kind of look like them,” I said, staring.

“We’re from the same planet. The same country. I like to think I look unique, but I suppose we have some similarities.”

“Do you still got clothes like them?”

I was picturing Garm in the pale women outfits. Those boots. That hair. Those bikini-things. I mean, Garm didn’t flash much skin, but she was a really toned gal.

“Stop it,” she said, annoyed.

And I knew she was fast. Probably as athletic as those women. Maybe more. I could see her flipping around and those strong shoulders, with muscles on her back, and firm legs.

Bang!

“Ow!” I yelled, snapping out of my reverie and grabbing my forehead where Garm shot me.

She was across the room with her smoking gun. I hadn’t even seen her move.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” she cautioned.

I couldn’t catch her, but I was really tired of these Quadrad. Their home world must have a billboard with my face on it ticking off the number of times they had beaten on me.

I turned to Garm’s desk. Her magnificent bejeweled desk. I began tilting forward. More. More.

“No!” Garm yelled.

Crash!

I fell face forward onto her desk, smashing it into splinters. There were fragments all across her office. Little jewels glittering in the corners.

“Do you have any idea how much that was worth?” she screamed.

“Yeah, and I notice you didn’t say ‘cost’ since you didn’t pay for it.”

“What if something really important had been in there, you fat jerk?”

I slowly got to my feet and brushed off pieces of desk.

“Now you know not to shoot me.”

I was walking down the street, mulling all the latest news, when a car pulled up next to me.

It was not a gang car, because it wasn’t ostentatious or stretched or armored. It was painted yellow with thin red stripes. All of this made me concerned because I knew it was a corporation vehicle.

The side rear window rolled down and a man inside the car addressed me.

“Hank. Could I have a word with you?”

The man’s brown hair was long and he had an extremely lengthy beard, disappearing beneath the window. He looked youthful, but his hair made it hard to tell. His lack of wrinkles and gray hair was mostly how I discerned his age. His eyes were absolutely solid black, iris, pupil, and sclera. His eyes were so black and shiny they were reflective. I wasn’t sure if he was wearing contacts or just had freaky eyeballs.

“Sorry, I need to be going,” I said, wanting nothing to do with corporations after I had maybe destroyed an APC and someone was mysteriously assassinated in front of my door. Maybe two people if you counted Toby. Or maybe my stairs were killers.

“It would be well worth your time,” he said, as the car continued to pace me.

“What is this about?”

“About contracting your services.”

Man, let the casino you’re protecting blow up, your boss get murdered, and suddenly people come out of the woodwork to offer you jobs.

“I’m kind of booked solid right now,” I said, trying to quicken my pace, which was stupid since I’m slow and a car isn’t.

“The profit for you alone will be 500,000 credits.”

I stopped and turned to the car. I was hoping for some reaction, a smile, a grimace, some tell, but the man had no inflection at all.

My first guess when I heard that sum was: it’s a lie. Then I thought they must be after the same device the Navy was. There just weren’t a whole lot of half-to-million credit things to do around here.

But in a sense it was good to hear that, because a part of me still doubted the General. That such a weapon was here and it was so valuable.

“Who are you?”

“I am a representative of Colmarian United Supply.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you the Hank that fought the Dredel Led? That negotiated with the Boranjame? That eliminated the gang leader Ddewn? That secured the Independent Protectorate status of this space station?” he rattled-off with a dull voice. Even when he asked questions his voice did not rise at the end of sentences.

“Mostly,” I said, not sure how to respond.

“Then what is being requested should not be difficult for you to manage.”

“And what is that?” I asked. If he said the Navy thing, I obviously couldn’t give it to both of them, but I could use any information he had to help me find it. Then sell it to the Navy. Then run like hell from the corporation.

“I think it would be best if we discuss this in the car.”

I looked around the street. What could he do to me? I had my autocannon. If they tried to make a move I could blow us all up. Being bulletproof also allowed me to be slightly more trusting than the average person.

“Hold on.”

I walked around the back of the car, unslung my gun, and loaded a high-explosive shell, hoping he wasn’t watching me, or heard the very noticeable cycling of the round into the chamber.

I tried to put the autocannon in first but realized it was way too long to fit. I pushed and angled, but it wasn’t happening.

“Is that really necessary?” I heard from inside.

“Yeah it’s—ah!” I had looked in to address the corporate man and noticed that he was completely naked. “Come on!”

“What is your concern?”

“Where are you clothes? What is this?”

“I do not require any.”

“Can I just meet you somewhere?”

“You will not be able to cross our security without difficulties.”

“Stay on your side of the seat,” I warned.

I continued to try and angle in the autocannon. I had to face it into the front and actually hit the driver on the back of the head.

“Sorry, buddy.”

The driver was literally a faceless corporation soldier, wearing an armored suit and helmet. I don’t think I hurt him with the little bump, especially since he had on a helmet. But he didn’t even turn around in the slightest. These guys were disciplined.