Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“That’s basically what we did as doormen.”

“No, we talked. Hung out. How drunk can we get?”

“Not so drunk you can’t follow two Gandrine without them knowing.”

“So, just short of comatose.”

“Hah hah. Do you want the job or not?” I asked.

“I suppose. Give me the address.”

I didn’t have a way to hire enough people to do the corporate job. I knew plenty of goons, but I couldn’t sit around negotiating with each of them if I wanted to get this done in three months.

I took out an ad in The News:

Do you hate corporations? Can you fire a gun reasonably well? Apply to Hank at the Belvaille Gentleman’s Club. 30,000 credit flat rate. Don’t tele him or drop by his apartment! I’m busy.

If that didn’t get people, nothing would.

Delovoa got back to me pretty quick.

“What’s all this about? Are you forming a corporation or something?” he asked.

“No, just working with them again. I need to attack another corporation.”

“You’re crazy!”

“I figure I can hire about 800 guys. Though how I’m going to organize that many people I don’t know.”

“Some corporations have heavy armored vehicles.”

“Well, that’s where I need your help. Besides, Naked Guy said we just need to disrupt their operations and—”

“Who?”

“Oh, he’s just my liaison.”

“Is his name really Naked Guy?”

“No. He doesn’t have a name. Or clothes. Oh, he told me about the biological guys. The soldiers.”

I explained it to Delovoa who listened carefully.

“I suppose that’s all possible. If they could sell them I have to imagine they would make a fortune. See, it’s technology like that I think the Confederation should be more open about.”

“What? Weren’t you telling me they could kill us all if they sneezed?”

“What do I know? I’ve never worked on them.”

I glared at my tele.

“Do you think you could get me involved with their team?” he asked.

“I doubt it. We’re not exactly friends. I suspect you’d have to join the corporation.”

Delovoa frowned.

“Forget it. I tried the business route before,” he said.

“How’d that go?”

“I’m on Belvaille, aren’t I? How much did he pay you for this job?” Delovoa asked curiously. “I saw you took out an ad and this list of equipment is pretty amazing.”

I generally didn’t like to talk about money matters, but Delovoa was different and I wanted to show off.

“Guess,” I said smugly.

Delovoa thought hard.

“Twenty—twenty-seven million,” he said finally.

I blinked a few times.

“Thirty. How did you know that?”

“I’ve worked for the corporations too. I don’t even know if they deal in credits at the high levels. They use other forms of currency. Credits are like them scooping up a handful of air and giving it to us.”

I was disappointed he hadn’t been amazed.

“Well, it’s still money to me.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a lot. You should be proud.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. In fact, for me to help you with this you’ll have to pay me fifty-five thousand.”

“Forty-five.”

“Fifty-five and I’ll field strip and clean and repair your autocannon, which has almost certainly taken some abuse since you’ve had it.”

“Alright. Alright. So get a shopping list back to me of what I should order. Imagine you were coming along with us and your life depended on us protecting you.”

“Which corporation are you going to attack?”

“Does it matter?”

After a long train ride I stepped into the Belvaille Gentleman’s Club and my first thought was that the toilets had overflowed again. There were people standing three across in the hallway.

But then they spotted me and it turned into everyone calling out my name, tugging on me, patting me on the back, and telling me how great I was.

Krample, the coat check, almost exploded.

“You! You son of a bitch, this isn’t your private meeting hall. Get these people out of here!”

I ignored him and continued walking. After about ten feet I already had a headache.

The Gentleman’s Club was a huge building, one of the original ten story structures. From what I could tell it was currently packed with scumbags and lowlifes.

This was yet another instance of me not thinking things through. How was I possibly going to hire this many people? Let alone equip. Let alone pay.

My first instinct, and I thought it was a pretty good one, was to leave. Maybe I could take out another ad in The News and simply tell them where to attack. Be like a real general and run this from the sidelines.

I fought my way up to the cafeteria and it was the same. The whole club was like this. Guys were stuffed into every room.

A few times I tried telling people to shut up so I could think, but that didn’t work. It just became a hundred people yelling at everyone else to shut up so I could think and them yelling back.

This was why I left the Navy—or was never in it. And why I never wanted to be a boss. Organizing things was stressful.

I couldn’t even order any food because they had eaten it all. All of it! As far as I was concerned one of the only reasons to go to the Gentleman’s Club was to eat.

Wait, I’m a multimillionaire boss.

“You,” I said, pointing at a random guy. “Go get me four orders of chocko stix at Martha’s Bottle.”

He sprang to attention and pushed his way through the crowd to fulfill the order.

“What? What’d he say? He’s hungry. Hank’s hungry!”

About another dozen men took off, presumably trying to kiss up and get me more food. Which was fine.

But this was impossible. I couldn’t possibly do this all by myself. So I took a page from the gangs and from the military.

“You. You’re now a captain.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re an…enforcer, first class.”

“Thanks!”

“And you’re a facilitator.”

“Can I be an enforcer?”

“You’re not anything, now.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

I basically made officers of anyone I knew and sort of trusted within pointing range. I would work out what it all meant later. But I needed some organization.

It was a cute concept to be rebels marching to our own tune, but there couldn’t be 800 such people. Not when we were going to be armed with heavy weapons and fighting a real corporate military.

After about three hours I was absolutely exhausted.

I ate too much food for one thing and I wanted to lie down.

I had minted thirty-five brand new officers whose titles signified nothing. They were already arguing over who was higher rank.

There were, at last count, 437 people who wanted to enlist in my army. I needed more. Even though I had nothing to equip them with, no way to get them around, and no way of determining if they were right for the job or were even likely to show up. They could be junkies from Deadsouth for all I knew.

There were people who were clearly not right. They were old, fat, crooked even by my standards. I had a fear that half of them would run away as soon as the fighting started.

What a nightmare.

Bronze slipped through the crowd and appeared in front of me with his wonderful smile.

“Hank! Man, took me an hour to get in. There’s people backed into the street.”

“Bronze, what are you doing here?”

“Hoping for a job.”

He saw me thinking about it.

“Come on, Hank, I’ve been asking. I can shoot a gun. Not great, but I can.”

I sighed. He was probably better than half the guys around me. None of them were dating Garm, however.