Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

The girls were a lot younger than I’d guess a man of his age would have. Kids don’t do much for me except get annoying, but I’ve learned parents are less objective about their children than addicts are about their drugs, so I said they looked nice.

He put his tele away. He had a guilty expression already and I knew it was a matter of time before he either hit me up for credits or asked for work or both.

“So I started working for Zadeck, but it’s just one job, see?” He was looking down at the table now.

“Yup,” I said, coaxing along the conversation to its inevitable conclusion.

“I just want you to do one thing, Hank, and that’s hear me out. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“No, really. I need you to hear out what I have to say.”

“Alright,” I said, annoyed.

Then Been-e pulled a pistol out from under the table, pointed it at my head, and fired.

There were screams all across the restaurant and people ran to the exits in a panic.

“What the hell!” I yelled at him.

He immediately put the gun down on the table in front of us and put his hands up. He wore the same apologetic expression.

“Just listen to me, Hank. I’m really sorry!”

I felt up where I was shot and there was a bullet stuck in my forehead. Just the very tip had embedded itself in my skin. When I pulled back to view my fingers there was no blood, though it stung like a bitch.

As the restaurant emptied, I looked at Been-e and motioned for him to start explaining.

“Right. So Zadeck is kind of mad at you,” he began tentatively.

“You don’t say.”

“You dragged that Dredel Led over to Wallow and got them to fight. He kind of felt you should be punished for that. You know how bosses are.”

“Oh, please. Wallow probably didn’t even break a sweat ripping that thing to pieces.”

“Well, I think it was more a point that he wanted you to know,” and Been-e seemed to think about this, like he was reciting a message from Zadeck. “He thought you kind of stepped over the line. Used him, or whatever.”

“So he tried to have me killed?” I shouted.

“Oh, no. He knew this wasn’t going to kill you. Everyone told him that. It was more…just to do it, I guess.”

“And so you volunteered?” I asked.

“I told you, it’s been hard. And I’ve known you so long, I figured you might blow away some stupid kid who did it. At least you’d hear me out. And I knew it wouldn’t do you no harm. I seen you get shot all over. I even loaded the cartridge light—but don’t tell that to Zadeck, please.”

“You got some nerve asking me for favors.”

I felt the bullet in my head again. It wasn’t a small bullet but it really was superficial, I was sure I could pop it from my skin with no problems. But I decided to leave it there.

Then I looked down at the pistol.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“Um, I bought it from Ioshiyn. Why?”

I slumped.

“I sold him that gun,” I replied, irked.

“Really?” Been-e said. I could see he was wondering how this changed my reaction towards him.

“But Hank,” he broke in, “I loaded light. I knew this wasn’t going to do nothing. At all. Look, you’re sitting here talking to me. I told Zadeck this would happen. And I said I’d be a good guy to do it, because we worked together.”

“Yeah, that’s why he wanted you. Because he liked the idea of getting a friend to shoot me. Makes him feel bigger,” I stated glumly.

“Well, you did try and get Wallow killed,” he said.

“To save the station,” I barked, “including him.”

“I know that. I know that. But Hank, you’re not thinking like a boss. Zadeck without Wallow is nothing. You almost…more than killed, Zadeck. You almost made him a nobody.”

I took a breath and thought about this. Been-e definitely understood Belvaille.

“How much did you get paid?” I asked casually.

“Five grand.”

“What?”

I tried to jump to my feet in outrage, but I bumped into the table.

“I know it’s not a great price, but like I said, it’s been tough finding work and I need to sock away some cash.”

I could take getting shot in the face. Getting shot in the face by an old friend. Getting shot in the face by an old friend for trying to save everybody. But I wasn’t going to sit here and be demeaned by the fact the prospective killer was only paid five thousand. That was beyond an insult. He was saying “here is what I think Hank is worth,” and then scraping some crud off his shoe.

“How do you think that makes me feel? How would you like to know someone got paid that little to kill you?”

“It wasn’t really a hit. It was more a”—and he bounced his head around trying to come up with a better term—“a thing. Like. Hey. Hey!”

I sat there stewing. Bullet in my forehead. Five grand. That was nothing. That was humiliating.

“So what do you think I should have asked for?” Been-e finally asked.

“Like fifty grand. Easy. I mean, I’m bulletproof, right? I’m muscle, right? Or I thought I was. I just killed TWO Dredel Led. Five grand? You don’t even kill little old ladies for that. That’s an insult to you, too.”

“I know,” he said. He was still staring at the table, mortified.

I looked around at the empty restaurant.

“What, are the waitresses all gone?” I asked irritably.

Garm’s big meeting the next day was convened in the Belvaille Athletic Club, the exclusive establishment that only catered to bosses.

There was a very strict unwritten rule that thugs went to the Belvaille Gentleman’s Club and bosses went to the Belvaille Athletic Club, with no violence tolerated in either. It had been like that forever. You could sit down and have a drink next to a guy you had been fighting with an hour ago.

I shouldn’t have been allowed in since I wasn’t a boss, but these were bad times and it was the only building where the bosses all felt safe together. No personal bodyguards were here—Garm had provided security.

I showed up late because I felt like showing up late. I walked up to the club and there were at least twenty military personnel stationed around. And they weren’t being lazy, they were alert. Everyone was nowadays.

I actually had to give my name and ID to enter.

“Ah, my friend, good to see you,” Tamshius said. “You are looking well.”

There were about a hundred bosses in the room. It was pretty incredible. You could turn Belvaille into a respectable place in two seconds if you had a grenade.

There was statuary and crystal and artwork and brilliant metals on every square inch. However, unlike many bosses’ private establishments, the Athletic Club was refined. Subdued. It was the Old Money of Belvaille. It might well pass for a high-end country club on a respectable planet instead of being a haven for criminals. Bosses come and go, but the Athletic Club was eternal.

The Belvaille Gentleman’s Club, by contrast, was primarily where you ate, drank, bitched about work, and watched sports. It also had a perpetual, indescribable stench that clung to you long after you left the building.

“Nice of you to show up,” Garm said icily. I knew she hated me keeping her waiting, especially since she had to entertain a bunch of chauvinist lawbreakers who disliked her in principle because she was a cop—though not a very good one.

The bosses were all spread around the cavernous room sitting in luxurious chairs. A thirty-foot table was meant to be the center of the meeting, but most bosses had pulled their seats away in order to get as much space as possible. Even facing apocalypse they were catty and distrustful.

I walked up to the table and others slowly came closer as well.