Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

I wasn’t sure why he was here, but if he was on Belvaille it probably wasn’t entirely by choice. It might have been as simple as tax reasons.

“Two Clem would like to speak to you,” she said.

It was either this or go play footsy with Delovoa and his pal.

“Sounds great,” I said.

There aren’t any mansions or anything on Belvaille. But if you had enough money, you could get a posh spot in the northeast. That was where the assistant took me, driving me in a small car. Two Clem had his own building, which is more than most gang bosses had. Not a house, but an actual apartment building all to himself.

There were liveried servants all over. The entire first floor was just security.

The little assistant took me up quietly. She still hadn’t told me her name or even looked at me after our initial hello. It seemed a foregone conclusion to her that I would be thrilled to follow and meet her benefactor.

The next floor was filled with videos and sculptures and pictures of Two Clem. Basically every kind of physical, audible, and visual representation of him was on display. Whole artist colonies must have been raised from destitution.

The next floor looked like a normal set of apartments, yet was lavishly appointed. Perhaps guest rooms?

The top floor was pretty impressive. It’s not easy to remodel on Belvaille. Not without explosives. But somehow the entire floor had been stripped of its inner walls. What was once maybe four different apartments was now a single open room of warehouse proportions.

It was eye-assaultingly bright in its color scheme. The carpet was literally inches thick so you felt like you were walking on a low-gravity planet. Both crude and absurdly technical artwork was all over, contrasting loudly.

As we topped the stairs I saw a lone figure in a gold cape and tight shorts standing across the room, his black hair spiked out in three-foot prongs. He seemed to be admiring the wall opposite us, which was blank.

The assistant picked up a tiny mallet and chimed a bell. I almost laughed.

The celebrity turned and held out his arms.

The assistant walked up to him and hugged him about the waist, bending over as she did so, like a young girl still shy of her budding body. I noticed Two Clem wore boots with one-foot platform heels.

This was weird.

I heard the celebrity whisper and the assistant turned back to me.

“You may come forward,” she said.

I looked back towards the stairs. I really didn’t feel like walking down again. And I didn’t feel like going home. This would make a funny story at the Gentleman’s Club if nothing else.

I walked towards them. If he expected me to curtsy though, I was leaving.

The celebrity smiled. I guess he was a handsome guy. He had that unusualness that celebrities have. He didn’t look quite normal, but not enough to be odd. If he talked, no matter what he sounded like, it wouldn’t match his face.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice not matching his face.

“No prob.”

“It’s said you are the best at what you do in this place,” Two Clem stated, taking a few steps to the side. He said “place” with no small amount of dislike.

“I do okay,” I shrugged.

“But are you the best?” He scrutinized me and his nostrils and eyes flared. This was a performance.

He was frozen in his intense stare and I got the perverted desire to see how long he would hold it. So I waited. I pretended to be thinking. I scratched my ear. I looked up. Put my finger to my lips. Breathed out deeply. Shuffled my feet. Crossed my arms.

He did not move one muscle. I don’t even think he blinked. He was pretty good.

“I do okay,” I said.

“You have to understand my caution,” he said dramatically, his cape flying as he turned. “My heart has been stolen and I cannot allow any more harm to befall me.”

I looked at his chest, which was unmarked.

“What?”

“Don’t you see? She could be with anyone. I gave her my all. Poured my essence into her. My soul. And did she care?”

He spun, pointing at me.

“No?” I answered, unsure.

“No!” He fell to the ground in a swoon of anguish and I realized it was lucky he had such thick carpeting.

I looked at the assistant, who didn’t return my gaze but was staring at her employer with an impenetrable expression.

As he had his head down on the carpet and the assistant was… elsewhere, I looked at my tele. Should I leave? Applaud?

His hand began clawing and I saw he was motioning me over. I gingerly approached. I heard some whispering and had to crouch down, damn my knees, to hear him.

“Her name, my blossom’s name, is Tejj-jo,” he gasped. “You must find if I am forsaken.” He looked up at me imploringly.

Again, I looked back at the assistant, who was no help.

“So if I had to rephrase that, I would say…” And I looked at him to complete it.

He grasped my arm with his painted fingers. His actual fingers were painted. I think they had scenes on them, like animals and landscapes. My fingers felt so boring by comparison.

“Am I to end today what she hath already sundered? My being. My very makeup.”

“Makeup?” I just wasn’t getting it. I rose to my feet. “Look, man, I have no clue what you’re asking me.”

“Is his life partner cheating on him,” the assistant said with annoyance.

The celebrity flashed her the briefest of stern looks before going soft again.

“That’s it? You called me here for that?” I was incensed. Girlfriend problems? You got to be kidding me. I would have been much more upset if this wasn’t such a freak festival. No one will ever believe this story.

The celebrity sprang to his feet despite his boots.

“You must save me. I teeter on the brink of oblivion. It is but a trifle for you, but a lifetime for me.”

“There’s a million guys here who can do that. Well, not a million, but a lot.”

“But you’re the best,” he pleaded.

“I’m not the best at this,” I said. “I’m the best at…fighting…and like, robots…and killing people.” I paused. Wow, my resume sucked.

“There may be a need for murder,” he said with loathing.

“Not like that,” I said, my hand on my forehead. “Just ask her.”

“Hah, and the witch shall speak the truth? Her lips would surely bleed from disuse at the effort.”

“I’m sorry, Two Clem, this just isn’t something I do. I wish you—”

“You will be paid handsomely if you assent.”

“I have the invoice here,” a man spoke from behind me. If I was one to be startled, I would have been startled. I turned and saw Leeny’s bookkeeper.

“Hey,” I said, wondering where he’d come from. This carpet, an assassin’s paradise.

He held out a piece of paper, which I took as there was nothing else to do.

100,000 credits.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

I could see he was about to break into another speech so I turned back to the bookkeeper.

“He’s kidding, right?”

“That is the sum allocated.”

“This gal is on Belvaille? This station?”

“Were that she weren’t,” the celebrity said.

“She’s on the station?” I asked the bookkeeper.

“I have no information on the specifics,” he responded bookkeeperly.

“She’s on the station?” I asked the assistant, who didn’t answer or look at me. “She’s on the station? This station?” I asked Two Clem again.

“Yes. Yes. A thousand yeses.”

Then I got an even better idea.

“Hey,” I asked the bookkeeper. “Could you give me a receipt after this job?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“But could you give me a receipt for a lot more? Like, to cover some of my other work? He wouldn’t have to pay for it, just give receipts.”