Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

“Nat,” one of her friends warned.

“No, I do mind being shot. But if that’s what it will take to get this meeting…” I leaned towards the woman, putting my face mere inches from the weapon.

That little gun was more likely to hurt her hand than even hit me. It’s almost unconscionable to sell junk like that.

“Jo?” one of the women asked.

“Again, I’m not here to harm anyone,” I said, my face still near the gun.

The women were tense and you could almost see their minds flitting through an appropriate response. If these were truly gang molls, they had to know violence. A lovely face won’t protect you forever if you don’t have a survival instinct and an ability to adjust to new situations.

“It’s okay, guys,” Tejj-jo finally said.

The women slowly began to get up and move towards the door. The woman with the pistol, however, remained. I think she was uncertain how to get out of the situation.

I stood up straight and smiled.

“No hard feelings, miss.”

On shaky legs, the woman joined her companions at the door.

“Call us, Jo,” one of them said. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Then they warily left the apartment.

Tejj-jo sat on the couch, looking unperturbed. She really was quite a catch. She reminded me of Garm, just more glamorous, less twitchy, and considerably friendlier.

“Okay, what’s this about?” she asked.

I felt pretty silly about proceeding after all the theatrics.

“Um. Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, why?” she asked, eager to get on with it.

“No one? Like, it was just you and Two Clem?”

“Wait. Is that what this is about? He wants to know if I’m dating someone?”

“Or if you ever did. When you were going out.”

I couldn’t even look at her as I said it. It was just so ridiculous. He could have sent her a tele.

“He hired you to come over here in the middle of the night, the goon that punches Dredel Led, and ask me if I’m dating?”

I was slouching. Staring at my ugly toes.

“Or… you know… you were,” I mumbled.

“It’s none of his business. We broke up.” Then she must have seen my predicament and decided to capitalize on it. “Do you feel good about what you’re doing? Is this a career highlight for you?”

“It’s just a job. I need receipts.”

“What?” she shouted.

She stood up and was in front of me now.

“Tell Two Clem he’s a spineless, self-important fop who was a waste of my time.”

I was about to respond that I’m not a messenger, but I realized I was.

“Why should I tell you, anyway?” she asked.

My instinct was to go all Hank on her and get belligerent. But this was a tough woman. That play wouldn’t go over well.

“Well, because he deserves to know,” I said quietly.

“Do you even know him?”

“No, but I don’t have to,” I reasoned.

“He must have cheated on me fifty times or more when we were seeing each other. And now, weeks later, he’s worried about what I did?”

This. Blew. I couldn’t punch or shoot my way out of this. I felt crappy. And no resolution was going to be satisfactory. I promised myself I’d never do a job like this again.

“Well, wouldn’t you want to know if he cheated?”

“I already knew. It’s not like he was subtle.”

My decades of experience talking to criminals and making deals seemed to offer no insights whatsoever when it came to this. Relationships were so much harder than business. Because as personal as a case of liquor was, it’s absolutely nothing compared to the illogical world of infatuation.

“Could you tell me… for me?” I asked.

“I’ve never even met you.”

“I saved your life. Indirectly. When I fought those robots. Ended up in the hospital for ages.”

“I’m sure you had other reasons than just saving me.”

I looked at her directly now.

“No. That was pretty much it. Saving this station. I wasn’t keen on the job.”

She sighed, meeting my gaze.

“I waited until we broke up. I dated someone. It didn’t last. There. Happy?”

I thought for a bit. Was that it? Was that collection of words worth a hundred grand? Did she have to make a written statement?

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s it. Sorry to bother you.”

I walked to the door and opened it.

“Hey. Are you really bulletproof?” she asked.

I turned back and she had an expression that made me uncomfortable.

“Yeah.”

She smiled with lazy eyes and I left the building before she could test my claim.

A week later I was at an empty casino table enjoying a drink when a bored security guard I know named Calliman came by. He ran security for the casino, so he could take breaks when he wanted.

“Whatcha got there, Hank?” he said, leaning against the table.

“Receipts.” I had an ear-to-ear grin as I flipped through them.

“What for?” He was intrigued by my enthusiasm.

“My life. Look, it’s all here.”

He sat down and looked through the folder. Truly my receipts were one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. The bookkeeper had done an unbelievable job. The countless columns and ledgers and data were absolutely fascinating. It was like a whole imaginary existence put down in numbers.

“But what are they for?” he asked, not understanding.

“Are you dumb? We’re going to get audited when the military gets here. They’re going to want to see receipts for work we did in the past.”

“They already gave me a phony job to use. I’m a dock worker,” Calliman said.

“But where’s your receipts? You been here years, you got no receipts. Me?” And I patted the papers proudly. “These go back twenty-eight years. I can just say I lost the rest. How long can they expect me to keep them?”

Another security guard came by, yawning. He held a cup of coffee.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Receipts,” Calliman said absently, his nose deep in them.

“What kind?” asked the guard, and he leaned over to get a better look.

I saw the liquid tilting in the coffee cup and I pushed him back angrily.

“Watch it. You know what these are worth?”

“Easy, I wasn’t going to steal them,” the guard said, annoyed.

“Hey, you need to check these out. It’s pretty wild stuff,” Calliman said, as absorbed in the documents as I had been.

“Put your coffee over there first,” I warned.

Another guard had come by and pretty soon all of them were admiring the work.

“Don’t bend it,” one cautioned.

“Hank, it says here you pay taxes, too.”

“Really?” I hadn’t seen that. In fact, I hadn’t really been able to understand much of the receipts at all. But there it was.

“They just gave me a hammer and told me to say I work on the ventilation. Where can I get some receipts?” Calliman asked.

“They’re not just blowing around on the street,” I said sagely. “You need to talk to the right people.”

Calliman laid the documents out in interconnecting pyramids to try and understand them.

“You could hide so much money, Hank. Millions.”

I smiled proudly.

“Hey, can I give you some money to hold? Just until the cops leave.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t think that’s something I want to get into. Besides, there’s plenty of moneylenders here. I’m sure they could do it.”

“But they’re going to want big bucks. And then there’s the juice they’ll add on top. I’ll pay you,” the guard added quickly.

“Let me think about it,” I said, delicately gathering my papers. “But if you tele me tomorrow, I might be able to give you the names of some bookkeepers who can help you out. I got to ask them if they want the business first.”