Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

Zadeck was in his office, looking twitchy, which didn’t seem good. He was a thin guy with long, slick hair. He dressed impeccably in tight black synth, a few silver chains draped across his chest. He was stylish in an androgynous way. I had only dealt with him a handful of times and never in person. Zadeck was the kind of guy who liked to work through his underlings, which is how I had unfortunately come to know Wallow.

“I want to thank you for taking care of all this, Hank.”

“It’s not taken care of,” I replied.

“What do you mean? They’ve already delivered most of the product.”

“But those shippers haven’t been paid. They’re holed up in the Marine Marina.”

“I don’t see what’s left,” Zadeck said dismissively.

“You still owe them money.”

“How’s that your affair?” he snapped.

“What is it with you all today? I’m trying to save everyone a bolt to the head and people keep throwing rocks at me.”

Zadeck looked stunned. One of the bouncers popped his head in.

“Any trouble, Hank?”

“You don’t work for him, you work for me!” Zadeck said, red-faced.

The bouncer left after he saw nothing was going on.

“Do you not have the money?”

“I have the money.” Zadeck was insulted.

“And you just want to…cut them out?”

“It’s going to be my last order from this organization. So I figured I might as well—”

“Okay, that’s not going to work. You need to pay them. At least some.”

“Why?”

“Because there are a dozen armed guys at the hotel with probably a dozen more still on their ship. And they came to Belvaille, so we can guess they know how to fight. And they know you owe them 1.3 million.”

“I’m not worried about a few men and their guns.” He waved off the idea as if he were sweeping it away with a broom. This was the problem with having a Wallow.

“They’re going to want their money. And they’re going to come here looking for it. A battle like that is going to cause a lot of damage, which will piss the dust out of Garm. And it’s going to bring unnecessary attention when a transport hauler vanishes.”

“Garm has an interest in the completion of this as well,” Zadeck said coolly.

“Yeah, but it’s not complete. Killing two dozen men won’t make it complete. Because they’re just going to send more and next time it’s going to be assassins.”

I’ve been in on double-crosses before. It’s part of the life. But I don’t like them. You don’t want to be the guy known for setting up betrayals. I made those sailors a promise and I wanted to deliver as best I could.

“So then you’re telling me I have to pay the full amount? What did I need you for, then?”

“Now you ask me! Pay them 80% of what you owe.”

“Did you already negotiate this?”

“No, but that’s what I think you can get away with,” I stated plainly.

“Isn’t that just something you made up? Why not 70%?”

“Because that won’t work.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this is what I do for a living,” I said with irritation. “Look, I’m happy to go give them whatever you want. You’re calling the shots. But if you want the opinion of the guy who has put together nearly every one of these deals for the last 170 years, 80% will make everyone relatively satisfied.”

“Fine. Fine.” Zadeck went to his desk where he kept his tele—odd place for it—and punched out some credits. He gave me a token.

“I’ll also need about 5 grand for the hotel bill.”

“Then it’s more than 80%,” Zadeck said.

“Yes, and my fee will make it even more. But it’s well under 100%. No one died. No property was damaged. And your reputation will still be solid on and off station.”

“And what is your fee?” Zadeck asked slyly.

“My fee is whatever you feel I deserve.”

I stared him square in the eyes.

I loved this part. You could see him stewing as he looked down at his tele. Belvaille was a small town, especially at the top. If Zadeck were to become known as cheap, that could have a pretty serious impact, especially among his current elite clients.

This liquor shipment was obviously the biggest deal he had done, and he was trying to make a power move into the upper echelons. And I was a guy who lived in the upper echelons—or at least at the fringes of it.

He beamed 35,000 to my tele. It was a very generous price and I was absolutely ready to treat Zadeck with respect and let bygones be bygones.

I thanked him and said I would take care of the sailors. Once paid, Zadeck dismissed me like I was a household servant. That’s fine, everyone has their quirks.

Outside the office, the bouncers walked with me and I filled them in. They had gossiped like mad after I arrived, as news of the shipment was already circulating. I chewed the fat a bit and took my leave.

I decided to wait until tomorrow to break the news to the sailors. By that time they would have had a chance to celebrate being off-ship for a while. The way I figured it, they’d party a bit then head back home after they were sick of the place—Belvaille was not exactly a premier tourist attraction.

Outside I was pleased to not see Wallow. I had nearly exited the block when I heard him behind me.

“You! Hank! Don’t come back.”

Not sure how something that big could move so fast—I certainly couldn’t—but out of nowhere he was suddenly looming overhead.

“I’ll go where I please,” I said, quite tired of this whole block and its residents.

I opened my eyes and saw a fruity-looking man with a gem-studded eye patch kneeling over me. His name was Gastolionep, and he used to be station muscle until he got his eye shot out and now he was a butler for some rich guy.

“Hank. Hank. You okay?” he asked with concern.

I looked around and saw I was no longer in Zadeck’s block and that I was lying on my back.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Wallow,” he began with trepidation. “He kicked you.”

I was icing my spinning head after being punted, but I had a fat load of credits in my pocket, which can make the worst bludgeoning not feel so bad. I took the train downtown and decided to hit the casinos.

The Astrone was the best of the bunch. Had the prettiest dealers and waitresses, high stakes, good booze, and usually no one died.

“Hank, good to see you,” one of the doormen exclaimed. I shook his hand and pressed him a few credits.

“Let the good times roll,” I said with a grin.

The casino interior was lavish. It had fantastic items from across the Confederation: there was a visual strobe device that assaulted your eyes by tricking your pupils opened and closed and left you feeling disoriented; it had displays of sex clothes from a hundred planets, the point being that most looked pretty hilarious; and the owner of this club liked smells, so a scent symphony played across my nasal passages; and it had chairs to accommodate every type of physiology.

Gamblers, their security in tow, did their best to forget they were exiled on the furthest known Colmarian inhabitation. Inside I talked up Zadeck to everyone. Said he was now a player and guys should keep a look out for him. This was the kind of information that really interested folks.

After about eight hours of this I was pretty damn tired and drunk. I get drunk like anyone else, but I don’t get sloppy. I hate it when people turn into some other person when they drink or do drugs. To me that says they got something to hide, they don’t like themselves enough to show off their real skin when they’re sober.

I’m exactly the same person wasted as sober. I just sweat a lot more and spit when I talk.