Hard Luck Hank: Basketful of Crap (5 page)

“I need more
information. I can’t put out feelers that I’m looking for a Navy weapon. That
could be anything.”

The General
looked at me hard. Well, harder than usual. We stood there having a staring
contest until my eyeballs felt like sandpaper.

“It’s a
disintegrator. It destroys matter,” he stated finally. “We don’t want the
design to fall into the wrong hands.”

I didn’t know a
lot about science, but:

“That’s not
possible,” I said, trying desperately to remember my physics class from more
than a century and a half ago.

“It’s a
converted a-drive core. It works.”

Wow.

“Okay, fine.
But how can I find that? That’s too hot to sell. Even on Belvaille. If they’re
smart they’ll sit on it and wait. Maybe transfer it to Ank where they can
handle a transaction like that.”

The General
seemed to struggle with the next bit.

“They can’t
wait too long because they know we’re looking for it and they can’t ship it off
that station or we’ll scan it.”

“This sounds
like a really terrible job. You’re a nice guy and all, but finding a busted
a-drive core that has the power to make me not exist…I don’t know. I’m just not
feeling it.”

“We will
reimburse you.”

“You think?”

“How much would
you require to return it?”

“Like a million
credits!” I said flippantly.

“If you can
recover it safely and in working order, we will pay you a million credits.”

The General
started working on what I could see was a contract. A million credits! Not even
in the headiest days of old Belvaille had I ever made that much money on a job.
Not even close.

Damn, I should
have said ten million!

“When you send
some prospective clients my way, don’t mention my mutations, please,” I told
Garm in her office at City Hall.

“What, you’re
upset some women beat you up? I thought you liked that.”

“Ho ho ho.”

Garm’s office
was resplendent with finery and artwork and every stick of furniture was covered
in precious metals. If the rooms outside weren’t filled with dozens of security
guards, this would be a great place to rob.

Garm herself
was wearing black synth boots and a black synth business suit tailored to fit.
I think her intention was to confuse men as to whether they were supposed to be
turned on or frightened. She wore a pistol around her thigh and was pretty good
with it.

Garm was an
excellent fighter overall, she was quick. Come to think of it, she was a lot
like those pale ladies. She just used a gun instead of a knife and didn’t dress
like a sadistic exotic dancer.

“Hey, are those
women looking for you?” I asked her.

“What do you
mean?” Garm was examining blueprints as she spoke to me.

“Are you the
person they’re trying to locate?”

Her face
scrunched up in confusion.

“That makes no
sense whatsoever. Why would they be looking for me?”

“They didn’t
tell me why. I’m just asking.”

“They already
spoke to me. That’s how they found you. They don’t need three people to find me
when they just asked me for a reference. I mean, I’m right here,” she said,
extending her arms.

“Okay. Take it
easy.”

“You’ve spent
too much time as a bouncer and forgot how to work real jobs, I think,” she
said, returning to her work.

“Doorman,” I
corrected.

“Oh yeah, one
step above chauffer and one below waiter.”

“When did you
become an elitist?” I asked.

“What are you
talking about? I’ve always been an elitist.”

That’s true.
Garm really liked money and all things money.

“I need to
access the videos at check-in,” I said.

“Then do it.
You know everyone here. What the hell are you carrying?”

“It’s an autocannon.
Delovoa made it for me.”

She rolled her
eyes.

“Boys and their
toys.”

“It can shoot
high-explosive grenades,” I stated indignantly.

“I’m sure
you’ll have a lot of use for that. Now let me see you try and stand up straight
without falling backwards. Where are your shoes? You’re going to get Hank-sweat
all over my rugs.”

“I’m getting
them repaired. You do the trash pick-up, right?”

“Waste Removal.
That’s 4
^th
floor. Why?”

“I need a
corpse taken away.”

“Who’d you
kill?” she asked absently.

“No one, the body
was just there. I don’t even know him.”

“Then why do
you care?”

“Why do people
keep asking that? What if there was a corpse here in your office?”

She looked up
from her work.

“How would a
corpse get in my office? Pick the lock and then die celebrating?”

“I’m going to
bring it here and leave it on your chair. Then laugh.”

She went back
to her labors.

“Fine.”

“Hey, can I use
your bathroom?” I asked, knowing she had a private bathroom and it was really
plush and clean.

“No.”

“Why not?” I
asked, offended.

“Because you
wouldn’t ask if you just had to urinate. That bathroom isn’t well-ventilated
and I know how much you eat. I don’t want it stinking for the next three
hours.”

“You suck,” I
said, as I left her office.

“I got you a
job, didn’t I?” she called after me.

On the 4
^th
floor I visited the Waste Removal team.

The hallway
ended at a protective plastic shield behind which sat a guy looking bored. He
had a huge white beard and dull eyes and he was reading
The News
.

“Hi,” I shouted
through the bubble. “I’d like to schedule a trash pick-up.”

The bearded man
kept reading. At first I wondered if the bubble was soundproof, which would be
very inconvenient as far as customer service went. But he eventually put down
his tele and looked at me.

“You want a six
month contract or one year?” he asked with a voice as white-bearded as his
face.

“No, I just
want you to pick up one thing,” I had lowered my voice because his grumbly
whisper came through fine so I figured mine did as well.

“We don’t do
‘one things.’”

“I’ll pay you
guys,” I said.

“Yes,” he said
without enthusiasm. “We are a business.”

“It’s not even
large. It won’t take more than five minutes.”

He seemed to
briefly struggle between returning to reading or acknowledging me.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s a
body,” I said weakly.

“A body.” He
looked back to his tele and I could see I was losing.

“It’s a small
body. And it’s not even decomposed.”

“So a dead
body?”

“Well, yeah.
I’m not going to ask you to take a live body.”

“Of course
not,” he said with absolutely no inflection, but which somehow still reeked
sarcasm.

“I didn’t kill
it,” I offered helpfully.

“Where is this
body?”

“It’s right in
front of my door.”

“It’s on Hank
Block in front of your door, but you didn’t kill it?”

So this guy
knew who I was and was still acting like this? I had really lost my touch.

“What’s it
matter if I did?”

“Now you’re
changing your story?”

“What are you,
a crime investigator? I just want one piece of garbage taken away.”

“A cadaver
isn’t garbage,” he stated.

Sanctimonious
trash man.

“How much does
it cost for a six month contract?”

“Depends on
volume. But the minimum is 500 a week.”

That’s not
going to happen.

“Garm said it
was alright for you guys to make this one delivery.”

He stared at me
a moment.

“You’re a
terrible liar.”

I looked at the
supports of the bubble. I bet I could push out the lower part and squeeze
through that way.

He saw what I
was doing and flipped a switch under the desk. A metal curtain began to lower
slowly.

“Hey! What’s
your name! Hey!”

He had gone
back to reading as the curtain closed and locked.

I gave it a
push and it rippled a bit, but didn’t dent. I’d find him later.

I went to the
tape archives where they stored the information from quarantine, the docks, and
check-in.

Buddl was there
so I grabbed him. He used to be one of the security guards who actually checked
people at the dock, but he was a manager now.

He was very angular
and I remember when he wasn’t overweight he had a lot of women interested in
him because he looked cut. Almost like a comic book character with square jaw
and cheek bones. Now that he was older and let himself go, instead of big and
round like most people, he was big and square. He looked funny. You could
practically use his head as a straight rule.

The pale ladies
had sent me what info they had on their friend. It wasn’t a lot, but I could
cross-reference it with docking logs.

Buddl and I
were in a dark office filled with screens, trying to work out which tapes to
get. I put my autocannon against the wall.

“Is that a
vacuum cleaner?” Buddl asked.

“Does it look
like a vacuum cleaner?”

“No, it looks
like a really big gun.”

“Then why did
you ask if it was a vacuum cleaner?”

“Look at this
carpet,” he reasoned.

The carpet was
indeed filthy, but I didn’t get how that logic flowed, so I ignored it.

After a bit of
calculations, we deduced that there were about forty-five hours’ worth of tapes
to review. And that wasn’t even fast-forwarding through. That was a solid forty-five
hours with a dozen different cameras, scanners, and biometrics.

It would take
weeks to go through all these tapes.

I gave Buddl
100 credits and he set me up and grabbed me some coffee. He said to call him if
I had any questions or needed anything. I made a note to praise him to Garm and
slander that unhelpful trash guy.

The scan data
was really cool. I had never seen actual scans. All these Colmarians coming
through were really different in terms of biology. I was immune to scanning. I
was too dense. Not even a hospital could get any information when they put
sensors inside me.

I watched tapes
for about three hours until my neck hurt. I had to keep looking at all the
different screens and different angles and my fingers were starting to flub the
keys. I figured I should come back tomorrow and continue. I was worried I would
get too tired and miss the person.

Now I would try
and buy myself a disintegrator.

“Come on,
Hexpin, just talk to me,” I pleaded.

I was pursuing
the person in question down Dolgente Block.

Hexpin was an old-timer,
spry and wrinkled. He had wisps of white hair floating around the top of his
head like a smoky halo, though he was certainly no angel. He had been a major
black market shipper for decades. He was fast on his feet despite his age. I
guess he had to be.

Since the
change in Belvaille, there technically was no more black side of the market.
But there were still things even too sticky for an Independent Protectorate to
openly admit.

He was the
third person I visited and he got me interested because he immediately became
uncomfortable and shifty when I broached the subject of a stolen Navy device.
Now I was running after him down the street.

“What’s the problem,
we’re only talking,” I said.

“No.” He
suddenly turned to me, pointing. “What you’re talking about is dangerous.”

“What danger?”
I asked. “Who’s going to arrest you?”

He looked
around again and stepped in close and whispered.

“I’ll do a lot
of stuff, but I don’t mess with technology. Navy technology. That’s life in
prison. Or death if you’re lucky. Navy guns, passes, security, whatever. Fine.
Hell, I’d sell a destroyer if I could get my hands on one. But breaking the
Tech Codes,” he shook his head, his eyes wide with fear, as if even completing
the sentence was too risky.

“You know me,
I’m not going to rat anyone.”

“We’re on a
station that has Navy observation telescopes!” He shouted, then remembered
himself and hunched back down. “There are spies everywhere.”

“Oh, come on.
What’s there to spy on?”

“I don’t know,”
he said, feigning ignorance, “you’re the one looking for something.”

“Do you know
anyone else who might have some information? I can kick you a finder’s fee of
course.”

“Try Delovoa,
he’s always messing with crazy things.”

“I know he
doesn’t have anything. This would be recent. Come on, someone’s got to have
said something, such as searching for transport off Belvaille.”

“And run the Jam
carrying stolen Navy tech? Good luck with that.”

Hexpin’s eyes
suddenly went large and he said:

“Corps. Blow,”
and he took off running.

“What?”

I turned to
where he was looking and saw an armored personnel carrier driving at the end of
the street. Was I in corporation territory?

The APC started
to drive forward and I suspected it was going to turn around. It was dark blue
with six massive wheels and a large number of metal windows in the side that
were closed. It had no obvious armaments and it was about a hundred yards away.

The APC turned
completely sideways to me and stopped. The windows all slid open and I saw
movement inside.

I stood there
watching all this completely oblivious. Until all the windows lit up with the
muzzle flashes from machine guns!

Bullets were
whizzing by me, striking the street, and hitting me square.

I immediately
covered myself with my arms and put my head down.

I could feel
from the impact that the guns were fairly heavy caliber. I couldn’t tell how
many were shooting but it was more than two and less than six.

I moved to the
side of the street and the machine gun fire followed me, pelting me all over.
It was about equivalent to a normal person getting hit with rocks thrown at medium
velocity. It wasn’t lethal, but it also wasn’t how I liked to spend my
afternoons.

Let me tell
you, your ability to think clearly when four machine guns are drilling you completely
vanishes. I was crouched against a building but that didn’t help at all, I just
heard the noisy ricochets from the wall.

I moved back
towards the center of the street and started slowly walking backwards, my head
down, and my arms covering my face and neck. This stupid autocannon was slowing
me down.

Wait. I had an
autocannon.

I turned
sideways and leaned away from the APC to try and shield myself so I could use
my hands.

I had never
actually practiced taking it out. I probably should have done that.

The straps were
not shifting right, it was too tight on my shoulders, and the gun wouldn’t
swing around.

I got shot in
the little toe. I was barefoot and I almost fell down it hurt so much.

“Ah!” I yelled,
and stood on one foot for a moment.

I took a deep
breath and tried to calm myself. I wasn’t going to free my gun by forcing it. I
got shot in the ear and yelped.

Finally I
turned the gun from my back and had it beside me. One long bar was in front of
me across my hips. The metal straps put weight on my shoulders. From the side I
probably looked like a suspension bridge with the cables attached to the gun. I
held the left grip to keep the gun steady.

Okay, what kind
of round should I use?

Budda dudda
dudda!

Armor piercing.
The autocannon wasn’t really auto. I had to manually chamber the round by
sliding an enormous bolt. While I was holding this seven-foot gun with just one
hand and the straps, I was tipped over and the barrel was touching the road.

I swiveled and
faced the APC with my gun about as situated as I could make it. I had my head
down because I didn’t want to get shot in the eyes.

But…how was I
going to aim this thing?

The gun rested
against my waist. It didn’t have any sights on it even if I had my eye above
the barrel. My head was more than three feet higher than the barrel and I
couldn’t tell what angle it was at. For all I knew I could be aiming fifteen
feet high.

Just shoot.

Should I say
it, though? My catchphrase. I always say it. But when I say it, bad stuff
happens.

A bullet
somehow hit me square between the eyes, even with my head down. I felt it
deflect over on my cheek and my eye closed and stayed closed.

“Eat suck,
suckface!” I yelled.

The trigger was
incredibly stiff. I’d guess it took twenty-five pounds to pull. Delovoa had
said he made it like that because the gun had no safety and it would be a big
deal if it went off by accident.

I kept
squeezing and squeezing and I suddenly worried the gun didn’t work.

Kachooom!

I saw a
five-foot fireball erupt out of the end of the barrel.

The gun was
basically on my right side. It even extended a little ways behind me. Because
of that, the recoil of the autocannon was primarily on my right. But I was
fastened to this gun with metal straps and the crossbar and of course my hands.

What happened
was, I got hurled about two feet into the air, I spun 180 degrees, and I flew
about five feet backwards.

When I landed,
I was face down with the gun under me and my arms still holding onto it. I had
been turned in such a perfectly-opposite direction that my knees bent and my
feet were sticking up in the air.

It took me a
few seconds to realize where I was and what happened. I had never moved that
fast in my life.

The problem was
I couldn’t get up. I was lying on top of my arms which were pinned under the
gun. I had a tough time doing a pushup in the best circumstances let alone
being chained to a loaded autocannon.

I wasn’t
entirely sure how vehicle fights went, but I was pretty sure that lying on my chin
facing the wrong direction wasn’t the best way to do it.

I rocked back
and forth to try and get free.

“Come on!” I
yelled.

I managed to pull
my left arm out. With that I was able to push myself onto my side and get to my
knees. I cycled the empty shell out of the gun and stood up. I watched the APC a
moment and saw some smoke but I didn’t know if that was engine exhaust or the
machine gun gunpowder or what.

I reloaded
another armor piercing round and took some time to adjust the straps on the
autocannon, which had become somewhat twisted. I was afraid if I fired again
they might strangle me.

But the APC was
silent.

Was that it?

I backed away
from the corporate vehicle, keeping the autocannon at the ready. When I got far
enough away, I turned and hurried as best I could from the scene.

I didn’t know
if I had won or they were all too busy laughing to continue shooting.