Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy (13 page)

Garm laughed.

“When they come to audit my books, I’m in at
least as much trouble as anyone here. But I have a better chance of getting off
this station than you do.”

“Why?”

“Because you killed two Dredel Led! About the
only things the military asked about were empty housing and you.”

“Why did you tell them I destroyed the robots?”
I asked, annoyed.

“I didn’t. Your friend Rendrae printed it for
the whole galaxy to read. Blame him.” Seeing my expression she continued, “Yes,
some issues of
The News
make it off Belvaille. Did you think Dredel Led
would be just a local concern? They’re talking about this across the whole
Confederation.”

“Are you really a former intelligence agent?” I
asked, thinking of Rendrae’s conspiracy theories.

Garm pursed her lips.

“I don’t know if ‘former’ is the right word,”
she said.

“What?” I was shocked.

“It’s not exactly secret. I mean, what did you
think all those giant radio telescopes are used for?”

I was beginning to question everything I knew
about Belvaille.

“So there is hidden military stuff that goes on
here?” I asked.

“Nah. But they figured they got this space
station, might as well use it. And it
is
at the edge of our empire.”

“But there’s nothing out there,” I countered.
Rendrae’s paranoia was all coming true.

“Who said there’s nothing out there? There’s
plenty. The Boranjame crisscross at leisure. There’s been Dredel Led talk for
ages. Rettosians. Qwintine. Keilvin Kamigans. There’s a whole galaxy besides
Belvaille, you know?”

I sat looking at my knees for a moment.

“Are you trying to assassinate Rendrae?”

“No,” Garm began firmly, and I felt myself
relax. “But I am trying to arrest him. If he doesn’t stop he’s going to make it
a hundred times harder when those soldiers get here. They’ll just flip through
issues of
The News
arresting people. He’s detailing every crime we’re
committing, and quite a few we’re not.”

“Wow” was all I could say. After a moment, I
asked, “You know anything about delfiblinium?”

Garm’s brow furrowed at the unusual question.

“Why?”

“I’m just curious,” I said innocently.

“Well, it’s incredibly rare.”

I was about to ask her “how rare?” when she
continued.

“Because it’s super unstable and explosive.”

“Oh.”

“Please don’t tell me you know of some
delfiblinium on Belvaille. That’s all I need is for the Navy to find some of
that here.”

“No, I was just…thinking,” I said. I could see
Garm was a pile of jagged nerves, so I’d hold off on telling her unless there
were no other options.

I had just started feeling good about being
healthy again. Now there was an army coming that specifically wanted to see me,
they had the authority to kill probably half the population on the station, and
there was no way to leave.

“I felt better when the Dredel Led were still
here,” I said morosely.

The next day I had lunch with an old friend,
Bon-Peeb. I’d worked with him on more jobs than I can remember. He was
definitely an old-timer and I kind of felt like talking about the past, as the
present and future were becoming oppressive.

“Hank. Hank,” he called across the restaurant,
standing to get my attention.

Bon looked…well, old. He had a big white beard
and big belly. I suppose he had always been older, but I forgot by how much. He
was a large Colmarian, standing almost a half-foot taller than me. He never had
trouble finding work on Belvaille as a tough of some kind.

I shook his hand and took a seat, wanting to
get out of view of the nosy patrons around me.

“Great seeing you, Bon,” I said.

“Uh, the name is Been-e now, what with the
military coming. I still have some outstanding warrants.”

“How does everyone know about this stuff?” I
asked, amazed.

Bon/Been-e twisted his face to express the ease
of information.

“It’s just around,” he said. “Hey Hank, so how
long we known each other you think?”

I honestly had no clue. We were never great
friends or anything. We had probably worked with each other and not known it,
too.

“What was the first job you remember with me?”
I asked. “I seem to recall it was breaking into that guy’s apartment,” and I
struggled to push away the dust in my memory, “but it was like the wrong guy’s
apartment, so we broke into someone else’s and that one was wrong too.”

“I don’t think that was me,” Been-e said. “I
think it was the Girl Strike. Like ninety years ago or abouts.”

I shook my head, indicating it didn’t ring a
bell.

“Remember, like all the girls went on strike.
The guys too. Anyone who was one of those type of jobs, you know?”

“This was probably before my time,” I said.

“No. You’ve been here longer than me. Come on.
You weren’t such a big deal then, I remember. But people knew you and everyone
was like, ‘ask Hank, ask Hank,’ and I was like, ‘Hank, who?’”

“So what happened?” I asked, perversely
interested in more tall tales about myself.

“We didn’t know what to do. They wanted a ton
more pay and there was no way it was going to happen. And all the bars
practically shut down, because as much as people want to drink—”

“They want to drink with someone pretty,” I
finished.

“Yeah. But anyway, there were some fellows who
had the idea to rough up the girls to get them to agree and you were like, ‘If
we beat them up, we’ll never get a date again.’ It was a real touchy situation.
So you suggested the bosses like sweet-talk the girls. Send them candy and
flowers and gifts and stuff and talk about how they miss them.”

“This kind of sounds familiar,” I agreed, a
smile on my face.

“Right, so all these big bosses are reciting
poetry and playing music and making complete asses of themselves. Some of the
bosses didn’t do it. You know because of their egos. And they stayed closed.
But the ones who did it, they eventually got their people back. They spent
money to do it, but it was more the whole appreciation thing.”

“Hmm,” I said, my arms behind my head. It was
almost like I had just finished this job and was relishing in my own success.

“That’s when people were really like, ‘not only
can this guy crack heads, but he’s smart,’” Been-e added.

“Well, I don’t know about that. It’s all
relative. And relative to Belvaille, you know?”

“Yeah, true that. But, I figure we’ve known
each other about ninety years. I’ve been shot maybe ten times working with you
and I have no idea how many times you been shot. A million, maybe?” Been-e
laughed.

“I never shot you, did I?” I asked.

“Once. But that’s okay. It was just how things
went. And unlike a lot of guys, I know you weren’t trying to cut me down or
nothing,” he said nonchalantly.

“Oh. Well. Sorry and all.”

He waved it off.

“Not sure if you know, seeing as how you been
involved in that real big stuff,” he started.

“Hey, I hope you don’t believe all that crap in
The News
,” I interjected.

“Eh,” he began, and I could see he did. “Not
really. I know how it is.”

“Good,” I said, at least happy he’d lied.

I find my whole pattern of speech and
mannerisms morph when I’m around working folks. I think everyone does that to
an extent, but I was about ready to pound some booze and throw the bottles
against the wall. Been-e was so salty.

“Anyway, it’s been rough on us while the Portal
is down. Almost no jobs going on and the military coming. It’s tough finding
work,” Been-e stated.

And it was only going to get harder, I figured.
I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me for help. I might be able to scrounge
something, but I always disliked being put in that position.

“Hey, have you seen my daughters?” he asked
urgently. He took out his tele to show me a group picture of three women of
varying ages. “I finally got them all in one place to send me a vid.”

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.