by Ward Wagher
“I sometimes wonder why you two afflict yourselves as you do for the sake of a little business,” Pamela said.
“I'll let you answer that, George,” Frank said. “I'm liable to say something which will cause Pamela to hurt me; or I'll insult her and cause you to hurt me.”
“Sounds a bit cowardly to me,” George said.
“Cowards tend to live longer,” Frank said. Ouch! Wendy was anything but a coward. Look where it got her.
Pamela saw the look on Frank's face and misunderstood. “He really wouldn't hurt you. George is a pussy-cat.”
“Right,” Frank said. “He wouldn't still be in business if he wasn't aggressive, and neither would I.”
“Yes, but he's not threatening,” she said.
Frank laughed. “If he really thought I was insulting you, he would bounce my butt out of here faster than you could say Willie Woogie.”
Pamela leaned over against George and grinned up at her husband. “Yeah, he would. But I know you would never do something like that, Frank.”
“See, now he's got you fooled,” George said. “I, of course, see right through him.”
“Oh, tush!” she slugged him on the arm. Then she grinned at Frank. “This coming from a man who hid in his office when the Woogies got excited this morning.”
“I did not. I simply did not have time to stand around smelling the Woogies ventilate while Frank tried to figure out what to do. I, of course, had already solved the problem.”
“He told me he was afraid of the Woogie-Whackers,” Frank said.
George grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Don't believe everything your hear, Pamela.”
“Maybe we should bounce his butt out of here, Pamela,” Frank said.
“It would serve him right. The reason he was standing outside with you in the first place was because he didn't have enough to do in the office.”
“Business has been a bit slow of late,” George said.
“Really?” Frank asked. “Do you think it's because of all the little Indians running around out there charging tolls?”
“I think that's exactly what it is,” George said. “Nobody wants to travel here because they're going to get shaken down upon arrival. They even tried holding up the Woogies today.”
“I didn't see that,” Frank said.
“I think it was after you went up to the ship. Little squirrely guy with black hair. I wasn't close enough to hear what was said, but all of a sudden six Woogies pulled out Woogie Whackers. I didn't see what happened next, but he didn't hang around.”
“He didn't see what happened because he was hiding in his office again,” Pamela said.
“Sometimes discretion pays off, my dear,” he said.
“You've got that self-righteous tone of voice down pretty good, George,” Frank said. “But it sounds like the same guy we ran into.”
“Probably so. Vicious little weasel hangs around a lot. His name's Fillbee.”
“Bingo,” Frank said. “He's now a waiter at Rapunzel's in the Old Town.”
“Then you will want to stay away from him. He's dangerous.”
“If he has occasion to encounter Smith & Jones in a dark alley, he'll find out dangerous.”
“But you will need to watch out for his friends, Frank.”
“What you're telling me, George, is that you got a group of criminals shaking down the city, and running the economy into the ground.”
“That's about it.”
“So, why doesn't anybody do anything about it?”
“Would you want to tangle with these creeps?”
Frank shrugged. “Honestly, folks, I really don't have a lot to lose. It seems to me somebody ought to introduce some change into this dump of a city. Who's the mayor, anyway?”
“The leader here is called the Provost, Frank,” Pamela said. “His name is Andreas Neckersulm. He's effective only in relieving honest merchants of their cash. The mayor merely sits in his office and smiles at the tourists.”
“Is the mayor addled?”
“No, he's a nice guy. Doesn't have any authority, though.”
“I believe I'll pay a visit to the Provost,” Frank said. “I see no evidence of police protection. If he wants me to create some jobs here, he needs to get his act together.”
“I would be careful about that, Frank,” George said. “The political situation is... complex.”
“It'll give us something to do in our spare time.”
“Us?” George asked.
“We. I thought I'd take you with me.”
“Oh no you don't. I will stay in my office.”
“You really do need to be careful, Frank,” Pamela said. “Complex doesn't begin to describe things. There are a number of people around who kill without compunction.”
“Smith & Jones have been skulking in and about Gustav to pick up information and they essentially confirm this. Has it always been this way?”
“George and I came out here from Earth about ten years ago. It was a wonderful place then. It has gradually gotten worse. Things got really bad over the past year. That's when business started drying up.”
“It's too bad,” Frank said. “It's really a lovely planet, if maybe a little boring.”
“Don't say things like that,” George said. “You may live to regret it.”
“I certainly hope so,” Frank said.
“That's not what I meant.”
“Well, at least the food is decent,” Frank replied.
“So when are you going to move out of the hotel and get a real place?” Pamela asked.
“I was waiting to get some business. Spanky assures me there will be another cargo waiting in Woogaea, and I'm getting nibbles about a run out to Garnet. I may be in a position to pick up a house.”
“The prices are good right now – probably because of the people leaving town due to the rowdies,” Pamela said.
“And the Woogies are paying you extremely well,” George said.
“You don't know that George,” Frank said.
“I saw what they are paying you, and I can make a good guess about your cost basis in your fleet. Plus, when you were able to whistle up enough transport to get his load into orbit you made a friend for life.”
“Woogies are funny people,” Frank said with a small smile. “I'd actually rather deal with them than humans; even setting aside the smell.”
George snickered. “What was your Captain Plimpton's reaction when six Woogies came through the boarding tube?”
“Didn't bat an eye.”
“Are you kidding? The smell in that confined space must have been unbelievable.”
“I have to admit, it was starting to get to me,” Frank said. “Plimpton's cabin steward went green around the gills.”
“Plimpton was fine with it?”
“I don't know if I would say that, but he's a professional, and I'm sure he's dealt with Woogies before. My guess is he knows who's signing his paycheck. If I bring honest business aboard, he'll ship it.”
“I hadn't met him before,” George said. “Did you know him?”
“Only by reputation. The number of ships and captains in the Sphere of Man is finite and not really that large. I ran Forsythia for ten years and met most of the other captains. I hadn't met Guy Plimpton, but everybody who's mentioned him said he was solid.”
“So you have, what, three ships now?” Pamela asked.
“Yes. Three.”
“And what are you aiming for?” she continued.
Frank looked down at the table and frowned. I don't know what I want. Yes, I do. I want Wendy back. But that won't happen – she's gone beyond my reach. What do I want to do?
“I don't have an answer for you, Pamela. I am kind of taking it a day at a time.”
The conversation continued for another fifteen minutes and Frank took his leave. George and Pamela remained behind, sipping their coffee.
“He's pretty fragile, isn't he?” Pamela asked.
“Compared to what?” Georg
e responded. “He's doing a lot better than I would if I lost you. God, I don't even want to think about things like that.”
“What I mean is he is really not getting over it. I can tell.” Pamela pondered further. “He's good at managing his externals, but it's eating him up inside.”
“I don't know, Sweetheart. You may be reading more into this than is really true. Frank Nyman is a tough bird. When something like that happens, you deal with it; then you get over it, eventually. Frank is nobody's fool.”
“But every once in a while, the curtain slips, and you see a part of him he tries to keep hidden. I'm worried he's going to come apart.”
“I don't know what we can do about it,” George said.
“You could talk to him, Dear.”
“Darling, I have not the slightest idea what to say,” George protested. “I mean, like hey man, I'm sorry you lost your wife. You'll feel better soon. That is so lame.”
“Maybe I could talk to him. I really hate to see him like that.”
“Sweetheart, I know I've never been able to tell you what to do, but this time I think you'd best leave well enough alone. Anything you could say to him, he's probably already thought of himself.”
Pamela's brow furrowed as she sipped her coffee.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“All right, I know I don't remember buying a second ground car,” Frank said.
“You told us to find you something, so we could drive the other one.” Smith said.
Jones was driving the almost new Dancer Limousette and as usual said nothing.
“I guess I did,” Frank said. “This is nice. What did it cost me?”
“Fifteen K and change,” Smith said. “It belonged to a retired couple who moved out rather than deal with the local riffraff.”
“Pretty good, Cedric. You guys haven't lost your touch. What's it worth, mid-twenties?”
“Not in this market, Skipper. Maybe nineteen. It would bring thirty easily on Hepplewhite.”
“If I get tired of it, we can ship it to Franklin, then. Where are we going anyway?”
“That retired couple we bought the car from? Well they have a house, too. The agent told us they were just about as anxious to get rid of it. Thought we might have a look.”
“I hope they got off planet okay,” Frank said. “Where did they go?”
“Caledon,” Smith said.
“Climate is not as nice there, but much safer,” Frank replied. “If it's anything like the car, I might like it. You know, new, clean, modest.”
The car contained a remote for the gate at the drive. A tall mesh fence ran several hundred yards in both directions from the gate. The fence was topped with razor wire. A neatly groomed sward ran fifteen feet in front and back of the fence. Fifteen feet behind the fence a double row of Leland cypress blocked any view of the property.
“What is this place, anyway?” Frank asked.
“Well, Skipper, based upon your wants, this meets two out of three.”
“New and clean?”
“Right. And it's immediately available and furnished.”
Jones drove the car through the gate and along the brick paved drive. After following a few curves through the foliage, the car swung in front of a stately mansion and Jones coasted to a stop. Frank remained seated in the back seat of the car and looked out the window, studying the house.
“I know we're starting to make some money again, Cedric, but I'd rather invest it in an income producing property like a starship.”
“I can get us into this for eight-hundred K.”
“Centaurans?” Frank asked.
Smith nodded.
“You gotta be holding somebody's poor old grandmother hostage! This thing should be going for four, maybe five million Centaurans, at least.”
“Jones never did like his grandma much,” Smith said.
Jones raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He slipped from behind the wheel and began patrolling the property.
Frank continued to gaze at the house, then shook his head. “Since you've gone to the trouble, I suppose I ought to take a look.”
They climbed out of the car and began walking to the door.
“By the way, Skipper, the house comes with a housekeeper.”
Frank stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Come on, Smith, my funds are not unlimited.”
“They're retired Navy.”
“They? This just keeps getting worse,” Frank yelled.
“Gough Brundage and his wife Emily.”
“I think I know them,” Frank said, as he subsided a bit. “He bailed out as a Master Chief and she was a Light Commander. Have I got that right?”
“That's them, Skipper.”
“Admiral Krause was some kind of ripped when they retired and got married.”
“He wasn't very happy when you retired, either, Skipper.”
“You know you're boxing me into a corner, Smith?”
“Naah, Skipper, just facilitating opportunities.”
Frank rolled his eyes, and moved towards the double door at the front of the house. “Let's get this over with.”
The door was opened by a trim, white-haired woman in tan slacks and a brown tunic.
“Captain,” she said in a low contralto.
Frank nodded. “Commander. Good to see you again.”
A slightly taller, lean looking man with a weathered face and shaved head stepped into the foyer. “Welcome, Captain.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Frank said. “Nice place here.”
“Yes it is. We were sorry to see the Torstensens leave.”
Frank looked at the marble floors and the huge chandelier. “Smith seems convinced that I should take a look at it.”
“Whenever you're ready, Sir, we can show you the house,” Emily said.
It took nearly two hours for Frank to examine the house and the grounds. They returned to a huge formal living room to talk.
“How did you happen to hit dirt-side, here?” Frank asked.
“When we retired, a nice quiet life of maintaining an estate and looking after the Torstensens' seemed attractive,” Gough said. “This really is a pleasant planet.”
“We've realized,” Emily said, “that we weren't ready for something quite this... bucolic.”
“Bored, or not enough activity?” Frank asked.
“Yes,” Gough said. “Once we got the house and grounds in shape, it takes maybe twenty percent of our time to keep it up. Plus the Torstensens really were looking for servants, rather than... what's the word I'm looking for, Darling?”
“Factotums?”
“That will do, I guess. We'd been here a couple of years with the Torstensens, and us wearing on each others' nerves. Then they got scared about the street crime and decided to pull up stakes.”
“What is your current role, then, if I might ask?”
“Caretakers. Once the place is sold, we'll have to move on, I guess.” Emily said.
Frank looked over at Smith, who was paying careful attention to the conversation without appearing to. “All right, spill it, Smith.”
“We're under-manned for our current operation, Skipper. The Brundages are just what we're looking for.”
Frank stared at Smith for a moment and then looked at the Brundages. “I need to think about this. It was good to see you again.”
Frank got up and walked out of the house.
The room was silent for a few moments, and then Gough spoke. “Sarge, I think you just violated Navy rule number fifty-three.”
“I will probably regret asking this,” Smith said, “but what is rule number fifty-three?”
“Never tick off a Navy captain,” Gough replied. “I don't know what you did, Sarge, but Captain Nyman is really roasted.”
Smith shrugged. “Can't be as bad as breaking Baltic Regiment Rule number one.”
“Colonel...” Gough said.
“Putin. Right. There's an officer who knows how to yell.”
“Maybe so,” Emily said, “b
ut I think this deal just got scotched.”
Smith stood up. “I don't think so. Whether he wants to admit it or not, the Skipper needs more manpower. Give me a couple of days and we can put this deal to bed.”
The Brundages stood up. “Thank you for coming by again, Sergeant,” Emily said.
Smith nodded and walked out.
Emily sighed after Smith left the room. “I was hoping that one would come together. Frank Nyman is a first class operator.”
“You may be underestimating Sergeant Smith, my Dear. He strikes me as being solid.”
Emily chuckled. “In other words, you're telling me to get out of the way and let the noncoms run things.”
“You're getting smarter, Commander.”
§ § §
Frank said nothing in the car. When they got back to the hotel, he wordlessly got out and walked through the lobby. He waited until they got in the room and looked at the other sergeant.
“Take a walk, Jones.”
Jones said nothing, but nodded, and walked out. Smith stood in the center of the room waiting for Frank to speak. Frank walked over to the kitchenette and put his hands on the edge of the counter. He bowed his head as in prayer, then straightened up and paced to the other corner of the room. He then walked to the middle of the room and stopped, facing Smith.
“You want to tell me what, in the name of nine suns and fourteen planets, you are doing, Smith?”
“I'm helping you put an operation together here on this planet, Skipper.”
Frank grimaced and shook his head. “Didn't you think it a bit forward to assume I would be interested in a benighted mansion as well as carrying another couple employees? What were you going to do, go out and put the deposit on the house while you were at it?”
Smith said nothing.
Frank waited a moment, and then looked at the sergeant closely. “Don't tell me; you already put a deposit on the house, didn't you?”
Smith now looked a little uncertain. He glanced back and forth and finally shrugged. “I guess I did.”
“You guess you did. And how much is that little indiscretion going to cost me, pray tell?”
