by Ward Wagher
“That is just fine, Emily. I appreciate it. This place is starting to feel more like home. As much as any place does, these days.”
“Just you and the sergeants for dinner, then, tonight?”
“Yes Emily. Will you and Gough join us, please?”
“Of course, Captain. I have a pork loin slow-cooking.”
“Not to minimize the skills you brought to the Navy, of course, but I have really enjoyed your cooking.”
She chuckled. “Cooking has always been a hobby of mine. It settles my mind. But, I hope you will not be disappointed when we hire a housekeeper.”
“Any progress in finding some domestic help?”
“Not so far. Gough sent a message off to his nephew yesterday. George sent a couple over today for us to interview. They seemed competent enough, but Gough's antennae were twitching.”
Frank chuckled. “And navy chiefs have the best sensor suite in the known universe.”
“Exactly.”
“I am willing to defer to his judgment. There's a nasty criminal underground on this planet, and I don't want them on the premises.”
“Based on recent experiences, they are not that far underground,” she said tartly. “I very much believe we are going to have to break some heads before it is over and done with.”
“Smith & Jones share your opinion, I believe. If we get into the head-breaking business, it's going to interfere with our business. I do not see any upside to this.”
“Fortunately they don't seem very competent,” she said.
“You noticed that too? This whole planet seems a bit retarded. Even the weather can't seem to make up it's mind to do anything interesting.”
“It has puzzled Gough and me. Not the weather, of course. I have no complaints about that. But nobody seems to put in a lot of effort at anything. Even George Liston doesn't seem to get very excited.”
“It's funny,” Frank said. “With a little effort, the economy on this planet could really shine. But the entrepreneurs don't seem to be much better at what they do than the criminals.”
“Do you not think the Admiral put you here to do something about it?”
“Commander, the last time the Admiral put me somewhere to do something about things, a bunch of people got killed, including my wife! And then said Admiral blamed me for everything and threw me off my property. You will excuse me if I am slightly prejudiced towards taking care of my own business first.”
“Just making a few comments, Captain,” she said icily. “You will excuse me if I got your feathers ruffled.”
Frank sighed and walked behind the desk to collapse into his chair. “Listen, Emily. I expect my employees to speak their mind. I don't have a corner on knowledge. So, don't get your diaper in a wad if I don't like what I'm hearing from you. It will happen repeatedly. If I didn't have a large degree of confidence in you, you would likely be working for somebody else. The truth of the matter is that we are probably going to have to do something about the situation here, and I don't like it.”
“That only works for a while, Captain. You are driving your sergeants crazy, you know. Nobody knows at any given time whether you are going to smile, or erupt.”
“Oh, I'm not that bad, Emily.”
“Oh, yes you are. Like just now.”
“That's different,” Frank said, knowing it really wasn't. “You caught me off guard.”
“You didn't get to be Willard Krause's Flag Captain by acting that way,” she said.
Frank glared at her. “You're getting as bad as Smith.”
“It's all part of the service.”
Frank laughed. “Okay, okay. I surrender. Sometimes I can't help being a jerk.”
“Yes, you can, and you know it.”
“Why does everyone think they're my mother?”
“And you usually respond by whining, Frank. It doesn't become you.”
“What do I have to do to wrap up a conversation around here, anyway?” he snapped.
Emily was smiling at him now. “You have my apologies, Skipper.”
“And don't feel the need to waste time apologizing. Just tell me to go to hell, and go about your business.”
“Right, Skipper.” She was laughing as she left the room.
Frank shook his head and looked down at his desk. “And that's probably where I'm going, if Riggs is right.”
§ § §
“I need to know about this Nyman creature,” Benjamin Chavis said as he sat across the desk from George Liston.
“So you can do what, Benjie?” Liston asked. “You might want to take a look at his background before you start stirring that pot.”
“That's why I'm here, Ducky. You two are close enough to be in love with one-another. So tell me about his background.”
“He came here from Hepplewhite. Owns a castle and some lands there. Owns a shipping company.”
“I know about the shipping company,” Chavis said. “What is his angle? He has got my bag man emptying himself into his drawers. I do not like it.”
“I don't know him that well, Benjie. I've done business with him off and on for ten years or so. He's honest as the day is long. And you don't trifle with him.”
“Trifle? Are you trifling with me now?”
“Hey, man,” Liston said. “I pay the vig and you leave me alone. There's only so far you want to push me too.”
“And I do not appreciate the whining. I keep it peaceful for you here.”
“What I'm saying is that if you want to do business with Frank Nyman, you need to make it a two-way street. He is intolerant of foolishness.”
“So now you are accusing me of being a fool?” Chavis asked.
“Come on, Benjie. What's the matter with you? I'm simply telling you Nyman can be dangerous.”
“What's he going to do?” Chavis asked. “I heard he got thrown off Hepplewhite.”
“Uh huh. He got into a spitting contest with the planetary duke and came in second place.”
“That is what I mean. Doesn't sound that impressive to me.”
Liston grinned. “He told me the Duke came in last place. As in dead!”
“Oh.”
“Don't mess with him, Benjie,” Liston said. “I kind of like having you keep the riffraff away from my operation.”
It was quiet for a few moments.
“Benjie.”
“What?”
“You are not listening to me. Do you know who sent him here?”
“Willard Krause.”
“That's right,” Liston said. “While he was in the Navy, Nyman was Krause's roving trouble-shooter. Some say he's still in the business. Now think about why he might be here.”
“Nothing wrong here that needs fixing, except maybe Nyman himself.”
“Benjie, you keep thinking those happy thoughts, you might not wake up some morning.”
“Might you be threatening me?” Chavis bristled.
Liston looked carefully at the greasy little man. “You asked me for information. I gave you information. What you do with it is your business.”
Chavis glared at Liston for a few moments. Without another word he got up and left.
Liston leaned back in his chair and stretched with a groan. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. Finally he picked up his comm.
§ § §
“One of the local hood-lords is asking about you,” George said when Frank answered his comm.
“And who would that be?”
“Benjamin Chavis.”
Good grief, now what? “Is he now, George? He runs a protection racket, doesn't he?”
“It's kind of a combination of that and local law enforcement.”
“Are you paying him off?” Frank asked.
“Yep. And he does a better job than the local police at keeping things quiet.”
“Are you paying the Provost too?” Frank asked.
“Everybody pays the Provost, Frank. It's the cost of doing business here.”
<
br /> “George, are you making any money?”
Liston snorted. “I'm getting by. There are worse places to run a business, and I've been in several. There is some measure of stability, and that's most important.”
“Are the crooks here honest?”
“You mean, do they stay bought? Pretty much. One big advantage, I think, is that they are not very smart.”
“Advantage for the crooks, or the marks?” Frank asked.
Liston laughed then. “I hear ya. No, the reason Benjie Chavis stays in business is that he does keep things fairly quiet, and nobody else wants the job.”
“What about the Provost?”
“He's an academic. Once again, nobody else wants his job.”
“This place is kind of weird, George.”
“Yeah, but it kind of works.”
“But it could do so much better.”
“Frank, what are you suggesting? People come to these backwater worlds because nobody here bothers them much. Everybody kind of plays at running the place. We have our token dictator – the Provost. We have our token hoodlum – Benjie. And, God help us, we even have our token village idiot.”
“Fillbee?”
Liston laughed again. “You got it. There's this unspoken social ethic. Nobody gets too far out of line, and everybody tolerates the eccentrics. You have to admit it's peaceful.”
“Peaceful my left...” Frank's brain caught up with his mouth and he stopped speaking.
“You were saying, Frank?” Liston asked.
“Never mind. Listen, George. I appreciate the heads up. So, you're saying I need to do a deal with this Benjie fellow?”
“It would probably be better if you did, Frank. It's not that much money. I mean, he's not particularly competent. He's not in your league and doesn't know it. But consider if somebody who knew what they were doing came in to fill the vacuum.”
“You have a point, George.”
“In the short term, it makes things much easier,” Liston said. “However your unspoken comment about the long term is well taken. If we don't get a handle on things now, the future could be grim.”
“If a fairly determined group of pirates decided to set up shop here right now, we could probably do squat about it,” Frank said. “And once the League falls apart, which it will sooner or later, one of the planetary nations in this neighborhood could decide to get imperialistic.”
“And we wouldn't like that.”
“Correct,” Frank said. “Something to think about.”
“And you have given me something to think about.”
“I need to have you and the Lady Pamela over for dinner,” Frank said, “now that I have a functioning household.”
“The Lady Pamela has always wanted to see the inside of that house,” Liston said.
“I will have the Brundages set something up.”
“Gotta run, Frank. Maggie's trying to get my attention.”
“You don't want to run afoul of Maggie. See ya, George.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Benjamin Chavis stepped out of Mel's Restaurant followed by Fillbee. Cedric Smith stepped in front of him, bringing him to a halt.
“What is this?” Chavis exclaimed.
Fillbee tried to get in between his boss and Smith and ran into Jones. Fillbee's mouth dropped open and he visibly gulped.
“The boss wants a word with you, Mr. Chavis,” Smith said. He took him by the arm and eased him over to the curb, where he opened the back door of Frank's Dancer Limousette.
Frank leaned over in the back-seat. “Climb in for a moment, Benjamin. We need to talk.”
Chavis slipped into the car and Smith eased the door shut.
“Accosting me on the street like this just isn't done, Nyman,” Chavis said.
“Word has it you are looking for me,” Frank said.
“Oh, you are surely right. Doing it this way will cost you severely.”
“Doing it what way, Benjie? Can I call you Benjie?”
Chavis shook his head and greasy ringlets of hair swirled about him. “I call the shots around here, not a wannabe businessman and Margrave.”
“Suppose I reached out and broke your neck here in the car, Benjie. Would that change the equation?”
Chavis slid over as far to the right as he could. “You would really regret doing something like that.”
“Would I? I mean, if something like that were to happen, who would do anything about it? Fillbee?”
“You simply must understand, Mr. Nyman, how things work here on New Stockholm.”
“Oh, I understand all too well,” Frank said. “You're another two-centime crook lining up to put his hand in my pocket. Not only are you a parasite feeding off the people on this planet who work for a living, but you are also a pimple on the back-side of the Provost. I'd squeeze your head, but I don't want to soil the inside of my new car.”
Chavis sat up and tried to look indignant. “Now, look here. You are putting yourself in grave danger. Don't you realize what I could do to you?”
“A while back you woke up one morning in your car without any idea of how you got there.”
Chavis' mouth worked, but he could say nothing. After a couple of squeaks he managed to grind out a response. “I suppose you are telling me you had something to do with... I mean, assuming something like that happened, which it didn't, how would you know about it?”
Frank just smiled. “How many people do I have on planet?”
Chavis frowned. “You've got your two knee-breakers, the housekeepers, and the girl, of course.”
“Are you sure about that, Benjie?” Frank asked. “I think it would be just a bit disconcerting to go to bed in my bedroom, and wake up in my car on the other side of town.”
“Just what are we talking about?” he asked indignantly.
“I'm setting the ground rules, Benjie. You're running a protection racket, right?”
“No! Of course not! I am a businessman. I provide a valuable service to the community.”
“And what would that be, besides shaking down people?”
“No! I make sure you don't have problems with the local ruffians.”
“And they are on your payroll, too; right?” Frank asked.
“Well, you've got to... No! The police are weak here. I just provide a little extra leverage to keep things peaceful.”
“So, if I don't pay up, then you let those ruffians know I'm out of compliance, right?”
Chavis snorted. “Oh, that is very good. Out of compliance. I like that.”
“And so when the phrase starts popping up in the town, we'll know who repeated it. I'm tired of boxing with you. What do you want?”
The oily looking grifter cocked his head as he looked at Frank. “You pay me monthly, and I make sure things stay peaceable around your offices.”
“And if I do have an incident?” Frank asked, arching his eyebrows.
“Then my people track it down and... eliminate the problem. I take my job seriously.”
“I doubt that,” Frank said.
“And I collect monthly,” he persisted.
“And how does that work?”
“Fillbee picks up the credit chit from your office.”
“No, Benjie. You and I will have lunch once a month at Rapunzel's. If Fillbee shows his face in my office again, I've told Sergeant Jones to kill him. And if Fillbee touches Stephanie I will kill him. Then, I will kill you.”
“Now, Mr. Nyman, certainly you cannot expect me to personally handle the collection side of the business. And, you worry unnecessarily about the girl.”
“You think so? Take a look outside.”
Chavis leaned forward to look out the side window. Jones stood near the car, with one hand on a terrified Fillbee's arm, the other on his neck.
“That isn't necessary, Mr. Nyman.”
“All I have to do is give the word, Benjie. Fillbee goes in the trunk, and we go for a trip. What do you suppose you can do about it?”
“Y
ou are insane, Mr. Nyman.”
“No, merely a practical man. I have learned not to let problems fester. I've gotten ahead by taking care of problems as they come up. Do you want to help me solve my problems, Mr. Chavis? Or, are you a problem to be solved?”
§ § §
“He didn't look very happy when he got out of the car, Skipper,” Smith said.
“His happiness is not very important to me,” Frank said. “As long as he stays bought. I have some ideas on how we can use him.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“I thought so. For right now, I want him to stay afraid of me. I'd like you two to take turns letting him get a look at you around town. Just stay visible long enough to make sure he sees you. Understand?”
Jones snorted. “That we can do, Skipper.”
“Other than playing head-games, what do you want to achieve?” Smith asked.
“Chavis really is not very good at what he does. I want him believing he exists on my sufferance. That's why I insisted on having lunch with him every month. He'll worry about it all month before the meeting and after I get through with him, he'll worry for the next month.”
“You're cruel, Skipper,” Smith chuckled.
“Funny, that's what Chavis said. I believe, Cedric, one of your favorite statements has something to do with playing with the big dogs.”
Smith nodded from the front seat.
“Well, the big dogs just wandered into this neighborhood, and our friend Benjamin Chavis is finding out his business model had changed. We are going to have such a peaceful neighborhood you will not believe it.”
“I like it, Skipper,” Jones said.
“I figured Jones must have liked it, Cedric,” Frank said with a grin. “This is the most he's said all week.”
“The big dog is always happy when you throw him a bone,” Smith said as he and Jones both laughed.
“It's getting towards lunch time,” Frank said. “How about we hit Chesley Frakes' place again. What's it called, anyway?”
“Chesley's Place,” Jones said.
“Right,” Frank said. “What's it called?”
“Chesley's Place,” Jones repeated with a grin.
“Okay, you got me.”
