Galactic Vice: A Jafla Base Vice Squad Novel

by Jake Bible

  Mess’a took the mug right out of his hands and sipped from it. She cried out and dropped the mug, two of her tentacles going to her mouth. “It’s freezing! Oh, dear, I must have hit the wrong setting on the cooker. I was trying to heat it up and I turned it into slush!”

  She lost it. Completely lost it. Her invertebrate body folded in on itself and she collapsed to the floor, falling next to the dropped mug and puddle of caff ice that had plopped out onto the carpet.

  “Mess’a, please,” Tipo said as he knelt to comfort her. “It’s a cup of caff. Not something to worry over. Easy to fix and easy to clean up.”

  “Clean up!” Mess’a wailed as she jolted and took several deep breaths to solidify her body. She was up and scrambling towards the kitchen of the apartment. “That is going to stain! The carpet was new! Xew and I bought it just before he…”

  She made it to the kitchen before collapsing again. Tipo sighed and rushed to get her back up standing again. He walked her over to the counter so she could lean on something solid while he opened lower cabinets in search of a sonic scrubber or some sort of cleaning device. He found a sponge and an unlabeled bottle of pink spray.

  “Someone comes and cleans,” Mess’a said between sniffs and sobs. “I never was good at that. Made Xew laugh because he grew up cleaning every square inch of his house for his parents.”

  “He did know how to get a stain out,” Tipo said and laughed, hoping it would be infectious. It wasn’t. Mess’a only sobbed harder. Tipo left the sponge and spray. He took Mess’a by the shoulder area and guided her from the kitchen. “How about a quick lie down?”

  “I just got up!” Mess’a shouted and shoved him away. “I do not need to lie down!”

  “You need something,” Angie said from the couch, one leg crossed over the other. She nodded at the floor. “That’s gonna leave a mark if you don’t get to it.”

  “What in all the Hells, McDade?” Tipo shouted. “How did you get in here?”

  Angie gave Tipo a look like he’d asked the dumbest question ever in the history of dumb questions. Then her eyes shifted to Mess’a.

  “This is the widow that has you all twisted up, huh?” Angie asked and shook her head. “This does not look like a healthy relationship, S’lunn.”

  “Tipo? Who is this ugly woman?” Mess’a asked.

  “Ugly? Sweetheart, that is not how most folks describe me,” Angie said as she stood up and offered her hand. “Angie McDade. Harsh. Brash. Uncouth. Possibly a psychopath. But never ugly. Got the notches on my bedpost to prove it.”

  “What does that mean?” Mess’a asked Tipo. “Notches on a bedpost?”

  “It means she gets laid a lot,” Tipo said.

  “Bingo,” Angie said. She lowered her hand when Mess’a didn’t take it. “Listen, I’m sorry about barging in, but I needed to chat with S’lunn. He gave me this address.”

  “You gave her my address?” Mess’a asked.

  “She works with me,” Tipo said. “We needed a safe place to meet without Squad interference.”

  “The Squad knows where I live,” Mess’a stated. “They know you come here.”

  “True,” Tipo replied.

  Mess’a half-sighed, half-whined. “And none of them will come by because they don’t want to face me. They all think I’m crazy.”

  Mess’a pushed Tipo away gently and moved towards the hallway.

  “Where are you going?” Tipo asked.

  “To lie down like everyone wants,” Mess’a said. “You two talk. Maybe you can figure out what happened to Xew…”

  She shuffled down the hallway and was lost from sight as she entered the bedroom. The door clicked shut and the lock engaged, echoing down into the living room.

  “Sure she isn’t going to off herself right now while we talk?” Angie asked.

  “No, McDade, she isn’t going to off herself right now while we talk,” Tipo replied. “Shit, man, you are cold.”

  “I told you not to call me man,” Angie said.

  “And I told you I call everyone man,” Tipo responded. “Sit down and let’s get to work. I expected to meet with you a week ago. What’s up? What have you heard from Knowles? And when in all the Hells am I going to meet him face to face?”

  “The first couple questions I can answer,” Angie said as she sat back down. “My little ploy of having Knowles locked up paid off. He’s shacked up with a Lipian whore and already got himself a nice job working for some Leforian captain in Gants’ outfit.”

  “Leforian? Knowles got in with Dark?” Tipo whistled. “Damn. Okay, your guy is good. Usually it takes a while for a tile player to work up to meeting Dark. She is not just some captain, McDade. She’s one of the top employees in Gants’ outfit.”

  “That’s what Knowles is telling me,” Angie said. “She has him working the tile establishments, feeling out which spot is full of cheats and which spot is obviously raking more in for the house, and skimming that extra, instead of passing it all on to Gants.”

  “That’s it?” Tipo asked and huffed. He sat down and slumped into the couch cushions. “Dark made him a duck hunter?”

  “I’m sorry, a what?” Angie asked. “Duck hunter?”

  “Duck hunters are sent in to find the lame duck,” Tipo said. “They find the cheaters and skimmers and morons that think they can get away with ripping off Gants or anyone that works for Gants. Duck hunter is a nowhere job, McDade. Your boy is in criminal limbo. He does his job well and Dark won’t want him to leave that position. He sucks at it and we won’t find his body unless the exact acid barrel he’s stuffed into falls out of the cargo hold of the next trash barge leaving the base.”

  “Duck hunter. Interesting. Never heard that term,” Angie said. “We always called them snake charmers or plumbers. You know, because they fix the leaks.”

  “On Jafla, they’re called duck hunters, so get used to the term,” Tipo said.

  “I could use some more terms,” Angie said. “Might help me understand the way things work better if I know the local slang.”

  “Figure that out on your own time. I’m not a scumbag tour guide. You want to learn the slang? Hang out in Mesker District again.”

  “I have been. It’s highly entertaining.”

  “Can we get on with this?”

  “You can put that broken nose of yours back in place, S’lunn,” Angie said. “Knowles isn’t locked in to the duck hunter job. Dark is intentionally grooming him to move up into the bigger, better games. Right now, this is the audition. If he can handle winning at tiles while also sussing out who the lame ducks are, then that proves that Dark can trust him to take down some of the whales that come to play tiles here on Jafla.”

  Angie eyed Tipo for a second then grinned. Tipo frowned at the grin.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You don’t know shit about how tile games work, do you?” Angie asked. “You know what a whale is?”

  “I know what a whale is,” Tipo said. “Rich mark that can get taken for everything.”

  “Wrong,” Angie said and sighed. “Let me explain it. A whale is a rich mark, yes. But you can never, not ever, take a whale for everything. You do that and they don’t come back. In fact, you have to let whales win the majority of the time.”

  “Win? What’s the point of that?” Tipo asked.

  “Eight Million Gods,” Angie said and rubbed her face. “You need to branch out from sex trafficking, S’lunn. Learn the other vices better.”

  “Then learn me, man,” Tipo said.

  “You let the whales win, but not in a big way,” Angie said. “They get their small victories. Lots of small victories. Then they lose big. The loss is so big that it makes up for the previous wins. But not so big that it pisses off the whale so they never come back to the game. It is a razor-thin line to walk and you have to have the table under complete control.”

  “All the players work for Gants?” Tipo asked.

  “No, not even close,” Angie said. “Maybe two. Never more than
three, but even that is a risk. Ideally, it’s only one player. The one that wins big, but makes it look like it’s his lucky day, not a setup from the start.”

  “Knowles is that good?”

  “Why the fuck do you think I’m here, S’lunn? Yes, Knowles is that good. And he’s having to prove he’s that good by playing at duck hunting until Dark moves him up to the next level. Then once he’s proved himself there, he gets moved to the next level, and the next, and so on until he’s sitting across from the exact whale that Dark, and more importantly Gants, wants him to be sitting across from.”

  “That could take months,” Tipo said. “Then Knowles has to parlay that into getting in on Orb betting. That’s where the real high rollers are. And those are the rollers that all these people are being trafficked into Jafla Base for. These assholes have appetites that turn beings into disposable pieces of trash. They go through them like napkins.”

  “Oh, I know,” Angie said. “Now, here’s the good news. Ready?”

  “Sure,” Tipo said. “I could use some good news, man.”

  “Knowles isn’t going to have to get in on the Orb betting,” Angie said.

  “Do what now?” Tipo asked. “Hold on. The plan was to—”

  “Calm down, Detective S’lunn,” Angie said. “This is undercover. The plan changes all the time with undercover. Follow the path of least resistance.”

  “What in all the Hells does that mean?”

  “Knowles says he has a better way, a faster way, to get the intel we need on the shipments of captive sex workers. Two better, faster ways. He thinks that he can get into that side of Gants’ business by sticking with the tiles the entire time.”

  “What if he’s wrong? We’ll have wasted months for nothing!” Tipo snapped.

  “Am I gonna have to restrain you, S’lunn?”

  “No. Sorry. Keep talking.”

  “The Lipian whore he’s living with. Knowles got her a better gig within Gants’ outfit. She didn’t have a pimp, and she still doesn’t, but Knowles made it a point to get her a job working the tile joints. She doesn’t work the ones he does at the same time, which is good because then he can quiz her when they meet up back at her place once the sun comes up. He says that she is pretty quick on the uptake, although not exactly smart.”

  “Street smart,” Tipo said. “She knows how to survive which means she’s observant.”

  “I understand street smarts,” Angie replied. “Thanks for the lesson.”

  “How long are we looking at here?” Tipo asked.

  “As long as it takes, but Knowles thinks this will cut the duration of the op in half,” Angie said. She scrunched up her face and exaggerated like she was thinking hard. “Probably less than a year. Might be more, but he’s thinking a year.”

  “A year!” Tipo exclaimed and jumped to his feet. “Xew died over a year ago! You want his widow to wait another year before we can take Gants down for that? No. No! We’re co-managing this op, McDade. And my co-authority is saying Knowles has to move that schedule up by several months!”

  Angie started laughing but quickly stopped.

  “Seriously?” She stood up to face him. “It takes as long as it takes, S’lunn. But, I can see you aren’t going to believe that no matter what I say. Which means it’s time for you and Knowles to meet.”

  “Yes, it is,” Tipo growled. “Way past time, man. I could have nipped this year shit in the bud if you’d let me meet him earlier.”

  “You keep believing that,” Angie said and patted him on the cheek.

  Tipo almost punched her, but he restrained himself. He flexed his fists a few times as the two stood there, each holding their ground.

  “When?” Tipo finally asked. “When will I meet Knowles?”

  “It’ll have to be when he’s done playing,” Angie said. “Tomorrow morning, around dawn. You pick the safest place and I’ll get word to him. Will that work for you, Detective S’lunn?”

  “Yeah, that’ll work for me,” Tipo said. “Let me think about it and I’ll comm you the spot later today.”

  “Don’t be too late,” Angie said as she nodded, turned, and walked to the front door. “It’s not an instant process, getting him a message. I need the location before sundown or he’ll be in a tile game and they jam comms during games to stop collusion.”

  “Give me three hours,” Tipo said.

  “Three hours,” Angie agreed. “Talk then.” She glanced at the hallway as she opened the front door. “Good luck with the widow. Don’t let her suck you dry, S’lunn. Grief has a way of drowning those trying to help.”

  She was out the door and gone before Tipo could reply. Not that he had anything to say.

  He rubbed at the scars on his face and proboscis then looked down the hallway. Reluctantly, since it was the last thing he wanted to do, he walked down to Mess’a’s bedroom door and knocked. He had work to do. Work he disliked, but had to be done. Captain Jorg had insisted.

  14.

  “Hey,” Guska said as she tossed her jacket then her top then her skirt onto the floor just inside her apartment door. “When did you get home?”

  Etch smiled from the small couch at the beauty of Guska’s lack of modesty. The woman shuffled herself to the side of the room that was the kitchen and began hunting in the cooler. The place didn’t have enough room for a full refrigeration unit, but it did have a small cooler that kept perishables from perishing at least for a couple of days.

  “There are leftover noodles,” Etch said. “I snagged some from the buffet at the tile room before I left.”

  “Oh, thank the Eight Million Gods,” Guska said. “I’m starving.”

  “How was your night? Anyone hassle you?” Etch asked as he got up from the couch and walked to the front door.

  “Nope,” Guska said. “A few blowies and three full romps, but no one that I couldn’t handle. Gonna go have a sonic and hit the pillow. You coming to bed?”

  She turned from the cooler, a container of noodles in her hand, and frowned.

  “Hold on. Where the Hells are you going?”

  “Meeting,” Etch said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Keep my side warm, will ya? I’m dead on my feet already and I am so looking forward to sleeping the day away.”

  “Meeting? Okay,” Guska said as she opened the container and began looking around for a fork. “Don’t be too long.”

  “What’s it matter?” Etch asked, hand on door handle. “You’ll be asleep when I get back.”

  “Maybe not,” Guska said without looking at him. She was making a point of concentrating on the noodles once she found a fork. “Maybe I’ll wait up for you.”

  “Oh,” Etch said. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe you should.”

  She finally looked up and he met her eyes. Too much hope in those eyes.

  Etch knew they were getting closer over the weeks he’d been living with her, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t become romantic. That always made undercover super messy. On one hand, it meant she would trust him more and maybe he’d get better intel out of her. On the other hand, if the romance soured, then she’d be useless to him and the op. He couldn’t afford to risk that.

  But he also couldn’t afford to risk alienating her if she was dead set on them progressing to something other than simply being roommates of convenience.

  “Keep my side warm,” he said with as big of a smile as he could muster after being up all night. “Back in a few.”

  He left the apartment fast and shut the door firmly behind him, the look in Guska’s eyes swirling around in his head. He was so distracted by that look that he ran straight into the building’s owner as he came around the corner of the hallway.

  “I’m doubling the rent,” the owner said, a slovenly looking Dornopheous fellow. Full Dornopheous. Guska had been wrong about him having lizard in him. Dornopheous were putty beings, able to form themselves into almost any shape. They were also notorious for melting into puddles of goo when terrified.

  Etch wanted nothing more than t
o make the asshole melt right then and there, but he had to play it cool.

  “Double? Why?” Etch asked.

  The Dornopheous shrugged what might have been considered shoulders. “Double occupancy, double the rent.”

  “Not sure I’m cool with that,” Etch said and made sure the tips of his fingers were very visible to the scumbag landlord. “How about we chat about this later this evening before I head off to work?”

  Etch shoved past the man and headed for the stairs. No lift in the building. Barely anything other than rusty water and bad wiring.

  “Maybe I’ll go talk with Guska right now about it,” the landlord called after Etch.

  Etch paused at the top of the stairs, turned slowly, and fixed his feline eyes on the Dornopheous.

  “She’s getting ready for bed,” Etch said. “Bother her and we won’t be having that conversation over you upping the rent.”

  “Oh, and why’s that?”

  “Because I’ll slash you into tiny putty pieces and shove you down the incinerator chute, asshole,” Etch said in nothing but a calm, cool, even voice. “Or maybe I’ll have my boss do it. You know Dark, right?”

  The landlord’s putty body turned a brilliant pink and he shuffled to put his back against the wall.

  “You… You work for Dark?” he asked.

  “Gotta go,” Etch said without answering the question. “We’ll talk later, right? Since you aren’t going to bother Guska right now? You’ll wait and bring it up with me later?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” the landlord gasped. “Whatever you say.”

  “Exactly,” Etch replied as he started down the stairs. “Whatever I say.”

  It was the first time Etch had invoked Dark’s name. He didn’t like doing it, in case it got back to Dark and pissed her off, but it had the effect he’d hoped it would have. Etch doubted the landlord would go anywhere near Guska’s apartment for a long, long time. They could probably get away with not paying rent at all, but Etch didn’t want to push it.

  Down the stairs and out onto the street, Etch wiped the interaction with the landlord from his mind. Which meant Guska’s obvious desire for them to hook up came rushing back.