Harry Watt Bounty Hunter

by Rob Guy

  The phone rang. Puzzled, Harry went to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, hello. Is that Mr O’Hanlon?”

  Harry sighed. “Yes it is.”

  “Hello, Mr O’Hanlon, this is Miss Perkins from Guest Relations.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, sir. I understand you have a complaint regarding your accommodation?”

  “What? Oh that. No no, that was cleared up days ago. It’s all fine now. Thank you.”

  “Well that’s good to hear. If you have any other issues please don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Well there is still one issue that I would like clearing up.”

  “And what is that, sir?”

  “My name. I spoke with one of your colleagues soon after coming onboard. For some reason you have me checked in as Manny O’Hanlon. My real name is Harry Watt.” Harry decided to keep the explanation as simple as possible.

  “I see. Well, I don’t know how that could have happened. Just let me check, sir.”

  Now this was hopeful. Miss Perkins sounded like someone who knew what they were doing. Yet his mind was racing in anticipation of what was to come. Why was he wasting time with this when there was seduction and romance afoot?

  “I see here that my colleague has made some notes. Oh, I don’t think he needed to put that down! Sorry, Mr O’Hanlon. Boris is not the most conciliatory among us. Oh sorry! There I go. I called you Mr O’Hanlon just now! Sorry about that.”

  “That’s quite all right. All done now is it?”

  “What is, Mr Watt? Ha ha!”

  “Ha ha, very funny. Thank you, Miss Perkins.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Any other issues?”

  “Not right now, no. Thank you.”

  “Well you enjoy the rest of your trip, Mr O’Hanlon. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else resolved.”

  Harry closed his eyes. “I will. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Enjoy the rest of your stay here with us onboard The Dragonfly.”

  “I will. Thank you.” He replaced the receiver. “Merde.”

  Now, back to Raquel’s knickers. Tonight he was going to…..

  The phone rang again.

  “Ce qu'au nom de Dieu…?” He went to lift the receiver once more but then hesitated. He suddenly remembered what Manny had said.

  “What if it’s Headlock? Am I a coward or an honorable man? What would Larry do?” He froze for a moment, hand poised to lift the phone and listen to the interminable rants of a megalomaniac. Who else could it be but Headlock?

  “Hello?”

  “Is that Miss Belch?”

  “Do I sound like a woman?” Harry said, his voice shifting up an octave.

  “Actually you do. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Of course! Never better! What can I do for you my good man?”

  “Erm, so you’re not Miss Belch then, I take it?”

  “Spot on, dear boy! What’s up?”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm here. If you’re not Miss Belch then you must be, err, oh yes, Mr O’Hanlon. Is that you?”

  “Oh Mr Hanlon! Yes that’s me, absolutely it is, yes indeedy. But Miss Belch isn’t here right now. She’s busy getting ready for the time of her life!”

  “I see. Well, when you see her, please let her know her dry cleaning is ready for pick up. Can you do that please?”

  “Absolutely I can. No problem at all. Was there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Err, no thank you, Mr O’Hanlon. Be sure to pass the message on, won’t you?”

  “I will, don’t worry. Bye now, bye bye.”

  Harry replaced the receiver as if it was made of the most fragile material known to man. He closed his eyes and thought. Over the past few days he had all but forgotten about Headlock. But recent events had once again brought his scoundrel boss to the fore. His blithe plan to explain to him that two collars were better than one somehow didn’t quite fit the bill anymore. He paced the room, waiting and waiting for the phone to ring again, somehow sensing that the next time it rang it would be the bloody Judge. For ten minutes there was nothing, then, inevitably, the damn phone sang out its death knell.

  “Mr O’Hanlon?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I have a call for you, Mr Justice Headlock. It’s a secure channel sir, using the sub-ether band. Wow, this guy must be worth a few credits.”

  All that meant was that their transmission would be instantaneous. The Judge was demonstrating he had wealth as well as influence to pay for a sub-ether call. All Man had to do was figure out a way to attached a spaceship to the signal and the StrateLine Drive would be obsolete before it had barely started.

  Harry sighed, and closed his eyes once more. Taking a deep breath he opened them, ready to take his punishment like a man.

  “Sir? Are you there?”

  “I am here. You may put him through.”

  “Connecting you now.”

  A few seconds of static again whilst the connection was made.

  “Hello? Watt? Are you there?”

  “Judge! Hello. How are you?”

  Start off cheery, try and put him in a good mood.

  “Actually I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking. How are you?”

  How am I? What kind of a question is that?

  “I’m well too, Judge, thanks. Listen, about my little ruse. I can explain. But before I do, please tell me you haven’t issued any paperwork with my name on it.”

  “Oh, ha ha! Of course not. Don’t be silly. I know you had your reasons for disobeying me. To be honest I was expecting it. I think sometimes I never give you enough credit for your initiative.”

  “Wow. Well, what can I say to that but thank you. I thought you’d be hopping mad. I thought you were going to put me through the ringer.”

  “Ha ha! The thought did cross my mind, but I thought to myself, well, Harry knows what he’s doing, I should allow him to play this out, see where it goes….”

  As the Judge spoke, Harry sensed his Honor was not being entirely truthful with his praise. He waited for the conversation to turn into the inevitable shit-storm.

  “…. So I commend your forethought. Speak to Rogers and Hammerstein, and see if you can get them to return voluntarily.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “You still have your .45 don’t you? Ha ha! Don’t worry, only joking. I assume you have Manny onboard the Flying Dart?”

  “Yes. Wasn’t easy.”

  “How much, may I ask?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Wow! Manny’s getting expensive. I’ll see what I can do. How are you for money? It can’t have been cheap getting a flight to Venus at such short notice.”

  Where the hell is all this going?

  “I’m okay thanks, Judge. Thanks for wiring the initial ten so promptly.”

  “Well, as I said this is a special case. I needed my best man on it. That’s you in case you’re wondering. Ha ha!”

  Definitely not right this. He’s never this bloody chipper. I have blatantly disobeyed his instructions. He knows of my suspicions regarding Rogers. And how does this Hammerstein fit into it all?

  “Keep me appraised, Harry. Good luck. And goodbye.”

  That was it. Short and sweet, with an undertone of menace. Harry was stunned. He replayed the conversation in his head, over and over. Had the Judge just given him the green light to pursue Rogers and Hammerstein? Why would he do that, when only a few hours ago he was denying they even existed? Harry was too good an ex Bureau guy to believe that Headlock wanted nothing less than total co-operation from him. Was he being played? If so, to what end? But what if he wasn’t? What if the Judge really did want him to use his Bureau skills to go after the delinquent duo?

  God, all this to-ing and fro-ing was making his brain ache. He decided that for tonight, at least, the job could wait. It was time to devote the rest of the evening to the delectable Raquel. He went into the bathroom to shower and shave
and to put on his finest raiment. He sang cheerily, dabbing the foam onto his cheeks. He performed a little jig, before finishing his shave and stepping into the tiny shower cubicle. Once finished, he dried himself off, and put on his best clothes and aftershave, and waited. And waited.

  It is often said that anticipation of an event can be more thrilling than the event itself. And that was all Harry was going to experience on this matter. Upon her return to the room, Raquel was as cold as a Triton winter. Poor Harry couldn’t understand it. She explained that she had been overcome in the moment and now that moment had passed. She didn’t even apologize. Was she truly without compassion?! It took all of Harry’s self control to nod while smiling inanely, and hence excuse himself from the room.

  He wandered the corridor looking for something, or someone even, to hit. He was now extremely worked up, coiled tighter than the finest watch spring, like a cobra ready to strike, like a camel’s asshole in a sand storm.

  Presented with this situation, he did what any honorable, well-respected professional would do. He got drunk; blind, legless, insensibly and speechlessly inebriated. He had heard a story about a space marine on leave from the Boondocks who had spent his entire three-day furlough hooked up to an I.V. of pure grain alcohol. Whether that story was true or not, he was going to get like that guy if it killed him.

  “And another thing!” Harry slurred, pointing a finger at the man sat to his left.

  “What?” said the man.

  “Yes?”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Say? Oh yes. Sorry. I thought you were talking to me.”

  “No. You were talking to me.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Behind the counter, the barman watched this interaction with amused interest. He had seen numerous sots come and go through his bar, some happy-go-lucky, some drowning their sorrows after a visit to the Dragonfly’s excuse for a casino. Then there were those who simply, for whatever reason, wanted to forget the world for just a few hours. But this guy, well, he took drinking to a whole new level. It wasn’t company policy to tell a paying passenger that they had had one too many. After all, that’s what paying passengers were for, to pay for things. And if that meant allowing some of them to spend a small fortune imbibing then all the better. However, Bill the barman was on the verge of having to say to Harry that it was time to hit the road, or more accurately the corridor outside The Jolly Spaceman. Besides, he was nearly out of cosmic gin, something this guy was drinking by the bushel.

  “So what did you want to say?” asked Harry’s drinking buddy.

  Harry thought hard about this. The dull weight behind his eyes had grown steadily heavier as the drinking bout had progressed, and this did not help his thinking process. He waited, and so did his drinking buddy and Bill.

  “I can’t remember,” he finally announced.

  “Well I’ve just remembered I’m playing pseudo-golf in the morning, so I need to get some shut eye,” said Ralph, Harry’s new friend.

  “Oh no, stay, stay,” Harry insisted, patting Ralph on the shoulders then pushing him back into his seat.

  “Besides, it’s already morning,” Bill informed them.

  “It is? When?”

  “About three hours ago. You two have been the only ones in here for the last two. It’s been great, but I too need to clear up and get ready for breakfast.”

  “Ooh yes please!” said Harry, clenching his fists in anticipation of food.

  “You need to go, now, sir,” Bill told him, lightly, but firmly.

  “Go? Where?”

  Harry, his conscious soul already locked in the second ring of Hell, had been unable to prevent his corporeal self falling into the third ring of ordure. He looked upon the barman with just enough comprehension as to warrant pity.

  “Back to your cabin, sir.”

  “Ah! Well that’s where you’re mistaken my good man,” Harry said waving a finger in front of the barman’s face. Unwise. “You see, there are no cabins on the Butterfly. There are staterooms I think you’ll find, staterooms aplenty, but no, definitely no cabins.”

  “Well you need to go back to yours, sir. I need to get ready for….”

  “Breakfast. Yes! I know, you already told me that. Could I have pancakes, please?”

  “Yes you can have pancakes, pancakes aplenty. Why don’t you go back to your cabin and …”

  “Stateroom.”

  “Okay. Stateroom. Why don’t you go back to your stateroom, and I’ll rustle you some up quicker than you can say Rumpelstiltskin.”

  “Rumpelstiltskin! Ha! Where are my pancakes?”

  Bill put down the glass he was cleaning. Ralph very discreetly put his own glass down, slid off his barstool, and made an equally discreet exit on tiptoe.

  “Okay, sir,” said Bill leaning in. Harry, still unaware of his imminent ejection, also leaned in, eager to hear what the nice barman had to say. “Here’s the deal. Get up and walk out now, or, if you prefer, don’t get up and walk out now, and instead, glide out of here on a hover gurney bound for the infirmary. How does that sound?”

  Harry frowned, thinking hard. Unknown to him it had been around twenty minutes since his last drink and slowly the cloud was beginning to lift from his troubled brow. He looked at Bill the barman, smiling at him, but smiling like a man about to steal your wallet.

  “I can’t go back to my cabin, stateroom, whatever,” he said quietly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s there.”

  “Who?”

  “Betty, of course.”

  “And who’s Betty?” Bill asked, pressing a button under the counter.

  “Ah, who is Betty indeed? I wish I knew. I can’t get near her. Imagine. Me, Larry Twat, prime investigator and righter of wrongs, reduced to drinking all night because of a woman.”

  Bill the barman leaned back, and spread his hands across the bar. “You think you’re the first sap to do that? Is this what this is all about, a woman?”

  Harry nodded, then wished he hadn’t. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

  “Look, Mr Twat.” Harry opened his eyes, his face glowering. He looked behind him but there was no Mr Twat. “I like you, okay? Boy, you can put the sauce away. But it’s time to go now. These two gentlemen will escort you back to your room. Please go quietly otherwise you may break something. Okay?”

  Harry turned around again to see two broad-shouldered, square jawed security guards standing in the doorway. His smile was one of understanding, and he quickly realized where he was, and what he had been doing for the last five hours. He was suddenly quite sober.

  “Very well, er…” He pointed a finger at Bill.

  “Bill.”

  “Very well, Bill. And thank you for a swell evening. We must do it again sometime.”

  “Yes indeed. Get some sleep. I’ll have your pancakes waiting.”

  Harry smiled wistfully, and slipped, rather than stepped, off his bar stool. He walked towards the guards, who, after a hands off signal from Bill, stepped out of his way and allowed him to pass between them. Harry bid them goodnight, and one of the men dipped his cap and wished him the same.

  Part III

  Venus Station

  6

  Angel

  The Dragonfly fell into a synchronous orbit with Venus Station nine days and five hours after leaving Earth orbit. This gargantuan relic had been built during the great onrush of colonization in the latter years of the last century. It had been designed in the classic style, and resembled a huge, spinning, white cartwheel, some two kilometres in diameter, with its central hub connected by six spokes. Though it was showing its age, the Station was still an important stop off for all inner planet traffic. Below it spun another marvel of the inner solar system. Venus hung like a gigantic, scarred pearl amidst the proximity and frenzy of the Sun; an opaque ball, beautiful, yet deadly to human life. But not for much longer. The planet was slowly
giving up its secrets, as Man strove to take control of the atmosphere and tame this hostile world.

  The docking was being delayed due to an unforeseen rodent scare on the Station. Apparently the last ship to dock, an ageing Clipper class rust bucket out of New New Delhi had, along with its cargo of exotic silks, inadvertently deposited a dozen or so rats. Due to industrial action by the union in charge of scanning and decontamination, these furry little bastards had hopped aboard unnoticed, and had then proceeded to do what it is that furry little bastards do when left to hang out in dark, secluded areas. Their spawn then progressed to eating their way through half the Station’s supply of dehydrated foods and toilet paper. Harry didn’t mind rats. Hopefully they were chewing their way through any spiders they might encounter as well. What he did mind was the delay. This just seemed another unwarranted mishap that he unfortunately had no control over. And he still wasn’t sure if the Judge was leading him on. His turn of face just wasn’t like him. For all he knew he was at this very moment engaging some troublesome flatfoot to seek him out.

  Harry parted with Raquel on good terms, though thankful that their brief liaisons were finally over. She had become too much of a distraction, making him lose focus, which wasn’t like him. It was high time to get back on the case. He had decided that yes, she was a beauty, and yes she was fun, but he had had enough of flirting and trying to get her in the sack. Yes, his sack was full, but there would be a chance to rectify that. Venus Station had a System wide famous cathouse, Delilah’s. And even the Mars’ shuttles had their own knocking shops. It was still a long trip, even with the new StrateLine Drive. Yes, he would make straight for Delilah’s, no messing around.

  Yet over the last few days Raquel had been quiet, almost withdrawn. The best word to describe her disposition during that time would be morose. Harry wasn’t that much of a fool to think it was purely down to any missed opportunities between them. It was something else, but there was no time now to ask what it might be. He had to make the next Mars ship, the StrateLine Cruiser Infinity Wing, leaving the day after next, and those bloody rats weren’t helping matters.