Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy

by Steven Campbell

  As I entered Zadeck’s block, the populace and atmosphere changed immediately. They had painted all the walls garish colors and there were statues and sculptures everywhere.

  Not everyone was a violent criminal on Belvaille; some were merely thieves or economic rule-breakers who wanted to enjoy the spoils of their labors. Zadeck, and the boutiques of his block, provided the comforts those folks were expecting.

  Women walked with parasols and big frilly dresses. Men had on the most constrictive, flamboyant suits. To me it seemed like the wealthier you were, the more your clothes had to be nonfunctional. I doubted any of these people could even scratch their ears without falling down.

  In one sense, they looked like easy prey for the scum of Belvaille. But the pit in my gut told me how and why Zadeck stayed above the fray and how this block was as secure as just about any place in the Colmarian Confederation.

  It was true there was no Colmarian on Belvaille I was afraid of. However, one non-Colmarian did frighten me, and that was Zadeck’s bodyguard, Wallow.

  Wallow was a native of Thereze. One of about a thousand who were allowed off their home planet. A galactic-wide war almost erupted when their species was first discovered.

  Therezians were undyingly loyal. They weren’t stupid, but they were just faithful for reasons no one could quite fathom. Once they attached themselves to someone, they stayed with them until death, doing nearly whatever was requested.

  And since even a short Therezian was still over thirty-five feet tall and resistant to anything short of snorting a black hole, their service was pretty noticeable. All the major empires agreed that Thereze would be one of the few truly neutral planets with no emigration allowed, other than the handful that had already left. Because no one relished the idea of Therezian conscripts marching into battle.

  Zadeck acquired Wallow, no one knows how. It was the unlikeliest of arrangements having a Therezian on such a backwater space station as Belvaille. Wallow could literally, I mean literally, be a king on some planet. He was one of a thousand in the known galaxy.

  Zadeck had absolute power—within reach of Wallow’s considerable arm. Though for all Wallow’s glory, it had been made absolutely clear to Zadeck by all the bosses and even Garm: you can keep your block of fancy stores, we’ll stay out of it. However, if Wallow steps foot into our turf, while we might not be able to hurt him, we’ll kill you.

  Wallow waited outside of Zadeck’s pad, the very building I had to enter. Great. He often patrolled the block, the aristocracy of Belvaille relishing the protection of his shadow. Yet they weren’t so haughty they didn’t get out of his way lest they get squashed under his Therezian feet.

  I approached the gilded door. A hand about the size of me touched down, blocking my path. It possessed only three long fingers with no digits.

  “What you want?” the voice above me boomed.

  Therezians didn’t have many bones, the joints being weak points for their ponderous weight. They had no noticeable necks and I heard they only had five vertebrae. Their brows and cheekbones and chins protruded, presumably because they fell on their faces a lot and it was protection, but it made them look like they were always scowling. Their clumsy hands prevented them from being exactly great toolmakers. Other than that, however, they looked like an average Colmarian blown up to extreme proportions.

  The ritzy citizens of Belvaille calmly moved as quickly as they could away from us.

  “I’m here to see Zadeck. He told me to come.”

  “Who are you?” Wallow asked.

  He had bent down, his face a “mere” twenty feet away now. I knew Wallow. He knew me. But I also knew he didn’t like me.

  Therezians were a gentle race. But there are jerks in any species. Wallow would likely be the equivalent of a homicidal maniac among Therezians. Which just meant he had a bad attitude by Colmarian standards. If you gave me fifty years and infinite pickaxes, I doubt I could even break Wallow’s skin, which is why it not only frightened me but confused me why he gave me such a hard time.

  “Wallow, it’s me, Hank. I just did a job for your boss.”

  Wallow squinted, and he crouched closer as if doing so might make our conversation private instead of being audible to anyone within three blocks, which it was.

  “Boss don’t need you, he has me. You watch your step.”

  I briefly thought it was ironic him telling me to watch my step. But I merely nodded and went inside the door after Wallow had straightened.

  Inside it looked like a palace. Every surface was covered in rare metals and jewels that reflected the light so much it hurt your eyes. Servants were deployed polishing and buffing, and they were as much a decoration and sign of wealth as the items they worked on.

  I made myself known to the security guards. The two types of people I dealt with were the bosses, because they gave me jobs, and the hoodlums, because they were the job. Anyone with a gun was a potential buddy as I saw it.

  Zadeck was in his office, looking twitchy, which didn’t seem good. He was a thin guy with long, slick hair. He dressed impeccably in tight black synth, a few silver chains draped across his chest. He was stylish in an androgynous way. I had only dealt with him a handful of times and never in person. Zadeck was the kind of guy who liked to work through his underlings, which is how I had unfortunately come to know Wallow.

  “I want to thank you for taking care of all this, Hank.”

  “It’s not taken care of,” I replied.

  “What do you mean? They’ve already delivered most of the product.”

  “But those shippers haven’t been paid. They’re holed up in the Marine Marina.”

  “I don’t see what’s left,” Zadeck said dismissively.

  “You still owe them money.”

  “How’s that your affair?” he snapped.

  “What is it with you all today? I’m trying to save everyone a bolt to the head and people keep throwing rocks at me.”

  Zadeck looked stunned. One of the bouncers popped his head in.

  “Any trouble, Hank?”

  “You don’t work for him, you work for me!” Zadeck said, red-faced.

  The bouncer left after he saw nothing was going on.

  “Do you not have the money?”

  “I have the money.” Zadeck was insulted.

  “And you just want to…cut them out?”

  “It’s going to be my last order from this organization. So I figured I might as well—”

  “Okay, that’s not going to work. You need to pay them. At least some.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are a dozen armed guys at the hotel with probably a dozen more still on their ship. And they came to Belvaille, so we can guess they know how to fight. And they know you owe them 1.3 million.”

  “I’m not worried about a few men and their guns.” He waved off the idea as if he were sweeping it away with a broom. This was the problem with having a Wallow.

  “They’re going to want their money. And they’re going to come here looking for it. A battle like that is going to cause a lot of damage, which will piss the dust out of Garm. And it’s going to bring unnecessary attention when a transport hauler vanishes.”

  “Garm has an interest in the completion of this as well,” Zadeck said coolly.

  “Yeah, but it’s not complete. Killing two dozen men won’t make it complete. Because they’re just going to send more and next time it’s going to be assassins.”

  I’ve been in on double-crosses before. It’s part of the life. But I don’t like them. You don’t want to be the guy known for setting up betrayals. I made those sailors a promise and I wanted to deliver as best I could.

  “So then you’re telling me I have to pay the full amount? What did I need you for, then?”

  “Now you ask me! Pay them 80% of what you owe.”

  “Did you already negotiate this?”

  “No, but that’s what I think you can get away with,” I stated plainly.

  “Isn’t
that just something you made up? Why not 70%?”

  “Because that won’t work.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because this is what I do for a living,” I said with irritation. “Look, I’m happy to go give them whatever you want. You’re calling the shots. But if you want the opinion of the guy who has put together nearly every one of these deals for the last 170 years, 80% will make everyone relatively satisfied.”

  “Fine. Fine.” Zadeck went to his desk where he kept his tele—odd place for it—and punched out some credits. He gave me a token.

  “I’ll also need about 5 grand for the hotel bill.”

  “Then it’s more than 80%,” Zadeck said.

  “Yes, and my fee will make it even more. But it’s well under 100%. No one died. No property was damaged. And your reputation will still be solid on and off station.”

  “And what is your fee?” Zadeck asked slyly.

  “My fee is whatever you feel I deserve.”

  I stared him square in the eyes.

  I loved this part. You could see him stewing as he looked down at his tele. Belvaille was a small town, especially at the top. If Zadeck were to become known as cheap, that could have a pretty serious impact, especially among his current elite clients.

  This liquor shipment was obviously the biggest deal he had done, and he was trying to make a power move into the upper echelons. And I was a guy who lived in the upper echelons—or at least at the fringes of it.

  He beamed 35,000 to my tele. It was a very generous price and I was absolutely ready to treat Zadeck with respect and let bygones be bygones.

  I thanked him and said I would take care of the sailors. Once paid, Zadeck dismissed me like I was a household servant. That’s fine, everyone has their quirks.

  Outside the office, the bouncers walked with me and I filled them in. They had gossiped like mad after I arrived, as news of the shipment was already circulating. I chewed the fat a bit and took my leave.

  I decided to wait until tomorrow to break the news to the sailors. By that time they would have had a chance to celebrate being off-ship for a while. The way I figured it, they’d party a bit then head back home after they were sick of the place—Belvaille was not exactly a premier tourist attraction.

  Outside I was pleased to not see Wallow. I had nearly exited the block when I heard him behind me.

  “You! Hank! Don’t come back.”

  Not sure how something that big could move so fast—I certainly couldn’t—but out of nowhere he was suddenly looming overhead.

  “I’ll go where I please,” I said, quite tired of this whole block and its residents.

  I opened my eyes and saw a fruity-looking man with a gem-studded eye patch kneeling over me. His name was Gastolionep, and he used to be station muscle until he got his eye shot out and now he was a butler for some rich guy.

  “Hank. Hank. You okay?” he asked with concern.

  I looked around and saw I was no longer in Zadeck’s block and that I was lying on my back.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Wallow,” he began with trepidation. “He kicked you.”

  CHAPTER 5

  I was icing my spinning head after being punted, but I had a fat load of credits in my pocket, which can make the worst bludgeoning not feel so bad. I took the train downtown and decided to hit the casinos.

  The Astrone was the best of the bunch. Had the prettiest dealers and waitresses, high stakes, good booze, and usually no one died.

  “Hank, good to see you,” one of the doormen exclaimed. I shook his hand and pressed him a few credits.

  “Let the good times roll,” I said with a grin.

  The casino interior was lavish. It had fantastic items from across the Confederation: there was a visual strobe device that assaulted your eyes by tricking your pupils opened and closed and left you feeling disoriented; it had displays of sex clothes from a hundred planets, the point being that most looked pretty hilarious; and the owner of this club liked smells, so a scent symphony played across my nasal passages; and it had chairs to accommodate every type of physiology.

  Gamblers, their security in tow, did their best to forget they were exiled on the furthest known Colmarian inhabitation. Inside I talked up Zadeck to everyone. Said he was now a player and guys should keep a look out for him. This was the kind of information that really interested folks.

  After about eight hours of this I was pretty damn tired and drunk. I get drunk like anyone else, but I don’t get sloppy. I hate it when people turn into some other person when they drink or do drugs. To me that says they got something to hide, they don’t like themselves enough to show off their real skin when they’re sober.

  I’m exactly the same person wasted as sober. I just sweat a lot more and spit when I talk.

  My table was crowded because I had been buying drinks and drugs all night, paying courtesans to sit next to me and look pretty, and listening to guys tell their latest exploits of daring-do. I liked listening to people’s stories and that’s good, because people love telling them. There’s almost nothing folks like more than talking about themselves.

  While there wasn’t a star or planet Belvaille orbited, and thus no designated night and day, for convenience and maybe just to avoid plain loneliness, most people stuck to the same clock and it was indeed very late. The playful banter was gone and nothing was left but the dead stares of hardcore gamblers and my own thoughts to keep me company.

  I had wasted enough money so I passed a few credits to the dealer and waved good-bye. People came and shook my hand, said they’d tele me later, got some chaste kisses on the cheek. I was just tired and feeling a bit down.

  One of the casino owner’s private guards came by as I was nearing the door.

  “Hey, if you got a minute, the boss would like a word.”

  If Tamshius qua-Froyeled asks if you got a minute, you usually give it. He was the biggest of the big bosses on the station and one of my most regular employers. I can’t count the number of jobs I had done for him over the decades.

  “Sure,” I said, swinging over gamely to follow the guard.

  He took me down a dark corridor I had walked many times before. It was extremely narrow and long. The purpose was that if the casino was ever attacked, his assailants would have to line up single file and be easy targets for fifty yards.

  The guard knocked on the door and an elderly voice from inside bid us enter.

  “Hank,” Tamshius said happily as he strode across the magnificent room to greet me. Tamshius’ office was decorated with artwork and antique weapons from his home planet.

  Lots of primitive firearms and pictures of women with outrageous makeup. The man himself was old and thin and had tufts of white hair on the sides of his head that were styled to stick out like squares. He wore rich gold and blue robes and his fingernails were painted with bright, reflective colors.

  “Tamshius, it’s good to see you,” I said. Colmarians were very forgiving with names as a necessity. I couldn’t pronounce Tamshius’ last name anywhere near how it was supposed to be pronounced, my vocal chords not being properly designed for the task. But I could at least get close with his first name, so that’s how I addressed him.

  As simple as my name was, I was often called variations of “Han,” “Yank,” “An,” “Kank,” and things in between. I didn’t care.

  The guard left us, closing the door, and Tamshius handed me a bottle.

  “A small gift, since you’ve honored us with your presence at my casino.”

  The booze was very classy stuff. It was worth maybe a hundred credits on the station.

  “Thank you, Tamshius,” I said, bowing. “You are gracious in your hospitality.” I didn’t understand Tamshius’ culture at all. It seemed stuffy and overly polite at times, while incredibly offensive at others. But everyone was a refugee on Belvaille, and if you could evoke a person’s home traditions it could go a long way in putting you in their good graces.

  �
�I wished to talk to you of a matter close to my heart and disturbing to my mind,” Tamshius said. “If you have a moment could you sit with me?”

  “Of course,” I said, and sat in the chair he indicated. He too sat down, not behind his imposing desk, as most bosses would, but in a seat next to me. One of purposely lesser quality than the seats he provided for his guests.

  “There is a man by the name of Oluviastian-Jos…,” he began, waiting for me.

  “I know him,” I said after deciphering the accented name.

  “…who in the manner of gambling, has come to owe me a sum of money I consider to be prohibitive.”

  “May I enquire the total?”

  “80,000,” he said flatly.

  I flinched, as I already understood the problem.

  “Oluv-Jos will not be able to repay that amount,” I said.

  While I might hit the jackpot now and then and get jobs like today that paid me many thousands of credits, most regulars had a real job with a steady salary. Oluv-Jos probably wasn’t paid that in an entire year.

  “I was afraid of that,” Tamshius said.

  “How was he given that much of a tab?” I asked. “Your dealers should know who he is and what he can foot.”

  “I have spoken to the parties and it seems to have been a legitimate error in judgment. I have taken necessary actions. What are your recommendations on this?”

  This was why I liked Tamshius. He did his thing, he trusted me to do mine. I came in here and felt like he treated me like an expert, not a glorified trash man.

  “Oluv-Jos works for Ddewn. Either Ddewn takes over the debt or you try and collect from Oluv-Jos. Either case I see as unlikely. Ddewn will not want to see his boy be under your thumb, but he will be even less interested in personally owing you money.”

  Tamshius scratched his chin thoughtfully, his multicolored fingernails glittering.

  “Will he be prepared to go to war to protect this situation?”

  I really had to think about this. Up until now it was fine being tired and hazy, but now I couldn’t just make from-the-hip pronouncements. I sat there mulling for a good few minutes.

  Ddewn was another boss, a big one. He had a lot of very rough guys in his employ and controlled turf other people wouldn’t touch. He was not a pleasant man even as gang bosses went.