Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy

by Steven Campbell

  “I think he will fight,” I said. “If he can save face, there may be ways out of it. At the moment nothing comes to mind.”

  “Thank you for your most candid response. It is times like these I truly value the breadth of your wisdom.” Tamshius bowed.

  “I think you’re the only person on Belvaille who accuses me of being smart,” I answered.

  “You underestimate yourself. I also heard you did some work today for the one known as Zadeck.”

  “That’s right.”

  “An important man?” It was a question laden with subtlety. I wanted to be careful here. My motto of never taking sides certainly applied to people I worked for. I could give the facts, but I didn’t want to give information that Zadeck would consider unfaithful.

  “He is growing in importance,” I answered delicately.

  “Do you think it prudent for me to eliminate him as a concern? Especially if there may be a coming storm with Ddewn.”

  I exhaled and thought about this.

  “In addition to Wallow, I believe he has some support from Garm,” I cautioned.

  “Bah.” Tamshius waved his hand dismissively and his pleasant brow furrowed. “People speak her name like children fearing robots. She can be killed like any other.”

  This was quite a surprising sentiment. Tamshius was usually very controlled, but perhaps there had been some recent fallout between him and Garm.

  “With all due respect, I have lived through four Adjuncts, a Lance Major, and for a few years, Common Rule. By far the best leader for Belvaille has been Garm. And she’s easy on the eyes.”

  “Yes, I know,” Tamshius said dejectedly. “Do you know that Adjunct Overwatch Monhsendary tried to have me murdered?”

  “Yes, I was there.”

  “Of course,” he chuckled. “I am forgetting who I am speaking with.”

  Tamshius stood up, so I did as well.

  “Again, I want to thank you for your help,” Tamshius said, bowing.

  “My pleasure.” I bowed back.

  “If I may enquire, how much did you spend tonight at my facility?”

  I sighed deeply, mostly because I didn’t want to remember it.

  “10,000.”

  “To the exact credit?” he asked curiously.

  I checked my tele.

  “To the exact credit, yes.”

  This seemed to please Tamshius and he went to his desk.

  “For your time and beneficial advice,” he said, and he beamed me 10,000.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, bowing again.

  “Can I reserve your assistance if I should require help with the Ddewn affair?” he asked, correctly attributing the concern to the boss and not his underling despite the origins of the debt.

  “I await your inquiry and will do the best I can.”

  “I can ask nothing more,” he answered.

  Tamshius showed me out and I walked the long hall with my free bottle of high-end booze and a spring in my step. I was back to my original total despite an excellent night of much-needed excitement.

  The guards were anxious for information on what was going down, but I told them it wasn’t something I could speak about at the moment, which they took as a dark omen.

  CHAPTER 6

  As soon as I got out of sight of the casino, I was accosted by Rendrae. He was the owner, editor, operator, and often reporter of The News.

  He was an overweight man with a greenish complexion and horrible sense of fashion. He always wore a baggy, orange plastic overcoat that had what looked like a thousand pockets, and he wore a purple hat that was reminiscent of a sad, crumpled boot planted upside-down on his head. I always wondered if he cultivated as harmless an image as possible in order to put people at ease.

  He had informants in just about every corner of the station. I don’t think a cockroach farted without Rendrae knowing what it had eaten. He was annoying as hell but his articles were incredibly accurate, and people placed a lot of stock in how they were represented in the paper. I had to grudgingly give him credit for being so non-partisan. Rendrae had learned just like I had that the best way to survive was to stay impartial.

  “Hank! I got you on the front page, did you see?”

  I was too tired to jockey with him. But I had to walk to the train anyway.

  “No, I haven’t seen it. I told you I don’t like being quoted.”

  I called up the front page on my tele. He had already highlighted it for me.

  Hank affirms the likelihood of an upcoming precipitous turf war is “likely” given the preponderance of goodies procured lately and the growing animosity between the legitimate businesses. When pressed about the most likely area of concern, he seemed to give special recognition to blocks 30 through 40.

  I groaned. Some people were going to be mad at me for saying that.

  While everyone knew Belvaille was crooked, we still pretended we weren’t. Though not very well. Consequently, The News wrote all its stories in code. “Goodies” were weapons, “legitimate businesses” were…not, etc.

  “Why’d you have to say my name? Aren’t you supposed to say ‘anonymous sources’?”

  He gave me a dirty look.

  “If I say that, it’s just hearsay. If I put you down, it’s like a real thing. So I heard about your adventure in the warehouses today. Interesting stuff,” he said coaxingly.

  The train seemed far away.

  “So Hank, who has the most to lose in a fight?”

  “Same as always, the people with the most to lose. Belvaille isn’t getting any bigger.”

  Rendrae wrote this down as we walked. No one would allow him to record anything.

  “Zadeck,” he began. “I’ve been thinking he might deserve a higher ranking in the top-twenty list. What’s your take?”

  “What is he now?”

  “Nothing.”

  I thought about this. It would certainly be quoted and certainly have an effect on the day-to-day activities on Belvaille—far more than me running my mouth at a casino. Still, it could piss off anyone who got displaced.

  “I think he has an opportunity in front of him and how he handles it will affect his ranking.”

  “A bit esoteric,” Rendrae answered sourly. “Talk to our readers here, Hank. You know their intelligence level.”

  There was just something about Rendrae’s voice and overall manner that broke down your normal barriers. I wondered if he was a mutant with some kind of mind-influencing ability.

  “He’s a rising star,” I said.

  Rendrae scribbled madly, as if my simple sentence would evaporate if not committed immediately to storage.

  “Woohoo, exciting times, exciting times, Hank. And the both of us in the thick of it like always. Though you more so of course,” he added humbly.

  I looked at his raggedy jacket and misshapen hat. Rendrae was almost certainly rich with his monopoly newspaper. In fact, if the “Most Influential” list were ever truly reported, Garm would be one and Rendrae would be two. Actually, Wallow would probably be first if it was simply listing raw power.

  The train came and we said our farewells, Rendrae waddling back in the direction of the casinos.

  The next day I sat eating curry and eggs in a small diner. I was right by the door. That was one of the advantages of being hard to maim, I could sit with my back to everyone and not especially worry about getting shot. My joke was that the ideal restaurant for Belvaille had sixty chairs and sixty corners for those chairs to have their backs against.

  I knew all the best foods to eat on Belvaille, and all the restaurants knew what I ordered. The cook himself came out to see if I enjoyed it, like they did at fancy places. Except he was wearing a hairnet and smelled of old sweat.

  After my meal I thought about the city’s present troubles.

  I didn’t like gang wars. I could potentially make a lot of money, but everyone was so desperate and demanding it was hard to stay neutral. You’re either with me or against me, they all seemed to say.
Then it turned into a gamble when you chose sides.

  One time I tried to sit out a war. Just stick my head in the ground until it passed. And someone blew up my apartment. I was just hanging around doing nothing for a month, and boom. The worst attack on me since I’d been on Belvaille. So I figured I might as well get paid if folks were going to try and bring a building down on me.

  I arrived in Deadsouth, the slummiest part of the station. But a romping good place to look for drugs. Specifically, floppy-eared Jyen’s drugs.

  Deadsouth didn’t look much different from the rest of Belvaille except the streets were littered with refuse and people slept everywhere. You practically had to step over them. There were plenty of vacant buildings in the city, but I suppose some people like being outdoors.

  No street vendors were going to be able to fill Jyen’s request, so I went looking around for some contacts. But my resources down here were thin. This wasn’t my scene.

  I finally inched my way up the totem pole to Grever Treest. I was hoping he would have what I was looking for or at least a good portion. I knew him by name only and not even that well.

  I buzzed his door and I could tell he was scanning me. Not sure if he knew who I was, but he was probably weighing whether or not to open the door.

  After a moment he cracked it open. He had long greasy hair, which I’m pretty sure is some galactic rule all drug dealers have to possess. He had a sharp nose and was probably handsome to the ladies. I personally had a motto of “always look for the ugliest drug dealer possible.” Handsome people made bad killers and drug dealers—they had too many better options in life.

  “Hello?” he asked through the cracked door.

  “I’m looking for some drugs,” I said, standing in the hallway. I decided I was just going to be upfront. I don’t think Garm’s police even bothered with Deadsouth.

  “Uh, who sent you?” he asked warily. I swear, even on Belvaille, drug dealers had to be the most skittish people in existence.

  “Does it matter? Look, I need a list filled.”

  He appraised me for a while.

  “Are you Hank?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, not knowing if that would be good or bad.

  He opened the door warily. Inside it was just a normal apartment, slightly messy. It was a version thirty-one layout. There were only fifty or so different types of apartments in the whole city. I lived in a version fifteen, which was larger but had fewer rooms. It smelled like incense inside and there were music holograms on the walls.

  Grever closed the door and faced me, looking uneasy. I handed him Jyen’s list to get right down to business.

  “I need this,” I said.

  He looked it over for a while.

  “Wow, this is some zippy-duty stuff. I didn’t think you did drugs.”

  “I didn’t say they were for me. That’s just what I need.”

  “Who’s it for?” he asked.

  That struck me as an odd thing to request.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Oh, I’m just—,” he stammered. “You know, with the way things have been going lately, I just want to, you know, be sure who I’m dealing with.”

  “You’re dealing with me. That’s all,” I said calmly.

  Grever looked over the list again.

  “A few of these, more than a few, probably aren’t anywhere in the entire state of Ginland. I don’t even know what this one is,” he said, pointing.

  “How much of it can you get?”

  He took a deep breath and started adding it up. Then he bit his lower lip.

  “Uh, this is going to cost a lot of credits to put together.”

  “Give me an idea.”

  “Well, a lot.”

  “I’m on a schedule here. Do I have to go elsewhere?”

  He added it up for a bit.

  “I can get half of this. It’ll cost about…” Grever paused, looking at me closely. “15,000.”

  That was about what I was figuring, so I was happy with that number.

  “If you can get me half I can get you 15K.”

  “When?” he asked.

  “Right now.” I took out a token with 30,000 as proof.

  “Don’t move,” I heard a voice say behind me.

  I turned around. There was a shivering junkie standing there holding a pistol pointed at me. A big pistol. His eyes were screwed up, his hair a mess, and he had the blotchy, wrecked skin of someone who had done a whole lot of drugs in his life.

  I really didn’t need this.

  “Crayv, man, put that away. This guy is buying,” Grever yelled at him.

  “Shut up. Shut up. You, give me that token. Give it here!”

  I looked at Grever. This was his apartment.

  “Crayv, what are you doing? This guy is Hank. You know like from The News.”

  “I-I don’t care who he is, h-he’s going to be dead if he doesn’t throw that token over here.” His voice was high-pitched and stuttering. I saw there was no negotiating with him.

  “Is this guy a friend of yours?” I asked Grever.

  “He was just smoking out in the back. Ain’t no friend, man,” Grever answered nervously. He put his hands up as if to completely disassociate himself.

  “I’m talking to you!” the junkie screamed.

  “You know him though, right?”

  “Do what you got to do, man,” Grever said.

  I apparently wasn’t getting anywhere with either of them. I took out my four-barreled shotgun from under my coat.

  It was an intimidating weapon for sure. I had the top two barrels loaded with very tiny steel pellets about the diameter of sand. Since the barrels were cut so short, I was basically blasting…well, anything unfortunate enough to be in the general direction I was aiming, within thirty feet. Those shots weren’t lethal unless I fired point blank.

  The bottom two barrels I loaded with buckshot. So the first two shots were to slow them down and convince them to reconsider whatever actions made me fire. The next two shots were to cut them in half if they didn’t listen. I only carried eight shots, including the four in the gun. Most fights were usually over before then.

  Seeing four shotgun barrels pointed at him from ten feet away convinced the junkie it was a judicious time to shoot me. Or shoot at me anyway.

  I actually looked behind me to see where he missed because I heard the pang against the metal wall. If I had stood on a ladder and jumped to the side, that shot might have hit me.

  “Hey, you idiot,” Grever yelled at him as he dove for cover.

  I walked forward and the junkie shot me in the right shoulder. It hurt. A lot. I reached out with my left hand and grabbed him by the wrist holding the pistol. I pulled his arm to the side. I then stepped on his feet and that’s what really caused him pain—I was not a light guy.

  “So do you know him or not?” I asked Grever again.

  “Hey, it’s your call. I’m not even here,” he said hurriedly.

  I rolled my eyes. The junkie was struggling with me but there was no way he was going to push me off his toes. I could barely push myself.

  On one hand, this guy was obviously high. On the other, I can’t have people shooting me without repercussions. Grever had known me by reputation. When I leave here, he’s going to tell people what happened and that’s going to affect me from then on.

  I lifted my shotgun high and brought it down on the junkie’s head like a hammer.

  I wanted to make some bold pronouncement, some tough speech, but I think I would be the only person who heard it. The junkie was crying on the carpet, holding his bleeding scalp, and Grever was so checked out of the situation he was practically at another space station.

  I picked up the junkie’s pistol and walked over to Grever, who was in his kitchen eating—or pretending to be eating.

  “Grever. When can you have the stuff?”

  It took him a moment to come back to reality.

  “Hmm? Oh, um, how about a couple days?”
>
  “I can give you an extra thousand if you can get it in ten hours,” I said.

  He thought about that hard.

  “I can try.”

  “Alright, I’ll be back then.” I realized I was talking to him holding the shotgun and pistol while a man moaned in the other room. I thought it was actually a good image to leave Grever with.

  I put the shotgun away and walked outside still carrying the pistol. I don’t know why I took it, but at least it was some small payback.

  I was thinking of where I had to be next when I heard someone a block away yell to me in a friendly voice.

  “You starting trouble or finishing it, Hank?” It was Ioshiyn, coming up the sidewalk. He was an enforcer, not sure which boss he currently worked for. Nice guy.

  I looked down at the pistol still in my hand.

  “Hey Ioshiyn, you want to buy this?”

  “Does it work?”

  “Just shot me,” I said, showing my shoulder.

  He stared at the hole and the scorch marks, impressed.

  “Is that a Trestler?”

  “I think it’s a copy. But looks like the same design. I figure it’s worth 200. I’ll sell it to you for fifty.”

  “Fifty? You sure?” he asked. I handed it to him and he checked it out. I could see I had a sale. I pulled my tele out with a smile. He took some time but finally passed the credits to me.

  “Enjoy it,” I said, leaving.

  “Thanks. Hey, what do you think of things? Is there really a turf war coming?”

  I shrugged and then absently caressed my sore shoulder.

  Ioshiyn nodded darkly as if I had somehow spoken volumes.

  CHAPTER 7

  I had to go to the bathroom so I walked to a nearby restaurant to make use of the facilities. On my way I noticed two smoke trails high above the city. Had something broken in the station’s latticework? It wouldn’t be the first time. I just hoped I got a chance to relieve myself before being sucked into space.

  At the restaurant I read the latest edition of The News. Rendrae was stoking the fires with headlines like “What Will You Need for the Coming Business Disputes.”