Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy

by Steven Campbell

  I couldn’t really lie to Garm. Not on moral grounds, but because I couldn’t think of any lie that would remotely make sense. Finally I took a deep breath.

  “Garm. I can’t tell you,” I said simply.

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes huge and angry.

  “I can’t tell you that either. But—”

  “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that! People died from it, Hank.”

  “How did they die?”

  “Why does it matter, they’re dead. Now I need to know how. If I know that, I am sure we can fix it or somehow explain it to the Navy. But do you really think they’re going to want to drop off tens of thousands of their troops into an area that mysteriously knocks its citizens into a coma?”

  “Garm.”

  “Yes, Hank,” she seemed to expect another stonewall.

  “Will it help you to hear that I have it under control?”

  “How is this under control? How can I possibly think you have it under control? Is it only going to be half the city next time?”

  I wasn’t making any progress this way.

  “Who was it who fought the Dredel Led?” I said. “For free.”

  Garm was incredulous.

  “You want money?” She rummaged in her pants. “You mercenary bastard, is that what this is about?”

  “No. I was just saying…you have to take my word for it, Garm.”

  “I don’t have to take anything. I have to protect this station, not just you.”

  I thought for a moment.

  “You have to take my word for it,” I said, leaving a heavy pause. “Or it will happen again.”

  It was kind of true. Though kind of a lie. If Garm kept at it, she’d probably haul me down to jail and treat me pretty damn bad. I could somewhat realistically guess that Jyen would respond to that by using her brother. Who would do…mutant stuff. Up to, including, exceeding, what he’d done already.

  But the kind-of-truthness registered on my face and Garm knew her hands were tied.

  “You got this covered? You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” I said uneasily.

  I think Garm’s mind wasn’t ready to handle the lie part of my response, so she put her gun down. We stood there quietly a while.

  “I won’t allow it to happen again,” I said a little more resolutely.

  Now that I knew people had died, if he got out of hand, I would kill Jyonal. Though technically, if he got out of hand, he’d probably be killing me.

  “How am I going to explain this?” Garm said.

  “Electrical,” I said, continuing my half-truth streak.

  Garm probably thought I was covering for some technical folks who’d accidentally run current through the sidewalks or something. That was a story she could sell, as no one would doubt Belvaille incompetence.

  “Hey,” I said, “there are some bosses who want to carry out a hit. It seems Ddewn was setting up some back channel—”

  “Argh!” Garm screamed in frustration. “I have to locate and dismantle fifty years’ worth of contraband across an entire city that specializes in contraband. You handle it. Unless,” she said, cooling rapidly, “you handling it would jeopardize you handling the other thing.”

  “No,” I said with conviction. “I’ll get it done.”

  Garm walked to my bedroom door to leave. I saw her hand was still tight on her pistol.

  “If we get out of this alive, and I’m not in prison or executed, I’ll make sure you get whatever pay you want, Hank.”

  “I don’t really need anything.”

  She looked like she wanted to shoot me again, but only if it did damage. So instead she just walked out of my apartment.

  I made a call to one of Ddewn’s clubs the next day. It was more a restaurant, but it had a little spot for sports gambling. I think mostly so he could call it a casino, which carried more prestige than a club and certainly more than a restaurant.

  The manager told me he would tele for his boss and I should take a seat. Ddewn hired some of the roughest people on Belvaille. It bred loyalty and made him a bad guy to fight.

  I figured I was just going to ask it straight. There was no point in me trying to figure out his labyrinth of schemes. We were at a point on the station where that stuff didn’t matter.

  Business was good in the restaurant. Lots of people. Kind of a middle-of-the-line clientele. I think they were all slumming it or the prices were low because the casino was shabby even by Belvaille standards, with third-hand games and mismatched furniture.

  The carpet had huge swaths that were different shades of the same color. The walls had paintings with rings around them from years of collected dust blown from the vents. There was even a bent banister. Really, how much effort does it take to straighten a railing?

  The manager came back and told me Ddewn wasn’t around but I could wait. He wasn’t being very friendly.

  I waited. The bartender wasn’t friendly either. I was sitting practically right on his lap and he just stood there washing glasses like I wasn’t there. I actually had to reach for a drink for him to finally take notice.

  I got a cocktail and this jerk charged me at least twice as much as standard. And to be even pettier, when he filled it, he stopped about two inches from the rim.

  Okay, I’m not the brightest star, but it was clear these guys didn’t like me.

  After an hour I asked for the manager again. He left me sitting there for about thirty minutes before he finally graced me with his presence.

  “Can you call Ddewn again? It’s very important. Tell him Hank needs to talk to him right away,” I said, trying to stay polite.

  “I gave him the message already,” he answered simply. “He’s a busy man.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed slowly.

  Then I reached into my jacket, pulled out my shotgun, and pointed it at the poor guy drinking next to me at the bar.

  “You need to leave, sir. The restaurant is closed.”

  As the guy hurried away and before the manager could react, I got off my stool and fired a shot into the ceiling.

  “Calm down everyone. Calm down. The restaurant is now closed. Please leave in an orderly fashion through the front.”

  People left through the front. The side. The back. And it wasn’t entirely orderly. But it worked.

  “What are you doing?” the manager asked angrily.

  I sat back at the counter, my hand still on my shotgun, the barrels pointed somewhat in the direction of the bartender.

  “Hey, pour me another drink. This time a full one. And then leave.”

  The bartender did as he was told, though he had an awful big scowl on his face for someone with a four-barreled shotgun angled at him. Definitely a rough crowd—and he’s just the bartender.

  The manager was fuming, waiting for me to explain. I took a sip of my drink and reloaded my gun, throwing the spent shell over my shoulder.

  “Tell Ddewn, he needs to get here in…thirty minutes, or I’m going to burn this place down. And then I’m going to go to another of his joints and burn that down. And I’ll keep going until he finally decides it’s worth his time to come talk to me.”

  The manager left to do it and I could see he wore a perverse grin, which didn’t bode well for me.

  Wasn’t I intimidating not two weeks ago? I wonder if it’s these fake teeth. I still haven’t gotten used to them and now with my real teeth pushing out, I think I’m talking worse and worse. There’s going to be a point when no one takes me seriously because every sentence is a spray of saliva.

  I drank my drink and reached over the bar and grabbed another. I had a feeling I might need it. I didn’t even bother carrying my broken Ontakian pistol anymore, but I felt this was probably an organization that wouldn’t be scared anyhow.

  After thirty minutes on the dot, Ddewn came in with twenty of his men openly carrying their weapons. More telling, a lot of them carried hand-to-hand arms and not guns.

  I didn’t recognize many of his boys
. The ones I did recognize, I didn’t have a high regard for.

  Ddewn was hard to tell apart from his men in appearance. He was muscular, tall, and wore dirty old combat synth clothes left open at the chest. He carried a very compact submachine gun that had a lot of ammunition and was known for its accuracy. Not a flashy weapon, but one a skilled marksman would choose.

  He looked around his empty restaurant and wore a phony smile. I could tell he was stewing.

  “The famous Hank. The savior of Belvaille. You know,” he started as he paced around his men, “people talk about you an awful lot. I think you got them all conned. ‘He killed that Dredel Led,’ they say. No, Wallow did. And put you in the hospital for months eating out of tubes. ‘Oh, he’s bulletproof, you can’t hurt him,’” he said in a mock-scared voice. “Bullets aren’t the only tools in the galaxy. If we hold you down, put a bag on your head, you’ll suffocate just like anyone else. The way I see—”

  Boom!

  Ddewn landed on his back.

  I got off my stool, the smoke wafting from my shotgun.

  “Man, I can’t even remember what I came in here for,” I said.

  His men sprung to attention, their weapons at the ready. They were alternating looking at me and at Ddewn, who was cursing on the ground quite colorfully.

  I slowly walked towards him. I knew the alpha was down and this pack of wolves was only as strong as its leader. That was the problem with their type.

  “He’s right,” I said. “I didn’t kill that robot and I certainly didn’t beat up Wallow. But I fought that Dredel Led across half the city and went a round with a Therezian and got shot by artillery. And I’m still here. If you think you can do what they can’t, feel free to try.”

  I walked right up to them. There was a man crouching next to Ddewn.

  “Move,” I said to him.

  He moved.

  I looked at Ddewn, who was clutching his chest. I had hit him with the small-sized shot. The synth jacket hadn’t stopped it, but it probably severely reduced its impact. Where the jacket was parted, however, was covered in blood. And a few fliers obviously hit him in the neck, as it was bleeding copiously.

  “There are three hundred and fifty thousand military coming to this station real soon,” I said. And though I was speaking down at Ddewn, it was mostly directed to his men. I stepped on his chest and he screamed. “I need to know that you’re able to be a team player.”

  He hurled a string of obscenities at me so forcefully I was surprised I managed to stay on my feet.

  “I thought you were going to say something like that.”

  I fired a buckshot tube at his head, which was instantly whisked from his body and almost uniformly spread to the clothes of the men standing around him.

  The room that had been a hair away from jumping on me a moment ago was silent and pacified. Ddewn’s foot soldiers were beheaded the moment he was.

  “Right,” I said. “Who’s second in command here?”

  There was no answer. They hadn’t even made a move to wipe the blood from themselves. The room was motionless except for me, turning around to look at these thugs, their silly pipes and ropes feeble in their hands.

  “No one?” I asked incredulously. “Who is number two? Come on.”

  The men shifted a bit. They were coming back to reality. I could see a small pocket being formed around the man who had been kneeling next to Ddewn when he first fell.

  “Okay, what’s your name?” I asked.

  He told me and I didn’t catch it. I assumed he was just nervous.

  “What?”

  He repeated it and it was clear he’d said it properly.

  “Uh, you got a nickname or something?”

  “Big Moff,” one of them said.

  I rolled my eyes at the adjective. Criminals aren’t a creative bunch when it comes to names.

  “Moff,” I said. “Good. You’re the new boss. Garm is going to be coming by with her people and just cooperate with her and whatever. And no fighting with other bosses. Okay?”

  Moff looked at me dumbly. He probably thought it was a cruel joke.

  “Okay,” he squeaked.

  And I guess that was it. We couldn’t very well have Ddewn’s guys be out on the street. That’d be about as bad as a war.

  “Cool.” I turned to leave when I remembered something. “Oh, where is Oluv-Jos?”

  The group parted and a man with blood on his right pant leg was left all alone. He knew what the score was and dropped down on his knees.

  “Please don’t kill me! I was just doing what he said. I didn’t even know what he was up to. Ask anyone. Kello, tell him. Big Moff? Wennel?”

  The men kept their eyes averted and their distance from the condemned man. They no longer knew Oluv-Jos.

  But I couldn’t kill a guy on his knees who was pleading. Not when I didn’t know the details.

  “Alright, alright. Um,” and I tried to think of some smaller punishment, but what could I do?

  “Moff, punish him. So the other bosses are satisfied.” Then I thought of something else more important. “Oh, and you owe me…seventy thousand credits.”

  “What? Why?” He wasn’t upset, just perplexed. I must have seemed like I was talking gibberish at this point.

  “Because someone has to pay my fee for this job,” I said, pointing to Ddewn.

  “I don’t have that much,” he said feebly.

  “Sure you do,” I answered, indicating the restaurant. It was easy for him to not realize that, having only been a crime boss for thirty seconds.

  At that very moment a couple walked through the front door, saw a bunch of armed men covered in blood standing around a corpse, and paused.

  “Closed right now,” I said helpfully.

  After they left I was feeling pretty good about all this. Took care of one of the biggest nuisances on the station and made a good chunk of money.

  “So if there isn’t anything more, I’ll see you guys later.” And I left the building.

  I had walked about a half block, my appreciation of the Ddewn affair rising with each step, when someone jogged up to me.

  “Hank. Excuse me, Hank,” said one of Ddewn/Moff’s panting thugs.

  “That’s how we do it on Belvaille, eh?” I said, pushing the thug’s chest, which was my version of a punch.

  “Yeah,” he said politely. “Um, Ddewn had a wife. And a daughter.”

  I stopped walking.

  “Really? Here?”

  “Yeah. D block and 12th, I think.”

  Back inside Moff’s club, the men hadn’t moved much. They were crowded closer around the body and talked in hushed voices.

  “Hey, Moff,” I said.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered immediately.

  “You need to take care of Ddewn’s wife and daughter, okay? You know like, make ‘em comfortable and whatnot.”

  “Sure. Yeah, absolutely. I will.” And he looked at all the men when he said it, as if it was a promise to them as well.

  “Okay, then,” and I waved.

  “Hank,” one of them said.

  Uh, oh. I hope this doesn’t get complicated. On the way back I had the nagging concern that Moff was the second in command because he was the biggest toadie, not because he was worth a damn.

  “What’s up?” I asked warily.

  “Is the military really coming?”

  “Yes, they are coming,” I said, and turned to leave.

  “What do they want here?” another one piped.

  “Ahh. Ask him,” I said, pointing to Moff. “And Moff, you need to…like, start talking to other bosses and stuff. And you’re not allowed at the Gentleman’s Club anymore. Go to the Athletic Club.”

  “Alright,” he said weakly.

  On the way to the train, my solution was starting to feel not as good as I’d originally thought. I mean I just picked a random guy to be one of the top crime bosses in the city. But what could I do, have everyone run a foot race and give it to the winner?

/>   This stuff would shake itself out after the Navy was gone. And if they didn’t leave, then it wouldn’t matter.

  CHAPTER 18

  The next day I had over a hundred tele messages. I’m sure I had people waiting at my door as well, but I was wise enough not to go home.

  There are some places you can still lay low on Belvaille even when you’re me. I just didn’t want to listen to Garm or hear about how the other bosses launched attacks or whatever nonsense was probably going on because of my bonehead move of offing Ddewn.

  I was really down on myself at this point for how I had handled it. I had known what Ddewn was like, by reputation if nothing else, and then I had pushed him and made him act exactly like logic told me he would. And then I responded like I was some cheap hood trying to make a name for himself.

  I went to visit the scientist Delovoa. It was about the least responsible thing I could do out of the giant list of responsibilities I currently had. But I wasn’t feeling particularly responsible. I mean, truth be told I should have been sitting in Jyen’s living room having tea or doing whatever I could to keep those two freaks entertained, or dealing with the certain fallout from Ddewn’s murder. But I’d take care of all that later.

  Delovoa was a mutant, but I think he was only a class one. He could heat up surfaces about a half inch from his body. Not very hot and I think it took most of his concentration, so not a particularly good mutation, but that was typical.

  He let me inside after the usual greetings and took me into his basement. He was one of the few people that had an area below surface level on Belvaille. It was chock-full of illegal hardware of every imaginable type.

  “What can I do for you, Hank?” he asked jovially.

  He was a man of middle height, slight build, was always dirty, and had three irregularly spaced eyes on his face that blinked independently. His lab was so full of chemical smells it was impossible to tell whether he had any body odor. But he was a mellow guy in personality and didn’t seem to have any crazy motives other than making crazy money and building crazy stuff.

  As I stared at the rows and rows of weapons I had to wonder:

  “What are you going to do with all this when the military gets here?”