Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck (17 page)

Oh well, I guess it was just that one
time. I was trying to determine how long 19-10 had been around here and
interfering.

“No. Never mind. Another question.” I
thought how to phrase it. “Had anyone ever asked you to do something for them
when you were feral kids?”

They both answered immediately.

“Sure.”

“Yes.”

“I mean like outside the ferals. The
person who asked you wasn’t one of you. And they asked you to do something that
didn’t involve other ferals.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how we got a lot of our stuff.”

“What? So this was a ‘normal’ person? He
just came to the feral kids and gave you jobs?”

“Paya’ Man we called them.”

“We called them Cleana’. I guess because
they were clean.”

“Yeah, we called them that too.”

I looked at Uulath who seemed to not
know this either, but he was letting me do the talking.

“So what did this guy look like?” I
asked.

“There were different ones.”

“Lots.”

“How did they give you work?”

“There were a few blocks where they
would show up. They would say how many kids they would need and we would jump
in to do it. They gave food.”

“Or clothes. Or blankets. Or whatever.”

“Why didn’t you just rob him?” I asked,
surprised anyone would go to the ferals to barter.

“All the other kids would protect him
because they wanted jobs.”

“And there were usually a few of them
with guns. Kids aren’t stupid. No one is going to get shot for a blanket when
you can just steal it from the person who got it after the job.”

The other feral gave the one who just
spoke a dirty look.

“What jobs did they have you do?” I
asked.

“Attack buildings. Rob.”

“Set fires. Steal people.”

“Steal
from
people or kidnap?” I
asked.

“Both.”

Huh. I wonder if Two Clem could have
been kidnapped by feral kids. They made the perfect thugs. They were
untraceable. They didn’t even know what they were doing. And you could buy
their services for comparatively nothing.

I couldn’t even ask them if they had
kidnapped Two Clem because he would be meaningless to them.

All these problems we’ve been having
with feral kids over the years turns out to be because they were hired to do
it. Then they would run into me and my Kommilaire and I would send them here if
we caught them.

“Did they wear robes?” I asked.

“Robes?”

“Order,” Uulath clarified.

“No.”

“No.”

But that didn’t mean anything. Doubt the
Order would have shown up in feral kid territory in their finest clothes.

“Do you know why they hired the feral
kids?” I asked, with little hope of an answer.

“Ferals don’t worry about the motives of
normals. They got enough problems of their own.”

I figured the best way to find out what
Garm was doing or not doing was to talk to Garm.

She was the owner in the tower.
Belvaille’s landlord. Lawmaker, judge appointer, and rich person talker-toer.

The only area more fortified than
Delovoa’s block was the area around City Hall where Garm lived.

There had always been extra space around
City Hall as it was the only non-rectangular building in the city. But Garm had
leveled an extra block just for security. There were a series of walls thirty
feet tall and five feet thick, covered with bunkers and bristling with weapons.
There were trenches in between filled with mines and traps and electrified
razor wire.

It was not solicitor friendly.

It was also completely overkill since
half the population lived in abject poverty and the other half wasn’t about to
go charging their way into City Hall just to meet Garm who was, unless I was
really mistaken, simply not that important.

Every once in a while I got a communique
from her about a new law she wanted implemented. I read it and if it made sense
I took it under consideration. But I was on the streets. I was down here every
day. I wasn’t sitting behind a hundred feet of steel ten stories up for the
last forty years. I knew what laws we needed.

“Hello?” I yelled outside one of the
wall sections. “I’m Hank. The Supreme Kommilaire. I know Garm. Um. We used to
date. Can you tell her I want to talk to her?”

I yelled up various things at the
impassive wall for another thirty minutes until my voice hurt and I felt
stupid.

On my way back home I saw a Totki force
fanned out across a block. They were knocking on doors and talking to people.

At first I was pretty excited to see
them. Maybe they had listened to me about the election and were canvassing to
get votes. And then I saw them drag some poor guy into the center of the street
where they began beating him with the blunt ends of their spears.

Great.

I hiked up my belt and started walking
that way. It didn’t take long for them to see me. Inconspicuous was not a
talent of mine.

I wasn’t sure what I’d do when I got
there. Shoot them? Berate them? I was running out of sugary lies to say about
their dead leader.

Like feral kids with weirder hair
styles, they immediately turned and scampered out of the street in the opposite
direction from me.

I went over to the bruised guy on the
ground.

“What were they talking to you about?” I
asked him.

He reached out and clung to my leg. They
had really done a number on him.

“They asked me about Su Dival. What I
knew about him. Crazy stuff. Had I killed him? Did I know the killers? Did I
belong to the Olmarr Republic?”

“Well?”

“I don’t know
any
of those
things! I’m a Water Scrape,” he said.

I knew the job. It was not a totally
legal career, but more legal than most. He collected condensation from pipes and
surfaces under the city, and sometimes above the city, and sold it for
consumption. That didn’t preclude him from being in the Olmarr Republic,
though.

I saw other neighbors on the street were
coming out and they complained of the same abuse by the Totki.

Not sure if it was random or the Totki
had some information that led them to this street. It seemed unlikely, since I
doubt they knew of 19-10 and even if they did, he probably wasn’t hanging a
sign showing where he lived.

In any case, I needed to do something
about Su Dival. I had to apprehend his killer like I promised I would. And
since I had almost no chance of catching 19-10, I had to invent a killer. The
Totki were only going to get worse.

I couldn’t just grab some random inmates
from the Royal Wing and say, “yeah, they totally killed your former spiritual
leader.” That was too convenient and no one would believe me. Not only that,
but the inmates would deny it and cause me even more headaches.

It needed to be plausible. It needed to
be sensational. Yet it needed to leave something to the imagination.

I woke up the next day and in my living
room I saw a red envelope on my table.

Sigh.

Garm had a key to everyone’s apartment
in the city. In fact, all the major systems of Belvaille were controlled from
City Hall. If she felt like turning off the lights or turning off our oxygen,
she could do so whenever she wanted.

When she sent me her new laws and new
list of judges, she would put them inside my apartment like this.

I found it disturbing. But maybe that
was the Quadrad assassin in her. Or maybe she just really didn’t want to talk
to me. Presumably she had gotten word that I had been screaming outside City
Hall yesterday and was sending a response.

I opened the envelope and read the paper
inside.

You are hereby
appointed Secretary of City. You are to head the upcoming elections. Use the
Kommilaire to organize voting. Vet the candidates and void any who are
unworthy. –Garm

Isn’t that a kick in the nuts? This
wasn’t even about me going to see her, but instead it’s a new job. As if I
didn’t have enough to do.

And Money Bags couldn’t even give me a single
thumb for my efforts?

I could just throw this paper away. What
was she going to do, come down from City Hall and talk to me in person? Good!

I didn’t even know what this stuff meant.
How could I vet and void someone? Ask them their favorite color and if they didn’t
say blue, red, or pink I disqualify them?

There was a second page.

Add these names to the
final selection of candidate choices.

And it was the list of dead candidates I
had seen at the fundraiser. All of them had a political party affiliation of, “Garm’s
Choice.”

What the hell? So I was supposed to kick
out live people for whatever reasons and add dead people instead?

As I was stewing, I heard Rendrae
talking on the loudspeakers. He was speaking about the election. I couldn’t
just ignore this. The election
would
happen. It would be impossible to prevent
at this point.

Either we were going to have fifty
regions of the city all voting their own way for their own candidates and then
getting into a bloodbath over the results, or I was going to do it.

“Damn,” I said to my living room statues.

“This is your Force for Facts returning
with my guest, Hank, our Supreme Kommilaire and newly appointed Secretary of
City. So, Hank. Dead candidates,” Rendrae said, smiling at me. “What’s that
about?”

I was sitting with Rendrae at the
facility they used to broadcast loudspeaker programs. I was on the floor
because none of the chairs would support me.

To get the word out, I needed Rendrae.
He was the easiest person to talk to and we went way back. Still, he wasn’t going
to pass up the chance to take some shots.

“I don’t know, ask Garm.”

I had said I wasn’t going to endorse
anyone and I sure as hell wasn’t going to endorse corpses. I got the idea Garm
was sticking me with this role to imply her choice was also my choice. But I
wasn’t going to be anyone’s pawn. Well, more than usual.

“Ask Garm. That’s an idea, except she
never leaves the Gilded Tower and doesn’t grant interviews. At least not to the
press.”

“Those candidates wishing to run for
Governor or City Council need to register with me. But not when I’m sleeping.
Or at the club.”

“That would be the Athletic Gentleman’s
Club?”

“Yeah.”

“So if other people decide they want their
dead relatives to run for office, is that acceptable?” Rendrae asked seriously.

“No.”

“Why is it Garm can put forth a unique
ticket and no one else can? Are her cadavers vastly more talented than other
cadavers?”

“She owns the city. If you want some
dead people to run for office, buy your own city.”

“What is meant by it being your
responsibility to vet candidates?” he asked.

“Well. I guess. Make sure they are
okay,” I answered hazily.

“And what would that entail
specifically?”

I paused since I wasn’t sure myself.
Rendrae always had me on my heels.

“I suppose if I’ve arrested them in the
past, then they can’t run. That’s an example.”

“Seems appropriate. So no Governors who
hail from the Royal Wing? How will voting be conducted?”

“I’m going to get Delovoa to design us
some voting machines,” I said.

“Delovoa?” Rendrae said, honestly
startled. “Shouldn’t his resources be spared for more important activities?”

“Yes, they should. But you all want this
stupid election so we’re going to have this stupid election.”

The next week was chaotic.

I had MTB read off the ever-changing list
of candidates on the loudspeakers as they made themselves known. He had a
better speaking voice than I did. The Board prices would jump up 20% or drop
the same amount depending on which candidate threw his hat into the ring.

Then candidates would pull out not four
hours later, then combine forces, then break up. The loudspeakers were awash in
the constant drama of election news.

To slow them down a bit I made a
five-page form that I forced each candidate to fill out, and required a
thousand thumb, non-refundable fee. I also started putting restrictions on
names and party affiliations.