Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck (32 page)

“Whoops,” he said, with the same gentle
manner, as if he wasn’t pouring acid on me. “Open your mouth. You’re going to
choke on the spout. Open your mouth,” he chided.

I did so and he fished around like a
plumber. When he had recovered the piece, he went back to drowning me.

“Boss,” MTB said.

I
tried to push Devus Sorsha away, but he was nimble for one so ancient.

“Get
him out of here,” I tried to say, but a great stream of Devus Sorsha’s
“medicine” gushed out of my mouth, making my command unintelligible.

MTB
was smart enough to see where I was pointing and my anger, and he ushered my
torturer away with some kind words.

I
wiped my face and chin and saw I was lying on the ramp just outside my front
door. Had I crawled here? I didn’t remember.

The
odd singing was still going on, so I hadn’t imagined that. Though I wished I
had.

“What
is that terrible noise?” I asked, when MTB returned.

“That’s
the women you brought over from the Royal Wing and put on that roof,” he said,
indicating the building across the street. “They were told you were injured
down here and may never recover and they’ve been singing nonstop to boost your
spirits.”

“That’s
singing? They gave me nightmares.”

“They’re
your angels. They brought you back, sweet voices or not.”

“Great,
so I got murderers and thieves as my guardians, what’s that say about me?” I
asked. “How long was I unconscious?”

“About
thirty hours or so.”

That
was actually pretty impressive. In the past when I got knocked out and had
Devus Sorsha looking after me, weeks had often gone by. But this mishap was
going to make me even denser, as my body healed and thickened. I could just
about hear my heart slowing.

“How
did I get here?”

“We
pulled you with the heavy lifter.”

“You
dragged me twenty…twenty-five blocks?” I asked, annoyed.

“Pulled,”
he corrected.

“What’s
the difference between drag and pull?”

“One
is slower.”

“Which
is slower?” I tried to confirm.

“Whichever
one makes you less mad.”

MTB
was learning.

“Why
did you leave me on my front porch with those songstresses tormenting me?”

“How
were we going to get you inside? Can’t drive a heavy lifter into your living
room.”

“I’m
going to go in and eat and sleep for a while, but then we’re going to ride out
and arrest Peush. He’s behind all this crap,” I said.

“Peush
is dead. 19-10 killed him. During the daytime, in front of fifty people.”

“Huh.
Well. Good, I guess. I don’t have to kill him now and cause a riot.”

“Oh,
there’s a riot. It’s the Order, the Totki, and the Republic all fighting. And
the gangs have jumped in and are battling over Zadeck’s territory and whatever
else. It all started once word got out that you were out of commission.”

I
couldn’t spare the breath to sigh, but I kind of wished I was back in my coma.

“Great.
But why is the Olmarr Republic rioting? They can’t think I’m 19-10. That guy is
skinny,” I said.

“It’s
all ‘the government’ to them. Some conspiracy. I swear, Boss, they’re worse
than the Totki.”

“I
noticed that too. I misjudged them. I think I was biased because they didn’t
look weird or talk weird and weren’t a fruity religion. I didn’t pay attention
to what they were actually saying.”

“You
were right,” MTB said.

“About
the Olmarr?”

“About
everything. Whatever you were doing to maintain the quiet, it’s worn off. There
are hundreds of thousands of people in the streets.”

“That
fast? That many?”

“The
Kommilaire can’t do anything. We’re just standing around watching. People are
dying all over. Getting robbed. Worse. There is no law.”

“Happened
while I was sleeping. I wasn’t sure when it would happen. I kept saying it
would, but I half didn’t believe it myself.”

“They
even tried to attack Delovoa’s street. I guess they figured he had good stuff
to filch.”

“That
couldn’t have worked out for them.”

“No.
He killed them all. Melted a couple buildings next to his block in the process.”

“Delovoa
can take care of himself.”

I
began to try and inch closer to my apartment door. I wanted to be inside and
get away from the Harpy’s Choir.

“So
how do we stop it?”

“Stop
what?” I replied, not looking back.

“The
riots. The gang wars.”

I
paused and stared at MTB.

“We
don’t,” I said. Had he thought I was exaggerating all these years? “If what you
say is true, somewhere between three-to-five-to-ten percent of the population
is in open warfare. We got Stair Boys that number in the low hundreds. That’s
like facing a forest fire with a cup of water. We got to wait for that fire to
be closer to cup-size before we can even think of doing anything. You made the
right call. Just stay out of the way and observe.”

“The
city is going to dismantle itself if we do nothing,” he said.

“Maybe.
But fights usually don’t work like that. Not among normal people. You get two
guys who are pissed as hell at each other and set them to boxing. They swear
they’re going to kill the other guy dead no doubt about it. But then they break
their hands, crack their ribs, knock out a few teeth, and suddenly fighting
becomes a whole lot less interesting.”

“You
think it will run out of steam?”

“It’s
not a civil war. We don’t have tanks and missiles and armies of Therezians or—I
hope—clones. Unless I don’t understand Belvaille, we’re going to end up with a
lot of property damage, some new bosses, and maybe three new factions or three
less factions. I don’t know. But there’s not a lot we can do. It’s too big.
We’ll react to the results. Maybe nudge it one way or the other.”

“I talked to a trader and he said the
Boards went sour as soon as word got out that you were hurt.”

I sat thinking about that.

“I’m not sure whether that’s a
compliment or an insult. They’re either upset I was injured or upset I wasn’t
killed outright.”

“Where have you been?” I asked Valia.

“I got stuck southeast when the city
erupted. Suddenly being a sexy, female Kommilaire out in the streets was a bad
thing.”

“That was forty hours ago,” I
challenged.

“No, it wasn’t. You were unconscious,
how do you even know?” Valia asked.

That was true. I could have been out for
a month and they were just humoring me. It did seem like the city had fallen to
pieces rather swiftly.

“Whatever,” I grumbled. “So how is the
southeast?”

“Same as anywhere else, I suppose. I
can’t tell who the bad guys are.”

“The ones pointing guns at you,” MTB
said.

“Not a lot of guns that I saw,” she
said.

“Maybe our decades of disarmament actually
worked,” MTB told me.

“They’re not going to waste their
bullets in a random street brawl. The gangs have guns and the big factions have
guns. They’re going to use them when they have something real to gain. We
haven’t seen the significant battles yet.”

I knew guns were all over the city, but
actually making bullets was harder, even though the technology was fairly
simplistic. The chemicals had to come from off Belvaille which made them
tremendously expensive. Not to mention we would confiscate at least some of them
at the port.

“So what’s the first order of business?”
MTB asked.

“Split the forces between the
telescopes, the port, this street, and the Ank Reserve,” I said.

“What about City Hall?” Valia asked.

“That’s a fortress,” MTB said. “But that
still leaves a lot of important areas vulnerable. What about the water treatment
and sewers and electrical way stations?”

“We don’t have the people and those are
things that can be repaired. The telescopes have always been unique to
Belvaille. And if the port is damaged, we can’t get ships in here. And I want
to protect the Kommilaire who are off-duty and live on this street. I expect
reprisals here.”

“Reprisals for what?” Valia asked.

“Being law enforcement on Belvaille,” I
said.

“Boss,” Valia said, later. “There’s
someone here to see you.”

“Does he have a weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Does he look pissed off?”

“Yes.”

I muttered and struggled to my feet. I
had been sitting in my portable chair in the middle of Hank Block with the rest
of my Stair Boys, relaxing as the city imploded.

A dozen of my Kommilaire surrounded a
party of three men who were wearing undergear, indicating they had just come
from a space ship.

I noticed they also had chainsaws on
their belts.

“I’m Hank, Supreme Kommilaire and
Secretary of City of Belvaille and Chief Chair-Sitter of Hank Block. What do
you want?”

The man in front had close-cropped,
brown hair, and a nose that had been broken at least ten times. He was large of
frame but not bulky. He had the complexion and wiry physique of someone who
spent a lot of time in space.

“I am Systems Configurator We’daer of
the Olmarr warship Second Awakening. I demand you turn over the murderer of Vice-Manager
Peush,” he huffed.

The Olmarr had some boring titles. But I
was surprised he was from a warship. Or at least he said he was. I kept
forgetting there was a galaxy outside of Belvaille.

I shrugged at the man.

“I don’t have his killer.”

“Then I demand you tell me the
assassin’s location.”

“If I knew where he was, I’d have him.”

He pointed at me, scowling.

“We hold this installation responsible
for the Vice-Manager’s death. We are prepared to fire on the city.”

I wasn’t concerned.

“You’d hurt a lot of Olmarr
Republicans.”

“We will evacuate them first,” he said.

“No, you won’t. I won’t let them leave.
I’m now officially holding them hostage.”

“Then we will blockade the station and
prevent supplies from reaching here,” he countered.

“Then you’re under arrest.”

I nodded at my Kommilaire and they drew
their guns. The Olmarr had their hands on their chainsaws, but they weren’t so
foolish to think they could out-buzz a hail of gunfire.

“Is this how you treat representatives
from foreign powers?” he shouted.

“It is when they threaten my city,” I
said. “Lock them up in the jail,” I told MTB.

“We’re running out of space in the jail,
Boss.”

“Strip them down, handcuff them, and put
them on the roof with the Royal Wing women.”

“Is that a good idea?” Valia asked.
“Naked men with a bunch of women?”

“Did you come to Belvaille for sex?” I
questioned the Olmarr.

“What?” he asked, incensed.

“I don’t think they’re here for sex. And
I don’t think those women who were forced wives are looking for sex. But if it
makes you feel better you can hose everyone down a few times a day with cold
water.”

Valia made a face but didn’t answer.

“Right. I think this is solved. I’m
going back to sitting down.”

“So what can you do against a ship that
wanted to attack Belvaille?” I asked Delovoa. He was fine, despite the riots
raging.

“I don’t know. Rude hand gestures?” he
answered.

The rioters had discreetly moved their
rioting further away from Delovoa’s street once they saw the twisted buildings after
the “attack” on his block.

“Don’t you have any big space guns?”

“No. Not even any small space guns. But
really, unless they are in a battlecruiser or some such, they aren’t going to
hurt this city. The shield can withstand the impact from a comet.”

“Really? A comet? Like a two mile wide
chunk of ice flying through space?”

That was impressive.

“No,” he sniffed, sipping at his wine.

“Then why did you say it could?”

“Because this conversation is boring.
And, you know, we’re a city. They can maybe wreck the port and some of the
outside structure, but the city is already pretty trashed, so who cares?”

He seemed unconcerned.

“Could they destroy the Portals? The
Olmarr Republic wants to get rid of them all.”