Read Online Hard Luck Hank: Basketful of Crap by Steven Campbell - Free Book Online

Bronze stopped and looked back. I had gone up maybe four steps. He
chuckled and then watched me for a few moments as I struggled on.
    “I thought you
were pulling my leg there, Hank. But I guess a guy as big as you can’t also be
quick on his feet. I’d say take the elevator, but it’s broke. And I’d offer to
give you a hand but I think you’d pull me down the stairs.”
    “It’s fine,” I
huffed. “Please tell me you’re not on the top floor.”
    “Just one more
flight,” he said congenially.
    I finally got
up, sweating and my back tired.
    He opened the
door to his apartment and I noticed absently he didn’t use a key or code. He
held the door for me and I went in first.
    Inside it was
spare, with barely any furniture and only some small boxes on the floor.
    There was a man
inside hurriedly digging through the boxes while on his knees. He had long orange
hair, a torn black synth coat, and a long scraggly beard. He looked up at our
entrance and his eyes bugged out in panic.
    Bronze slipped
by me at the door.
    “Hey, brother,
what can I help you with?” Bronze asked the man in good humor.
    The man didn’t
answer. He looked at Bronze and looked at me. Particularly me.
    “We were about
to fix ourselves something to drink, you want anything?” Bronze continued.
    No reply.
    “Do you know
him?” I asked Bronze.
    “Nope.”
    Bronze walked
into his kitchen and I heard him clanging around with what sounded like cups
and bottles and cabinets.
    I was blocking
the door and the man in the room seemed acutely aware of that.
    I took my
autocannon off my back and swung it around to my front, holding it like I meant
business. Every gun means business, that’s what they’re for. Laugh all you want
at a little .22, you get shot by one you’re not laughing. But an autocannon
that hurls a grenade four or eight or whatever miles, takes business to a whole
other level. It was an advanced degree in business.
    I motioned with
my head to the door and stepped aside.
    The guy who had
been going through Bronze’s things took the hint and in one motion got to his
feet and ran past me without looking back.
    Bronze entered the
room with three cups of mismatched colors and sizes. He seemed surprised it was
just us.
    “Where did that
other guy go?”
    “I don’t know,”
I said, closing the door. “Bronze, you’re in Deadsouth now. You need to lock
your door.”
    “What for? I
don’t have nothing to steal. I don’t even pay rent here, doesn’t seem right I
should be barricading the place.”
    “Someone could
slit your throat while you’re sleeping,” I explained.
    “Seems like an
awful hassle to get some dirty socks. Bathroom is through there. Take a swig of
this. It’s not good, mind you.”
    I disconnected
my autocannon and put it on the ground. It was so nice to be free from its bulk.
I thought it was pretty cool that Bronze hadn’t even mentioned it.
    I drank from
the cup as Bronze pounded his.
    I might not be
the richest guy in the galaxy any more, but I was used to drinking good booze.
I could hardly swallow this and when I did I coughed and got some in my nasal
passages which was probably worse than a machine gun bullet to the eye.
    “Yeah, not the
best, I know,” he said.
    I tried to
recover and make conversation, but my nose burned and I was on the verge of
sneezing.
    “Wh-what do you
do here on Belvaille?” I finally got out.
    “Mostly I’m
avoiding twelve ex-wives,” he laughed. “Or thirteen depending on who you’re
going to believe. I heard there was good jobs here and no one bothered you.”
    “Good jobs? Who
said that?” I asked skeptically. I can’t think of any time when Belvaille was exactly
a boomtown.
    “Hey, I got
this nice apartment. I got all the water I can drink, all the showers I can
take, and I got free food,” he said, like Deadsouth was paradise.
    “Where do you
get free food?” Food was probably my greatest expense.
    “I work at
restaurants here and there. Do the dishes.