Read Online Retief and the Rascals by Keith Laumer - Free Book Online

sure I've made no mention of the Nasty Party—'
     
                " 'Clan'," the argumentative local
corrected sharply. "Dat's duh trouble (one of 'em, anyways) wit' you
foreign devils: can't keep stuff straight, like a feller's got his basic racial
identity to defen, his clan loyalty, his moiety alignment, an' o' course his
union membership. Not to say nuttin about duh various civic clubs, sports
organizations an' like dat he collects along duh line. An you got to remember a
guy's close clan pals might be in a declared war (or maybe undeclared) wit' his
buddies inna union and all. A dumb guy dat don't lissen could get mix up. Then
he's gonna make hisself some deadly enemies, get onna wrong side in duh fracas
and all."
     
                "As a Terran diplomat," Magnan brayed,
"I, and my assistant Mr. Retief as well, am above all such petty
allegiances as well as their concomitant hostilities! So just get back to what
Old Swiney had to say. Just a second while I activate my corder." He
twitched his lapel and said, "Et, Tvo, Tre, Fyra," which
boomed out deafeningly through the echoing godown. He made a hasty adjustment,
and tried again, then touched the translator button, and the device said, "Uno,
dos, tres, cuatro"
     
                "Drat!" Magnan muttered, and
adjusted again. This time the device said, "Yit, blit, yot, zlot," before lapsing into a sullen silence. "Go ahead!" Magnan
commanded Pool. "Bother the record!"
     
                "Sure, Ben," his surly confidant
agreed. "All he said was about upping his cut and all. Greedy fellow, Sam.
An' duh mug had duh noive to ask, nay, demand, a slice of duh local action,
too!"
     
                "Are you implying, Foor," Magnan put
it precisely, "that His Ex himself has condoned, or even participated in,
the nefarious activities of the criminal element here on Bloor?"
     
                "Naw, nuttin' fancy," Pool refuted the
suggestion. "He onney wants his fair cut o' duh take, in return fer not
siccin' no Terry cops on us nor nuttin'. 'Cept fer duh local constabulary, o'
courst, which him and dat weasel Bam Slang got togedduh and set up a bunch cops
to try to tell us local riffraff how to run our own rackets! Course, along wit
duh coppers we got to have duh lawyers, and even some judges. Tough to fin'
anybody unprinciple' enough to take on dem jobs, but I guess somebody hadda do
it, or we'd be fallin' behind duh Galactic Norm and all, which no
self-despising citizen would opt fer dat, so now we got Terry legal eagles come
in here to Bloor City setting up in business, to compete wit' our own
native-bred shysters! It's bad, Ben. What's dat bunch just rended duh old jail
for law offices? Something about 'Tupp, Futter and Swive, P.A.' Dem boys is
tryna take duh trade right outa duh hands of duh local ambulance-chasers, which
I guess dey got enough on dere plate witout dey gotta watch a bunch Terry
bloodsuckers, too!"
     
                "I shall look into the matter at once, Mr.
Pool," Magnan reassured the outraged local. "And just a tip: when you
have recourse to Tupp et al., ask to see Old Mr. Roger."
     
                "Tanks, Ben; I guess I'm gonna need some
counsel what wid you catchin' I an' my boys red-handed pullin' a heist right
here inna Embassy godown."
     
                "Perhaps," Magnan purred. I could
overlook your presence here if a safe conduct back to the Chancery could be
arranged."
     
                "To wait just one moment!" a
breathy voice cut in from a deep alcove between ranked bales. "To be
unable to credit my auditory membranes, Ben!" the Groaci voice went on
relentlessly. "You, of all people, to be openly attempting to suborn this
miscreant from the clear path of duty, to the discredit of all members of the
diplomatic community here on Bloor."
     
                "Hardly 'openly'," Magnan protested.
"I'm way down here in the sub-basement, an area, I might