“Because then you won’t be a judge. I work with judges all the time. I’m sure the Governor will have ample opportunity to steal, but it won’t be in my way.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I don’t. But I know what a judge does. And there are only so many things a Governor could do. Like give out city contracts, hire and fire people, propose changes to the city design, approve and deny laws. I don’t care about that stuff.”
He squinted hard.
“Will you back me?” he asked.
“I can’t back anyone, I’m Secretary of City.”
He laughed.
“You’re an odd screw, Hank of Belvaille. What happens if I lose the election?”
“Stay a judge.”
“I heard there’s a thousand thumb fee for registering.”
“Yeah.”
“Waive it and I’ll run.”
I looked around the office. Just his artwork was probably worth fifty times that.
“Fine,” I said.
CHAPTER 26
I was meeting Fat Neep at his club just outside of Deadsouth.
Fat Neep was pretty big, both literally and figuratively, as a gang boss. He had promised me dinner, so I was bringing my appetite, which was also considerable.
I went alone, as it was late at night, and I got that this was more of a personal call.
The club was fairly upscale despite its proximity to Deadsouth. Logic would tell me people would not want to come here to pay money when they could go to better parts of town. But this was why I wasn’t a businessman.
There was a lot of dancing and colored lights and I had to slowly step across the floor.
A few people began hanging off me like I was a carnival ride and I stopped moving. I wasn’t able to brush them off. Not without hurting them. So I stood there with some drugged-out barnacles until security finally noticed there was a Supreme Kommilaire hogging the dance floor and they pried the people off and cleared a path for me.
Inside the back office was Fat Neep. It was black with black couches and black chairs and everything painted black. The lights were dim and it felt like I was walking in space.
Fat Neep was… fat, obviously. Not as big as his name might imply, however. Maybe he came from a really skinny planet and was a behemoth by comparison. He wore a metal shirt and metal pants, kind of interlocking plates about two inches long. It didn’t look comfortable.
“Thank you for coming, Hank,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ve got sandwiches.”
Ah, I had almost missed them in the darkness of the room. He had a huge plate of sandwiches to the side which I immediately headed toward.
“What drinks you serving out there?” I asked. “People are loopy.”
“It’s a new designer drug.”
“You making any money?”
Bosses didn’t like talking about their business, because that was their business. I still had the mindset of a thug and it was just work to me.
“Eh, I miss alcohol. It was simple, you know? You pour a glass, they drink a glass. Now everything is dots and half-dots and twists and pinches.”
I was already through my third sandwich.
“How are the candidates coming?” he asked.
“It’s probably the most useless thing Belvaille’s ever done,” I said.
“That’s saying a lot,” he smiled.
“I don’t see the point,” I said, accidentally spitting some sandwich onto his carpet.
“If a City Councilman were to request something, what would you do?” he asked delicately.
“Huh?”
“Like if your office was contacted for assistance.”
“What office?”
“Your… if one of them asked you,” he said.
“Asked me what?”
He twiddled his fingers together.
“Alright, if a City Councilman broke the law, what would you do?”
“What law?”
“I mean… it’s just… what about if the Governor asked you not to arrest someone, would you not arrest them?”
“I’m really confused. Asked me not to arrest someone? What reason?”
“Whatever reason,” he said.
“That’s not a reason.”
Fat Neep rubbed his forehead now.
“Would you take orders from the City Council and Governor?”
“Orders? Why would I do that?”
“Because they are the City Council and Governor.”
“And I’m the Supreme Kommilaire. What, are they going to go out patrolling? Is that what their responsibilities are?”
“No, they tell you what to do.”
“I already know. What do I need them to tell me for? Why don’t you ask me what you want?”
“I’m trying!” He said, exasperated. “Would you ever kill a City Councilman?”
“Kill? Like, for the hell of it?”
“No! If they did something wrong.”
“Something like what? I don’t kill people randomly. If he shot me in the face, sure.”
“What about selling drugs?”
“Are you running for City Council?”
“Not if you’re going to kill me!”
I thought about it for a bit.
“I’m not sure what the City Council and Governor do. But this is Belvaille. If we could only elect people who were squeaky clean, not only could we not elect anyone on the city, but they wouldn’t know anything about us.”
“So my business here is fine?” he asked, trying to clarify.
“Unless you’re chopping up people out back, sure. I mean, you know what all is illegal and what isn’t.”
“That’s the problem. You all seem to make it up as you go along.”
“Well, don’t chop up people. I mean, I guess it wouldn’t be bad to hold our politicians to a higher standard,” I pondered dreamily.
“See? Now you’re changing your mind.”
“People don’t die here, right?”
“Some have,” he said weakly.
“But not a lot. And you didn’t kill them on purpose or anything, right? Probably just overdoses.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay, what?”
“I mean, it sounds fine.”
“You’re terrible. Is this how it is for everyone?” his voice was hoarse.
“You asked me a lot of weird questions and I wasn’t sure where you were going. Give me a break, this is my first election.”
“Eat some sandwiches.”
I stuffed a few in my mouth.
“So, do you want to run for City Council?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
The lighting increased in the dark room and I was thankful, because I was trying to find the last of the food.
But it wasn’t the overhead lights.
“Huh?” Fat Neep said, as 19-10 fully materialized in front of him.
Bshzow!
Fat Neep’s head slumped forward and hit his desk.
19-10’s ambidextrous, multi-jointed arms swiveled to me. I was armed with just a sandwich.
“You know—” I started, and 19-10 was gone.
I stood there stupidly. I was literally thinking ten seconds slower than that assassin could act.
I put the sandwich down, wiped my hands, and took a gun from my vest.
Fat Neep was dead, unsurprisingly. Four shots straight into the neck at perfectly aligned and spaced coordinates. It was insane accuracy.
19-10 had “seen” Fat Neep’s metal clothes and opted for the exposed neck.
What was scarier was that he must have somehow been hanging out here. Listening to us. Was that possible? He appeared and fired right when Fat Neep said he was going to run for office. It was too much of a coincidence.
Here I was worried about trying to track an untrackable, dimension-hopping assassin and he was following me, eavesdropping. Were all my conversations unsafe now?
I had said I was going to tell the candidates about 19-10, but in retrospect I didn’t really care if any of them died. I mean, Garm’s ticket was already dead. It would just even the field.