Twenty minutes later, Harry’s brow was furrowed, and a string of increasingly foul curses had crossed his lips. Finally he lifted his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Yo, Double-X, get your butt in here.”
“Uh, right, C.H.,” came the reply. A moment later his clerk ambled in the door. “Whassup?” said Double-X, leaning against the file cabinet.
“What’s up is the company’s going into the goddamn golf business,” growled Harry. “Armstrong brought this list of stuff over, and there’s next to none of it we can get from the regular sources, which means I can’t get my regular rake-offs. How am I supposed to make a living?”
“What’s supposed to happen is you get a Legion paycheck,” said Double-X, smirking. He quickly dodged behind the file cabinet as Chocolate Harry threw the catalog at his head.
“You ain’t so good at this job that I can’t get somebody else to do it,” bellowed the Supply sergeant. “Now shut up and listen. We got to get the stuff on this list, and I’m putting you on the case.“
“Aw right, Sarge,” said Double-X, taking the list from Harry’s outstretched hand. He glanced down the page, then asked, “Usual deal, right-biggest kickback gets the sale?”
Chocolate Harry paused a moment before answering. “Usually I wouldn’t even think twice about it,” he said at last. “But this time, no-it’s gotta be delivery speed.”
Double-X whistled. “Man, this has to be serious. I never knowed you to pass up a little extra pocket money.”
Harry shrugged. “Well, you know me. I like my gravy, just like the next guy. But the whole company’s under the gun, so just this once, I’m gonna take one for the team. Whoever gets us the stuff the fastest gets the deal, and that’s the whole story.”
Double-X nodded. “Sure, Sarge.” He paused, then asked softly, “Cap’n‘s in some kind of trouble, ain’t he?”
“Man, you didn’t hear it from me, OK?” said Harry, looking around the Supply shed that, as usual, was empty except for the two of them. “We got to play it close to the vest, Double-X. The rest of the company is gonna find out soon enough, when they have to put things together. But for now, we’re bringing this stuff in on the QT, and it’s gotta be smooth. I’m trusting you, ‘cause you’re the one dude I know can keep things quiet. Got it?”
Double-X’s face was serious, now. “Yeah, Sarge, I’m your man. I’ll get the stuff so fast you won’t have time to wonder where it’s comin‘ from.” He took the list and went over to his own desk. Before long, he was fast at work on his console.
“I reckon OF Ben’s the only one ‘round here’d know thet, stranger,” said the cowpoke sitting on a wooden bench by the saloon entrance.
“OK, if you say so,” said Sushi. “Where do we find Ol‘ Ben?”
The cowpoke pointed down the street. “That-a-way, out on the range. Head west out o‘ town; when you get to Brownsville, take that right-hand road. Then when you see a big cloud o’ dust off to the west side, that’s OF Ben’s herd, sure as shootin‘. He’ll be right there with ’em. You tell ‘im Jeb sent you.“
“All right,” said Sushi. “Thanks, Jeb.”
“Tarnation, I ain’t Jeb,” said the cowpoke, exasperation personified.
“I don’t get it, man,” said Do-Wop, scratching his head. “If you ain’t Jeb, why you want us to say Jeb sent us?”
“ ‘Cause that’s the word” said the cowpoke. “Same as if you wants to start a robohorse movin’, it’s gitty-up, ‘stead of move yer arse. You can’t ’spect anything to work the way it’s ‘sposed to if’n you go usin’ the wrong words.”
“That almost makes sense,” said Sushi. “West out of town, right-hand road in Brownsville, big cloud of dust. Jeb sent me.”
“That’s the ticket, sonny,” said the cowpoke, benignly. “Say, you oughta buy a feller a drink when he gives you good advice like thet,” he said, turning one of his eyes on Sushi. The other seemed to be aimed somewhere off in the distance.
Sushi began, “I don’t know if we’ve got the-”
“Always time for a drink,” said Do-Wop. “Say, what’s your name, buddy?”
“Well it ain’t Buddy any more’n it’s Jeb. It’s Buck,” said the cowpoke, rising from the bench. “And this here’s the best place I know of for a drink. Not that there’s very many bad ones.”
Recognizing which way the wind was blowing, Sushi went to the bar and returned shortly with a pitcher of beer and three glasses. He set the glasses on the table but didn’t pour any beer. “All right,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “As long as we’re in the business of buying information, let’s make sure we’re getting something worth the price.
“Yo, Soosh, I’m on your team,” said Do-Wop, making a grab for the pitcher. Sushi batted his hand away.
“Yeah, so you can wait until I’m ready to pour the drinks,” said Sushi. “I want to find out what else Buck knows about Old Ben, and about where the captain might have gone-or maybe even Beeker and Nightingale.”
Buck Short frowned. “Nightingale? She some kind of singer?”
Sushi looked at Do-Wop and raised an eyebrow. “Funny-I don’t remember saying Nightingale was a she. Do you remember me saying that?”
“Hey, I wasn’t hardly listen-OOF!” said Do-Wop, as Sushi kicked him under the table. He shot a dirty look at his partner, then belatedly caught the hint. “Uh, no, Soosh-you didn’t say nothin‘ at all about Nightingale bein’ a female. Where’d you get that idea, Buck?”
“Well, it’s a girly kind o‘ name, ain’t it?” said Buck Short. ’“Sides, there was one young lady come through a while back, never did get her name, but she was with a kind of dignified older feller, and wearin‘ the kind of outfit you said she might be wearin’. So it kind of makes sense she’s the one you’re talkin‘ about, don’t it, now.”
“Maybe it does,” said Sushi, directing a doubtful stare at Buck. “But I think you better tell us a little more about this young lady you saw. Where did she and her ‘older feller’ go? Has anybody else been asking about them?”
“You want me to answer all them questions without a drink? My throat’s like to get awful dry…” Buck Short put on his most pitiful expression.
“Answer, and you’ll get your drink,” said Sushi, mildly. “Unless we don’t like your answers… My friend here can get mighty cross when we don’t like answers.” He nodded toward Do-Wop, who was scowling fiercely-most likely at the prospect of having to wait for beer, himself. But there was nothing to be gained by letting Buck know that.
It took a few more not-very-subtle threats, but before long Buck was drinking his beer-and talking up a blue streak. At last, the pitcher was done, and so was the cow-poke. He laid his arms on the table, set his head down on them, and fell almost immediately asleep.
“Well, I guess we’ve found out what we need to know,” said Sushi. “Let’s go see what we can do about it.”
“Ya sure?” said Do-Wop, looking at the empty pitcher. “If this hayseed wakes up, he might remember some other stuff.”
“And cost us a lot more time and bucks,” said Sushi. “Let’s get on the case while there’s still a case to get onto.” He grabbed his partner by the arm and out the door they went.
6
Journal #790-
My employer’s military career exemplifies one major strategy for success in life: He has never missed an opportunity to build one success into another. Consider the incident on Haskin’s Planet, where, entirely by accident, he encountered members of an alien race-a situation loaded with opportunities for horrendous blunders. To my employer’s credit, he kept his wits about him, and not only avoided conflict but struck a commercial bargain with the Zeno-bians, as the aliens called themselves. In addition, he made a friend of the alien commander, Flight Leftenant Qual- who, as it turned out, was destined to become a highly admired hero among his own race.