red on its side sat behind a restaurant four buildings down. If there was a Derrick, he was a brave man, because you had to do a lot of tricky processing to make the local fish safe to eat. Maybe he imported what he sold. A single man watched delivery carts roll out of the transport and into the back of the building.
I walked over to him.
“Got a minute?” I said.
He glanced at me and went back to watching the carts. “Do I look like I’m pressed for time?”
I laughed. “No, but,” I paused until he looked my way again, “you do look like a man who wouldn’t mind making a little extra money.”
Now he stared at me and left the carts to their own devices. “I’ve got a job,” he said, waving his arm to take in the transport and the food containers, “as you can see.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hire you,” I said. “I want to rent your vehicle.”
“It’s not mine,” he said. He pointed at the writing on the side of it. “As you can also see.”
“I understand,” I said, “but it’s yours right now . I need it for no more than two, three hours, and I’ll bring it back here or call you with its location; your choice.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do it. See the owners if you want; maybe they’ll help you.”
I took out my wallet, thumbed it open, and stepped closer to him. “I’m in a bit of a rush. I need it for a surprise”—I held up my hands as he started to speak—“nothing illegal, just a surprise my boss told me to arrange, and I’m behind schedule.”
“I told you,” he said, “it’s not mine to rent.”
I pushed my wallet closer to him, its display clearly visible. On it was what Lobo assured me was half a year’s pay for a typical Dardan worker. “My boss is very private,” I said, “but he can also be very generous. This is yours; I just need the transport—not the carts, you stay with them—for a few hours at most.”
His eyes widened when he saw the number, but then his face tightened. “What’s your deal, buddy? Did old man Derrick send you to test me? Why would he do that?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who Derrick is, and I don’t care. All I care about is making my boss happy and not losing my job. To do that, I need a transport like yours for a few hours. I should have started on this job earlier, but”—I shrugged—“I blew it.”
He said nothing.
I closed my wallet and put it back in my pocket. “Your call. Sorry to bother you.”
I turned and walked away.
When I’d gone four steps, he said, “I’d need some ID, something I can give the cops if you’re not back here in three hours.”
We’d expected that, so I had a fake ID ready. Lobo had made it, so it would pass at least a few levels of checking and in the process misdirect the police should the guy turn me in. “No problem,” I said.
The man’s face softened as he stared at me. “Give me your word you won’t do anything wrong with it.”
Back on Pinkelponker, before my sister, Jennie, healed me, when I was still mentally challenged, one of the lessons my mother and father had drilled into me was that you never gave your word lightly and you always kept it. I liked the lack of guile in the man and his attempt to believe that others would do as they said. It would probably get him in trouble, but not with me.
I stared into his eyes and stuck out my hand. “You have my word.”
We shook hands. I pulled out my wallet and handed him the ID.
“Then I suppose no one will really be hurt by me loaning it to you for a few hours. If old man Derrick complains, I’ll tell him I was helping a guy in need.”
I opened my wallet. “I’ll transfer to yours when you’re ready.”
He shook his head. “Tell your boss not everyone’s for sale,” he said. “Maybe even think about getting a new boss when this is over.”
I’ve spent so much time dealing with criminals, government officials, and corporate executives on the make, people who manipulate and hurt others every
I walked over to him.
“Got a minute?” I said.
He glanced at me and went back to watching the carts. “Do I look like I’m pressed for time?”
I laughed. “No, but,” I paused until he looked my way again, “you do look like a man who wouldn’t mind making a little extra money.”
Now he stared at me and left the carts to their own devices. “I’ve got a job,” he said, waving his arm to take in the transport and the food containers, “as you can see.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hire you,” I said. “I want to rent your vehicle.”
“It’s not mine,” he said. He pointed at the writing on the side of it. “As you can also see.”
“I understand,” I said, “but it’s yours right now . I need it for no more than two, three hours, and I’ll bring it back here or call you with its location; your choice.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do it. See the owners if you want; maybe they’ll help you.”
I took out my wallet, thumbed it open, and stepped closer to him. “I’m in a bit of a rush. I need it for a surprise”—I held up my hands as he started to speak—“nothing illegal, just a surprise my boss told me to arrange, and I’m behind schedule.”
“I told you,” he said, “it’s not mine to rent.”
I pushed my wallet closer to him, its display clearly visible. On it was what Lobo assured me was half a year’s pay for a typical Dardan worker. “My boss is very private,” I said, “but he can also be very generous. This is yours; I just need the transport—not the carts, you stay with them—for a few hours at most.”
His eyes widened when he saw the number, but then his face tightened. “What’s your deal, buddy? Did old man Derrick send you to test me? Why would he do that?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who Derrick is, and I don’t care. All I care about is making my boss happy and not losing my job. To do that, I need a transport like yours for a few hours. I should have started on this job earlier, but”—I shrugged—“I blew it.”
He said nothing.
I closed my wallet and put it back in my pocket. “Your call. Sorry to bother you.”
I turned and walked away.
When I’d gone four steps, he said, “I’d need some ID, something I can give the cops if you’re not back here in three hours.”
We’d expected that, so I had a fake ID ready. Lobo had made it, so it would pass at least a few levels of checking and in the process misdirect the police should the guy turn me in. “No problem,” I said.
The man’s face softened as he stared at me. “Give me your word you won’t do anything wrong with it.”
Back on Pinkelponker, before my sister, Jennie, healed me, when I was still mentally challenged, one of the lessons my mother and father had drilled into me was that you never gave your word lightly and you always kept it. I liked the lack of guile in the man and his attempt to believe that others would do as they said. It would probably get him in trouble, but not with me.
I stared into his eyes and stuck out my hand. “You have my word.”
We shook hands. I pulled out my wallet and handed him the ID.
“Then I suppose no one will really be hurt by me loaning it to you for a few hours. If old man Derrick complains, I’ll tell him I was helping a guy in need.”
I opened my wallet. “I’ll transfer to yours when you’re ready.”
He shook his head. “Tell your boss not everyone’s for sale,” he said. “Maybe even think about getting a new boss when this is over.”
I’ve spent so much time dealing with criminals, government officials, and corporate executives on the make, people who manipulate and hurt others every
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