Retief and the Rascals by Keith Laumer

tell him to fergit he ever seen me.
Sorry about duh bad dope, Ben, but it was stoled in good faith! I'll get back
to dat Abominable sucker dat I got it from!"
     
                "That's neither here nor there, I'm sure,
Mister Grand Inquisitor," Magnan contributed. "The point is, after
all, Wim, is that you yourself seem to be in charge of the monumental cache of
contraband! What have you to say to that? And after His Ex has favored you with
admission into his inner circle of trusted confidants, too!"
     
                "Ain't my fault Sam Swinepearl got no
judgment," Wim carped. "Anyways, I onney come down here inna vault to
do a like recce: feared some slickers from duh Nasty Party was plotting to,
like, hijack duh load. Hark!" Wim paused dramatically at a sharp p ing! from
the darkness behind the fallen grating. "Hey!" he stage-whispered.
"I heard a sharp ping! over duh freight lift! I bet dem sneaky
mudders is tryna hot-wire it!" He threshed under the weight of the wrought
ironwork. "Hurry up, Ben! Tell Retief to get offa my chest where I can get
some air! Let's get dem miscreants!"
     
                " 'Miscreants'?" Magnan gasped.
"Are they involved too?"
     
                "Calmly, Ben," Retief soothed. His
Ferocity will no doubt deal with the situation; you may rest easy."
     
                " 'Rest easy,' duh guy says," Wim
snarled, "and me wit tree hunnert kilos o' ironwork laying on my lunch,
which it wasn't too good at dat! Bean soup! No wonder duh PM brung a
lunch!"
     
                "I shall ignore your ill-considered remarks
anent Terran cuisine, Mister Grand Inquisitor," Magnan told the
unfortunate official, "inasmuch as you are under a certain, shall we say
'pressure', at the moment, and not fully responsible." He turned to
Retief. "Noblesse oblige, Jim, in its purest form. No harm in
making a few points with the scamp in case we find the footgear on the other
pedal extremity at some time."
     
                "Masterful, sir," Retief applauded his
chief's ploy. "Should we go all the way and let him up?"
     
                "Not just yet," Magnan counseled.
"First I want to see for myself just who else is invading the sacrosanct
precincts of the bonded warehouse. Come." He walked across the grille,
eliciting groans from the careless fellows lying pinned under it. From the deep
shadow ahead, a voice spoke urgently:
     
            "Shake a leg, Foor
Pool! I got a hunch—"
     
                Magnan waved Retief back. "We'll wait here
and eavesdrop," he decreed. "That sounded to me like that two-faced
chap from the ministry, Jum Derk! And he was talking to Foor Pool, the Deputy
for Nefarious Affairs, I shouldn't wonder. I shall have a word to say to the
Minister, you may be sure. Imagine! Even as I negotiate the final details of
the grant, they plot to steal our gifts, and to smuggle the stolen goods out on
our very own mercy ship! It's vile, do you hear?"
     
                "Sure, I hear, Ben," a voice came from
the darkness. "But it ain't no Vile; it's us Horrids, and a coupla Nasties
as hired hands, like Wim said."
     
            "Have you no
shame?" Magnan retorted.
     
            "Had a Shameful
fella onna staff, but hadda let him go," Pool's voice came back sadly from
the shadows. "Guy was tryna rope us loyal Unbearables into some kinda
intraclan rumble! How low can youse get? We get a nice little coalition working
here, tryna build it up, say where we can take over and get alla loot fer
ourselfs, and dis bum woulda busted it wide open. If we was to jump some o' the
Viles, say, in our bunch, alla resta dat moiety would bolted duh coalition. And
den trieda set up some kinda bootleg alliance on der own, to do us outa duh
goods." The tirade concluded with a hearty smack! as of a fist against
gristle. "Lay off, Smad Bell!" Foor snapped. "Inna dark, you hit me, accidentally!"
     
                "Hey,