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smiled.
    “The election,” he said, tapping his
fingers on the arm of his wheelchair, “how do you view it?”
    I sighed.
    “Honestly, I haven’t paid much
attention. But everyone else seems to be.”
    “Don’t underestimate its importance.”
    “But why? The Governor and City Council.
What will they do? I suspect nothing.”
    “The people are pinning a lot of faith
on them. Can’t you hear it on the loudspeakers? Every day it’s election this
and election that. And on the street, folks are mad for it.”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    He looked at me slyly.
    “Are you going to run for office?” he
asked point-blank.
    “What? No.”
    He seemed to consider my response.
    “Why, are you?” I asked him.
    “No one would elect an unpopular
invalid. I’ll keep my current businesses.”
    “But it wouldn’t hurt you to be friends
with the new government, assuming they have any power.”
    “Of course.”
    We both sat silently for some moments.
    “I have some information for you, Hank.”
    “What will it cost?”
    “You can decide. 19-10 has come to
Belvaille,” he said.
    “What’s that?”
    “You really don’t keep track of anything
off this station, do you?”
    “I can’t keep track of what’s on this station.”
    “19-10 is an assassin. A bounty hunter.
Very famous across the galaxy. He wears a four-armed Colmarian Messahn
battlesuit.”
    “I have no idea what that is.”
    “It was a weapon created during the war.
Only a very few made. It can teleport. Like a Portal or an a-drive on a ship,
but anywhere without limitations.”
    That was something.
    “So just pop across the galaxy? Or into
someone’s house? How did that not stop the war? Or win it?”
    “Well, I don’t know the specifics. This
is just what I’ve heard,” he said.
    “Hmm. So I’ll look around for someone
with four arms, I guess. In a metal suit.”
    “That’s just the first part. He’s here
to kill you.”
    “What did I do to him?”
    “You do know how assassins work,
right? Someone hired him.”
    “Who?”
    “That, I don’t know. But there are, as
you must know, many contracts against you. When big name assassins take up a
contract, they let everyone know, so other big names don’t interfere.”
    “Well that’s courteous of them. Do you
know anything else about him? Where he’s at or staying?”
    “I don’t, unfortunately. But if I learn anything
I’d be happy to tell you.”
    I sat thinking about all this.
    “I’m going out patrolling tomorrow,” I
said finally. “Any recommendations?”
    Zadeck also seemed to think. But he did
a poor job of acting.
    “Avenue Yein is very dangerous at night.
I wonder if there’s any illegal activity going on there.”
    I tried to picture that block. It was
packed with gambling houses and brothels. But there was one establishment that
I thought was owned by someone big enough to give Zadeck competition.
    “The Busher building? Do they have their
papers in order?” I hazarded.
    Zadeck’s eyebrows raised and he puckered
his lips as if that were some unique question he had never pondered.
    “I don’t know. You might check, though.”
    “Alright,” I said, and picked up another
sandwich.
    “Nice talking with you, Hank.”
    “You too. I hope your back is better.”
     
    Thirty or so sandwiches later, I was brooding
on what Zadeck said.
    Assassins were odd things. Belvaille had
more than its share of killing. Hell, I did more than my share. But for an
assassin, it’s their business. They haggle over the price of dead husbands,
slaughtered police, and killed mothers.
    You got to be of a particular
sensibility to wake up every day thinking of murder. Probably not the kind of
person who enjoys a good fart joke.
    I knew there were assassins hiding on
Belvaille, but they didn’t advertise, and they kept a low profile. If I caught
them, it was straight to the Royal Wing. Belvaille never really used assassins.
All the gangs fought. And yes, people died. But their business wasn’t