Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel by George Ellis (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

20 feet high at their apex and maybe 300 square feet each. This one was filled with vape and cigar smoke. Guess when you have unlimited filters and air system parts, smoking wasn’t as much of a concern. Still, I didn’t like the smell and the instant eye-burn that accompanied the haze. I nearly jumped when I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down to see a thin black and white cat. I reached to pet him, but he skittered away under a chair in the corner.

I spotted an empty seat at the larger of the two tables. I hovered near the table until a hand was finished, then sat down in the empty chair. The other players all gave me the same look, assuming I was the new mark (kid) in the game. Little did they know I’d been playing cards with guys like them for years thanks to my days on the Sheffield. And I’d usually been on the winning end of things.

They were all rough-looking types. That was to be expected for people who either worked or shopped at Sal’s. No place for softies at the depot. The other table had a female player, but at mine it was all dudes.

“Is your dad gonna be joining us?” one of the men joked. He was a rail-thin guy with a shaved head and yellow teeth. He chewed the last bit of a cigar like he was making love to it. I took him for 20 credits on the first hand and he shut up pretty quickly after that.

I didn’t have my best day at the table, but I was good enough to be up about 100 credits a dozen games in. I was thinking about heading back to the Stang when I was dealt in again. One last game before I took off, I thought to myself.

It was a good hand. I had three aces over jacks and there was probably some good stuff in the hole too. I decided to go all-in, wagering those 100 credits I was up. It was too rich for most of the people at the table, save one. He was a Silver Star wrecker that had been pretty quiet during the games – not much table talk. A few hands earlier, he’d tossed a few chips down to the cat, which was his, apparently. Not that he seemed to care for it much.

We took turns drawing cards and I raised him one last time.

“We could do credits, but why don’t we make it more interesting?” he asked.

“What do you have in mind.”

“Everything I got in here and everything you got in here.”

I knew what he was interested in. He had been eyeing my watch all night. My dad had given it to me when I was on the Sheffield. Just about the only nice thing he’d done for me during my stint aboard his ship. I wasn’t particularly attached to it, but it did have some value.

“What do you have on you besides credits?” I asked. He didn’t have any noteworthy items like a watch or jewelry. The guy smiled and pulled a Swiss Army Tool out of his pocket. He placed it on the pot. The tool was a combo of 11 different variations, each available at the touch of a button. It was roughly the size of a hammer, but easily the most versatile tool around. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I nodded and put my watch on the pot.

“Here, I’ll even throw this in. That way if you win, you can feel like a real wrecker,” he said, tossing his Silver Star hat on the pile. It was a common jab. Silver Star captains were notoriously arrogant. I looked across the room and motioned to the cat.

“He’s yours too,” I said.

The guy paused a beat, then agreed. Then he laid down a full house of aces over 10’s. The other players at the table all reacted the same way: they assumed I had lost.

Until I put down my aces over jacks, of course.

The Silver Star guy took it pretty well, actually. He only broke a couple fingers when he slammed his hand down on the table. He tried to take a swing at me, but I kicked the table into his gut and a couple of the Sal’s depot crew grabbed the guy and reminded him he’d lost fair and square.

I took the pot and scooped up the cat, who I realized had only one working eye. The other was glazed over and half-closed. In that instant, I knew what I was going to call him: Pirate. I gave him a moment to decide whether he wanted to go with me. He rolled in my arms, belly up and purred loudly. So that was settled. I told Egon I was ready for my ride back to the Stang. When I got back to the ship, Gary was none too pleased with the excursion or the new crewmate.

“I would have preferred a dog,” Gary said. “Cats are so picky and they pee everywhere. What if he pees on a circuit board and I get fried?”

“I should be so lucky,” I said as I sat down in the pilot chair. “Now that I’ve pissed off both the feds and Silver Star, I think it’s finally time to vacate the area.”

Pirate hopped into the co-pilot seat and began kneading the leather. I liked him already.

Chapter 13

I was reclined in my chair with Pirate nestled in my lap. I thought back to when I won him in that card game. We’d been through plenty of jobs and tough times together since then, and I was hoping we’d make it through the current mess. He was hoping I’d give him a big snack when he woke up, probably. Such was the nature of our relationship.

Edgar burst into the cabin. I actually heard his footsteps before he arrived. They practically shook the floor.

“We’re out of candy bars,” he complained.