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“I skinned ‘em good, Jakru – I skinned ‘em real good.”

 

Mashek angled his way over to the table where his associate was sitting. The lanky man had just closed a deal selling a new moisture reclaimer. Living on an arid planet definitely didn’t hurt business, but the recent years of persistent water shortages had sent profit margins – and potential commissions – sky high.

 

Jakru didn’t bother to look up from his data pad. “How much did you inflate it this time? A thousand? Fifteen hundred?”

 

“Try a cool three thousand,” Mashek crooned. “Got ‘em to trade in their old unit and—“

 

The only response he got was a terse grunt. Jakru continued studying his data pad, wistfully dismissing his compatriot’s boasts.

 

“Oh c’mon, aren’t you gonna at least congratulate me?! At this rate, I’m on pace to beat last season’s numbers by double! Heh, not a minute too soon either; them lotto machines ain’t passin’ out winnin’s like they used to!”

 

“What difference does it make?”

 

Mashek arched a eyebrow. “Come again?”

 

“You keep going on and on about your sales, commissions, margins – all so you can feed that addiction of yours. You ever stop to think about what you’re selling, how you’re providing something that may keep people alive on this desolate rock?”

 

Mashek’s eyes sparked. “Now don’t you start playin’ me for a fool. You know good and well you’re doin’ the same thing each and every day! Why, just yesterday I saw you close a deal with a unit that’ll last ten rotations – fifteen, tops!”

 

“Never said I was proud of it.”

 

“The only way to live is to hit hard, and hit fast. That’s all’s ever worked for me, and I don’t take favors from nobody.”

 

Jakru sighed deeply. “Ever stop to think that maybe there’s more than getting ahead? Hasn’t bothered me in the past, but it all feels hollow, empty now. There’s got to be more than just putting somebody else under my foot.”

 

“Now, don’t go off an’ start gettin’ all philosophic on me,” Mashek seethed. “This is my life, an’ I’ll live it how I need. If I can take it, I’m gettin’ it! Ain’t nothin’ ever been given me; all I got I took on my own.”

 

Jakru scarcely stirred in his seat. “Say someone sold you a bum speedtrac, and that you didn’t realize it until it stopped working when you needed it most. You still be willing to hang on to that philosophy of yours?”

 

Mashek’s eyes narrowed as he leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “I’d say I got what I deserved. If I ain’t sharp enough to stay one klick ahead of the next man, I ain’t got no business being in the race.”

 

Slapping his palm down on the table, Mashek stood up and turned on his heel. Making his way for the door, he called back over his shoulder. “Don’t stay in the race if ya can’t run! I don’t put up with losers!”

 

* * *

 

“I’m here for Mashek Nadel. Tell him a friend is here to reclaim his moisture. He will understand.”

 

Not one to interact with the business’ customers, the man behind the workbench started at the figure who had approached him. Gaining composure, he looked up from the repair job he’d been tinkering with all morning.

 

The speaker had a kindly yet somehow mocking face, but the eyes burned a cold blue. Flanking him were four men of significantly larger stature. This was not a courtesy call.

 

“H-he just w-w-went in there” stammered the man at the workbench, pointing toward the entrance to the common room.

 

The door to the room slid open and Mashek brusquely stepped out. The sneer on his face transformed first into surprise, then quickly blanched into terror.

 

“Faisal – I, I’s just about to contact you. Finally had a turn of good luck! Got the money right here, right here! Just gotta go collect from th-“

 

Mashek never finished his sentence. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, following a swift thwack on the back of the head from one of Faisal’s henchmen.

 

Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth, Faisal walked over to the limp body. Bending down, he whispered into Mashek’s ear:

 

“Don’t make the deal if you can’t pay the debt. You know Faisal always comes to collect what he’s owed.”

 

The door to the common room slid open again. Jakru stepped across the threshold and looked up from his data pad. With an expressionless face he surveyed the scene, turned, and walked back into the room.

 

The door slid shut.

Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC

The Swindler

Not all deals are worth making

A.J. Cross

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