Excerpt

As seedy bars went, the Tipsy Pangolin lurked at the lower end of the scale. Most of its reluctant patrons generally agreed it was a tie between the Pangolin and a questionable strip joint called Orgazmos for which establishment was the worst one to be knifed in. Sadly for the proprietors of either venue, no other place in this solar system ranked below them.

In fact, Ignatz Bauer couldn't think of any bar within the Djor Cluster more disgusting, and he'd been in just about all of them.

The only reason he patronized the Pangolin at all when he was on Sylvan's World was because he was too lazy to walk more than the three blocks from where he usually parked his ship.

He liked to believe he wasn't always so indolent. Just most of the time.

His inebriate father used to say, "Why do a good job when a shitty one gives you more time for goofing off?" The philosophy certainly went a long way toward explaining why his son's name was Ignatz.

After gazing hazily into the depths of his empty glass, he gradually came to a profound realization: another drink was in order. He pried his hand free of the sticky counter to signal the bartender.

A bulbous creature behind the bar with a head like a slug's oozed over.

Ozzy was a Jormican with a bad attitude toward humans, which was unfortunate since the Tipsy Pangolin was one of the few where Ignatz's kind were served, if one meant "served" to refer to providing a service rather than an entree on the menu.

"What?" The voice was like grinding gears and possessed a sticky quality that reminded him of whatever the stuff on the bar top was.

"Another beverage, if you please, good sir."

Ozzy's three compound eyes drew closer together in what Ignatz interpreted as a scowl. "Show me your money, first, hoo-mun."

He sat straight and shot a proper scowl at the bartender.

"Hoo-mun? You know bloody well who I am, Ozzy."

The monstrous head pulsed in a vague imitation of a nod. "I know you, Ig. That's why I want to see you're good for it."

He huffed. "Oz, I am offended. And what's with the 'hoo-mun' slur, anyway? I thought we were past such ugly speciesism."

"You hoo-muns are my only customers who run out on your tabs."

Ignatz made a point of surveying the other patrons in the bar.

Turning back to the Jormican, he said, "Humans are your only customers, Oz. Ever!"

The strange eyes almost touched, and the creature's gelatinous skin grew pink. "No money, no drink."

Realizing he could push the matter no further, he sighed and dug into his pocket. Tossing two coins on the counter, he said, "Fine, but this is going to negatively influence my rating of this establishment."

A tentacle appeared from somewhere on Oz's person to collect the money.

"Uh-huh. You want the same?"

He slumped his shoulders. "Yeah, thanks."

The Jormican returned to refill the glass with a glowing green liquid. As he turned to leave, Ignatz quietly said, "Did you make any progress on the other thing?"

Ozzy leaned conspiratorially closer and whispered. "No."

He frowned, unsure if the Jormican was being sarcastic. "Well, tell me as soon as you do."

One of the alien's eyes rolled to the back of his head in a creepy wink before he left to tend to another patron.

Ignatz hunched over his drink and stared into his refilled glass. He absently wondered how much he could drink before something on him began to glow. It was only then he considered for the first time after weeks of regularly consuming the stuff the possibility that it might be a little radioactive.

As he weighed whether he cared enough to retrieve a Geiger counter from his ship, somebody sat on the stool beside him. He turned and became immediately sober at the sight.

"Hello, Bauer." The man wore a smug smile, like the kind one gets when he's finally scored a full Yahtzee.

"Hello, BUG."

The fellow frowned, probably because that wasn't his name. Ignatz didn't know his actual name. He simply thought of him as Big Ugly Guy, which he'd shortened to BUG to avoid calling him something worse. It was certainly the better choice, given the inordinate size of the man.

"Why do you call me that?" BUG asked.

"You mean it isn't your name?"

"No, it's Eugene."

Ignatz arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't prefer BUG?"

"No, I don't. Who told you that was my name, anyway?"

Ignatz glanced over to where Ozzy was cleaning the glassware and for an insane moment wondered what entertainment value lay in suggesting the bartender had.

Turning back to Eugene, he said, "I dunno. What can I do for you?"

The man's satisfied smile reappeared. "I'm here to get my money back."

"What money?"

"The money you cheated me out of."

Ignatz sat straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "Sir, you wound me. It was a fair contest. How dare you accuse me of something so crass?"

"You rigged the game."

"The nuances of xyzzy are complex; perhaps you didn't understand the game's subtleties well enough to avoid losing."

Eugene frowned. "You used loaded dice."

"I most certainly did not."

His protest was interrupted when a pair of octagonal objects was plunked on the bar. "Recognize these?"

Ignatz swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. "Should I?"

Eugene picked one up and held it close to Ignatz's nose. "They are the ones you insisted we use. Pick a number."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"This is pointless."

The man seized him by the collar.

"Fourteen," said Ignatz. "I pick fourteen."

The dice were rolled to count fourteen.

"Will you look at that," said Ignatz, who faked a smile as perspiration formed on his forehead.

"Mm-hmm." Eugene grabbed up and tossed them once more. Fourteen again showed.

"Talk about luck," said Ignatz as the room pressed in on him.

Eugene threw them again, with the same result. He looked up from them with no amusement in his eyes.

With his gaze locked on Ignatz, he scooped up and tossed the dice another three times, each throw resulting in the increasingly improbable number, fourteen.

"How long do you think I can do this?"

The sweat was now running down Ignatz's temples. "Er, as unlikely as this may appear, the, er, laws of probability certainly don't discount such an occurrence."

Deadpan, Eugene said, "You are absolutely right. Give me another one."

"What?"

"A number."

The bar had grown quiet at this point as most of the patrons were becoming interested in the unfolding drama.

Ignatz squeaked, "Ah, er, eight?"

"A little louder, please."

He cleared his throat and spoke the number clearly.

BUG nodded, and a smile turned up the edge of his mouth. He tossed the dice to a sum of eight.

Bauer's breathing shallowed as he stared at the number.

Eugene scooped up the dice and rolled three more eights in a row. With the last one, his hand came down to cover them.

"Do we need to continue?"

Ignatz's eyes darted several times between the hand covering the dice and its owner. "I, ah, had no idea they did that."

"You cheated."

He frowned. "Cheat is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as—"

Hands grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him from the stool. Their noses almost touched, and Eugene's breath almost made him retch.

"You owe me back my money."

"Of course; absolutely," said Ignatz as he unsuccessfully tried to pry himself free. "It's just, I don't have it."

Eugene's face grew red, and he lifted him farther from the floor.

"I mean to say, I don't have it here."

"Where is it?"

"Nearby; on my ship. Please, I'm good for it."

The cheated man glared at him for several seconds before he released him.

"Fine," he said, "let's go get it."

"Now?"

"We can go out back and discuss an alternate repayment plan if you'd prefer."

"No, now is good. Can I just finish my drink first? May I buy you one?"

Eugene glanced at the half empty glass of glowing green liquor on the bar and curled his lip in disgust. "I'll have a beer," he said, sitting.

After Ignatz had flagged down Ozzy and ordered Eugene's drink, a voice inside his head said, "I warned you it wasn't a good idea."

He scowled and muttered into his glass, "Oh, shut up."