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I profess not to be any great writer.

These are the ponderings

of a poor man's mind.

"Mississippi Roller" is a "winner"

Nate Barker

Updated: Aug 27, 2024

A spaceship passing a planet

Over the past 6 months I've been entering some writing contests. The plan was to see if my stories could hold their own against the vast sea of manuscripts, floating out there in the void of the internet. I haven't flat out won anything yet, but I'm learning that with a bit more practice and polish, some of my stories could have potential.


I did receive some good news yesterday from a contest entitled Twist in the Tale. I placed in the top 20% of stories entered and more importantly I placed 2nd in my subgenre. For context, all participants for this contest were given seven days to write a story of 1000 words or less. The genre of Science Fiction was mandatory for competitors. Next, each writer was given a set number of cards they could draw from. These cards determined the subgenre and a character that had to also be incorporated into the story. I ended up drawing cards for a subgenre of Space Noir (think gritty detective story, but in space) and a character that was a rogue. The result was a story entitled Mississippi Roller.



I will be releasing stories regularly through the new Bully Beard - One Plan. Join here.


Here is Mississippi Roller in full.


 

Mississippi Roller

 

Crank was my new avowed partner.  Well, more like a scab than a partner.  Someone who reminded you of a self-inflicted injury, was insatiably irritating, and oozed annoyance when picked.  We were stuck together, me and the scab, as travelers on the decrepit starglider Mississippi Roller, bound for Titan.


I had come aboard taking a job sniffing out perps who were ripping off posh passengers.  Electroheads, who had been casing high rollers, pinching IDs, and skimming bank accounts with handheld fryers.


We were one day out from sub-orbit, when I was headed towards the can to get rid of some afternoon booze.  A brunette with purple eyes that would knock your lights out, intercepted me in the hallway.


“Have you seen him?” she desperately asked grabbing my arm.


I can’t say I was displeased with her touch.


“Who are you looking for?”


“The little electrohead creep that just stole my ID,” she fumed.


Blowing my cover so early in the glide wasn’t an option, so I told her to report the pinch at the security desk.


“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I promised her.


Her long legs walked off and I headed into the can.  It was either luck, or the kid’s bad timing, but out of a stall came the electrohead with a fryer and the ID.  I learned a long time ago that you can either catch a little fish, or dangle the lure for a bigger one.  This kid struck me as a minnow.


I knocked the ID from his hand and a second later we were out the door and into a side passage.  I pulled my stun-banger from its holster.


“Don’t drill me Bouncer-man,” he pleaded.  “It was gonna be a quick cook.  Just enough stock to get me to Titan.”


This kid didn’t know his ass from an antenna.  I had just ditched any evidence by knocking the ID from his hand.  I started working him.


“I don’t care where you’re going.  A fry is the dumbest move you could make.  Where were you gonna hide when I found out?”


This kid needed a whack across the crater he called a head, but maybe some slack on the leash would open up some leads.


“You’re a dumb-shit kid, but this time no one’s gonna find out.”


He looked at me with wide eyes.


“We’ve got three weeks left on this tub.  If I catch a whiff of your acid-breath near anything slipping sideways…”


“Right on Bouncer-man.  I’ll go along with the juice.  I owe you one.”


I let him go and walked away, hoping that my clemency would lead him to turn over on some perps.


"Hey Bounce, wait up.”


I turned.


“Let me trudge with you for the rest of the glide. I point out fryers, you keep me away from the troubles.”


This kid had flipped faster than I wanted.  I didn’t need an electrohead tagging along for the whole trip.  Just some info now and then.  Besides, I had a nice bottle of Hyperion whiskey waiting back in my cabin.


“No chance,” I feigned.


“Listen Bounce, you’ve got me straight now.  Don’t let me fly.”


I’m either a sucker for hardcases or just a sucker, but his words hit me dead.  Maybe the idea had potential.


“What’s your name punk?”


“Call me Crank.”

 

---

 

You have to work hard to impress me, but this electrohead seemed to have turned the proverbial corner.  In a week he had nailed two other fryers, a cheap trick dandy, and a shuffler who was taking dope under the table in the Gambit Parlor.  Most days Crank was by my side, babbling and asking too many questions, other times he’d disappear for hours.  He’d return, full of information and annoying chatter, but in reality, he was growing on me.  Honestly, he was making my job a damn lot easier.


The rest of the glide was smooth, until 24 hours out from Titan when there was a knock at my cabin door.  Putting down my nearly empty bottle of whiskey, I answered the summons.


There she was; tall, dark, with legs that made my drunken knees more unsteady than they already were.  She stared at me with deep purple eyes and I recognized her as the mark Crank had picked weeks ago.


“Are you the Bouncer?” she asked in a voice that would melt a candy bar in your pocket.


“What can I do for you?” I kept it smooth, hoping that her visit was more pleasure than business.


“I need help finding a thief,” she replied, stepping into my cabin.


The luck of this lady!  Getting picked twice in one glide.  It gave a guy an uneasy feeling.


“What’s missing?”


“My ID card of course.”


I was surprised.  Hadn’t someone returned it to her by now?  Had she found about my working with Crank?  As if to answer the question, the electrohead appeared behind her.  I tried to warn him off with my eyes.


“Hey Bouncer-man.  What’s new?”


The brunette turned at the sound of his voice and extended her hand.  Crank took it, pulled her to his side and kissed her cheek.  A wry smile appeared on her face.

“I see you’ve found him.”


There was a flash from Crank’s hand and everything went gray and fuzzy.  Where did he get a stun-banger from anyway?  My body wouldn’t move.  Someone else’s hands went through my pockets.  The sound of a fryer and some laughs lingered in my ears.  Gray turned to black, and I was out.

 

---


We had been in dock for hours when the bio-steward found me and deactivated the mag-bonds holding me to my bed.  My brain was a fog and I needed a drink.  That bastard kid!  Rolling over I saw the bottle of Hyperion whiskey on the bedside table was empty.  Next to it was a scribbled note.


“Bounce-man.  Thanks for the drink, the cover, and the fry.  We owe you one.”

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