The Lost Starship by Vaughn Heppner

through his options. The number of people in the bar at this hour surprised him. After a moment, Maddox decided on his approach and picked up his beer, beginning to guzzle. When he finished the glass, he gasped and clunked the container onto the bar.
    “Now give me a whiskey,” Maddox said. “No. On second thought, line up three shot glasses.”
    “Do you have the credits?” the bartender asked.
    Maddox took out his credit card and slid it to the man. The bartender ran it through a device and slid it back. With his thick fingers, the bartender plucked three shot glasses, pressing them from the inside. He grabbed a bottle, uncorked it and poured until the liquid brimmed to the top of each glass.
    The card players still watched, saying nothing.
    Maddox grinned, nodded to them and picked up the first shot glass. He made certain not to spill a drop. With a practiced flip of his wrist, he tossed the contents down his throat. It was fiery going down, and the sensation exploded into his brain. In quick succession, he did the same with the other two glasses. His eyes bulged for a moment on the last gulp.
    “That’s quite a thirst you have,” Keith said.
    With a single finger, Maddox indicated for the bartender to approach. The man complied and opened his mouth to ask something. Before the bartender could get out the words, Maddox poked an index finger into the man’s mouth, rubbing the tip against the fellow’s teeth.
    The bartender jerked back, outraged. Maddox caught the big man by the shoulder, dragged him closer and wiped the wet finger against his shirt.
    “Next time,” Maddox said, “keep your fingers out of my shot glasses.” He pushed, making the bigger man stumble away.
    As Maddox turned, two of the debt collectors stood up angrily. He pretended not to notice, grabbing a chair, bringing it to the card table.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” one of the standing men asked.
    Maddox laughed good-natured ly, and he lightly punched Keith Maker on the shoulder. “Just making a point, you know. I believe in doing things in a sanitary fashion.”
    “You okay, Bernie?” Keith asked the bartender.
    The man glowered and spit on the floor. “I say we beat the tar out of him. He’s trouble, Mr. Maker. I can feel it.”
    This is Danny’s Pub. Danny was the name of Keith’s brother. He must own this place. Why wasn’t that in the file?
    Keith seemed to consider the bartender’s suggestion, finally shaking his head.
    The two enforcers sat back down, sliding their chairs to make room for Maddox. He scraped his a bit farther away from Keith.
    The small pilot in his suit and tie squinted one-eyed at Maddox. Keith took the stim stick out of his mouth and mashed it against an ashtray.
    “Bernie’s right,” Keith said. “You stink of death. Maybe you should move along.”
    “Want us to make him move?” one of the bone breakers asked.
    Keith kept looking at Maddox as he shook his head. “He’s carrying, Pete. This bloke is a tiger , and you’re a junkyard dog. He’d eat the three of you like that.” The pilot snapped his fingers.
    Maddox’s estimation of Keith rose.
    “Why are you here?” the man asked.
    Maddox reevaluated his plan, and changed it on the spot. “Could I have a word with you in private?”
    “Did the Wallace Corporation send you?” Keith asked.
    Maddox shook his head.
    Keith squinted, peering more deeply into Maddox’s eyes. “That’s quite a trick,” he said thoughtfully.
    “What’s wrong, Mr. Maker,” one of the bone breakers asked.
    Maddox had the feeling Keith understood that whatever the whiskey had done to him was quickly dissipating.
    “Okay,” Keith told Maddox. “I’ll talk.” He stood, picked up his pint and moved toward a back booth. “Don’t touch the cards,” he told the others.
    Maddox followed the small man, listening as the three enforcers muttered among themselves. He slid onto the other side of the booth as Keith.
    “ Let’s make this quick,” the ace