Yesterday’s News

Traian Basescu took another line of coke through a chrome straw, both the drug and the consumption device compliments of the Santos Grand Hotel. It stung in a good way as it traveled into his sinuses on its way to his bloodstream but still he scratched at his nose. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. His eyes watered as the drug entered his system. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“Traian?” asked Liz, half awake.

“Out here,” he called, going in for another hit. Three down, three to go.

Liz Bachman stumbled from the bedroom, wiping sleep from her eyes against the orange light reflecting off the suite’s hardwood floors, coloring her platinum bob into tangerine. Traian grinned as he watched Liz lumber out to join him, her long legs not yet responding to the slow impulses of her brain. She was so bulky in clothes but in the nude he saw nothing but curves. An amazon.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked.

“What’re you doing?” Her voice was deep and smooth, two decades of smoking revealed with a cough.

“Getting an early start on the day.”

Liz fell onto the leather sofa next to him and kicked her feet up onto the coffee table, only Traian’s reflexes keeping the coke from sliding over the side. He hid the straw by his bare thigh, wincing at the cold, and planted a kiss on her cheek. Liz’s sleepy eyes opened a crack with a tired smile.

“We have something going on today?” she asked.

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then come back to bed.”

“I’m kinda up, babe.”

Liz searched him for the truth and found a boyish grin that meant he was hiding something. She looked at the table and saw the mirror with three clean lines of white powder cut on top.

“The fuck?” she said.

“What?” asked Traian.

“Are you doing coke at–” she searched the room for a clock. “Nine o’clock? Really?”

“Why?”

“Traian,” she said. “For Christ’s sake.”

“What?” he protested. “What’s the big fucking deal?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning. Jesus, you could barely get it up last night–”

“Fuck…”

“What?” asked Liz.

“I had a difficult time last night,” he said, shrinking into the sofa. He toyed with his penis, attempting a hard-on, but it would not cooperate.

“That’s all a guy wants to hear.”

“You’re the one with coke-dick,” Liz said. “Maybe if you laid off now and then.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know,” said Liz. “Maybe I could get laid.”

Traian sat open-mouthed. There was no hint of a joke in her voice and that shocked him more than anything. He stroked a hand across his chest and stomach, searching for an ounce of fat but finding none, yet something still wanting. His hand drifted back to his genitals in defense.

“Look,” he said. “You don’t like what I have to offer, take a hike.”

Liz sat up, her eyes wide in disbelief. “You serious?”

Traian stood and slammed the chrome straw against the coffee table. It bounced back and he ducked away from it. He waited until the embarrassment passed to continue.

“You’re fucking right I’m serious,” he said. “So I do a little dip now and then. So it affects me. Jesus, give a guy a break. And if you can’t, I don’t need this shit.”

Liz stood and Traian felt their height difference as she towered over him. They were both naked but the alpha was not Traian and he couldn’t help but stoop under her glare.

“You want this over?” she asked. “Fine.”

Liz stormed into the bedroom and fetched a duffle from the wardrobe. Without folding a single item, she stuffed it all inside followed by the socks and underwear from the dresser. She pulled on the cocktail dress from the night before and slipped into a pair of heels.

“You know something,” she said, coming out and poking Traian in the chest. “You’re a real son of a bitch.”

“Me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “You. You have no idea how much shit I’ve looked the other way on. And… Jesus… I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning.”

“So you say now,” Traian said.

“Yeah. So I say now.” Liz looked him in the eye for any give but Traian wouldn’t back down. She shook her head. “Jesus. I should have known I was spinning my wheels.”

“So you say,” Traian said. “You’ll be back.”

Liz slapped him across the cheek and time paused. They stared at one another, neither sure what to do then. Liz’s eyes fell to the floor but Traian’s remained on her. A minute passed then Liz picked up her duffle and headed for the door.

She paused in the foyer. “I fucking loved you, Traian,” she said, choking back tears. “You fucking asshole.”

“I so don’t want to be here, Traian,” Federico Murphy said.

“What?” Traian asked, shouting over the music. “What’s not to like?”

Murphy surveyed the dance floor, seeing nothing but children less than half his age and frowned at Traian. Traian shrugged and pulled him down into it.

“It’s good for you, old man,” Traian said. “Marriage has made you lose it.”

“Lose what?”

“Your taste for the pleasures in life.”

An elbow turned over Murphy’s beer and he shot an evil glance in its direction. The next was reserved for Traian, dancing against a girl who may have been twenty but was likely fifteen. Murphy hated these places because he could never tell. That and the overpriced drinks. And the loud music. And his kids home without him.

“I want to get out of here,” Murphy said.

“What?” asked Traian, turning around. “Come on! You used to be quite the man about the town.”

“Ten years ago, yeah,” Murphy said. “But tomorrow I have to get my kids up.”

“Isn’t that why you have a wife?”

“No,” Murphy said. “I have a wife because I love her.”

Traian fell back as if punched. “Don’t even start with me about that shit.”

“Oh, Christ…”

“What?”

“This is about Liz.”

“Fuck Liz,” Traian said. He returned to dancing with a pretty young thing. “She’s yesterday’s news.”

“That’s going to come back and bite you in the ass, brother.”

Traian handed over his drink, a gin-and-tonic in a clear plastic cup. “Hold this?” he said.

“Why?” asked Murphy.

“Just… hold it, okay,” Traian said.

Murphy took the cup and stood on the periphery of the dance floor, bass rumbling through his ears. He watched as Traian danced the girl off the floor and disappeared into the crowd, sipping the gin as he waited. The ice in Traian’s drink melted into water until Murphy wondered why he was holding it. As he began to think about a fresh drink, Murphy realized that Traian was not coming back. Turning for the exit, he dropped the plastic cups onto the nearest table on his way out. In the hot city night, Murphy straightened his tie and smelled the arm of his jacket. It stank of cigarettes, sweat, and marijuana. As he climbed the stairs to the mag-lev, he began to concoct one hell of a story to tell the wife.

---

“You son of a bitch,” Murphy said.

Traian joined him at the table, holding his hands up in surrender as he sat, his eyes nothing but sweetness and innocence. “What?” he asked.

“You fucking left me there.”

“Where?”

“At the fucking club,” Murphy said. “Jesus. Do you know that I had to tell my wife that I was entertaining shipping magnates from New fucking Nippon?”

“Why didn’t you tell her you were out with me?” Traian asked. He picked up the cocktail menu and scanned its selections for the house special.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Why?”

“If my wife knew I had anything to do with you, my balls would have been cut off long ago. And besides that, you fucking left me!”

“Why your balls?” asked Traian.

“You don’t remember?”

“What?”

“The strip club?”

“No.”

“Where…”

“No–”

“Yeah,” Murphy said. “That.”

“But she wanted to make out with that dancer,” said Traian. “So what?”

“Stripper, yeah. And that shit doesn’t happen.”

“But it did.”

“But you know what I’m saying…”

“Shit,” Traian said. He placed the cocktail menu back on the table and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t mean to put you in Dutch with the homeowner’s association.”

“Traian,” Murphy said, exasperated. “At least tell me she was worth it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Traian asked. “She had legs that went from here to Galileo.”

“Well… That’s at least something,” Murphy said. He shook out a folded cloth napkin and spread it across his lap. He did it with a wide gesture that consumed every centimeter of personal space around their table. He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “So… you’re moving on from Liz then?”

“Like I said last night,” Traian said. “Yesterday’s news. Seriously. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

“Yeah? And how’s the coke working out for you these days?”

Traian smirked, twirling the lemon in his ice water with his pinky. “Just fine, thanks,” he said. “I haven’t slept in a week. At least, I don’t think I have.”

“Longest I ever went was nine days,” Murphy said. “The recovery took another four. Dangerous shit.”

“Not that dangerous,” said Traian. “What, are you looking to do some sponsor work?”

“For you?” Murphy laughed. His phone vibrated in an inside pocket and he checked it, shaking his head at the message. “No. And I fear for anyone who tries.”

The waiter returned with a Gibson and three onions for Traian and a Manhattan on the rocks for Murphy. The men clinked their glasses, locking eyes for the first sip. Murphy shivered from the alcohol, exhaling breath that felt like fire as it left his lungs. Traian drank in gulps, setting the empty glass aside.

“So I see you guys are going public,” Traian said. “I ordered my broker to buy a hundred shares.”

“You should get more than that. With the new capital, we’re going to be the biggest bonding company in the colonies.” Murphy wrote a figure onto his drink’s coaster and pushed it across the table. “My options,” he said.

“No shit.”

“No shit. And my wife and I are putting every other penny we have into buying more.”

“You’re going to be a rich man, Murph.” Traian nodded with a sleepy smile. Murphy watched as a fresh plastic pouch was pulled from a blazer pocket and shaken. “You mind?”

“You could have retired already if it wasn’t for that shit.”

“Christ,” Traian said. “Do you and Liz menstruate together too?”

“I’m just saying, why only a hundred shares? A little short on cash?”

Traian dipped a silver spoon–smaller than a shrimp fork–into the bag and fetched a bump. He snorted it and followed it with one more into the other nostril. He sniffed and grinned at Murphy. “I have plenty of money,” he said. “I just don’t think SCBC’s that good of an investment. You’re sort of fly-by-night, if you ask me.”

“You’d better hope not,” Murphy said. “Otherwise you’re going to have to find a new line of work.”

“Nah. There’ll always be a need for what I do.”

“Not if we go independent,” Murphy said. “With a navy, there won’t be nearly so many hijackings.”

Traian dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand and a chuckle. “We’re never going independent. Earth wouldn’t allow it.”

“Earth’s a long way away, pal.”

“You know, Murph? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the naive political hopeful in you before.” Traian reached across and patted his hand. “It’s sweet.”

“Dick,” Murphy said, grinning.

Traian shook the bag of coke again, trying to divine how much remained. He frowned and dropped it back into a pocket. “So I’m guessing I’m not just here to apologize for last night.”

“Yeah,” Murphy said. “I have yet to hear an apology. But no. I’ve got a job for you. You bring a screen?”

“I’ve got my phone.”

Murphy shook his head. He pulled a small black device from his coat pocket, rectangular and no larger than a pocketbook. He tapped three times to wake it from sleep mode and entered his passcode on the touch screen. He located the files within, dragging a finger across the user interface and expanding the view with an open-handed gesture. The pad recognized Traian’s phone nearby and Murphy transferred the files.

Traian scrolled through the information files on his phone. Half the words made sense, the others losing their meaning between his eyes and his drug addled mind. He paged through the specifications of the Sanctuary S-440 and continued on to the cargo manifest. He whistled through his teeth.

“That’s a lot of product.”

“No shit,” Murphy said. “And it’s three weeks overdue.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Traian said. He pushed the screen across the table and signaled the waiter for another drink. “They probably stopped on Gangwon and went on a two-week bender. You know how it goes. It takes at least a week to recover.”

“Yeah,” Murphy said. “But they already did that and checked in. It was on the Darwin leg that they went missing.”

“Fuck.” Traian slumped into his chair, tossing his napkin across the bread plate. Murphy nodded. The men remained quiet until the waiter came to take their order.

“The roasted duck breast in mango salsa,” said Murphy.

“Nothing for me,” Traian said. “Just keep the drinks coming.”

The waiter disappeared, Murphy’s head shaking in disgust. “The body requires calories that aren’t from alcohol. I mean, sometimes.”

“So far, so good as far as I can tell.”

Murphy fetched a cigarette out of its case, tapping the butt against the table to settle the tobacco. He lit it with a flick of a silver lighter. “So what do you think about the job?”

“I think it’s a loser that’s sure to get me killed.”

“I think you’re just afraid to set foot on your ship.”

Traian chuckled, intending it as casual and easy but feeling the tight smile across his lips. It turned to a frown as reality settled in, his eyes heavy and the lack of sleep evident in the bags that had formed underneath.

“I’m not afraid,” he said. “Just… reluctant.”

“I bet.”

“Fuck off,” said Traian.

Murphy felt Traian’s eyes studying him and he straightened his tie, coughing. Traian jerked upright, a finger pointed at Murphy.

“Wait… did Liz tell you to set me up with this job?”

“No,” Murphy said.

“Come on.”

“No. Really.”

“She did, didn’t she?”

“No,” Murphy said. “This has nothing to do with her.”

“Because it seems just like her,” said Traian. “Sees that I’m having a good time and wants to send me back out.”

“She didn’t set up the job,” said Murphy. “But if you don’t want to track it down, let me know. SCBC is under real scrutiny right now and we need to keep as many ships as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” asked Murphy.

“Okay, I’ll take it.” Traian perked up, drawing the invisible outline of his ship over the enamel of his empty bread plate. The picture faded as the moisture sublimed. “I could use the money anyway.”