"I don't want trouble," I said, trying to be diplomatic. "But I can't sell Joey to you. If you'd let me explain—"
"You have a commitment against your prospect ship, I believe," Shanig cut in. "An obligation commonly referred to as a grubstake lien, is it not?"
"With Martian Bankings," I admitted. "It's a couple of weeks overdue at the moment but Martian is a friendly outfit. They'll wait for their credits until I sell the smiley."
I couldn't be sure whether Shanig laughed or barked.
"I anticipated your reluctance to sell so I purchased your lien from Martian Bankings two hours ago. I know your reputed fondness for your ship, and I understand too that a similar craft cannot be bought for twice the amount of your financial obligation."
He had me cold. It was a dirty trick of Martian's to sell me out, but I could see how it was when Shanig put the screws to them.
"You are in no position to bargain with me, you simple fool," Shanig said, looking more than ever like a dissipated buzzard. "I shall make you one offer before claiming forfeit—the cancellation of your debt plus five thousand credits in cash."
He shouldn't have baited me with the Annabelle. I love that rusty old tub the way some homos love their women. And after being sandbagged with Shanig's kind of persuasion I began to figure that selling Joey to him was as neat a revenge as I could ask. He deserved it—plus.
"All right," I said. "You've bought a smiley."
Shanig thumbed his buzzer and the redhead came in from the reception office with a legal-looking paper in her hand. She went straight to Shanig's desk, walking in a way to make any homo's pulse beat out of step, but when she passed Perry Acree the two of them exchanged a swift, secret look of complete understanding that actually made me flinch.