A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2) by Paul Tomlinson (books on motivation TXT) 📗

to remain out of sight until the roughnecks had departed. Not for his sake, but for theirs.

A middle-aged man rushed out of the barber’s, soap still on his face and a white towel draped across his front and around his neck.

“What the heck is going on here?” he said. Or words to that effect. His eyes were bulging with rage and his neck was a dark red. Master Louie, I presumed. He looked from his battered robot up to the men who had done the battering. I saw him swallow and his shoulders sagged as his anger vanished and was replaced by fear. He looked down at his robot and aimed a kick at it.

“What are you doing down there blocking the path, you worthless piece of scrap?” he asked. “Can’t you see these gentlemen are trying to pass by.”

The three thugs grinned at each other. They stepped over the fallen robot and swaggered away, laughing.

The unshaved man continued to berate his robot until he was sure its attackers had passed out of earshot. “You know better than to put yourself in harm’s way like that, you tin-plate idiot. You got exactly what you deserved and let it be a lesson to you...”

The man carried on talking as he helped the robot get back on its feet and ushered it into the barber shop. I waved Floyd out of the shadows when the street was clear.

We passed another of the heavily made-up girls and she flashed a smile at me, thrusting her breasts in my direction. I didn’t acknowledge her, not wanting to do anything she’d regard as encouragement. The next thing I knew, I was face down in the dirt. She had tripped me. Hell of a way to get a man’s attention. I expected her to leap on top of me and charge me for the privilege. I picked myself up, hiding my blushing face from a couple who were passing by.

“Oh, my! I’m terribly sorry,” the girl said.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered.

Her hair was done up in coppery red ringlets that jiggled when she moved. She was wearing a tight bustier with laces up the front and her skirt had several layers of ruffles; it was long at the back and cut short at the front. If it had been any shorter I could tell you what colour panties she wore. Assuming she wore them. Not that I was giving her too much attention. I tried to avoid looking at the swell of her creamy white breasts that looked like a couple of pillows trying to get out of a coffee can.

“I’m Harmony,” she said. “You’re not hurt are you?” She brushed dirt off the front of my shirt and squeezed my arms, checking for injuries.

“I’m just fine.” I pulled away from her. Only my pride was bruised.

“Yes, you certainly are,” she said, getting in closer. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink – by way of an apology.”

“That’s really not necessary, ma’am.” I was starting to feel a little flustered. Her perfume must have been one of those with pheromones in that make you feel light-headed.

“My, what beautiful brown eyes you have,” she said, tracing her finger down my cheek and then stroking my lower lip. My face felt tingly.

I stepped back abruptly, almost tripping over my own feet and ending up in the dirt again. “Good evening to you, ma’am.” I went to touch the brim of my hat, but I wasn’t wearing one so I turned it into a sort of goodbye wave. I needed to get a hat.

Harmony gave me a sad little smile and went off in search of a better prospect.

“She seemed friendly,” Floyd said behind me. Sarcasm? Where had he picked that up from?

“She’s not my type,” I said.

“What is your type?”

“The type you don’t have to pay. I’m young, handsome, and in my prime. I don’t need to pay for it.”

“You already did,” Floyd said. “She took your wallet and your watch.”

“She did? Damn!” I looked down the street after her. She turned and gave me a little wave. “She’s wearing my watch!”

But instead of being angry and chasing after her, I grinned and waved back. I wasn’t sure why I did that.

“Not your type, huh?” Floyd said.

“She’s sassy. I like that.”

“She’s a thief.”

“I like that too.”

“This is why I carry half of our cash,” Floyd said.

“You carry half of our cash because you’ve got space for it. Your head’s hollow.”

“Mine’s not the only one.”

“Relax. My half’s safe. Harmony only got a hundred dollars or so.”

“Harmony will be back for the rest of it.”

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“Oh boy do I.”

I threw a humph his way. “Repair shop’s this way.”

Chapter Five

The robot repair shop did look like it belonged in the rough end of town. The dusty windows were protected by a heavy metal mesh and there was a steel shutter that could be rolled down over the door. The walls were covered with graffiti that included most of the usual anti-robot slogans. The faded sign above the window said Maguire’s. The light was on inside. I’d sent a message earlier asking the proprietor to stay open until we got there. He’d understood why I’d wanted to wait until dusk to bring Floyd through the streets to his shop.

An old-fashioned bell tinkled above the door as I pushed it open. The shop had that vintage Victorian look you see in old steampunk movies but I don’t think it had been faked for effect. This place really did look like it should be called ‘Maguire’s Robot and Automata Emporium.’ And the display of second-hand robots offered for sale seemed like genuine antiques. They didn’t look a whole lot better than the wreckage old Happy Hawkins had been carrying, but these did look like they had been lovingly maintained and polished. In a posh boutique back in the civilised universe these things would have gone for good money.

The other side of the shop held an old wooden counter and