“I’d give her three days,” I said, “till this stink hole breaks her.” But I was wrong, it took a lot longer’n that.
Lots a lost souls flew out here to strike it rich in the Plaskar deposits that were “everywhere.” Only problem was any vein big enough for a rumor to travel back to Earth was twice bled dry by the time the dreamers got here.
Beyond the fortune hunters. no one came here ‘less they had to. No motel to speak of. No natural curiosities or festivals. In fact, most people who came only stayed cuz they’d spent their last dime getting here. A few struck it rich, but only enough to keep the rumor mill running, never enough to make a difference.
“I’d give her a whole week,” Stank Foreman said. His real name was Pete, but no one could remember the last time he’d bathed, not even him. He’d be hard company to keep if I could remember the last time I’d bathed.
“See that crinkle in her nose,” I said as she stepped further into the room and learned what B.O. really meant. “Three days max.”
“I’ll see that and raise you two days,” Stank said. I was about to call his bluff and raise him another four days when I heard some yammerin’.
Johnny Fox, a lecherous old duffer if ever there was one, sprang to his feet to offer her a seat. She thanked him, but stopped when she saw the state of the chair and the marks Johnny’d left there.
“There’s that crinkle again,” I said. “I’ll raise ya a week.”
Stank laughed, but stopped short. Johnny Fox had put his hand where it didn’t belong. Many a young lady had suffered more from fools such as Johnny, but crinkle or no, this one punched him in the jaw and brought her knee up where Johnny didn’t think it belonged. He howled and fell to the ground, one hand on his face and the other on his crotch.