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   Chapter 4 No.4

Loderunner By Christina Engela Characters: 4533

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:02


What more could he say? He fell for a guy in drag and couldn't stop thinking about her – him. Shit happens. Being a private, um – dick, it was easy enough for him to find her again. It was damned hard to tear himself away from her again. She asked him to move in with her a little later. That was two whole years ago. All in all, taking stock, he was happy. Poor, dented – but happy.

His thoughts turned to his current situation. He still had the ownership papers of some decrepit old cargo ship in his jacket pocket. Thinking back to the previous nights happenings, he was sure it heralded bad luck – but only if he kept it. An old ship was like an old Jeepo. If you held onto it long enough you ended up working just to keep up with the repairs. And then you spent all your dosh on the darned thing and ended up taking a bus to work. Perhaps he could turn this thing around? Get rid of it and bank the money? Hell, he never spent any money on it – theoretically, if he sold it for just five cents it would be a profit! There had to be a way he could get rid of it for more than that! A lot more than that!

His head hurt as he sat up, throbbing. Dory moaned softly as he slowly got out of bed, and turned over. He gave Dory a long tender look. He knew it wasn't perfect, but they had something good together. Dory stopped having wild nights on the town and getting beat up by nasty men, and he had someone to go home to. Somewhere where he felt loved and wanted and useful – even if he just came home with empty pockets and a hole in his head. At least he came home. And most of the time she was glad to see him, even when he came home the other way round. It seemed to be working out for them. Sometimes she would still dress up for him. Mind you most of Dory's wardrobe was so middle-of-the-road; it was sometimes hard to tell if he was a guy or a girl – but then again, Dory liked it that way. Money was important to Dory, but he guessed – he knew he was important to he- him too. Dory loved him in his own little way. If he didn't, he wouldn't be waiting up for him – he'd be out on the town. And he knew Dory hadn't done that in a long time. It was in Timaset Skooch's line of work to know things like that. In fact, he'd long ago stopped checking up on

her activities and decided to just let it be.

They had trust, and that said something about what they had. Struggling out of his usual morning gender-confusion downward spiral, he shook his head to clear the cobwebs, regretting it instantly. He groaned, and yawned, dragging on some clean clothes from the laundry basket by the door of the en-suite. The loud cartoon boxer shorts disappeared inside his black jeans.

"Ye gods, I need some coffee." He groaned in a gravelly morning voice. Hoping for a cuppa java to materialize by his elbow was pointless. Dory stirred, rustling the sheets as he turned over. He smiled at her. "Morning, hon."

Dory smiled, eyes closed. When they opened, he saw their lovely green shade, surrounded by lovely long black lashes. He almost went weak at the knees. He loved green eyes like that. Like Dory's.

"You going to work?" He asked in a soft, far-away morning voice. "Want some breakfast?"

"Yup." He replied, dragging on his shoe laces. "And nope. It's okay, I'll get something on the way. Got to check something out. I'll be back later."

* * *

Atro City Space Port was a rather large facility, with a huge concrete tarmac where smaller and sometimes medium sized ships would land and park. One side of the 'mac, the side closest to the highway, where it was visible, was almost always parked up – packed with cargo and small private ships. It looked like a really, really big airport, which in essence it was. The terminal buildings were enormous – an extensive complex of offices, baggage and cargo processing systems, storage areas, passenger waiting areas, even a medium sized hotel. There were also bars, coffee shops and stores of all kinds. Timaset Skooch parked his Jeepo in the huge parking garage basement under the main building, worked his way through security and, once inside the complex fifteen minutes later, got a taxi to take him out to Bay 227. Flat bed and container transporters rumbled past them as they conveyed cargo to and fro along the service routes between the ships and the terminal. About four minutes later, he was delivered to where his new acquisition stood parked, one little sardine in the can, a ship amongst hundreds of others, nearly identical in shape color and design.

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