Two by Two by Two, Part 6a
Mal sells fruit.
Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.
This section rated T.
Mal waved the wholesale greengrocer. The man was a contact of a contact of a contact. Not the way Mal preferred to do business, but he didn't have much choice. Never having hauled a cargo of fresh produce before, he considered himself lucky to have found a produce broker on Beaumonde willing to deal with the cargo.
Pat Tao was a former Browncoat quartermaster sergeant, a contact Mal had made years ago when he was an infantry sergeant in the Independent Army. Many's the time Mal had charmed a few extra rations for the troops out of Sergeant Tao, and Mal would trust Tao with his life. But there the trust ended. "I don't reckon this woman's all that trustworthy," Tao had told him, "but she runs a network of, uh…business people…who are willing to deal with…goods such as your cargo." Smuggled goods. "Not too particular about Alliance inspections and tariff stamps."
Reading between the lines, Mal understood that the woman was a sort of broker of smuggled and black market goods, with some pretensions to kingpinnery—or perhaps queenpinnery was the correct term. Rather like the role Badger filled on Persephone. She'd have a circle of certain officials and inspectors that she had bribed or blackmailed to look the other way when people in her network were handling uncustomed goods in their purview. Mal didn't much like her, but Marcela Devine (he was sure that was not her real name, that she'd adopted it simply to acquire the cachet associated with the Devine line of high-end clothing boutiques) was neither better nor worse than people like Badger and Patience. That is, he suspected that she'd be happy to sell him out for the right price, or shoot him if the transaction went pear-shaped. He could deal.
Devine referred him (for a percentage) to a produce broker named Pugh, who handled wholesale imports bound for the South Sirindhorn Farmers' Market on Beaumonde. It was with him that Mal was speaking now.
"你好 Nǐhǎo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Marcela Devine recommended your brokerage services to me," Mal commenced his spiel. He laid out the basics of the deal in the usual (that is to say, cagey) way of the typical straightforward shady business transaction. "…Pineapples, watermelons, limes, mangos, and papayas, all in prime condition," he concluded.
"No durians?" Pugh inquired.
"No durians," Mal affirmed.
"Can't sell no durians without making special provision," Pugh warned. "One of them things breaks open in transit, ain't no way you can sneak it past the inspector. It's more than any inspector can credibly manage, to pretend to ignore the smell of one of them things. There's a reason the durian fruit is known as 'the skunk of the orchard'."
Mal reassured the man that his cargo included no durians to strain the olfactory credibility of Pugh's corrupt agricultural inspector.
"Here's the coordinates of where you can park it," Pugh concluded, and the location of a discreet berth appeared on Mal's screen. "I'll meet you there, tomorrow eight a.m. local time."
Mal acknowledged the instructions. "See you in the world." Mal cut the connection and ran his fingers through his hair. Granted, he'd never smuggled produce before, so dealing with Ag Inspectors was a new aspect, but either Pugh put his entire trust in Devine to have vetted Mal and his cargo, or he was up to something. Mal himself wouldn't never have dealt with a smuggler who hadn't answered certain kinds of questions to his satisfaction, and Pugh hadn't even asked. Something wasn't sittin' right about this whole transaction.
. . .
"That do it?" Pugh asked, glancing over his shoulder at the intimidating man who stood behind him, out of range of the wave screen's vid.
"It is an acceptable beginning," the man replied. "I expect your cooperation in this operation."
"Believe me, inspector, you got my full cooperation," Pugh reassured the agricultural inspector, for so the man was.
"You will do what it takes to make sure the crate is loaded onto that ship," the inspector instructed, looming over Pugh so that his badge flashed in the man's face. "That captain must not suspect that I nor any agricultural official has anything to do with that crate."
"He won't know it," Pugh replied.
"Just remember that if he does, I will break you. We have had you under surveillance for a long, long time. I have enough evidence to destroy your operation completely—you, your brother-in-law, and your sister—and Ms Devine does not have enough power to protect you or buy your way out of it." He paused to allow Pugh to feel appropriately intimidated. "If you're unable to convince this smuggler of your sincerity, you're busted. If he won't take the crate, you're busted. If you refuse to participate in this sting, you're busted." He straightened up and walked out of Pugh's personal space. "On the other hand, if you do it right, I can offer you better protection than Marcela Devine ever did."
. . .
Mal had always associated farmers' markets with freshness, natural clean living and good health, and so the slimy feeling he felt after dealing with the black market fruit broker came as something of a surprise. The man had Mal over a barrel, and knew it. Mal knew from the minute he laid eyes on Pugh that he was a rotten apple, but his contacts in the produce world were few, and time was of the essence. The fruit man knew this, and stalled. And the fruit in Serenity's cargo hold got riper. Mal had Kaylee keep the engine running, to power the atmo conditioner and keep the cargo bay cool, but that only slowed things down a mite. Mal wished for Inara's negotiating skills—she would have known how to work around the cussed fruit broker's orneriness.
Inara. Well, right there was another problem. Inara had taken off for downtown New Dunsmuir the minute Serenity got within shuttle range of Beaumonde. He'd tried to talk to her, gone to her locked shuttle door repeatedly, and requested, entreated, begged her to tell him what was wrong, but all his attempts were met with silence or "Go away, Mal," except the one time he'd found the door open. That time his request was met with a fusillade of accurately-aimed small objects, followed by a slam of the door. He was baffled, confused, and upset. He never even had the chance to tell her about the problem with the contraceptives.
And the 该死的 gāisǐde fruit broker delayed, and hedged, and squeezed, until Mal finally agreed to terms far worse than he'd imagined when he took on the cargo. At last the fruits and vegetables were unloaded and Mal was the possessor of a modest-sized bag of coin, free and clear. But he'd been absolutely unable to avoid another encumbrance. The rotten fruit broker had insisted, absolutely stipulated as part of the deal, that Mal take two crates of live chickens to Hektor, Beaumonde's trojan planet. Mal didn't need that cargo; he was certain that Buck Holden had a good cover cargo that would fill his hold. But he'd had to agree, in order to get the fruit sold. And now he was stuck with the chickens. He decided that at least he'd put off loading up the chicken crates until Holden's cargo was aboard and he was ready to leave Beaumonde.
He flew Serenity the short distance round the world from the produce market to Pedro Docks, still thinking on the recent events. The coin was less than he'd hoped, but he'd be able to pay his crew at last, and pay back Simon and the others who had advanced cash to the ship's account on Beylix. He would also pay off Inara's loan, made on Persephone more than two months ago. This last item he was absolutely determined to do, first opportunity he got. He was in the doghouse regarding personal matters—though he still couldn't quite understand the why of it—and it wouldn't do to remain beholden to her financially. He needed to regain some even footing from which to restore his position with respect to her.
He just didn't understand it. Why was Inara so mad at him? He couldn't think of a single thing he'd done to merit such opprobrium. Well, not a single thing recently, 'cause he knew well enough he'd done and said many a thing in times past to hurt her feelings, lashing out at her whenever his own feelings were hurt. He'd hurt her unintentionally, thoughtlessly, and yes, he'd also done it on purpose, when he was angry.
All he had to go on was Inara's words: go and ask your mistress. And they thoroughly puzzled him. He had to guess that Inara thought he was two-timing her, but just who did she think he was doing it with? Kaylee? As if anyone could pry that girl out of Simon's bunk. Besides, he thought of her as a sister. River? Guessed he also thought of the Albatross as a kid sister, or maybe as an almost-daughter. River was way too young for a mean old man like him. Zoe? The notion was absurd. After all he and Zoe had been through together….Mayhaps she meant someone off the ship. He just couldn't imagine who. And just when would he have the time to carry on with someone dirtside? He was generally too busy—meeting contacts, making deals, loading and unloading cargo, stocking and re-fueling the ship, gettin' shot at or stabbed….He guessed he'd looked at womenfolk on the various planets and moons they stopped at, but that's about as far as it went. Lookin'. Well, except with Nandi…but that was….He shook off the guilt he felt about Nandi, and kept his train of thought on track. Since he and Inara had first got together, he hadn't even especially looked, because all those looks ever told him was that he was a lucky sumbitch to be with Inara.
The more he thought on it, the more upset he got about the apparent double standard. When they hit a planet, he was supposed to be—what? Happy? Pleased? Or at least accepting that she was gonna fly off and spend her time with someone else, someone not him, doing—whatever Companions did. And Inara expected him to trust her, to believe that, despite all appearances and all history, it didn't involve sex with clients. And yet he caught hell for supposedly carrying on with a phantom mistress that he couldn't even identify.
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glossary
你好 Nǐhǎo [Hello]
该死的 gāisǐde [damned]
Less angst, more tension, as the plot builds. What's that inspector up to?