After saying goodbye to Dave, Rimmer left the brothel and went on a search for a seedy bar. He knew, considering the area, that he wouldn't have to look far. He was right. Only a couple of streets away was a garish red neon sign , proclaiming the grubby building it fronted as The Regurgitating Robin, together with a flashing motif of a small bird vomiting over some baby chicks. This looked like the right kind of place.
Inside, the bar was as charming as the name had promised. Half the stools were broken and the walls looked greasy. A fuzzy vid-screen above the bar was showing the Channel 27 news; a story about the spread of menfluenza. As the name suggested it was a virus made up of combined meningitis and influenza bacteria that was sweeping the solar system right now because of over-crowding. Apparently the authorities were warning that if the problem got worse, people may have to start wearing surgical masks when they went out, like when the SARS virus had struck Asia in the last century.
The regulars turned to stare as Rimmer scurried in, his head down. He swallowed hard. If this didn't go well, he was going to be in serious, serious trouble. The kind of trouble that ended with bodies being found in garbage heaps. His natural coward's instinct was to turn and run before anyone started to wonder how much money he had concealed in his jacket, but then he thought of that icky TV producer, imagined him walking up to the reception desk and asking for Dave; and he knew he had to go through with this. He sat down at the bar.
"What'll it be?" the barman grunted. Rimmer scanned the shelf hopefully for a bottle of white wine. There wasn't one. "Shot of whisky, if you please," he settled for, glumly. The barman tipped out a measure of something dark and sticky into a glass and shoved it at him; "Three dollars."
Rimmer pulled out a twenty and toyed with it, "I wonder," he said vaguely, "If you could help me?" The barman eyed the note,
"With what?"
"Well, I rather like to travel, but right now I seem to find myself without sufficient documents. Perhaps you could give me some advice." One side of the barman's mouth started to tip up, "Well that would depend on what kind of documents you required."
"A passport perhaps?" Rimmer suggested.
The barman grinned and nodded. "Hey, Anderson!" he shouted suddenly. A face in the shadows looked up. The barman nodded to Rimmer, "Fella here interested in your field of expertise."
Rimmer slid the note across the bar as Anderson stood up and made his way over. He took the stool next to Rimmer's and stared at him hard for a few seconds. Rimmer poised himself to run. "Whaddya need?" Anderson asked eventually in a gruff voice. Rimmer relaxed slightly. "I need two passports," he said, "And they need to be exactly the same except for the picture." He pulled out his camera and pressed the print button. Two shimmering, digitised images popped out. One of him and one of Dave. He handed them to Anderson who gave them a cursory glance before tucking them into his shirt pocket. "These are the important details," Rimmer gave him the information he'd gotten from Dave earlier that evening, "Anything else, like the issue date or employment details, you can make up as you please."
"When d'you need 'em?" Anderson asked.
"Within two weeks. Can you do it that fast?" Rimmer asked anxiously. Anderson snorted, "You can have 'em day after tomorrow, if it suits you."
The time had come for the vital question, "How much?"
"Thirty dollars each. Pay half now, half when you pick 'em up." Anderson told him. Rimmer held back a sigh of relief. He'd been expecting much more. Some of these traders would charge you $150 for just one if you – or they - were desperate enough.
Rimmer handed him a twenty and a ten and he nodded briskly. "Be here same time Sunday night with the rest and I'll have 'em ready for you."
"Excellent," Rimmer beamed and knocked back his whisky. He felt ridiculously triumphant. He'd successfully initiated an illegal business transaction and made Dave laugh, all in one day. He felt invincible!
He banged his empty glass down on the bar with a satisfied sigh. "Gentlemen," he nodded to Anderson and the barman, "Have a splendid evening." And then he turned to sweep out and fell over.