He stared pointedly at Chocolate Harry, who shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Regulations require me to speak with anyone who expresses an interest in enlisting,” Phule interceded smoothly. “One’s pre-Legion history is unimportant to us. As you’ve so tactfully noted, we take anyone … we’ve even been known to accept ex-cops.”
That earned a guffaw from the policeman, though the best Harry could manage was a weak smile.
“You got me there, Captain,” Goetz acknowledged with a mock salute. “I don’t think you’ll get the Weasel, though. It would mean too much of a pay cut for him … unless you’re supplementing his enlistment bonus personally, that is.”
“It was just talk,” Harry mumbled, playing with his empty glass. “You know … nothin’ definite.”
The chief pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll let it drop for now and keep it social. I’ll tell you, though, if there’s a chance it might get the Weasel off-planet and out of my jurisdiction, I’ll help with the paperwork myself.”
He paused as the bartender delivered his drink. By unspoken agreement, he paid for his own, lest there be any question as to whether he was accepting bribes from the Legionnaires.
“Mebbe I should get on back to The Club, Cap’n,” Harry muttered, starting to rise, but Phule waved him back into his seat.
“Relax, C.H.,” he said. “The chief here says it’s just a social visit, and besides, it’s about time you two got to know each other a little better.”
“Where are the rest of your bandits, if you don’t mind my asking?” Goetz said, taking a sip of his drink. “Haven’t seen any of them around town today.”