“Public support?” Blackjack roared. “The last public support my ship got put three of my crew in the hospital!”
“How do you know your roughnecks didn’t start it?” Whitey challenged.
“Three men don’t start a fight with a whole bar,” Blackjack shot back.
“They might,” Whitey corrected. “Or they might try to hassle a hooker with a lot of friends.” “Are you saying my men-“
“That’s enough!” Tambu barked. “It was decided that we weren’t going to discuss specific incidents, nor am I going to allow this discussion to degenerate into childish name-calling.”
Though they couldn’t see him, the anger in his voice was sufficient to subdue the two combatants.
“Now then, Blackjack, you’ve proposed a program of retribution. Whitey has raised two questions. First, how much force are you suggesting we employ; and second, what level of investigation do you plan to carry out before launching your retribution? I am also curious as to your answers to those questions. Would you care to comment?” “I haven’t thought it through that far,” Blackjack admitted. “I was just suggesting it as a possible solution for discussion.”
“I see,” Tambu commented. “Very well, does anyone else have anything they’d like to add to this proposal?”
Cowboy, the lanky captain of the Whiplash, rose slowly to his feet.
“Ah’d like to add a thing er two to what Whitey said. My paw, he used to be a policeman, and I learned a lot listenin’ to him talk over dinner.”
“Is that how you managed to dodge the law for so long?” someone quipped from the back of the room.