Every spaceport had one. And seemingly in every such one you'd find Short-Haul Jack. He worked as a longshoreman and temp crewman of every description for short-haul and tramp freighters that found themselves in need of an extra pair of hands for a little while, although he spent enough time in bars and taverns rather than working that the prevailing assumption was that he had a fortune or income separate from his employment. Where it had come from, though, no two stories could agree on. . . .
In any case, Jack was a familiar face to anyone who had spent any significant length of time in his end of the cargo business, and he never forgot a face himself. His familiarity with everywhere and everyone meant that he usually had tidbits of news or messages of interest to various members of that itinerant community. When he spotted Nick entering a bar near the shipyard where the Bonney was being repaired, he hailed the white-haired wanderer from his booth and waved him over.
"Nick, you ghost-haired fellow! How are you?"