The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

Then, on the seventh day, something happened that for a moment, gave Phaid a flash of hope. He and the rest of the group were sitting around trying to spin out an instruction period for as long as possible. The alternative was digging out an emergency latrine. A sleek, two-man flipper spun flamboyantly on to the parking lot and made a flashy stop. To Phaid's total amazement, Streetlife climbed out of it.

  He was wearing a sharply tailored, ankle length duster coat, a plumed hat and an armband with three circles emblazoned on it. He seemed to be acting like a visiting general, and the rebels who came out to meet him treated him accordingly. An escort formed up around him, and they started for the main building of the Angel of Destiny with the fast walk of the very important. They had to pass Phaid's study group on their way. Phaid was certain that Streetlife had spotted him, but the hustler turned rebel general didn't show a flicker of recognition.

  Phaid cursed silently at Streetlife's rank ingratitude. Hadn't he helped the bum out when he was broke? He was so angry that he even forgot to ask a key question, and the instruction period started to wind itself up.

  The instructor decided that the session was over and the group began gathering up their tools in preparation for going back to work. They were being marched back towards the half completed latrine when Streetlife and his entourage emerged from the building and came straight towards them. As they got closer, Streetlife signalled to the guards.

  'Hold it there a minute.'

  The column halted with everyone wondering what was going to happen next. After so many unpleasant rumours, a number of the study group looked more than a little scared.

  Streetlife gestured briskly to the nearest guard.

  'I'm taking one of these men for further interrogation. We've dug up some more facts on him.'

  'Which one?'

  Streetlife pointed at Phaid.

  'That one there, the one with the shifty expression.'

  The guard didn't argue and beckoned to Phaid to step out of the line. The Day One supervisor, however, immediately started to protest.

  'These people are engaged in major re-education. They cannot leave.'

  Streetlife drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest.

  'I don't want these people. I only want that one, and I'd advise you very strongly to co-operate with me.'

  The Day Oner didn't seem impressed.

  'What authority do you have to take this man?'

  Streetlife slapped his armband.

  'You know what this is?'

  The Day Oner shook his head.

  'No.'

  Streetlife bristled.

  'No what?'

  'No I don't know what it is.'

  Streetlife stuck his face close to the Day Oner's.

  'Then you better find out pretty damn quick, or I'm going to put in a report to your cadre assessor and get a zap order slapped on you. That'll be the end of you, asshole. Your brights be put out, cancelled. You perceive my meaning?'

  The Day Oner scowled and then shrugged.

  'If you want him that bad, you better have him.'

  He crooked his finger at Phaid.

  'You. Scum. Get your worthless ass over here. This guy seems to have found a use for you, which is more than I've ever done. Let's hope it's something real dangerous.'

  Phaid looked at him bleakly.

  'Your overflowing charm is going to get you into trouble one of these days.'

  The Day Oner spat venomously at him.

  'I should have killed you while I had the chance.'

  Streetlife quickly stepped in between them.

  'But now you don't get the chance. He's mine now.'

  He put a hand on Phaid's shoulder and walked him quickly to the flipper. Things had started to move a little too fast for Phaid's comfort.

  'What the hell's going on round here. What are you doing in that outfit?'

  Streetlife seemed in no mood to answer questions. 'Just shut your mouth and get in the flipper.' Streetlife slid behind the controls and slammed down the passenger bubble. Without even waiting for the machine to fully rise on its force field, he slapped it into drive and they moved forward with a jerk.

  'Boy oh boy, how the fuck did you get yourself into that mess? I thought you had more class.'

  'I didn't have much choice. The rebels pulled me out of that massacre on the Plaza and then minutes after I got here I was denounced as a cheap hustler.'

  'A parasite?'

  That was the word they used.'

  'And ol' Streetlife had to pull you out of the shit, right?'

  'I guess I owe you one.'

  'You owe me about twenty.'

  'And you no doubt aim to collect.'

  'It's the way of the world. My mama told me, from the womb to the tomb, nothing comes free.'

  Phaid raised an eyebrow.

  'You had a mother?'

  Streetlife looked offended.

  'That was a cheap shot, gambling man. I save your ass and you start insulting me.'

  Phaid shook his head.

  'I'm sorry, it was a cheap shot. Put it down to the fact that I'm overwrought.'

  'You'd have been a lot more overwrought if I'd left you on that chain-gang'

  'They call it a study group.'

  'That's right, study group. These pussies have got names for everything.'

  'I still don't understand what you're doing here. I wouldn't have thought revolution was your style.'

  'If revolution's what going on, then it's my style.'

  'You mean you're really into this thing?'

  Streetlife grinned.

  'You know me better than that.'

  'They treated you like a king back there, and that armband, what's that supposed to be? I've never seen one like that before.'

  'Neither's anyone else.'

  'Huh?'

  'At first I figured these rebels were dumb, but when I found out they were not only dumb but disorganised, I knew that I had it made. You like this here armband? I made it myself. It's never failed. I just walk into a bunch of rebels and flash the arm. They fall over themselves to do what I want. They figure that I must be some big wheel with this fancy insignia that they've never seen before. I'm making more money than I can even remember.'

  Phaid looked at him in disbelief.

  'You're making money at this?'

  'Why would I be doing this if there weren't no change in it? This is Streetlife you talking to. You think I like to dress this way?'

  Phaid scratched his head. A large part of him ached for a long leisurely clean off and a set of freshly laundered clothes. Life in the study group had been spartan to the point of being disgusting.

  'I still don't see how you make money out of a revolu­tion. What are you into, the black market or something?'

  'Black market? Don't make me laugh. That's nothing compared with what I got going.'

  'So what do you have going?'

  'Just watch me now. You'll find out.'

  They were running along the top level of a three-tier overpass. All around them black stone megatowers thrust their ugly irregular bulks towards the clouds. Sometime in the distant past they had been built to house an overspill population that now no longer existed. Since then, they had largely fallen into decay. Their ramps, passages and tunnels were dark and dangerous places where thieves preyed on the poor, the lame and the inadequate.

  Streetlife curved the car into an exit and hit the approach road to one of the towers. Phaid was a little surprised but said nothing as they sped through the series of tunnels and ramps that led to the upper areas of the structure. At something like the twentieth storey they emerged on to an open courtyard that appeared to be solid rebel. It was decked out with yellow and black rebel flags. Armed men and women lounged around looking tough but fairly aimless. Streetlife parked the car beside a high arch that gave access to the interior of the building.

  'You just wait here for a moment.'

  With that he climbed out of the car and hustled through the
arch. Once again, just like at the Angel of Destiny, he was greeted as if he were visiting royalty. Phaid was intrigued but the presence of so many armed rebels, a percentage of whom were likely to be Day Oners, cautioned him against doing anything but slide down in his seat and wait for Streetlife to return.

  Phaid passed the time looking covertly round the court­yard. It had once boasted what must have been a fairly splendid grove of trees. Centuries of vandalism had, however, reduced them to blackened, limbless stumps carved with the graffiti of ages.

  The wait wasn't too long. Inside of fifteen minutes, Streetlife came bouncing out again. He was carrying a fat document case and looked inordinately pleased with himself. As he clambered back into the driving seat, his grin was so broad that it took up most of his face.

  'Eight thou.'

  Phaid could scarcely believe his ears.

  'Are you telling me that there's eight thousand in that case?'

  'A shade over, to be strictly accurate!'

  'But how?'

  Streetlife set the controls on drive and lifted quickly away.

  'It was easy. I came by here a few days ago and told them I got orders from high command. I convinced those suckers that the revolution needed them to knock over a counting house just inside the line.'

  'The line?'

  'Oh yeah, you been out of circulation ain't you. There's a line now. It separates rebel turf from loyalist turf. Chrystiana-Nex and her gang have give up pretending that they got a hold on anything more than the city centre. They got the cops and some mercenaries holding if for them. They've given the rebels best on the other parts of the city.'

  Streetlife took a hand off the controls and tugged thoughtfully at his ear. 'How long they can go on holding the city centre is anybody's guess.' He snapped back to the original point. 'Anyhow, they do just like they're told, just like good little rebels. They knock over the counting house and get away clean with twelve thou' in hard currency. I let them keep a third for their own group and collect the rest for the high command.'

  Phaid shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe the audacity of Streetlife's scam.

  'Of course, you're going to hand it over to the high command.'

  'I figure I'm the best high command these pussies got.'

  'If they catch you, they'll tear you limb from limb. Hanging will be too good for you.'

  Streetlife grinned and nodded.

  'Yeah, I realise that. I figure I got to keep my head down for a bit after this score.'

  'Eight thousand is a fair sized sum to take a rest on.'

  Streetlife glanced at Phaid with an expression that was close to injured innocence.

  'Wait a minute, you got to realise that that ain't all profit. I got expenses.'

  'Expenses?'

  'I had to sweeten a few cops so they'd be looking the other way when my boys crashed through the line.'

  Once again Phaid was surprised.

  'Cops can be bribed to let the rebels through?'

  Streetlife laughed.

  'Cops have always been on the take. Revolution don't make no difference. If anything, it makes it worse. They're deserting by the hundreds. If it weren't for the mercenaries they keep bringing in, the whole city would be falling apart. Also, mercenaries only stay loyal as long as they keep getting paid. After the number of cops that the Palace Guard killed that day on the Plaza, the cops ain't going to bust their balls to save no president. Particularly the ones who got in by forced induction.'

  'What's forced induction?'

  'Forced induction? It's when a guy comes up on some rap and the inquisitor gives him the choice of doing time in a correction centre or joining the police. They brought it in because willing volunteers were getting hard to find.'

  'Are you telling me that half the cops I see are really criminals?'

  'More like two-thirds.'

  'Sweet Lords.'

  'It don't make for ideal peace officers, that's for sure, but enough of this chatter, we got to work out what we're going to do next.'

  Phaid thought for a moment.

  'If you could get us into the city centre, I'm pretty sure I could scare up some action. I got this contact at court.'

  'You always did like to play with the social set.'

  'That's where the money is.'

  Streetlife glanced back at the document case. 'Yeah? I don't see you with no eight thou' under your arm.'

  'You know what I mean.'

  Streetlife made an irritating clicking sound by tapping his fingernails on the flipper controls.

  'Okay, mister gambling man, say we do go into the city centre, what kind of action are you talking about?'

  He continued to click. Phaid noticed that somehow he'd had a manicure since they'd last met. Phaid smiled.

  'My kind of action. I'd reckon that in one good all night game with a bunch of courtiers, I could double your eight thousand. There's also this courtier who'll pay me for all that we know about the rebels.'

  Streetlife looked at Phaid so sharply that the flipper actually swerved.

  'Are you saying that we should actually sell informa­tion? Ain't that uncomfortably close to becoming a snitch?'

  Phaid shrugged.

  'What do we owe the revolution? You're robbing them blind, and they almost hung me. The only thing for which 1 have an undying loyalty is my continuing survival.'

  Streetlife sniffed.

  'I don't know. I just got a gut feeling that I didn't ought to be telling no courtier about the rebels.'

  'Nobody said that we have to tell him the truth.'

  Streetlife suddenly laughed.

  'You got a point there, gambling man. Okay, you sold me. Let's head for the town centre and check it out.'

  Phaid looked sideways at Streetlife.

  'There is one small item.'

  'I thought there would be.'

  'I need some fresh clothes and a stake.'

  'So you're putting the touch on me?'

  'I seem to remember the situation being reversed the last time we met up.'

  'You're hitting me up for more than a lousy twenty.'

  'All these things are relative.'

  'Relative to the eight thou I got in the bag.'

  'If you want to look at it that way.'

  Streetlife went into a pantomime of indecision, then finally he grinned.

  'Okay, friend Phaid, you got your stake, but I'm going to want a percentage of what you make.'

  'A percentage?'

  'Nothing for nothing. Remember?'

  'I remember.'

  'Fifty-fifty?'

  Phaid looked as though he had accidentally sucked a lemon.

  'Fifty-fifty and I do all the work.'

  'I put up the risk capital.'

  'You know the way I play. It's no risk. All I'm doing is holding your money for you. I'll give you ten per cent on your capital. It'll only be for a couple of days. No usury house would give you better.'

  'This isn't a usury house. This is a partnership. All of one, one for all, if you see what I mean.'

  'I work, you watch. Fifteen per cent.'

  'You'll have me flunkying for you. You always do.'

  'Twenty and you flunky.'

  'Forty and I flunky.'

  'You're crazy, twenty-five.'

  'Thirty or we go our separate ways.'

  Phaid sighed.

  'I guess we got a deal.'

  Streetlife laughed.

  'So we partners again. I rob the rebels and you use the proceeds to rob the court. Looks like we're working for both sides of the street again.'

  Phaid nodded.

  'One day it's going to get us both killed.'

  Chapter 18

  Phaid picked up his drink, but then set it down again without tasting it. Picking it up had been a reflex. Putting it down again was good judgement. The game had been going on for a long time, and Phaid was sufficiently far ahead to know that he no longer really needed luck or even skill. He just had to maintain his d
iscipline and he was away with a handsome profit.

  Drinking, however, was out. Phaid was aware that it would take only one or two more to cut him loose into the first shallow reaches of drunkenness. Across the well lighted and very elegant table, a heavy loser, a short pear shaped courtier called Athon-Igel was fumbling with his cards. He hadn't managed to hold on to his discipline and was starting to turn belligerent.

  'I'm going to show you, Master Phaid.'

  He looked for encouragement among the other players.

  'Athon-Igel is going to lay down on the high and mighty professional. I'm going to show him if nobody else will.'

  There was little forthcoming from anyone else at the table. Phaid kept his face in perfect neutral.

  'So, show me. It's just a game.'

  Athon-Igel leaned forward. His cheeks sagged and his eyes were sunken. The crystal light formation that floated over the table turned them into pools of anxious shadow.

  'I suppose you're going to tell me that it's just money.'

  'Isn't it?'

  'Then you don't mind me taking some of that stack you have in front of you.'

  Phaid allowed a trace of impatience to creep into his voice.

  'Why don't you just lay down your cards and find out.'

  The courtier grinned a bloated, sneering grin.

  'Am I worrying you?'

  Phaid gave him a cold, hard look. Athon-Igel laid his cards face up on the table with a drunken flourish.

  'How do you like those. Are they professional enough for you?'

  The hand was pretty much what Phaid had expected: blues on diadems in the crossover pattern. Phaid looked at Athon-Igel with an expression near to sympathy.

  'That really is too bad.'

  He laid his own cards tidily on the table. It was full dukedom, all in gold. Athon-Igel looked at Phaid's hand as though he was unable to believe it.

  'But . . .'

  'You should have known there were no lathes left in the pack. When a man makes the first offer of parlay and he's holding only diadems and blues, he shows gall, not talent. It's a desperate play.'

  Roni-Vows, who was two places round the table on Phaid's right, suddenly laughed.

  'Maybe Athon-Igel thinks these are desperate days.'

  Phaid allowed the master of the table to rack his winnings towards him and add it to his already consider­able heap. He took a tiny sip from his drink.