The Three-Legged Hootch Dancer: Tales of the Galactic Midway, Vol. 2

by Mike Resnick

  “If you'll read them, you'll see that this is The Ahasuerus and Flint Traveling Carnival and Sideshow. That's who owns it, and that's who's going to keep on owning it.” He lit up a cigarette and almost managed to ignore the searing pain as he inhaled. “Let's see how much you've learned, Mr. Ahasuerus."

  “Well, of course, if he really thought we were going broke, it wouldn't make much sense to assimilate us into another show, would it?” asked the blue man thoughtfully.

  “You bet your blue ass it wouldn't!” said Flint. “If he thought we were going down the tubes, he'd cut us loose and let the Corporation take its losses."

  “But I still don't see the reason for—"

  “Sure you do,” Flint interrupted. “I wasn't sure until he offered to save our skins for us, but now I know. Use your brain, Mr. Ahasuerus! He saw the games; he knows they're moneymakers. He saw the Dancer; he knows he can damned near carry the whole show on his back. He wants them so bad he'll be a real charitable soul and take the rest of us, just so we won't starve to death. Add it all up and what do get?"

  The blue man lowered his head in thought for a moment, then jerked it erect. “Of course! He owns a piece of the circus on Canphor VII!"

  “I didn't come here to be insulted!” snapped Kergennian, growing even ruddier in his anger.

  “I know exactly why you came here, hotshot,” said Flint. “Your fucking circus doesn't have anything to match the Dancer, and you don't know the first goddamned thing about running a game, so you thought you'd kill two birds with one stone: shut us down to score brownie points with the Corporation by showing them how well you're protecting their interests, and make a couple of bucks on the side having your circus take us over."

  “Mr. Ahasuerus, surely you're not going to let this ... this barbarian make these ungrounded accusations!” demanded Kargennian.

  “He is my partner,” the blue man pointed out mildly. “And it has been my experience that Mr. Flint has a certain expertise at identifying particular ... ah ... character traits, shall we say? I think you may safely conclude that he speaks for both of us."

  “I could always check with the Corporation,” offered Flint. “If it turns out I was wrong, I'll apologize and you can have the whole damned show—lock, stock, and barrel. Of course,” he added, still grinning, “you'll have to stay here under house arrest until they're through piercing the corporate veil."

  “So what if I do own a piece of the circus—and it's a tiny piece, I assure you! How does that change anything?” said Kargennian defensively. “You're too small to make the kind of money you need merely to pay for your travel expenses."

  “I was just coming to that,” replied Flint.

  “There is simply no way you can make ends meet with a show this size,” persisted the ruddy alien.

  “I know,” said Flint. “So here's what you're going to do: you're going to ship us fifteen people—men or aliens, I don't care which—to work our extra games, you're going to ship us some rides, and you're going to get off our backs for the next three years."

  “I'll do no such thing!"

  “Of course you will,” said Flint easily. “Or we're going have a little talk with the Corporation and tell them exactly what you were going to do."

  “What makes you think they'll care?” said Kargennian.

  “Come on now, hotshot,” said Flint with a laugh. “If they didn't give a damn, you wouldn't have tried to talk us into it. You'd have just out-and-out ordered us to join your show.” He paused. “Are you ready to talk a little serious business, now that all the bullshitting is over?"

  “There is a word for what you are trying to do!” growled Kargennian sullenly.

  “The word is blackmail,” said Flint. “And I'm not just trying, sonny boy—I'm doing it."

  “I told you he had qualities,” said Mr. Ahasuerus in an amused tone of voice.

  “Why should I give you all the things you want with nothing in return?” demanded Kargennian. “I may have private interests of my own, but I don't throw the Corporation's money away for no reason."

  “Nobody expects something for nothing, not even me,” answered Flint.

  “So we're going to make a little trade. You're going to give us something we want, and we're going to give you something you want."

  “And what do I want?” asked Kargennian suspiciously.

  “Granting that the Dancer is out of the question, you want to take somebody back with you who can show you how to run the games."

  “I do?"

  Flint nodded.

  “And who are you going to give me? Diggs?"

  “Not a chance,” replied Flint. “Diggs, to borrow from the vernacular, is the franchise."

  “Then who?” persisted Kargennian.

  “I've got an employee who has expressed some slight interest in seeing other worlds than those that are on our agenda. We'll trade you Gloria Stunkel."

  “Which one is she?” asked the pudgy alien.

  “The one who takes her clothes off."

  “She knows how all the games operate?” said Kargennian dubiously.

  “She will, by the time I turn her over to you. And you get an added advantage: she'll keep doing her dance for your show."

  “Out of the question,” said Kargennian. “It's the least viable attraction I've ever seen."

  “That's the deal,” said Flint. “If she goes, she dances. Take it or leave it."

  “I have a feeling it would create more problems than it was worth,” said Kargennian, after some consideration.

  “I'd toss in Max Bloom."

  “Which one is he?"

  “The comic. He'd make a great barker."

  “Mr. Flint,” said Kargennian slowly, “I may be unethical, but I'm not stupid."

  “No one ever said you were,” put in Mr. Ahasuerus.

  “Then you'll forgive me if I decline the honor of taking all your problem cases off your hands, no matter how beautifully gift-wrapped they may be."

  “Mr. Flint,” said the blue man, “I do believe we could make do without John Edward Carp if we were forced to."

  “I don't know...” said Flint, lowering his head in thought. Finally he looked up. “All right, Kargennian: we'll sweeten the pot even further. You can have Fast Johnny Carp—but it's gonna cost a little extra. I want a new animal for Monk, to replace the lion he lost last night."

  “Mr. Flint, I don't believe you heard a word I said,” replied Kargennian with a smile. “It is obvious to me that you can make do without Carp; he is nowhere to be found. And I have no idea what a lion is."

  “A big cat, twice as big as the ones you saw in the show last night,” said Flint. “We toss in Carp, you toss in a replacement animal."

  “You're offering me two unhappy employees and an absent one!” snapped Kargennian in frustration. “What kind of fool do you take me for?"

  “We are, of course, open to counter-offers,” said Mr. Ahasuerus pleasantly.

  “Diggs and Dancer are untouchable?” queried Kargennian.

  “Right,” said Flint.

  “How about Tojo?"

  Flint shook his head. “He's my bodyguard,” he grinned.

  Kargennian sighed. “You're making this very difficult, Mr. Flint."

  “You're looking at it all wrong, hotshot,” said Flint. “Whoever you take, you know they're going to show you how to work the games and whatever you send us, you know we're going to use it to make money. You're going to make a profit, we're going to make a profit, and the Corporation's going to make a profit. And, of course, if we can't make a deal, there's always an alternative."

  “Oh? What?"

  “I can blow the whistle on you, in which case we'll still make a profit, and the Corporation will still make a profit, but you, my friend, are going to be out in the cold."

  Kargennian glared at him for a long moment, then sighed again. “All right. I'll take the one who worked the Skillo game—provided that I be allowed to spend the afternoon with Diggs learning about t
he other games."

  “Barbara?” mused Flint. “Well, what the hell, we haven't any use for a stripper."

  “But will she go?” asked the blue man.

  “How long do you need her for?” asked Flint.

  “Four months ought to suffice,” said Kargennian, leaning forward and getting down to business.

  “I suppose if we put her on triple-time...” said Flint. “Hell, she was serving two years for pushing dope when I sprung her back in Massachusetts.” He nodded his head sharply, then looked at Kargennian. “Okay, let's get this thing straight. You're going to pick Diggs’ mind this afternoon, and borrow Barbara for four months."

  “Possibly six,” interjected Kargennian.

  “Four,” said Flint firmly.

  Kargennian shrugged and nodded his agreement.

  “In exchange for this, you're going to have the Corporation send us fifteen games workers, and a pair of rides, and an animal for Monk."

  “What type of rides?"

  “Oh, I think a Ferris wheel and maybe a Tilt-a-whirl,” said Flint.

  “I've never heard of either of them."

  “No, I don't suppose you would have. All right: you tell me what's available, and I'll choose."

  “One Class A and one Class B,” answered Kargennian.

  “What's the difference?"

  “Class B is for children."

  “Deal,” nodded Flint. “And Monk needs an oxygen-breathing carnivore."

  “It can be arranged,” said Kargennian. “How long will you need the workers for?"

  “They're staying."

  “But you're only giving us Barbara for four months!"

  “Yeah, but Barbara is ours. You're just giving us the Corporation's workers; nothing is coming out of your pocket."

  Kargennian stared at him for a moment. “Done,” he said finally.

  “Good,” said Flint. “Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

  “I wonder why the Corporation ever made an accommodation with you in the first place,” said Kargennian sullenly.

  “For the same reason you made an accommodation."

  “And what was that?"

  “No choice,” grinned Flint. He stood up and stretched. “And now, Mr. Ahasuerus, if you think you can handle the choice of our rides, I've got to go tell Barbara to pack.” He walked to the door and stopped.

  “Hey, Kargennian?"

  “Yes?"

  “Tell you what. You were such a good loser, I'll toss Gloria in for free."

  “To work the games?"

  “To strip."

  “No, thank you, Mr. Flint."

  “You're sure? You'd be making her very happy."

  “Making people happy isn't my business, Mr. Flint,” said Kargennian.

  Flint shrugged, left the room, and tracked Barbara down in the mess hall.

  She didn't like the idea of being the only human in Kargennian's circus, but the thought of four months triple-time pay weakened her resolve, and finally she consented, without—Flint thankfully noticed—ever once wondering where she would be able to spend her newfound riches.

  Then he went up to Gloria's room, knocked on the door, and waited for her to open it.

  “What do you want?” she said coldly, but stepped aside to let him in.

  “I want to tell you that I tried my damnedest to get the efficiency expert to take you with him, and he turned me down cold."

  “I'll just bet you tried!"

  “I did. You can ask Mr. Ahasuerus."

  “Then I'm stuck here,” she said dully.

  “For the time being,” Flint replied. “However, now that I've introduced the notion of trading personnel around, I think it's just a matter of time before we can place you somewhere where you'll be happier."

  “Who did you trade?” she asked, interested in spite a herself.

  “Barbara."

  “I'm ten times the stripper she is!"

  “He didn't want a stripper. Barbara's going with him to show his crew how to run the games."

  “I'll bet she convinces him to let her strip,” said Gloria bitterly.

  “No chance,” said Flint. “First of all, she doesn't like stripping. And second, round little red things aren't going to want to watch a woman take off her clothes any more than the birdmen did."

  “You really tried?” she asked at last, looking into his eyes.

  “I really did."

  “Then it's over,” she said softly. “It's over, and Butterfly Delight is dead, and I'm here forever.” She lowered her head for a moment, then said: “Damn you for ever meeting me, Thaddeus Flint.” She took a deep breath. “Tell the Rigger I'll report for work tomorrow morning."

  Flint walked out of the room, and Gloria Stunkel lay on her bed, and cried, and mourned the unheralded passing of Butterfly Delight, the greatest artiste and ecdysiast in the galaxy."

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  Okay now, love,” said Diggs, lighting a thin cigar and pushing his straw boater back on his head, “let me show you how the shell game works."

  “You just put a pea under one of the shells and move them all around,” said Gloria, stepping closer to the booth's counter to keep out of the sun.

  “Sounds pretty simple, right?” grinned Diggs.

  He took a pea, placed it under one of the three shells, and began moving them slowly around the counter.

  “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Where's the pea?"

  Gloria pointed to the left-hand shell, and Diggs picked it up, revealing the pea.

  “Pretty good,” he said, still smiling. He covered the pea, moved them around again, and then looked at her questioningly. “And now?"

  She pointed to the middle shell, and again she was right.

  “You're a very perceptive young lady, my dear,” said Diggs. “Let's try it one more time—only this time, let's make it a little more interesting. Shall we bet a dollar?"

  Gloria shrugged and nodded.

  Diggs began moving the shells again, even slower than before. His hands, which could appear as little more than blur when shuffling a deck of cards, seemed almost to be moving in slow motion. At last he was finished.

  “Well?"

  “The middle one,” said Gloria.

  Diggs picked up the middle shell, and pursed his lips in mock sympathy when no pea appeared.

  “Too bad, my dear,” he said, trying not to laugh. “But just because of my generous nature, I'm going to give you a chance to win your dollar back. I'll bet you five to one that you can't guess which shell the pea is under."

  “Without moving them again?” she asked suspiciously.

  He said nothing, but folded his arms behind his back.

  “The left one,” said Gloria.

  “Pick it up,” replied Diggs.

  She did so. There was no pea.

  “Damn!” she said. “I had the funniest feeling that it was on the right all along."

  “Care to bet?” grinned Diggs.

  She reached out and picked up the shell.

  “Where did it go?” she demanded.

  “Well, now,” he chuckled, “that's what you're here to learn, isn't it?"

  “You cheated!” she said accusingly.

  “'Cheat’ is an ugly word, love,” grinned the Rigger. He reached a hand out and pretended to pluck the pea from behind Gloria's right ear.

  “You palmed it!"

  “Actually, I didn't,” he smiled. “This is a different pea. Keep your eye on the table."

  He touched a small button with his foot, and a tiny hole appeared.

  “All you have to do is remember where the hole is, so you know where to place the shell with the pea. This second pea is just to keep the suckers from wondering what happened to the first one.” He paused. “Simple, but effective."

  “Simple, but dishonest,” said Gloria.

  “You're being too harsh, my dear,” he said. “After all, we played three games and you won two of them."

  “No matter how yo
u justify it, it's still dishonest,” said Gloria.

  “You mustn't rush to moral judgments of your peers,” said Diggs. “After all, I don't complain about the fact that you disrobe in public."

  “What I do is an art!"

  “I will grant that for the sake of argument,” said the Rigger. “But by the same token, you must accept that what we do at the game booths is also an art."

  “What's artful about putting a hole in the counter?” said Gloria contemptuously.

  “For that matter, what's artful about breakaway clothing?” replied Diggs calmly. “Both are devices designed to make our jobs a little easier. You would manage to remove your clothing even if you had to rely on buttons and zippers, and I would manage to fleece the marks even if I had to rely on nothing but my skill. But neither of us likes making things hard on ourselves, and so we use mechanical assistance whenever possible."

  “It's not the same thing."

  “Of course it is."

  “I entertain people. You bilk them."

  “Of course I bilk them,” laughed the Rigger. “They come here to be bilked. And I give them their money's worth. I always lose the first game, no matter what game I'm playing. I tell jokes. I huff and puff, I strut, I roar like Monk's dear departed lion, I bluff and bluster, and I play the game like my life depended on it. They get their money's worth from the entertainment alone."

  “You could entertain them without cheating them,” said Gloria.

  “Not really. I'd be concentrating too hard on winning. This way we all have a good time.” Gloria just glared at him, and he took a deep breath and continued. “You object to the nature of my business. Well, love, I object to the nature of yours. I was working the carny circuits before they had anything stronger than a hootch dancer who'd get out there in half a ton of silks and robes and shimmy for five minutes. You say I don't show the marks everything I'm doing. Perhaps not. But you show them things that only your lover ought to be looking at. Which of us is the less moral?"

  “I work at my craft,” she said defensively. “I give them their money's worth. I don't try to rob anyone."

  “You think I don't work at mine?” he responded. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a deck of cards, shuffled it vigorously for a few seconds, and dealt out four five-card hands. He turned them up in turn, revealing that each possessed a royal flush. “May I suggest that this takes even more skill than copulating with the curtains?"