"Then what ..."
"Please, allow me to explain," Jonesy said, holding up a hand. "We are, of course, expecting you to attempt to gain control of this casino as you have the others on Lorelei. There has, however, been media coverage of a new security force hired to protect this facility. My superiors are impressed with the reputation of this force and the individual who leads it, and are unsure if your organization is capable of opposing it. I have simply been instructed to observe your efforts. If you are unsuccessful in adding the Fat Chance to your holdings, then my superiors feel they will be free to make an attempt of their own. In such a case, they feel they would not be opposing you in any way, but simply moving on an unclaimed opportunity. I hasten to repeat, however, that this will only be done if, and only if, your own efforts prove fruitless."
"I didn't know vultures were Japanese," Laverna observed dryly.
"That will do, Laverna," Maxine said primly. "If you would, Jonesy, the next time you speak with your superior, please convey to him my appreciation for his concern and his alertness in spotting an apparent business opportunity, but assure him that I have every confidence in our ability to maintain our unblemished record in this area, Space Legion or no."
"I will be pleased to do that," the man said with a shrug, "but words of confidence lose their strength in the face of actual performance."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Maxine said. "Please, Jonesy. If you have something to say, just say it plainly. We're trying to have a meeting here, not write fortune cookies."
"I believe there was an incident in the bar involving one of your men," Jonesy said calmly. "At least, we assume he was one of your men, since his medical expenses are being charged to your account. If that is true, then the results of that encounter do little toward justifying the confidence you have in your plan."
Maxine gave a short bark of laughter.
"Is that what this is all about?" she said, then leaned forward, showing all her teeth. "That was, at best, a diversion, Jonesy. A little something to show young Mr. Rafael that the force he has hired is more than adequate for handling any trouble that might arise. The truth is, we instructed our man to lose-to build the guards' confidence while providing us with information on their operating methods."
The man frowned. "I see."
"Perhaps if I outlined for you what our real plan is, you'd be better able to convince your superiors that their interest is not only premature, it's pointless."
Jonesy was humming to himself when he finally returned to his own room, though the tune was none other than the catchy advertising ditty from the Lorelei beacon.
Unlocking the door, he was just reaching for the light switch when a voice greeted him from the darkness.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sushi?"
Startled, Sushi managed to click on the lights, and discovered his company commander sprawled in one of the room's chairs, squinting against the sudden brightness.
"Good evening, Captain. You gave me a bit of a turn just now. I didn't expect to see you."
"I gave you a bit of a turn?" Phule snarled. "You've had the whole force in an uproar since you showed up with those tattoos. I had to move fast to keep them from charging to the rescue when that goon picked you up.''
"Really?" Sushi said, raising his eyebrows. "I'll have to apologize. I didn't mean to panic everyone."
"Well, you panicked me!" the commander snapped. "Now, what's with the tattoos? Why are you posing as a member of the Japanese Mafia?"
"What makes you think it's a pose, Captain?" the Legionnaire countered blandly. "Our regular uniforms are long-sleeved. Have you ever seen my arms before?"
Phule gaped at him.
"Relax, Willard." Sushi laughed, resorting to Phule's civilian name. "You were right the first time. It's a disguise. I just wanted to pull your leg a little to try to get you to loosen up. You seemed awfully tense."
"Do you blame me?" the commander said, settling back in his chair with a glower. "All right, I'll bite. Where did you get the tattoos?"
"As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Rembrandt put them on for me," Sushi said, holding up his arms to display the decorations. "Aren't they great? I told her what I wanted in general, but the actual design is hers."
"Are you saying you cleared this masquerade with Rembrandt?" Phule said, ignoring the display.
"To be honest with you, Captain, I don't think she realized the significance of what I was asking." Sushi smiled. "I'll admit, I wanted it to be a surprise."
"Oh, it was a surprise, all right," the commander snorted. "But I'm still waiting for you to tell me why you're doing this."
"Isn't it obvious? You said you wanted to know what was going on here, didn't you? I simply figured that the best way to get reliable information was to go to the source-to try to infiltrate the opposition. Once I settled on that objective, it became clear to me that the best way to achieve it was to pose as a visiting dignitary from another criminal faction, of which the Yakusa was a natural choice."
"Did it occur to you that it might be dangerous?" Phule said, his original anger giving way to the concern that spawned it.
"Of course." Sushi smiled. "Remember what I said when you asked me to go under cover? About being addicted to high-risk games and not being sure I could control myself at the tables? Well, I've found the answer. The tables are pretty tame compared to the game I'm playing now. To be honest with you, I'm having more fun than I've had in years."
"Games? Fun?" the commander said, his temper starting to rise again. "Aside from the danger of the locals figuring out your charade, what are you going to do if you run into a member of the real Yakusa? I don't think they'd take kindly to your trying to pass yourself off as one of their representatives."
"I think you're underestimating me, Captain," the Legionnaire said. "I may refer to it as a game, but as a habitual gambler, I've studied the odds very carefully. It's doubtful it will even occur to the locals that I might be an imposter for the very reason you just mentioned: Who would ever think of posing as a member of the Yakusa? What's more, it's extremely doubtful that I'll run into anyone from that organization, since they've been carefully staying away from Lorelei for years."
"How do you know that?"
"I made a few calls," Sushi said with a smile. "While my family is quite scrupulous about avoiding criminal enterprise, myself being a notable exception, it nonetheless is aware of the underworld network and maintains several contacts for the sole purpose of information and communication. That raises another point, Captain."
The Legionnaire dropped his smile.
"I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Yakusa, but it's not really a single organization. Like its Western counterparts, it's actually made up of several families who operate under a mutual truce. If I did run into a member, I'd simply claim to be from another family. I'm familiar with the general recognition codes."
CHAPTER NINE
Journal #215
In earlier entries, I have made passing reference to my employer's temper. While he is as prone as the next person to occasional flares of irritation or annoyance, these pale to insignificance when compared to his real anger.
Anyone who has been the focus of his attention when he is in such a mood usually goes to great lengths to avoid repeating the experience in the future, myself included. Fortunately he is not normally quick to anger, and peaceful coexistence is not only possible but probable as long as certain topics and situations are avoided.
One situation which is guaranteed to trigger an explosion, however, is (if you'll pardon the pun) when he feels he's been made to play the fool.
Gunther Rafael looked up from his work as the door to his office slammed with sufficient force to blow papers off his desk. It didn't take a genius to tell that the black-clad figure that had just entered was upset.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Phule?"
"Why didn't you tell me Maxine Pruet was part owner of the Fat Chance?" the Legion commander demanded
without preamble, storm clouds billowing on his face.
The youth blinked. "I ... I didn't think it was important. Is it?"
"Not important?" Phule raged. "For God's sake, she's the head of the gang that's trying to take over your operation! The organized crime we're supposed to be saving you from!"
"She can't be," Rafael said, frowning. "She's one of the most respected businesspeople on Lorelei. In fact, I think she owns some of the casinos here."
"She has controlling interest in all of them except yours, and she's working on that right now!"
"But she was the one who-oh my God!"
The stricken look on the youth's face as full realization dawned on him was sufficient to cool Phule's anger somewhat.
"Look, Gunther," he said levelly, "why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"
"There's not much to tell," Rafael stammered, still shaken. "She gave me a loan for my remodeling-even suggested it, in fact. She paid me a social call to welcome me as the new owner and seemed quite open in her admiration of the facility, though she did suggest it could use some renovation."
"And when you said you didn't think you could afford it, she offered to lend you the money," the Legionnaire supplied.
"That's right," Rafael said. "She said she was looking for a short-term investment to hide some money from the tax men. It seemed like a good deal at the time. She even offered an interest rate below what the bank would charge me."
"She did, did she?" Phule scowled. "What were the other terms of the loan? All the terms?"
"Well, I can't remember them all, but I have my copy of the contract right here," the youth said, quickly rummaging through one of the desk's file drawers. "Basically she gave me the money against twenty-five percent of the Fat Chance. When I pay it off, her share drops to five percent, as a permanent interest."
"Twenty-five percent?" Phule echoed. "That doesn't sound right. From what I hear she usually goes for controlling interest. Let me see that contract."
"I still don't see how it can ..." Rafael began, but Phule cut him short.
"Here it is!" he declared, pointing to a spot in the document's depths. "The `Late Payment' section. According to this, if you fail to pay the loan off on time, you not only forfeit the right to buy back her shares, but she gets additional points of the enterprise up to-"
"Forty-nine percent," the youth supplied. "I know. But even then it's not controlling interest. I don't know what you're worried about, though. The loan isn't due until a week after our grand opening, and that alone should generate enough money to pay her off."
"Assuming there are no problems with the opening," Phule growled, continuing to scan the document. "The trouble there is your casino manager's on Maxine's payroll, and he's been staffing your tables with crooked dealers. I'm willing to bet that when you open your doors, they won't be working to rake money in for the house-they'll be passing it out!"
Gunther blinked. "Huey's part of this?"
"That's right. Where did you find him, anyway?"
"Well, Maxine recommended ... Oh!"
"I see," the Legionnaire said, shaking his head. "It all starts to fit together. And what kind of a deal do you have with him?"
"He actually is working fairly cheap," the youth protested. "Barely minimum wage and-oh my God!"
"Don't tell me, let me guess." Phule sighed. ,"A salary and two percent of the Fat Chance. Right?"
Gunther nodded dumbly. "Maxine negotiated the deal for me."
"I figured as much," the commander said, tossing the contract back onto Rafael's desk. "That's where she'll get the missing two percent to give her controlling interest. Huey will side with her on every vote ... if she hasn't had him sign it over completely."
The youth leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
"I still can't believe it," he said. "Maxine. She's been like a mother to me."
"Believe it," Phule said grimly. "Your `mother' has tied an anchor around your neck and is about to push you off the end of the pier. I suggest you start learning how to swim."
"But how?" Gunther said, almost as a plea. "If you're right, and she's sabotaged the tables, there's no way I can make enough to pay off the loan."
"Don't worry about the tables," the commander said. "We happen to have an honest set of dealers standing by ... and a new casino manager. It'll cost, but we can probably clean house in time to save the casino. I think you'll agree that the time to strike is just before your grand opening. That way, we minimize the chance of Maxine's switching to an alternate plan."
"You mean we can beat her? You've solved the problem?"
"Not so fast," Phule said, holding up a hand. "We have other worries besides the tables. When was the last time you had your computer programs checked and audited?"
"The computer?" Rafael frowned. "It was checked just before you arrived. Why?"
"We've gotten word that part of Maxine's plan is to fiddle with your computer," the Legionnaire said. "Who cleared the computer?"
"There's an outfit here on Lorelei that specifically checks the casino computers," Gunther said. "They're completely reliable and bonded. In fact, Huey said-"
"Huey?" Phule interrupted.
"That's right!" the youth gasped. "Huey was the one who recommended them. If he's working against us ..."
"Then odds are your computer is now a time bomb," the commander finished grimly. "All right, let's take it from there. What all does your computer control?"
"The whole complex is hooked into it. The hotel ... even the theater's lights for our entertainment specials."
"Does the casino hook into it for anything?"
"No, I don't-yes! The computer controls the video slot machines!"
"All of them?" Phule scowled. "Including the ones with the progressive multimillion jackpots?"
The casino owner could only nod.
"That could be disastrous," the Legionnaire said. "What happens if we pull the plug on them? Just shut down the slots until this whole thing is over?"
Gunther shook his head. "We can't do that. The slots are one of the biggest draws we have-any casino has-not to mention the most profitable. If we shut off the slots, we can kiss the whole opening goodbye."
Phule sighed. "Then we'll just have to get the programs fixed." And that means ... Damn, I hate to do that!"
"Do what?" the casino owner said.
"What? Oh ... sorry. It means doing something I really don't like to do: ask a favor of my father!"
One of the Old Earth authors, Hemingway, I believe, is attributed with the observation "Rich people are just like anyone else ... only richer."
During my association with my employer, I have grown to appreciate the truth of these words more and more. The truly rich are different, in that in times of crisis, they reflexively use money and power on a scale so alien to the average person that they almost seem to be of another species. (It should be noted here that I still consider myself to be an "average person." Though it has been mentioned that I'm comfortably well of financially, that condition is relatively recent, and I therefore lack the abovementioned reflexes of the truly rich. That mental state requires a lifetime, if not generations, of conditioning.)
Where they are like everyone else is in the problems they encounter ... for example, in dealing with their parents ...
"Hello ... Dad? It's me. Willard ... your son."
The Legionnaire commander had retreated to the relative privacy of his own room for this call, choosing not to communicate with his father from Gunther's office. This, in itself, was an indication of his uncertainty of how the conversation would go.
"I know," the holo projection in the room said gruffly. "Nobody else has the clout to pull me out of a negotiation meeting."
Seated in a corner, safely out of the camera's view, Beeker took advantage of the rare chance to compare the two men side by side.
If anything, Victor Phule looked more like a military commander than his son did-or the majority of active military officers,
for that matter. His manner and bearing displayed what his heir potential might achieve in maturity. Where his son was slender, the elder Phule had the lean, fit look of a timber wolf. His features had the sharp, angular planes of a granite cliff, whereas his son's face still showed the softness of youth. In fact, the only visible clue as to his age was the white hair at his temples, but even that seemed a testimony of his strength rather than a hint of senility. All in all, anyone seeing Victor Phule would arrive at the conclusion, not incorrectly, that this was not a man to be trifled with, particularly if he was annoyed, as he seemed to be now.
"Well, you've got me," the image growled. "What's the problem this time?"
"Problem?" the commander said. "What makes you think there's a problem, sir?"
"Maybe because the only time you call me is when you're in some kind of a scrape," his father pointed out. "It wouldn't kill you to write once in a while, you know."
"As I recall," the commander said testily, "the last time I called you was on that weapons deal with the Zenobians. That didn't turn out too bad for you, did it? An exclusive on a new weapons design in exchange for some worthless swampland?"
"A deal you closed before you had the swampland under contract, as I recall," the elder Phule defended. "I'll concede the point, though. Sorry if I'm a bit touchy. This meeting is a lot rougher than I thought it would be, and it's getting under my skin. The irritating part is that what I'm offering is better than what they're asking for, but they won't budge. It's tempting to just let them have their way, but you know what will happen down the road if I do."
"They'll claim you set them up," the younger Phule supplied. "Gee, that's tough, Dad."
"Whatever," Victor Phule said. "That's my problem, and I shouldn't let it interfere with us. So why did you call?"
From Beeker's vantage point, he could see his employer wince just a bit before answering as he realized he had inadvertently painted himself into a corner.
"I'll keep this short, realizing you're in the middle of a meeting," the commander said. "Basically, Dad, I need to borrow your Bug Squad. Rent them, actually."
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