Mission: Earth Fortune of Fear

by Ron L. Hubbard

  Heller was watching the final gambler getting his IOU. It was an elderly man and he was insisting it be stamped. His voice was very clear now in that silent casino even if it was huge and he was quite distant. He got his stamp. Two tough mugs escorted him to the door. Two more tough mugs closed and locked the entrance.

  The pair on the mezzanine began to walk forward toward the place Heller was sitting.

  "Dear," said Heller into his lapel, "keep your head down and take care of the money. I think the natives have ceased to be friendly."

  "Yes, dear," said the Countess Krak. She boosted the last sack into the laundry chute.

  I thought she would duck into a nearby room. But she did something absolutely astonishing. She reached up, took hold of a molding and pushed her feet into the laundry chute!

  With a sort of angling twist, she let herself drop!

  With one foot out to the right and the other to the left and both of them against the duct sides, she began to drop. Her fall was being braked by her feet!

  Down she went. Sixty feet!

  The slither of leather against the duct sides rose to a screech!

  The duct sections sped upward past her in a blur!

  She plummeted down out of the duct opening in the top of the laundry room. She landed on the money with a soft thud!

  The Countess Krak glanced around. It was a big laundry room flanked by machinery on all sides but one. Here lay a huge mound of laundry to be done.

  She jumped off the money. She found a stack of laundry bags. Working very fast, she began to stuff the black sacks into the clean, white bags.

  Heller had moved back to the place where she had been sitting. He could see down the stairs, he could see along the mezzanine, he could see down the very long cor­ridor which led into the hotel.

  Into his collar, he said, "Are you all right, dear?"

  The Countess said as she worked, "Just fine, Jettero."

  "Well, you lay low, dear. I think somebody is going to try to celebrate the Fourth of July in January."

  "What happened on the Fourth of July?" said Krak, stuffing more money sacks into more white laundry bags.

  "I think they objected to the English landing on the coast to collect taxes. They are very possessive of money, so take good care of it, dear."

  "Yes, Jettero."

  Heller turned around. Two men had appeared at the end of the corridor at his back!

  He spotted a big plastic-covered sofa further down the rail. It had two thick, upholstered chairs flanking it.

  The two men moving toward him along the mezzanine were still about thirty feet away from the sofa.

  Heller dived out of the corridor cover and, in a rolling somersault, landed beside the sofa. He gave it a yank. He gave the two chairs a shove. He flattened himself on the sofa.

  He was protected now from all angles of possible fire.

  The two men coming up the mezzanine had halted. They drew guns. One of them said, "Step out in sight, sonny. You can't get that money out of the building, anyway. You might as well give up."

  "And if I don't?" called Heller.

  "Then things could get rough," said one of the men. "We know you got a gun. Throw it out here so we don't have to shoot you."

  "You want the bullets, too?" said Heller.

  "Of course," said the first man.

  "Then have one," said Heller. He levelled the Taurus revolver he had taken off the waiter. He fired!

  The bullet tore a furrow down the rug.

  "Jesus!" yelped one of the men. He raised his gun to shoot.

  Heller fired into the wall and the ricochet went through the casino with a howl!

  He fired again and a light fixture over their heads exploded, showering them with glass.

  "Sangue di Cristo!" one of them yelped.

  Heller was still shooting!

  The two dived over the mezzanine rail and hit a roulette table!

  They scrambled off of it and were gone!

  Heller ducked back.

  The pair who had been coming up the corridor where the money had been were out of Heller's view. He was watching the corner where it came into the mezzanine.

  A head appeared there and a gun below it.

  The Taurus revolver clicked empty. Heller dropped it. He palmed his Llama.45. He came up suddenly and snapped a shot at the wall in front of the head. The bellow of the big caliber went booming through the casino.

  Heller bobbed up to take a look. The head was not there. But voices were.

  "Here's a laundry chute."

  "Well, look in it, dummy."

  "Jesus. It's straight down a hunnert feet. There's nothin' at the bottom of it."

  "Well, look in the God (bleeped) rooms, you idiot."

  Slamming doors.

  Some Italian chatter was sounding up the long cor­ridor. Some guys up there were trying to persuade one of their number to walk down it. He was protesting.

  Heller could see up that corridor all the way. He sighted carefully along the top of the Llama. He was centering on a huge glass fixture nearly a hundred and fifty feet away. He allowed for the drop of the relatively slow.45 bullet by placing the rear, fixed sight quite low. He fired!

  The crash of the.45 was followed by the smashing crash of breaking glass. Showers of it cascaded down.

  A yelp came from that end of the corridor.

  A slug thumped into the top of the sofa, instantly followed by the sound of the shot from the corridor.

  An Italian voice in the side corridor yelled, "Tell the capo the money isn't here!"

  Somebody up the long corridor yelled back, "You look everyplace? He coulda thrown it down a laundry chute. Did you look in the laundry room?"

  "Ignacio went down there, too. Nobody there. We looked every place. It's gone."

  Silence reigned for a long space. It was pretty obvious that nobody could get into a point of vantage from which they could shoot Heller. The only way they could reach him was by a frontal charge.

  Suddenly the P. A. system opened up. It said, "Look, kid. We may not be able to get at you. But at the same time, you can't get out of where you are and even if you could, you'd never be able to leave this building with that dough and arrive anyplace else. The capo wants to see you."

  Chapter 9

  Heller touched his collar. "Are you all right, dear?" "Everything is fine, Jettero."

  Heller raised his voice but not his head. He shouted down the long corridor in passable Italian, "You give me a hostage and let me keep my gun and we'll talk about it."

  Up at the other end of the corridor, voices were arguing.

  "You go."

  "Why me?"

  "Listen, as the son of Capo Gobbo Piegare, I command you in my father's name, go down that corridor, Jimmy Coniglio, and give yourself up as a hostage!"

  A squeal. "Not me! If you're so anxious to have a hostage, go yourself, Don Julio!"

  Heller called out, "I'll take the son of the capo, if you please."

  A loud outburst of arguing. Then finally, "Mother of the Virgin, why can't somebody else be his God (bleeped) son?"

  "You're the son. We ain't."

  A body thrust into the corridor. Then, seeing there was no shot forthcoming, the person crept timidly down the wall toward the mezzanine and the sofa fortress. He stopped and yelled back, "Now, none of your God (bleeped) parlor games! Don't go shooting me or anybody else in the back!" That attended to, the person came closer.

  Heller let him get within two feet. The fellow was about thirty, dressed in a silk tuxedo with a lace shirt front and a very Sicilian face. It was the same man who had been directing the shift of money from cage to cage down on the floor.

  Heller, the Llama.45 held close to his chest, sat erect. He plucked a Beretta from the shoulder holster under the tuxedo and put it in his pocket.

  "I think we will get along fine, Don Julio," he said. "Nobody has gotten shot, yet, and it would be a shame if you were the first. So do I have your word you will take me to
your father and to nobody else?"

  "Upon the grave of my father's mistress, I swear it," said Don Julio. "Would you please put that safety catch on? I might stumble. My knees seem to be a bit shaky tonight."

  "Anything to oblige," said Heller and put the side-lever safety catch on, pushing the gun into Don Julio's ribs. He turned him around and with a companionable arm over his shoulders and a thumb close to a paralysis point of Don Julio's neck, he let the chief's son lead on.

  They went to an elevator. Don Julio pushed the call button. They went to the second floor. Don Julio turned down a corridor which seemed to be made up, not of bedrooms, but offices. They came to the end and Don Julio knocked twice, then three times.

  Somebody inside opened the door.

  It was a splendid office, very large, done in what appeared to be yellow leather. An expensive rug was on the floor. Hanging plants gave the room a strange, jungle look.

  A very small man was sitting at a very large desk. There were several other men in the room, hands in pockets, hats on, natty but very dark and Italian.

  "My father," said Don Julio impressively. "Capo Gobbo Piegare, supreme leader of the Atlantic City mob." He glanced sideways at Heller. "I am sorry. I do not know how you are called."

  "Cattivo," said Heller. "Johnny Cattivo. At your orders," he added with polite formality. He was still speaking Italian and he seemed to have their endless, involved manners down pat.

  "Sit down," said the capo, waving at a yellow interview chair that had its back to the room.

  "Thank you. I've been sitting too long this afternoon," said Heller. "I think your gracious son and I will stand over here against the wall."

  "Just trying to make you comfortable," said Gobbo Piegare. "So, with your permission, we will get down to business. I don't know how you bribed the croupiers to always stop the wheels on the right numbers, but that's all ancient history. Where's the dough?"

  "It is my take, isn't it?" said Heller.

  "According to custom and law," said Gobbo, "I must allow that it is. However, I must point out, with all delicacy, that every exit from this hotel, as well as the parking lot, is covered with Heckler and Koch nine-millimeter submachine guns in the hands of very competent guards who have orders to shoot you on sight if they see a single package in your hands. They're on the roof, too."

  "I appreciate your courtesy," said Heller, "but I must point out that your son and you would undoubtedly be hit by.45 slugs before the rest of the men in this room could shoot out of their pockets. And you have no idea at all where the money is, other than that it is in my pos­session."

  Gobbo Piegare made a tent of his hands, elbows on the desk, and supported his chin. He thought for a while. Then he said, "Legally, this is what is called a 'Mexican standoff.' You have me at a very great disadvantage. You have drained the other four casinos and this one of all cash. Without that cash, finances could become embarrassing. I have a proposition. Are you open to offers?"

  "If they are good ones," said Heller.

  "Oh, this is a good one," said Gobbo reassuringly. "The Scalpello Casino Corporation owns, in all, five beautiful casino-hotels here, including this one. They are only eight to twelve years old. They have the most modern and fanciest fittings. The corporation also owns tons of real estate around them and a quarter of a mile of Boardwalk, two miles of waterfront along the Intracoastal Waterway, a game preserve, a yacht marina and two piers. Sound impressive, kid?"

  "Indeed, it does," said Heller.

  "You, on the other hand," said Gobbo, "have several million cash around somewhere. Now, I will make you the proposition. In return for that cash, I will sell you the whole corporation and every share of stock in it."

  I flinched. Was Heller going to land squarely on his feet in spite of everything?

  "My consigliere," continued Gobbo, "happens to be right here. He has all the deeds and shares right in that briefcase. Show the kid," he ordered.

  A scholarly Italian stepped forward, adjusted his glasses and opened his case. He took out a huge stack of deeds and maps and laid them where Heller could see them and still watch the room and started leafing through the documents. That done, he took a bundle of stock out, showed Heller it was all of the authorized issued shares of the Scalpello Casino Corporation of New Jersey and left them in a pile on a chair.

  "Well..." said Heller.

  "Good thinking," said Gobbo. "Show him the contract," he ordered the consigliere. To Heller, he said, "I had this drawn up just in case you saw it our way and your own, too."

  The consigliere laid the contract on a table to Heller's right. He tendered a pen.

  Gobbo said, "You better use your own name, not that of Johnny Cattivo. We happen to know he's dead and you, I might point out, are not a ghost. When we saw this I.D. on the floor this afternoon, we checked on the computers. So at supper we had your pocket picked. The man got your real wallet before he tried to lift your gun. Only one man would have Johnny Cattivo's passport and that would be Jerome Terrance Wister."

  The gunmen in the room stiffened, took their hands out of their pockets, showed empty, open palms and backed up.

  Gobbo continued, "And so it says, directly on your own passport and driver's license." He opened the wallet he had taken out and read it. "Jerome Terrance Wister, the Whiz Kid himself. So maybe you didn't bribe the croupiers. Maybe you had a system, the first one in history that worked. But however that may be, not even Brinks could get that dough out of Atlantic City tonight or any other time, so you better sign that contract purchasing the whole of Scalpello Corporation. And with your right name."

  "If you look at that passport you will find that it says," said Heller, "that Wister is only seventeen. As a minor, the contract would not be binding."

  "Well, I'm looking at this passport," said Gobbo, "and I find that Wister had a birthday just three days ago and is eighteen and according to the new laws of New Jersey, that's of age. It's legal as legal. Call it a birthday present, and a nice one at that. Five casino hotels and all those other things. I got a notary right here, ready to witness the signatures. You're buying the whole thing for 'one dollar and other legal considerations.' I'll even leave the two G's in your wallet when I give it back so you can pay me the dollar out of your own money and no hanky-panky. It's not even bought with gambling winnings and all these here can witness it is so. So sign and give me the privilege of wishing you a Happy Birthday."

  Heller took the pen and signed. Gobbo, his son and the consigliere also signed as the only ones who held shares. The notary notarized everything.

  Then Gobbo put his hand on the contracts, holding them to the desk. "You get these as soon as you produce the money. Don't be uneasy. We are all just honest businessmen here. And you can even take Don Julio along and blow his guts out if, when you give us the money, we don't give you the contracts. He's my own son. How can you lose?"

  Heller touched his collar. He said, "Dear, would it be convenient for you to bring the money to room 201? It is on the second floor. Just look at the numbers and arrows. I am sure the armed men here will give you no trouble."

  They waited.

  There was the clang of an elevator. Then sounds of something coming down the hall. A gunman there, keeping his hands very empty, gingerly opened the door.

  A big laundry cart rolled in, piled to the top with laundry bags. What appeared to be an old chambermaid stood up. It was the Countess Krak dressed in hotel worker clothes and lines of age drawn on her face.

  "Mother of God," said one of the men, "I passed her three times with that cart when we were looking on the sixth floor!"

  But Gobbo was not interested in who had brought the cart in. He stood up. He signalled. The consigliere and two others began to lift the bags out. They opened the covering laundry sack and peered in at the money. They turned the open ends, one after the other, to Gobbo.

  He went over and into each sack plunged his hand and verified there was no stuffing but money. He looked at many of the bills to
make sure they were not counter­feit.

  Bags were lying all over the floor! Big and fat.

  Gobbo clapped his hands together twice and, with a gesture, had the bags closed and piled back into the laundry truck.

  The capo then, with a gesture, had two men speed the laundry cart out of the room.

  Heller's gun came up. But Gobbo was walking over with the contracts. Gobbo waited until he heard the elevator door bang shut and the car start down. With an elegant bow he handed the contracts to Heller. Then, with a very imperious gesture, like an orchestra conductor, he began to wave his arms at the men in the room.

  "Happy Birthday," said Gobbo, in English.

  The others in the room immediately began to sing. They sang:

  Happy Birthday to you,

  Happy Birthday to you,

  Happy Birthday, dear Whiz Kid,

  You've been fun to screw.

  Then they all started laughing.

  Gobbo said, "Put your gun away, Whiz Kid. Nobody would think of shooting you, now that you are the sole owner of the Scalpello Casino Corporation and all its vast properties. Three days ago, the New Jersey Gambling Commission told us that at the end of the week all our licenses were going to be cancelled for nonpayment of bribes and ordered us to sell the whole thing to anyone else who would buy it.

  "But you see, Whiz Kid, nobody at all would touch any part of this corporation, for at noon tomorrow, by the clock, the Grabbe-Manhattan Bank, that owns all the mortgages, first and second, on all these hotels and property, is going to foreclose and take over everything it owns. They even blocked efforts to file bankruptcy by threatening criminal proceeding on other counts against the directors if we did.

  "All the money that you won, Whiz Kid, went through the computers as legal gambling losses paid out to unknown people. It's all laundered money and untraceable. So you let us follow the New Jersey Gambling Commission ruling and it's you that Grabbe-Manhattan will now be foreclosing on! AND you've given us all these lovely millions as run money to go someplace nice and retire on. So Happy Birthday, Whiz Kid. The Virgin Mary herself must have sent you. Although, when we spotted you earlier today, I will admit we gave her lots of help."