by Chris Bunch
‘I see,’ Henders said. Naismith couldn’t decide whether to get angry or just stay puzzled. ‘You certainly have analyzed the situation quickly and, I must say, correctly. I think, Mister Taylor, you might become a valued addition to a certain group here. You appear to have a great deal of wisdom.’
‘Not wisdom,’ Wolfe said. ‘Common sense. How much?’
‘We would consider - ten thousand credits appropriate. At least for a starter. If circumstances indicate otherwise, that amount can be lowered.’
‘Or raised, if I’m sufficiently lucky.’
Henders inclined his head
Wolfe went into another room. The two gangsters looked at each other. The younger man licked his lips nervously.
Wolfe came back in with a leather envelope, thick with bills.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘The credits are clean, good, and out of sequence, and it’s a pleasure to be part of your - organization.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have plans to dine tonight. Perhaps at Mister Nakamura’s.’
The two men left.
Max came out of the bedroom. A gun was in his hand.
‘Why’d you pay them? I completely fail to understand your reasoning in allowing us to be victimized.’
‘Which is why you’re a Chitet and I’m a gambler,’ Wolfe said. ‘Kristin! I’m starving to death!’
‘I see why you’re the ranker of the trio,’ Wolfe said. ‘I don’t think Max had a clue.’
‘He’s a good man,’ Kristin said defensively. ‘Maybe I realized the nature of the situation a little faster than he did because I’ve been around you more.’
‘Probably,’ Wolfe said. ‘Crookedness can be contagious. ’
Kristin smiled. She wore a clinging gown, muted silver with deep burgundy flowers on it, low-cut, Empire-waisted, and utterly diaphanous. Under it was - perhaps - a sheer bodystocking.
Wolfe wore a white short-waisted formal jacket, matching pants, black silk shirt, and a white throat scarf.
He shifted position and moved the bomb at the base of his spine to a more comfortable position. ‘I once told somebody that I heard Time’s winged chariot at my back, but I never thought it’d end up as a literal expression,’ he murmured.
Kristin quirked an eyebrow.
‘Just a private thought,’ Joshua said.
Kristin cut a bite, chewed. ‘This is wonderful. What is it?’
‘On a Chitet menu, it’d no doubt appear as muscle tissue from a juvenile steer, wrapped in a shell of dough, with cow secretions, plus various fungi.’
‘Pish,’ Kristin said. ‘That won’t affect my appetite. We do that kind of word game as play when we’re growing up.’
‘Play? What you’re tucking away is boeuf Wellington. Named after a general who was pretty good at waiting for his enemy to make the first mistake.’
‘Of course we play - I played - when I was a child. What do you think Chitet do? Just march up and down in formation and drone prime numbers at one another? We’re people, like any other,’ Kristin said, a bit of heat in her voice. ‘We just happen to have a better way of thinking, of living than anybody else.’
Wolfe started to say something but thought better of it. ‘Okay. I was wrong. You’re creatures of the sun, the light, and the dancing waves. Now eat your vegetables or I won’t read you any more Charles Peirce before bedtime. ’
‘I know who he was,’ Kristin said.
‘See my point?’
Kristin looked puzzled. ‘No. I don’t.’
‘Never mind.’
Joshua heard music coming from another part of Nakamura’s as they strolled out of the restaurant.
‘Care to dance before we go to work?’
‘No,’ Kristin said. ‘I never learned how. My creche didn’t see the point of doing anything when music played, anyway. It’s enough to simply appreciate it intellectually. ’
‘Take that, Dionysus,’ Wolfe said.
‘Precisely,’ Kristin said. ‘The Apollonian side must control events, or everything is chaos.’
‘Sometimes chaos can be fun.’
‘And who is whose prisoner?’ Kristin retorted.
‘Point and match to Guide Kristin,’ Wolfe said.
They continued into the casino.
Joshua considered the half-full room as a formally clad man glided to him.
‘Mister Taylor? Welcome to Nakamura’s. Might I inquire as to your pleasure?’
‘Nothing right now,’ Wolfe said. ‘But I do have a question. Is Mister Nakamura present?’
‘Mister Nakamura passed on over a year ago,’ the pit boss said. ‘The club is currently held by a consortium of businessmen.’
‘I see,’ Wolfe said. ‘Perhaps another time I might be interested in your tables. But not at the moment. Come on, Kristin. The Oasis calls.’
‘This,’ Wolfe said, ‘might become my home away from home.’
‘Why?’ Kristin asked. ‘It looks just like Nakamura’s. Why this one instead of the other?’
‘Because this one looks a bit - closer to the bone, shall we say? Observe the bar, and the half-dozen young women who gave both of us the scan when we walked through. Expensive companions for the evening - or the hour. Or consider the gamblers.’
‘I don’t see anything unusual.’
‘See how many have friends standing behind them. Friends who just happen to have bulges in their hip pockets or under their arms. Friends with blank faces and eyes that never stop moving.’
‘Oh. You mean you wanted a crooked place to gamble?’
‘Sssh, my love. Don’t disparage the jam pot. And we might be able to find an honest game here. Or turn it into one.’
‘Now I don’t understand what you’re thinking any more than Max does,’ Kristin said.
‘You don’t have to.’ Wolfe took a wad of credits from his pocket. ‘Here. Go spend these. Come back when you need more.’
‘I really don’t understand gambling games,’ she protested, ‘although of course I’ve studied probability theory.’
‘Good. Think popsy. Lose in a spectacular manner.’
Wolfe noted a heavy, short man strolling through the gaming room, his eyes comfortably assessing the night. His expensive clothes wrapped him like a toad in a turban. Three blank-faced men flanked him, a fourth walked unobtrusively in front.
‘That is -?’ Wolfe asked the croupier, indicating with his chin.
‘Mister Igraine. The owner.’
‘Ah. Is he a plunger?’
‘I assume you mean does he play? Frequently. And well,’ the croupier said. ‘If you’d be interested in one of his private games, it might be arranged.’
Wolfe looked back at the dice layout, then saw Kristin hurrying toward him.
‘Look!’ Kristin said excitedly. She was holding up a thick sheaf of bills.
Wolfe spun a chip to the croupier and picked up his dwindled stake. ‘I’ll go sit and sulk for a while,’ he said. ‘Try to remember where my luck went. And I’ll think about what you said about Mister Igraine.’
He led Kristin to a quiet corner. ‘Obviously you’re doing better than I am,’ he noted.
‘These people don’t know anything about the odds,’ she said. ‘I’ve never gambled before, but it seems pretty simple. I know you told me to lose, but am I supposed to look like a complete fool?’
Wolfe laughed.
‘Once a Chitet . . . Very good, Kristin. You’ll start a new legend as the bimbo who never loses.’
‘So do I gamble some more?’
Wolfe considered. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve set the scene, and dropped maybe fifteen thousand. That ought to be enough. Tomorrow night we’ll reap what I hope we sowed.’
A chill wind blew across the city, clouds swirling past overhead, but the penthouse’s balcony had three braziers, with what looked like real wood burning in them.
Kristin looked across the city’s lights at the hills in the distance.
‘Maybe she’s over there . . .’
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‘Maybe.’
She moved closer to him. ‘It’s late,’ she said.
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But gamblers and raiders work best by moonlight.’
‘Among others,’ Kristin said, her voice low.
Wolfe looked surprised.
‘Yes,’ he said, almost in a whisper, ‘among others.’
He stepped closer, until his hip touched her buttocks, waited for her to step away. Kristin didn’t move. He slid his arms around her waist, nuzzled her hair.
Joshua felt her breathing come more quickly.
He slowly turned her to him. Kristin lifted her cat face, eyes closed, lips parted.
He kissed her, felt her tongue come to meet his. He slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and her bare breasts were firm against him.
The kiss went on, and her lips moved under his, tongue darting.
He picked her up in his arms, carried her through the suite’s living room into a bedroom, started to lay her on the bed.
‘No,’ she said. ‘My shoes . . .’
‘Don’t worry about it. We have maids.’
She lay back, naked to the waist, legs curled, her eyes half-open, watching as he undressed.
He touched the light sensor, and the room was dark except for a stream of light from the doorway.
Joshua went to the bed and knelt over Kristin, one arm around her, the other sliding her dress up, cupping her buttocks, kneading them. She was not wearing a bodystocking, but had shaved her body smooth.
She moaned, lifted her leg across the back of his thighs.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh yes, my Dionysus.’
Kristin stifled a scream, writhed against him, then collapsed, her legs sagging back to the bed. Joshua stayed on his knees, lifted her legs about his waist, caressed her breasts slowly.
‘I’m back,’ she said after a time.
Joshua moved inside her, and she gasped.
‘Not yet,’ she whispered. ‘Give me a moment.’
‘One and only one.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘there is some merit to chaos.’
‘In its place,’ he agreed. ‘Logic doesn’t belong in the bedroom.’
‘I should be able to argue with you,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think my brain is working right now.’
Joshua lifted her buttocks, pulled her close against him. ‘Never interfere with success,’ he said.
‘No . . . I mean yes,’ she managed as he began moving slowly inside her. She rolled her head from side to side, wrapped her legs more tightly about him. ‘Oh yes. Send me away again.’
Joshua came out of the bedroom, robe wrapped around him. Lucian was scanning some papers.
‘I’ll have instructions for you in an hour,’ Wolfe said. ‘Then nothing. We won’t go back out until tonight.’
Lucian looked at Joshua with disapproval, said nothing, picked up a com and touched buttons.
It was an hour after dawn.
Joshua picked up the tray room service had just brought and took it back into the bedroom.
Kristin was at the window, naked, leaning on the railing.
Joshua put the tray down, dropped his robe, walked up behind her, and kissed her back.
‘Do you think anybody down there can see us?’ she asked.
‘Probably,’ he said cheerily. ‘And they’re getting ready to record every single lascivious move.’
Kristin giggled.
‘That’s a nice sound,’ he said.
Kristin didn’t reply for a while, then:
‘This doesn’t change things.’
‘Sure it does,’ Wolfe said. ‘It means you don’t have to sleep on the couch unless you want to. And you already said you had permission from Athelstan to be flouncing around like you are.’
‘You know what I meant.’
‘I know what you meant,’ he agreed, hands sliding around her body, cupping her breasts, pulling her against him.
‘Joshua, I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’m sore.’
‘Umm-hmm.’
‘You’re not stopping.’
‘Ummm-umm.’
‘Oh. Oh. Oh GOD!’
‘It’s time for work, people,’ Wolfe said. ‘Here’s the order. Kristin, Max, I want you with me. Pick the best two of the gun-guards as backup. Get them into formals. Ten, no, fifteen more in the heavy lifter we’ve rented. If Kristin or I call for backup, bring the gunnies in ready for shooting. Lucian, I want you standing by our flit, pretending you’re the chauffeur. We may need to leave in a hurry and we want our back guarded.’
‘Negative, Wolfe,’ the bearded man said. ‘My orders are to stay with you.’
‘For the love of - does it do any good for me to swear on - on Critique of Pure Reason that I don’t have any intention of double-crossing you? And there’s already two of the team on me like white on rice?’
‘Negative,’ Lucian said firmly. ‘You may have subverted one of us,’ and he gave a pointed look at Kristin, ‘but some of us know where our duty lies.’
‘That’s enough,’ the woman snapped. ‘I still command, and I still speak for this gathering. You, Lucian. In the other room. Now!’
The Chitet looked sullen, but he obeyed. Kristin followed, slamming the door hard behind her, and Wolfe heard loud voices.
Passing from grandeur to grandeur to final illusion, Wolfe thought hopefully. He and Max avoided looking at each other.
Kristin and Lucian came back out and sat down.
‘As long as we’re all getting along so well,’ Wolfe said. ‘What’s the possibility of my being permitted one lousy little gun? There’s no -’ He broke off. Both Kristin and Lucian were shaking their heads.
‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to get you two to agree on something. So I’m going in naked, then. But if anybody even twitches, I want somebody to put a bolt through him. We still aren’t even in sight of the target.’
‘You’ve done quite well for yourself this evening,’ Igraine said. His voice was as smooth and oily as his hair.
‘Compared to last night,’ Wolfe agreed. ‘You would think I’d have learned to stay away from dice by now.’
‘So roulette is your game,’ Igraine said. ‘Mine, too.’
Wolfe had carefully noted the attention the casino’s owner paid the wheel in his inspection tour the night before.
‘I like it,’ Wolfe said. ‘Especially when it’s straight, with only a single zero.’
‘I have no need to be greedy,’ Igraine said.
‘Faites vos jeux, m’sieurs,’ the tourneur intoned. There were eight others around the wheel.
Wolfe put on the cloth a stack of chips from the considerable pile he’d already won.
‘Manque,’ he said.
Igraine reached out, tapped the enameled letters of passe. The tourneur nodded, and other bets were made.
‘Rien ne va plus,’ he announced, spun the crosshandles with his fingers, and flipped the ivory ball against the wheel’s rotation.
The wheel slowed, and the ball bounced, bounced again, stopped in a compartment.
‘Quatre,’ the tourneur said.
‘Congratulations,’ Igraine said. ‘Again?’
Wolfe nodded.
It was either very late or very early.
But no one appeared sleepy.
There were about forty people around the table now, and the only sound was the tourneur’s voice, the whisper of the spinning wheel, the clatter of the ivory ball, and the low murrnur after the clatter stopped.
The wheel had only two bettors, Igraine and Wolfe. Chips were stacked high beside Wolfe, and credits piled next to his untouched drink. Igraine had nothing in front of him.
Lucian stood across from Wolfe, Max was next to him, and Kristin on Joshua’s other side.
Igraine’s shirt was sweat-soaked, and his hair hung in disarray over his forehead.
The tourneur had closed the table twice, and guards had brought first chips, later credits.
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��Rouge,’ he announced.
‘Non,’ Wolfe said, stepping back, and the tourneur spun once again.
The ball dropped into the zero compartment.
‘You have a sixth sense about things,’ Igraine complained.
‘It felt like about time for zero to hit,’ Joshua said. He pushed chips forward.
‘Rouge.’
‘Noir,’ Igraine said.
He glanced at the tourneur, nodded imperceptibly.
Wolfe felt out, felt the man’s foot shift to the right, reached out. The tourneur’s body twitched a little, again. The man looked worried.
‘M’sieur?’ Wolfe inquired.
The tourneur licked his lips, spun the wheel.
‘Deux. Rouge.’
Wolfe collected his winnings.
‘All right,’ Igraine said. ‘That’s enough.’
‘For you,’ Wolfe said. ‘But I’m still playing.’
‘By yourself, then.’
‘You can’t afford the game?’
Igraine started to say something then clamped his mouth shut.
‘You still have something to bet,’ Wolfe said. He looked around at the club. ‘One roll. All of this,’ he indicated the money in front of him, ‘against the club. You play black, I’ll stay with red.’
Someone behind Wolfe said something, and a woman gasped. He didn’t turn.
Kristin’s hand slid closer to the gun in her tiny breakaway purse.
Igraine gnawed at his lip, suddenly smiled.
‘Very well. Spin the wheel!’
The tourneur’s foot moved, tapped the hidden switch under the carpet. The wheel spun, the ball bounced wildly about.
Red/black/red/black flicker, slowing, the ball rattling from compartment to compartment, rolling, dropping into a red compartment . . .
