Phule's Paradise (25 page)

     
"Yes, sir."

     
"Well, forget it. I want to know what happened to the reporter."

     
"She's being held in her room under guard; sir. Also her cameraman. In adjoining rooms, that is, sir."

     
"What?"

     
Even though Phule had been half expecting the answer, he was nonetheless stunned.

     
"It was all we could think of to keep her from-"

     
"You kidnapped a member of the interstellar press? Against her will?"

     
"It seemed impractical to wait until we could do it with her will, sir."

     
The commander shot a hard look at his junior officer, but Armstrong never cracked a smile.

     
"All right, Lieutenant. While you're coming up with clever answers, perhaps you can explain to me why I wasn't informed of this when I woke up and came back on the floor. I believe it was your shift then?"

     
"I started to tell you, sir," Armstrong said, still holding his deadpan expression. "At the time, however, you were getting ready to lead the expedition to confine the casino manager in his room ... against his will. If the captain will recall, I asked for a moment of his time, and was asked if it was important."

     
Phule frowned, vaguely recalling the brief exchange. "And you didn't think this was important?"

     
"I assumed the captain was asking if my question was time sensitive, and in my best judgment, it wasn't. The captain should recall that at that point, the reporter had already been confined for several hours, and I did not think that a few more hours would significantly change the situation, or her mood ... sir."

     
"I suppose there's a certain logic there ... even if it is a little twisted."

     
"Thank you, sir."

     
"There's still the question, though, of why you didn't mention it just now when I asked for your report."

     
"I ... I was working my way up to it, sir," Armstrong said, letting a small grimace flicker across his face.

     
Phule glared at him for a moment, then heaved a big sigh.

     
"Well, what's done is done," he said. "In the future, however, I want it understood by you and Lieutenant Rembrandt that any incident of importance, particularly one involving the press, is to be brought to my attention immediately. That's immediately, as in at the time it occurs, whether I'm asleep or not. Do I make myself clear?"

     
"Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind, sir."

     
"All right. Now, are there any other little incidents that I should be aware of?"

     
"Excuse me, sir, but there's one more thing you should know about Jennie."

     
"What's that?"

     
"When we were informing her that she was to be confined to her quarters, she said ... well ... among the things she had to say, she indicated that she already knew that we had substitutes standing in for some of our troops."

     
"She did?" Phule said with a frown. "I wonder how she figured that out. Probably too many unfamiliar faces in that news coverage we got when we arrived. Oh well. I'll have to remember to ask her when I get around to talking to her."

     
"Is that to say you won't be dealing with the matter right away ... sir?"

     
The commander grimaced. "As you so logically put it, whatever damage has been done won't change significantly if she has to wait a few more hours. Right now, we have matters to deal with that are time sensitive."

Maxine loved casinos.

     
There was a rhythm to them, almost like the pulse and breathing of a huge animal, a predator on the prowl. Small white balls rattled in the silently spinning roulette wheels and cards were slapped from shoes to the accompaniment of the monotone chants of the pit crews, the repetition of words giving an almost ritualistic, religious air to the proceedings, interrupted only by the occasional yips of glee or curses of the players. Every twenty minutes the pit crews would be pulled for a break, their replacements stepping in without missing a beat in the tables' rhythm. When the rested crews returned, they would be inserted into another pit, often rotating their positions so that someone who had been dealing blackjack would now be working a roulette wheel, while the pit bosses watched with flat eyes to see if anyone was following a particular dealer from post to post.

     
Yes, a well-functioning casino was a living, breathing predator ... and it fed on money.

     
Maxine surveyed the casino floor, drinking in the almost electric flow of excitement that radiated from the tables. She was dressed elegantly in an evening gown as befitted a grand opening, but if she had been wearing rags and tatters-or nothing at all, for that matter-no one would have noticed. Lady Luck was a cruel coquette who demanded the total attention and concentration of her suitors.

     
There was no sign of anything amiss, but that wasn't surprising. If the various imported cheats were half as expert as their reputations would indicate, their actions would go undetected, especially with the assistance of the crooked dealers seeded through the pit crews. If the casino was an animal, then they were leeches, quietly bleeding it of the money that was its sustenance until it wobbled and fell. The casino might think of itself as a predator, but this time the Fat Chance was, in actuality, a fatted calf.

     
"I don't see any big winners," Stilman said, breaking his silence as he stood at her side. "Are you sure this is going to work?"

     
Maxine shot a distasteful glance at him.

     
Stilman's tuxedo was tailor-made and fit him superbly, but he wore it like a warm-up suit. Even to the casual observer, he showed all the grace and style of a penguin on steroids.

     
"I keep telling you, Mr. Stilman," Max said, "this is supposed to be a subtle operation. Subtle as opposed to obvious. You should know by now that's my style of operating. While I can appreciate the skill and conditioning required by your specialty of physical action, I prefer to only use it for diversions or as a last resort."

     
That settled, Maxine turned her attention to the casino floor once more. Unfortunately, however, Stilman's grumbles had planted a worm of worry in her mind, and she found herself straining to detect any big winners or steady trends at the tables within her immediate sight.

     
"What do you think, Laverna?" she said finally, turning literally as well as figuratively to her financial advisor and confidante, who was also accompanying her this evening.

     
Laverna had ignored the formality of the opening and was dressed in one of her normal jumpsuits, a pair of diamond earrings her only concession that there was anything special about the occasion. Though her manner was relaxed to the point of appearing bored, her eyes were busy, constantly gathering and analyzing data as was her habit whenever they were actually on the floor of a casino.

     
"Hard to tell," she said with a slight shrug, her eyes still moving across the casino. "It looks pretty normal ... maybe a bit more flow to the customers than usual, but I'd have to watch for a while to get a real feel for it. Of course, you can't say for sure without moving in close to see which chips are moving in which direction."

     
What she was referring to was that experienced gamblers rarely settled for making the same bet over and over. If you did that, the house odds would catch up to you in the long run and you'd lose. Instead, they tended to stagger their bets, betting low for long stretches, then raising their bets dramatically when they felt the odds were in their favor or a run was in effect. As a result, a player could win and lose an equal number of hands, but end up ahead or behind depending on whether or not their larger bets paid off.

     
"So we really don't know if this grand plan is working or not," Stilman said crossly.

     
Surprised at the surliness in his tone, Maxine glanced at him and noticed for the first time that he was looking around nervously and fidgeting ... something totally out of character from his normal aloof manner.

     
"You seem uneasy, Mr. Stilman," she observed. "Is something bothering you?"

     
The muscleman glanced around again before answering.

     
"I'm just not sure how happy the staff is going to be to see me here is all," he said. "After that fiasco on the loading dock, I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to throw me out-tuxedo or no."

     
"I think Mr. Phule's security team has Stilman a bit spooked, Max," Laverna said with a wink and a grin.

     
Stilman fixed a cold, level gaze on her.

     
"It's not funny," he said. "These soldier boys of yours haven't shown me much so far, but I'll tell you, this casino has some of the toughest employees I've ever seen. Where did Huey find them, anyway?"

     
"You'll have to ask him the next time you talk," Max said, suppressing a smile of her own. "Not tonight, though. While I don't think there will be any trouble as long as you're just here as a guest, it probably wouldn't be prudent if Mr. Martin were seen conversing with us or any of our known associates this evening."

     
"Yeah ... well ... it's all nice and easy for you to say `Don't worry,'" Stilman growled, glancing around once more, "but you aren't the one they'll be coming after if you're wrong. I don't know why I had to be here, anyway."

     
"You don't, really," Maxine said. "Realizing, though, that you and your men have had to put up with being roughed up and humiliated due to my policy of no rough stuff during our various diversionary probes, I thought you might enjoy being around `for the kill,' as it were."

     
"What? For this?" Stilman made a small gesture at the casino floor. "I suppose it was a nice thought, but this is about as exciting as watching grass grow."

     
Maxine cocked a regal eyebrow at him. "I know you sometimes think me dull, Mr. Stilman, and perhaps in comparison to the excitement of the astroball circuit, I am. You should recall, however, that I also have a love of the dramatic. Rest assured, that things will get much more lively soon-in fact, in about fifteen minutes, I'd say."

     
"Lively like how?"

     
Maxine returned her gaze to the casino floor. "Do you ever play the slots, Mr. Stilman?"

     
"Not since I first got here," Stilman responded. "I tried them once, just because it seemed the thing to do at a casino, but they always seemed to be pretty much a sucker bet to me."

     
"That's quite correct," Max said with a nod. "They're popular with the tourists, and because of that they provide a surprisingly high income for any casino. Even the lure of a high jackpot, however, doesn't offset the fact that the odds are depressingly high against the player."

     
"Yeah. So?" Stilman pressed, but Maxine was not about to be rushed.

     
"Take that island of machines over there, for example," she said, indicating a cluster of slots with a nod of her head. "They only accept fifty-dollar tokens to play, but there's a progressive jackpot attached to them, with a guaranteed minimum of ten million dollars. Of course, if you read the fine print on the machine, you have to bet the maximum of five tokens and hit a very rare combination of images to qualify for the big jackpot."

     
"Are you saying that someone's going to win the jackpot tonight? Ten million dollars?"

     
Stilman craned his neck to peer at the machines, obviously impressed.

     
Maxine smiled. "I know I've said it before, Mr. Stilman, but you habitually think too small. You'll notice that, like all casinos today, Mr. Gunther is using the video-image slot machines as opposed to the old models that mechanically match the various images. This both reduces the maintenance necessary, since there are fewer moving parts, and lets the house control the odds more closely, as the payout rate is controlled by the central computer which all the machines are tied into-the computer, if you'll recall, that we've paid substantially to gain access to."

     
She paused to check her watch again.

     
"Now, in about thirteen minutes, a sleeping program we've had planted in that computer is going to cut in and change the odds for that cluster of slots down to one in fifty. Then I think we'll see some excitement."

     
"You mean they're all going to start paying out? At ten million dollars a pop?" Even Stilman's legendary calm was shattered as he gaped openly at Maxine.