Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

"Yeah, I figure it might have some local interest if we want to replay it here. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." Jennie was suddenly all smiles and innocence. "I just forgot to ask Willard for a picture before he left, and this might make a nice remembrance until we see each other again. Can you make me a copy when it's over?"

"You got it."

As the technician turned his attention to the screen once more, however, Jennie's smile vanished and she edged backward out of the group.

"Sidney?" she murmured, drawing one of the photographers aside with her. "Have you still got those shots you took when we were doing the big spread on this crew while they were stationed here? All of them, not just the ones we used."

"Sure. Why?"

"Get them and see if you can find the tapes from their competition with the Red Eagles. Then meet me in viewing room two-pronto."

"What's up?"

"I'm not sure"-she smiled darkly-"but unless my intuition is failing me completely, I think there's a story brewing on Lorelei."

In a large penthouse, discreetly screened from the light shows in one of Lorelei's lesser casinos, the holo-images of the Omega Mob were arrayed across the sunken living room like so many ghostly specters.

Watching them with her characteristically frozen stare, Laverna sat on one end of the sofa, so rigidly immobile she might have been taken for a part of the room's furnishings. Specifically she almost reminded one of a floor lamp, as her skin was very nearly the color of the black baked enamel so often found on those appliances, and her long body was thin almost to the point of being skeletal. Still, there was an easy, elegant grace to her movement as she rose and walked to the closed bedroom door and rapped on it sharply with her knuckle.

"Maxie?" she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard through the door. "You'd better come out here."

"What?" came the muffled response from within.

"It's important," Laverna said shortly.

Her message delivered, she returned to her seat without waiting for additional discussion or comment. She had voiced her opinion, and her opinions were rarely challenged.

Scant seconds later, the bedroom door opened and Maxine Pruet emerged into view wrapped in a housecoat. She was a small woman in her early fifties, with high, angular cheekbones that might have been called "striking" when she was young, but now, combined with her piercing eyes and silver-streaked hair, could only be referred to as "severe." Because of the timelessness of life on Lorelei, she, like many of those who dwelt here, had no regular sleep patterns, sleeping only occasionally and briefly as fatigue demanded. Despite her years, however, Maxine was still very energetic and active, setting a demanding pace for those who worked for her.

"What is it, Laverna?" she said without rancor.

"The new security force has just arrived," Laverna said flatly. "I thought you should take a look at them."

"I see."

Maxine stepped down into the sunken living room, walking, through several of the images as she did so as if they weren't there, which, of course, they weren't, and joined her assistant on the sofa, studying the figures in silence like a prim aunt watching children at a piano recital as the interview rattled on.

"So. Our Mr. Rafael's called in the Army," she said at last. "I'm not sure I understand why you feel this is important. The security force has a minor impact, at best, on my plans. Uniformed guards are little more than a decorative deterrent."

"Take another look at their commander," Laverna instructed. "The one being interviewed."

Maxine obediently turned and peered at the lean figure in black.

"What about him? He's not much older than Mr. Rafael himself."

"That's Willard Phule," Laverna said. "Probably the youngest megamillionaire in the galaxy. You may not know it, but he's a bit of a legend in financial circles-a real tiger when it comes to corporate infighting and takeovers."

"How very interesting," Maxine said, studying the figure with a new respect. "Forgive me, Laverna, but I'm still tired and sleepy, and my mind is a little slow right now. What is it exactly that you're trying to tell me here?"

Now it was Laverna's turn to shrug.

"To me, this changes the game," she said. "Whether he knows it or not, Rafael just hired himself some real heavyweight help. I thought you might want to reconsider your whole idea of taking over the casino."

While Maxine might give the appearance of being someone's grandmother or, perhaps, a maiden aunt, this impression couldn't be further from the truth. Locally she was known simply as "Max" or "the Max." She had married into organized crime while still young, and surprised everyone by successfully stepping into her late husband's shoes after his untimely demise during a shoot-out with unsympathetic authorities. She had sold off most of the "business interests" her husband had maintained, focusing her entire energies and resources on one specialty-casinos.

Max liked casinos, officially because of their money-laundering capacity, which earned her a steady income providing that service for other crime families, but, in actuality, because she liked the glittery life-style that prevailed at those establishments. She was a common fixture at the tables around Lorelei, though she rarely placed a bet for more than the table minimum. The tourists who gambled beside her never realized that she held controlling interest in nearly every casino on the space station, but the permanent residents knew who she was and treated her with appropriate deference.

Despite her years of experience in behind-the-scenes casino work, however, Maxine had a lot of respect for Laverna, which was why the black woman was in her current, favored position of being Max's main advisor and confidante. Not only did Laverna have advanced degrees in both business and law, she was by far the coldest analyst of risks and odds Max had ever met. Maxine, though she prided herself on her levelheadedness, still might be swayed by feelings of anger, vengeance, or ego, but Laverna was as emotionless as a computer, weighing all pluses and minuses of any endeavor before bluntly stating her opinion, however unpopular. The others in the organization called her "the Ice Bitch," or just "Ice," but there was always an undercurrent of respect in the title. If Laverna said this uniformed gentleman could affect their plans, Maxine would be foolish not to give her words serious consideration. Still, Max was a gambler.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "I want this casino. This Mr. Phule may know numbers and corporations, but I know casinos. If anything, it adds a bit of spice to the challenge. We're going to take this enterprise right out from under his nose, and if he gets in our way, we'll just have to persuade him to stand aside."

Laverna glanced at her employer sharply, then looked away again. Max's casual mention of "persuasion" was, of course, a reference to violence-the one point the two women disagreed on. What was more, it was far from an empty threat.

Maxine had proven herself to be a more than competent general for her troops on the occasions when other crime factions had thought her territory easy pickings and tried to move in. Nor was she averse to getting personally involved in the bloodshed.

The sleeves of Max's housecoat were loose, as were the sleeves of all her clothes. This was to accommodate the custom pistol and spring holster that she always wore. It was a very small caliber, .177 to be exact, the same size as a BB, and the sound it made when firing was no louder than a man snapping his fingers. The small size of the hollow-point bullets meant that she could fit twenty-five of them into a magazine no larger than a matchbox, yet they were deadly if they hit a vital organ, and Max was a crack shot who could hit anything she could see.