Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

Phule was driving himself hard on this assignment, even harder than was normal. While Beeker had long since resigned himself to his employer's obsessive nature, he found this new pattern disturbing. Lack of sleep was making Phule irritable, particularly when reminded of some minor task or decision he had let slide in the midst of his frenzied, scattered schedule. While it might not be noticeable to the casual observer, it was apparent to those who worked with him normally. From what Beeker had heard and overheard, there was a growing tendency among Phule's subordinates to act independently rather than "bothering the captain with minor stuff." Even worse, they were then failing to notify him or deliberately withholding information regarding their activities.

While the butler would not directly betray a confidence or attempt to force advice on his employer, he was aware that if the situation got much worse, he would have to act within his powers to intervene.

Glancing around the coffee shop, Beeker noted with some satisfaction the absence of black uniforms. While he was always ready to listen to the Legionnaires' problems and complaints with a sympathetic ear, he also relished the occasional quiet moment to himself.

He was about to select a booth by himself when a lone figure at a back table caught his eye and he changed his course in that direction.

"Good morning," he said warmly, pulling out a chair for himself. "Mind if I join you?"

Dark eyes rose from the book they had been reading and stared coldly at him from a chiseled ebony face.

"Excuse me? Do you know me?"

The chill in the voice surpassed that in the look, presupposing the answer for the question even as it was being asked.

"Only by reputation," the butler said, easing into the chair. "I simply thought I'd take this opportunity to meet you in person. Unless I'm mistaken, you're Laverna, currently in the employment of Maxine Pruet."

The slender woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles and folding her arms across her chest.

"And who does that make you?"

"Ah. Apparently I lack your notoriety." The butler smiled, unruffled by Laverna's closed body language or the implied challenge in her voice. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Beeker. I am employed by Willard Phule-or Captain Jester, if you prefer-in a capacity not unlike your own, though I imagine with substantially less input in financial matters."

"You're what?"

"I'm his butler," Beeker said. "I buttle."

The temperature at the table dropped even further.

"So you're going to sit here at my table and try to pump me for information about Mrs. Pruet?" Her tone made it a statement rather than a question. "Look, Mr. Beeker, I don't get much time to myself, and this is it. I don't want to waste it playing twenty questions with some fool ... or his butler."

Beeker stared at her levelly for a moment, then stood up, gathering his coffee as he did.

"Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, Ms. Laverna," he said. "It seems I was mistaken."

"Don't go away mad," Laverna said with a sneer, and reached for her book once more.

"Not mad. Simply annoyed," the butler corrected. "More with myself than with you."

"How's that?"

"I pride myself in my judgment of people, Ms. Laverna," Beeker explained. "In fact, my effectiveness depends on it. I therefore find it annoying when it turns out I misjudged someone, particularly in a case of overestimation."

"Mr. Beeker, I've been awake nearly thirty hours running now," Laverna said. "If you've got something to say to me, you'll have to say it straight out-and in plain words. I'm not tracking things too well."

The butler paused, then drew a deep, ragged breath.

"Forgive me," he said. "I'm rather tired myself. All I meant was, I had assumed that from what I had heard and considering your position, you would be a highly intelligent person-intelligent enough to realize that I would not expect you to divulge any information about your employer any more than I would volunteer information about mine. People in our position don't last long if they are careless with confidences. The trust required has to be earned and maintained, so when dealing with someone of a similar standing to my own, I assumed trustworthiness and expected it would be assumed in return."

Laverna weighed his words in silence for a few moments.

"So why did you come over, then?" she said finally.

Beeker gave a rueful smile.

"Strange as it may seem, considering the constant demands on our time, I was feeling lonely and thought perhaps you felt the same. In our positions as aides-de-camp to rather strongwilled people, it occurred to me that we probably have more in common with each other than we do with our respective employers."

A sudden smile split Laverna's face, uncharacteristic to anyone who knew her.

"Sit down, Mr. Beeker," she said, pulling out the chair next to her. "We may have things to talk about, after all. Nonspecific things, of course."

"Of course," the butler said, accepting the offered seat. "And it's 'Beeker' ... not `Mr. Beeker.'"

My first conversation with Laverna was pleasant, though tinged with irony.

I, of course, said nothing to indicate that my employer was aware of her employer's planned computerized assault on the casino, nor gave any hint that Albert and his Bug Squad were working frantically to counter it even as we spoke.

She, in turn, never let it slip that there was a disruptive incident in progress ... again, even as we spoke.

It was expected that Maxine would order a certain number of diversionary incidents during this period. If nothing else, they served, or so she thought, to draw my employer's attention away from her real attack as well as convince him he had the situation well in hand. In turn, to convince her that her strategy was working, my employer and his force were required to play along with each scenario as it unfolded.

It is worth noting, however, for both the casual reader and the student of military behavior, that however minor or token a diversion might be, for the direct participants the action is very real.

"You'd think they'd have caught on by now," Kong King said, glancing at the door next to the loading dock as the electric delivery van pulled away. "That's the third shipment we've turned away."

"They'll figure it out soon enough." Stilman didn't even turn his head. "Restaurants need fresh food to operate. You're sure you've got your orders straight?"

Kong knew his orders, as did his four confederates. They had heard them often enough: no fewer than a dozen times even before they took up their station at the casino's delivery entrance. If anything, it was a bit insulting that the headman felt it was necessary to repeat things to them so often. He kept his annoyance to himself, however. He had worked with Stilman several times before and knew the ex-astroball player wasn't someone you mouthed off to.

"We go through the motions of shutting down deliveries to the kitchen until a security guard shows up," he said as if for the first time. "Then we let him run us off. No rough stuff beyond harsh words and maybe a little shoving."

"That's right," Stilman said with a minute nod. "Remember. No rough stuff."

"These security guards ... all they have is tranquilizer darts in their guns. Right?"

Stilman turned slowly until he was facing the thug who raised the question.

"That's what I told you," he said. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Normally the man would have been cowed by this direct attention, but instead he simply shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"I just want to be sure this `no rough stuff' rule works both ways," the thug grumbled. "I don't want to be no clay pigeon in a shooting gallery for nervous guards."