Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

"Well, for what it's worth, I don't think you've lost it," the stuntman said with a wink. "That's not just my opinion, either. In case you haven't noticed, Junior has a real thing for you."

"I know!" Tiffany exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "I'll tell you, Doc, I don't know what to do about him. It seems like every time I turn around he's there offering to run an errand for me or just staring at me like I just stepped off a half-shell or something. I mean, he's a nice enough kid and all that, but he's just that-a kid!"

Doc grinned. "He's not that young. You should talk to him sometime. He's really quite mature mentally. And it might help him see you more as a person than as a goddess."

"I might give that a try. You know, when it comes right down to it, he's really kind of ..."

"Excuse me?"

The two broke off their conversation as a young woman in a short, tight skirt, possibly one of the show girls, stepped up to their table.

"I thought you should know ... there's a man hurt outside."

"What?" Doc frowned, momentarily confused by the change in focus.

"In the alley beside the casino," the woman said, "there's a man lying on the ground."

"What makes you think he's hurt?"

"I don't know ... He's not moving. He may just be drunk. I didn't get that close. I just thought I should tell someone, and you're the first people I've seen in a uniform."

"Thanks," Doc said. "We'll look into it."

"We will?" Tiffany said, cocking her head as the woman marched away.

"Sure. Why not?" the stuntman said, rising to his feet and digging out some money for their bill. "Weren't we both just complaining about being stuck backstage? Besides, remember that as far as the guests are concerned, we're as much security guards as anyone else in a black uniform. It would be out of character for us to try to find someone else to send instead of going ourselves."

The actress glanced around the casino, but none of the regular troops were in sight.

"I suppose you're right," she said, gathering up her purse. "I guess we can handle it."

"Sure we can," Doc assured her. "There's two of us and only one of him, and it sounds like he's drunk, to boot. Besides, if he gives us any trouble, we're armed, remember?"

He patted the tranquilizer pistol in the holster at his hip.

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

"Please don't start going macho on me, Doc. One of the things I like about you is that you don't strut."

"Sorry," the stuntman apologized easily. "Hanging around with both actors and military types seems to bring out the melodramatic in me. Seriously, Tiff, I figure all we have to do is check to see what the problem is, then use our wrist radios to call for the appropriate help-if it's needed at all, that is. That much we should be able to do."

Even though it was still technically "indoors," the open air along the Strip was a pleasant relief for the mock Legionnaires after days of close confinement in the casino showroom. Because of the size of the Fat Chance, it was a several-minute stroll to reach the alley-a service access for the loading docks, really-and they took advantage of it, moving at an unhurried pace as they drank in the sights and sounds of Lorelei.

"You know, this place is really something," Doc commented as he shifted his gaze from the soaring light shows to watch the stream of people walking along the Strip. "I can't remember how long it's been since I've been outside. I guess working backstage, it's easy to forget just where the stage is located."

"Take away all the lights and glitz, and what you have left is more lights and glitz," Tiffany agreed, then frowned. "Say, speaking of being outside, didn't the captain say something about our jurisdiction only being inside the complex?"

The stuntman thought for a few moments.

"You know, you may be right," he said finally. "It seems to me there was something in one of those briefings. There were so many of them, though, I can't recall for sure. Oh well, we've come this far, we might as well take a look before we head back."

The light dimmed radically a bare dozen steps into the alley. The casino light shows were designed to impress and lure the tourists on the Strip, not the hired help, and there was little point in wasting wattage on areas traveled only by residents and employees. Walking down the alley was like entering another world, a land filled with shadows and blind angles giving it such an air of gloom and menace that it was hard to realize there were lights and teeming humanity a stone's throw away.

"I don't see anybody," Tiffany said nervously, peering into the almost impenetrable shadows that lined the access.

"Maybe he woke up and moved on," Doc said. "We'll just check a little further, then-uh-oh."

"What is it, Doc?"

"Just keep walking, Tiffany. Don't look back."

Too startled to think clearly, the actress immediately shot a look behind them toward the mouth of the alley.

There were three men, faceless in the gloom but unmistakably heavyset, following the mock Legionnaires. When they saw Tiffany had spotted them, they quickened their pace as if to close the gap separating them from the pair.

"Just keep moving, Tiff."

"Shouldn't we call for help?"

"It may be nothing," the stuntman said, though his tone said he didn't believe it himself. "If it is, though, I don't think they'd give us time to use our wrist radios. No, I figure our best bet is to try to make it to the loading dock, then-shit!"

A lone figure appeared ahead, blocking their path ... a figure that was noticeably larger than any of the three following them. It was as if the man had materialized out of the shadows, though he stood so motionlessly that he might have been there all along and simply escaped their attention.

"Okay, listen close, Tiff. We don't have time to argue," Doc murmured. "The odds ahead of us are still better than what's behind us. I'm going to brace this character, and you're going to keep going. Got that? Don't stop, don't look back until you get to the loading dock. Once you're inside, get on the radio and tell them where I am and what's going on-but only after you're inside."

"But ..."

"Just do it!" the stuntman hissed, then started angling away from her.

"Hold it right there, fellah!" he called to the figure ahead, who was now moving toward them in a curious, floating stride. "I said hold it!"

The figure kept coming, and Doc reached for his tranquilizer pistol ... far, far too late.

The stuntman's work had given him experience in fight scenes and falls that looked quite impressive in the holos, but in actuality were planned and choreographed to minimize the risk of serious injury. The few real fights he had been in were of the barroom variety, and even those were far behind him, since he had become much more of a homebody after his marriage. Nothing in his past, however, had prepared him to deal with, or even recognize the speed and agility of a professional athlete ... even a retired one.

His hand barely touched the grip of his tranquilizer pistol when the oncoming figure accelerated with bewildering speed. Unable to even sidestep, Doc felt the air rush out of his lungs as the man slammed a massive shoulder into his midsection, then he was lifted and carried backward as the monster continued to drive forward, paying no more attention to the stuntman's weight than a bull would give notice to a towel dropped across its horns. Something smashed into Doc's back, and he thankfully lost consciousness.

Tiffany watched in horror, her orders to run forgotten, as the attacker stepped back from the wall, still carrying Doc's now-limp body then flung it to the ground. Breathing heavily in what could only be described as animal growls, the man stared at her fallen companion for a moment, then kicked the still form savagely in the side.