Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

"Excuse me, Beeker," Harry interrupted. "Hang on just a sec."

A flurry of activity at the door had caught the ex-biker's attention. Four men had just trooped in, Stilman the obvious leader. Paying no attention to Harry, they took seats at a table and noisily called for a round of drinks.

"It's okay, Beeker," Harry said. "Just a little movement in the enemy troops. What was that you were sayin'?"

"Just that many people who had long since resigned themselves to being alone or the oddball in any group, find that ..."

Harry was only listening with half an ear, the rest of his attention focused idly on the table of heavies.

They seemed to be in a good mood, shaking hands and patting each other on the back, and he caught the flash of Stilman passing out thick envelopes, presumably full of money, to the other three men.

"Hold on, Beeker," Harry said, still eyeing the table of men. "There may be something goin' on here. You might want to pass the word that ..."

He broke off in midsentence, his blood suddenly turning ice cold.

Stilman had produced two objects from his pocket and was holding them up for inspection. From the back of the room, the ex-biker couldn't see too clearly, but he didn't have to. He'd know those things from a mile away. He should ... he'd issued enough of them.

Stilman was holding two of the company's wrist radios.

"Harry?" came Beeker's voice in his ear. "Are you there? What is it?"

"Listen close, Beeker," Hang growled into the phone, barely recognizing his own voice. "I may not have time to say this twice ... got me? Tell the cap'n to run a body count on the company. Fast. I think someone's in trouble. Only ... listen up, Beek ... be sure to tell him not to use the wrist radios for the check. In fact, tell him to pass the word to be careful what gets said over the radios period! It looks like the opposition has gotten hold of a couple of 'em, so there's a good chance they'll be listenin' in ... for a while, anyway. You got that?"

"Got it, Harry," the butler shot back. "Do you want him to get back to you when he's done?"

"Tell him not to bother. I'll get back to him later if I can."

"Harry, are you in trouble? You sound-"

"Just tell the cap'n," the ex-biker said hurriedly, and broke the connection.

Stilman had just gotten to his feet and, after one last round of handshakes, was heading out the door.

Forcing himself to move casually, Harry strolled behind the bar.

"Can you cover for me for a few, Willie my man?" he said. "I gots to slip out for a minute."

"I suppose so," the other bartender said. "It's not like it's real busy, or-hey! What's up?"

Harry had been fishing around under the bar, but now he straightened up holding a sawed-off pool cue loosely in one hand. Effectively a lead-weighted club, it was kept to break up fights and happened to be one of Harry's favorite weapons.

"You really don't want to know," he said with a wink. "In fact, you haven't seen a thing, sight?"

"If you say so." Willie shrugged, and pointedly turned his back.

Holding the weapon close to his side so it would not be noticed easily, Harry headed out of the bar, hurrying slightly to make up for the lead Stilman had on him.

Tiffany looked smaller stretched out in the clinic bed, the sight tugging at Phule's heart and conscience as he had known it would. He had been stalling making this visit since he heard the doctor's appraisal of the extent of the actress's injuries, even to the point of prolonging his conversation with Doc. The stuntman had been in surprisingly good spirits, remarkably good considering his two broken legs, and had even succeeded in putting the Legionnaire commander relatively at ease over the incident. That feeling had fled, though, upon first viewing Tiffany's bandaged face, draining away as if someone had pulled a plug in his mind and let his hastily constructed defenses run out like so much water.

She seemed to be asleep, and after a few silent moments Phule started to leave.

"Hi, Captain."

"Hello, Tiffany," he said, forcing a smile as he turned back.

"I don't suppose you know anyone who's casting for The Mummy's Bride, do you?"

The actress's hand came up to touch her bandages.

"I ... I don't know what to say, Tiffany," Phule stammered." `I'm sorry' doesn't start to express what I'm feeling."

"Sorry about what?" Tiffany said, raising herself slightly on her pillow. "You warned us it might be dangerous when you gave us that first briefing, and you gave us a chance to back out then. If anything, it's our fault, because we went against your set procedures. We were the ones who decided to play soldier on our own, going outside the hotel and not bringing one of your regular troops along."

The commander shook his head.

"I never imagined it would come to this," he said. "If I had, I never would have-"

"Listen to me, Captain," the actress interrupted. "It's our fault, not yours. Okay? If I don't blame you, don't go blaming yourself. I never should have let Doc talk me into tagging along."

"I'm sure Doc didn't think that-"

"Hey! I'm not trying to hang this on Doc, either," Tiffany said hurriedly. "I've been making my own decisions for a long time and living with the consequences, good or bad. I'm a big girl now, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed, all right," Phule said, smiling in spite of himself. "Don't think that I'm totally insensitive or blind. It's just that running this outfit is taking a lot more of my time and attention than I had expected, and I really can't afford any distractions right now."

"A distraction, eh? Well, that's something," the actress murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"What? Oh, nothing." She managed to let him see her close one eyelid in a broad wink. "At least now I know what it takes for a girl to get you into her bedroom."

The smile disappeared from Phule's face as if someone had turned out the light.

"Since you're awake, Tiffany, I wanted to tell you not to worry about ... about the damage to your face. I've already put in a call for a plastic surgeon, and we'll be covering all the expenses and continuing your salary for however long it takes to erase any trace of what's happened."

"I know. The doctor told me, except ..." The actress turned her face toward the commander. "You know, it's funny. I was still groggy from the painkillers he gave me, but I think he said something about Maxine Pruet covering all the expenses."

Phule's expression tightened slightly.

"I know," he said. "I was told the same thing. We'll see about that. You just get some rest and concentrate on getting better and don't worry about where the money is coming from. I'll take care of dealing with Mrs. Pruet."

He started to ease toward the door.

"In the meantime," he continued, forcing a lighter tone into his voice, "be sure to let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Well ... there is one thing, Captain."

"What's that?"

"When you talk to the surgeon ... Is there any chance he could do a little work on my nose at the same time? I've always thought it was too big, and since he'll be operating, anyway ..." She let her voice trail off.

"Consider it done." Phule smiled, more confident now that Tiffany hadn't been merely putting on an act for his benefit. "I'll be sure he confers with you on what the final result should be, and you can make any adjustments you want."

"Thanks, Captain," she said. "I suppose it sounds silly, but-"

"Excuse me, Captain?"

They looked around to find Doc's son standing in the doorway to the room.

Tiffany waved. "Hiya, kid! Welcome to the horror show."

"Hello, Tiffany."

"Hi, Junior," Phule said. "Your father's right down the hall. He was awake a little while ago when I talked to him."