Robert Asprin - No Phule Like an Old Phule

That was the final spark to set off an explosion. SuperGnat snatched up a boiled potato and fired it off. The spud hit Do- Wop directly in the snoot. Temporarily blinded, DoWop stepped on another gob of alfredo sauce and fell back on top of Rev, who had almost managed to get up on all fours. The pair went down with an impressive splash in the spilled pasta-but not before Do- Wop managed to fire off an unaimed breast of chicken that landed on a nearby table, knocking a pitcher of orange juice onto the laps of Roadkill, Street, and two of the Gambolts. Almost immediately, food was flying in every direction. Half of Omega Mob enthusiastically joined in, and the other half broke for the exits. Meanwhile, Thumper and Barky were racing around the mess hall as if their lives depended on it, with the AEIOU inspectors following in a dogged attempt to prevent their intergalactic media star from injuring himself. Some of the legionnaires, whether angered at the inspectors' perceived interference in their operation or simply aroused by the challenge of moving targets, concentrated their fire on the AEIOU team, adding to the already considerable chaos.

Mess Sergeant Escrima, an irascible sort in the best of times, emerged from the galley red-faced, with an enormous cleaver in one hand. He took in the scene in a glance, and let out a thunderous roar in some language that, perhaps fortunately, none of the other members of the company understood. Before he took another step, Barky, the Environmental Dog, bowled headlong into Escrima, knocking him off his feet. Escrima went down into a pile of stewed tomatoes, sputtering curses, and threats of bodily harm. A split second later, he retrieved his cleaver and jumped up to join the chase. This, of course, was the very moment at which an unsuspecting Captain Jester, A.K.A. WIllard Phule, and his loyal butler Beeker chose to enter the mess hall...

Journal #711

A sufficiently obstinate conviction is immune to all demonstrations of its falsity-in/act, they are the best means to harden the conviction, no matter how wrongheaded, into an unshakeable credo. And when two or more persons who hold such convictions come into contact, there is no hope of any such thing as communication or mutual enlightenment. The best one can hope for, in my experience, is to keep collateral damage to an acceptable minimum.

Predictably enough, Victor Phule was in the High Rollers' Lounge, where the games were scaled to the ultrarich, and the security discreetly steered away anyone whose pockets weren't deep enough-although not until they'd had a glimpse of the upper crust. Every nickel-dime punter who walked in the doors of the Fat Chance had a. dream of breaking the bank and going home in a private space yacht. Giving them a brief look at the big-time players in action reinforced the glamour that was an essential part of any casino's appeal. Let 'em dream, as long as they don't touch, was Tullie Bascomb's credo. And almost everything in the Fat Chance reflected the veteran casino manager's words.

Ernie found it very curious that the richest man in the place-there was no question at all that Victor Phule fit that description-was playing the least glamorous game of all, the quantum slots. Ernie wondered about that, and about the fact that the casino had set up a row of slot machines here in a room where the players were more likely to prefer roulette and baccarat. You didn't need to know very much about the business to see that something funny was going on.

Ernie's latest theory was that, by ostentatiously playing high-priced slots; Victor Phule hoped to entice other high rollers to drop an occasional token into the machines which notoriously offered the worst payoffs (or, from the house's point of view, the highest profits) in any casino. The casino stood to make a substantial gain if it could find a way to make the slots fashionable for the big spenders. A few thousand here, a few thousand there-that could add up to a nice sum of money quickly enough. If that was all that was going on, there wasn't likely to be any chance for Ernie to get an edge. But if Victor Phule was doing more than just playing the shill... Well, that was what Ernie had come here to find out.

The major flaw in the picture of Phule as a shill was that he totally lacked charisma. If the managers of the Fat Chance wanted to convince patrons that the slots were an exciting way to gamble, they could hardly have picked a worse role model. Pumping his tokens into the machines, shirt-sleeved Victor Phule had all the glamour of a middle aged file clerk trying to avoid reinjuring a bad paper cut. Unless you knew who he was, there wasn't a hint of his money and power. So why was Phule out here working the slots, when he could undoubtedly sit in an easy chair sipping cold drinks and earn more money in half an hour from his businesses and investments than he was likely to win in the biggest payout these machines offered?

Wait a minute, Ernie though, with the stunning awareness of someone who's overlooked an iceberg in a swimming pool. Just how big was the payout on these machines? What if the casino was offering enough to give even Victor Phule a rush of adrenaline every time he yanked the handle?

Casinos always make it a point to list the payout on the front of the slot machines, to remind the customer just how much he stands to win in the unlikely event of the symbols actually lining up right. Trying to appear as casual as possible, Ernie strolled up to one of the machines at the other end of the bank that Phule was playing, reaching in his pocket as if he might be interested in trying his luck.

"Sorry, my friend, these machines are in use," said a calm voice at his side. Ernie turned to see a compact, competent-looking man with eyes that looked as if they could've cut a clean hole straight through a planet. The bodyguard, he thought.

"Hey, no problem," said Ernie, genially. "Just taking a look at the payout, to see if it's worth my while to play. I can always come back after you're done."

"The payout's fine," said the bodyguard. "But the price is a bit steep. You might do better over at the roulette table-it's only a hundred dollars a spin, there." His manner was as casual as Ernie's, although it was perfectly clear he was doing his best to discourage anyone else from playing this bank of machines. That was enough to eliminate any idea that Phule was shilling for the house. No shill would stand in the way of a customer anxious to drop a few tokens in the slot. Thousand-dollar tokens, Ernie realized, looking at the machine he was standing next to.

Then he saw what the payout was, and in spite of himself, he let out a low whistle. "Whoa, are these guys kidding?" he asked. "A partner's share in the casino-that can't be for real."

"Oh, it's completely legitimate," said Victor Phule, stepping up to the machine next to Ernie. "I made certain of that, you can be sure. I'm not going to throw my money away for nothing."

"I guess not," said Ernie, stepping back to give Phule room to pull the lever. He was fully aware of the bodyguard's steady glare as he said, suddenly putting on his best imitation of an educated accent, "Sorry, I don't mean to cramp your style."

"That's all right," said Phule. "I've about done my six hour stint for today. If you've a mind to play these machines after I'm gone, feel free. I don't think anyone besides me - has been trying them, though. Shame. A few more players would shorten the odds against someone's winning."

"Well, I guess I got nothing against being part owner of the casino," said Ernie, feigning an interest much milder than he really felt. "I'd have to turn it over to somebody else to run, though. I've got too many other balls in the air back home to stay around here to watch one more small business."

"Here, then, have a pull on me," said Victor Phule. "If you hit the jackpot and don't want it, you can always sell it back to me." He reached in his pocket and tossed Ernie a silver-colored metal token. Ernie stared at it in disbelief. It was heavier than it looked from a distance. In the center of each side was a hologram, showing a roulette wheel that spun as the token was tilted to different angles. Around the rim in raised letters it read: "Fat Chance Casino-$l000." Smaller print added the phrase, "Redeemable in Alliance funds at any window."