"Within the Legion," he said, "it's generally considered impolite to ask that question."

"How very interesting," Maxine drawled. "However, I'm not in the Legion, nor have I ever been overly concerned with being polite."

Phule hesitated, then shrugged.

"Oh, just call it a rich boy's whim," he said dismissively.

"I find that very hard to believe," Max pressed, unwilling to let the subject drop.

"How so?"

"In the simplest terms, Mr. Phule, I doubt that anyone in your position has gotten where they are by whimsical or, casual thinking. No, I believe you have a specific purpose behind nearly everything you do, including joining the s.p.a.ce Legion."

The commander glanced at her sharply.

"How very perceptive of you," he said. "You're right, of course. I'll admit that much. I'm afraid, however, my reasons will have to remain my own. While I can't fault you for asking, you must also be aware that people in my position don't stay on top by sharing their plans with others, particularly not with the opposition."

"Opposition," Maxine repeated, wrinkling her nose. "Really, Mr. Phule. You have such a delicate way of phrasing things. You must meet Laverna sometime. Perhaps it's a result of your common background in financial maneuverings, but you both tend to walk around a subject verbally rather than acknowledging it for what it is."

Again Phule was forced to smile. Despite himself, he found himself liking Maxine more and more.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," he said. "Of course, the Legion itself tends to feed the pattern by encouraging, if not requiring, double talk. For my own information, how would you describe our relationship?"

"Why, we're rival commanders in a gang war for control of this casino, of course," Max said with an easy shrug, then, noting his frown, she continued, "Come now, Mr. Phule. Surly you don't see this as a conflict between the forces of light and darkness ... with yourself on the side of the angels?"

"Actually I was thinking that you're the second person who's recently described me as the leader of a band of criminals," the commander explained with a wry smile. "While it's no secret that Legionnaires often have spotted pasts, I'd rather hoped for a better public image."

"Spotted pasts," Max exclaimed with a quick bark of laughter. "There you go again, Mr. Phule, trying to verbally tie a ribbon around the neck of a hardworking mule. We provide the brains and direction for a pack of criminals and live off the profits. There's no other way to accurately describe it."

"I'm sorry, but I can't agree," the Legionnaire said, shaking his head, "though I'm sure you intend it as a compliment to view me as an equal. I prefer to think of what I'm doing as a.s.sisting certain individuals in finding constructive, beneficial applications for their talents. For proof, let me remind you that we were a.s.signed to protect this casino at the request of the proper owner, and that we don't stand to profit from our efforts beyond our normal wages."

"I suppose you have a point, Captain," Maxine returned easily. "I can't honestly say, however, that I see your position as an improvement on my own. I've always found that people work harder for direct benefits than for a straight wage."

The commander nodded. "We're in agreement there. However, sometime you might consider whether or not there are direct benefits to the individual that can outweigh monetary gain. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my duties. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

Realizing both that Phule was about to break off the conversation and that there had been no sign that the expected run on the slots had begun yet, Maxine cast about quickly for something to prolong the discussion.

"Just a moment, Captain," she said, laying a restraining hand on his arm. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Without further explanation, she led the Legionnaire commander over to the line by the cashier's window, which was, of course, another half dozen yards farther away from the slot machines.

"Excuse me ... Jonesy?" she said, lightly touching the shoulder of one of the men waiting for more chips.

The young Oriental turned with a smile, then started visibly when he saw the black-uniformed figure who was accompanying Max.

"I don't believe you two have met," she continued, as smoothly as a society hostess at a reception. "Jonesy, this is Captain Jester, commander of the security force for this casino. Captain Jester, this is Jonesy." She bared a few extra teeth in a smile. "Of course, that isn't his real name, obviously, but that's what he's asked us to call him."

"Captain Jester."

"Jonesy."

The two men eyed each other with open wariness. Neither offered to shake hands.

"Jonesy, here, is visiting us from ... I guess you'd call it one of our sister organizations." Maxine smiled. "His superiors have expressed an extreme interest in how you and I manage to work out our differences."

The Oriental gave a small movement of his shoulders. "I'm afraid, Captain, that curiosity is only natural for those in our line of work. Should we ever find ourselves-how should I put this?-in a similar relation to you that Mrs. Pruet is, I trust you will accept that there would be no personal rancor involved. I'm sure that, if anyone, you would understand that business is business."

"Of course," Phule answered through tight lips. "In return, might I suggest that you inform your superiors, from me, that if they choose to visit Lorelei to witness our methods firsthand, I will do my best to see they are treated with the same hospitality as we have shown Mrs. Pruet and her organization?"

Jonesy's eyes flickered slightly.

"I'll be sure to do that, Captain," he said with a small bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, they're holding a seat for me at one of the tables."

"I don't think he likes you, Captain," Max said softly as they watched the Oriental walk away.

Phule smiled humorlessly. "I think I can live with that. Then again, I don't think he was particularly happy with you, either, for singling him out that way."

Maxine gave an unladylike snort.

"Believe it or not, Mr. Phule, the possibility of Jonesy's a.s.sociates appearing on Lorelei is even less appealing to me than it is to you. Besides, as I said earlier, 'honorable enemies and dishonorable friends.' I considered it a matter of courtesy to make you aware of what you might be up against someday."

"I see," the commander said, looking at her thoughtfully. "All right, I guess it's up to me to return the favor. Do you see that man sitting at the far right on the end blackjack table? The pale one?"

Maxine craned her neck slightly, then nodded.

"Well, realizing your interest in collecting casinos, he's someone you might want to watch out for in the future."

"Really?" Max said, studying the indicated individual. "What is he? A card cheat?"

"Not hardly," Phule said easily. "In fact, we've taken steps to screen out as many known cheats as possible-part of our job as security, you know. It might be of interest to you that we've already sent over a hundred of them back to the s.p.a.ceport so far today."

Maxine digested this news in silence for a few moments.

"That's quite a claim, Captain," she said at last, speaking slowly and carefully. "Might I inquire as to how you managed to detect them?"

"It wasn't that difficult," the commander said. "We had spotted most of them during the past week, along with the dealers who were feeding them bad deals and extra chips. Tullie Bascom, the new casino manager, helped us pick out the rest. It seems he knows most of them on sight. Once they were identified, it was just a matter of picking the right time to weed them out without disrupting the legitimate guests, and I felt today was the right time."

"Tullie Bascom." Max said the name as if it tasted bad. "I thought he had retired. For that matter, I was under the impression that Huey Martin was the manager."

"He was," Phule confirmed. "Unfortunately he was also weeded out today. Some question as to whether he was working for the house or against it, if I understand correctly."

"I see."

"However, I was about to tell you about the gentleman at the blackjack table," the commander continued, as if unaware of Maxine's reaction to his disclosure. "His name is Albert, and he heads a team of computer auditors-some of the best I've ever worked with."

"Computer auditors," Maxine echoed tonelessly.

"Yes. I highly recommend him if you ever feel the need to have your central computer's programming checked." Phule locked eyes momentarily with his rival. "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but Albert there discovered that someone had been tampering with the Fat Chance computer. According to him, someone had put in a time-triggered program which would have drastically changed the payout odds on the progressive slot machines at midnight tonight." He made a show of looking at his watch. "We had him correct it, of course, but I was curious to see who might be watching those slots at midnight and what their reactions would be when the machines simply continued to eat the money instead of paying out millions like they expected. Now here it is nearly half past and all I've done was talk with you. C'est la guerre, I guess. I really must be going now, but it has been a real pleasure spending the time with you, Mrs. Pruet."

With that, he gave her a mock salute with his index finger, then turned and walked away, smiling.

Watching him go, Maxine did not share his smile. Rather, the look she focused on him was not unlike that of a snake watching a supposedly flightless meal disappear into the clouds.

"Max ... I think we've got problems," Laverna hissed, materializing at her side.

"What's that, Laverna?" Maxine blinked, tearing her eyes away from Phule's retreating back.

"I said we've got problems," her aide repeated. "It's been nearly half an hour since midnight, and those d.a.m.n machines aren't-"

"I know," Max snapped, cutting her off. "Tell those idiots to stop feeding our money into the house's coffers. And don't bother being subtle. The gambit has been blown and countered."

"It has?"

"Just go," Maxine said. "Come up to the room when you're done and I'll fill you in on the details. Right now, as you pointed out earlier, every minute's delay is costing us money."

"On the way," Laverna said, and headed for the slots with a speed quite unlike her characteristic amble.

"Mr. Stilman! A moment, if you please?"

At her summons, the ex-astroball player floated over to her.

"Yes, Mrs. Pruet?"

"I want you to take over the floor operations for a while," she said. "See if you can arrange some sort of incident to remind Mr. Phule's troops that we haven't forgotten them completely. I need some time to rethink things."

"Is something wrong?"

"It seems I've underestimated our Mr. Phule ... Rather badly, at that," Max admitted, shaking her head. "I'll be in my suite with Laverna trying to figure where we go from here."

Preoccupied as she was with her own thoughts as she headed for the elevators, Maxine failed to look directly at her violence specialist after she spoke. If she had, her usually alert warning signals might have been triggered by the rare, slow smile that spread across Stilman's face.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Journal #236.

One would think that the key turning point of this particular a.s.signment was the event chronicled in the last chapter, the grand opening of the Fat Chance Casino, when my employer's forces successfully prevented the implementation of Maxine Pruet's multifaceted a.s.sault on Gunther Rafael's financial resources.

While there is no denying the importance of that skirmish, viewing the conflict from ground zero, as is my privilege, I would have to say that the events immediately following the opening were in many ways far more crucial to the eventual outcome of the confrontation.

Nicknames tended to abound among gamblers. What was more, certain nicknames were recurring almost to the point of being traditional. Thus it was that anyone in the gambling circles named Edward would invariably be hailed as "Fast Eddie."

Lucas, however, had managed to avoid the obvious t.i.tle of "Lucky Luke" and was known to his a.s.sociates simply as "Lucas." This was, in part, because he strove for, and achieved, a certain degree of anonymity in the casinos, dressing and acting the part of an accountant or an actuary on vacation. Mostly, however, the nickname was avoided because Lucas didn't think of himself as a gambler. He thought of himself as a crook, and luck had nothing to do with his success.

He was a meticulous planner, which was fortunate because the type of theft he favored required careful attention to detail and timing. In fact, he had been scouting the Fat Chance for nearly a week before he decided that a score was possible, and pa.s.sed the word to the other members of his team who were scattered through the other Lorelei casinos.

The plan Lucas used required five people working in close cooperation, though, of course, great care was taken to be sure the pit bosses and casino security would not be able to spot that they even knew each other, much less were functioning as a unit. Their target was the c.r.a.ps table, where the odds were nearest to favorable to the player, and even more favorable with their system. It was a complicated system which involved the shooter palming one of the dice as he threw while another player dropped a loaded die onto the table as if it were one of the original pair. A third player would s.n.a.t.c.h up the dice and throw them back to the shooter, covertly switching them for a pair of honest dice as he did it, so that even if the house got suspicious and examined the dice, they would be clean. Two other players were at the table solely to create a diversion at the crucial moment, while the fifth, Lucas, placed the bet.

The beauty of the system was that the very number of players necessary to work it would make the pit bosses reluctant to believe they were being taken. The one placing the big bet wasn't the shooter, who would be betting the table minimum, and the shooter himself would never be vulnerable to being caught with the crooked die. While they could only work the gag a few times in a given casino without drawing undue attention, at the "adjusted odds" a few times was usually enough.

The other necessary ingredient to the scam was a sloppy croupier, which was much of what Lucas had been watching for the last week. It was also why he had chosen this time for the team to a.s.semble for work.

The crowds from the opening-night festivities had thinned to a point where there were several seats available at the various tables. More important, the pit crews were tired from the crush and were openly glancing at their watches as if they could speed the end of their shift by willpower alone.

Lucas had been sitting at the target table for nearly an hour, carefully building the pattern of a slow loser who would bet heavily occasionally in an apparent effort to recoup his losses. The croupier was behaving as he had for the last several nights, splitting his attention between the table and a shapely c.o.c.ktail waitress who winked at him in pa.s.sing with increasing frequency as the end of their shift neared. Whether they were flirting or lovers, Lucas neither knew nor cared. What was important was that the croupier wasn't paying attention to what was happening at his table.

One by one, his team had drifted in and eased into their places with apparent casualness, until they were only lacking one member before they could swing into action. In spite of his confidence and control, Lucas felt his excitement starting to build. In another fifteen minutes, they'd either have scored their hit or scattered, looking for another target.

"Your dice, sir."

Lucas gathered up the dice and began shaking them slowly in preparation for his throw. This wasn't the big score, of course. He'd be the bettor, not the shooter, when they were ready for that. He was simply marking time and taking his turn in the rotation of shooters until the team was a.s.sembled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the last team member drifting toward their table, pausing to watch the action at other tables in his show of indifference. They were just about ready to go.

"Come on, seven," Lucas said almost automatically as he raised his hand to throw the dice, and ...

"Just a moment, sir!"

A vicelike grip closed on his wrist. Startled, Lucas glanced around and discovered he was held by a black-uniformed security guard, flanked by two others.

"What ..."

"Let's have a look at those dice ... Hold all bets!"

Genuinely puzzled, Lucas surrendered up the dice he was holding to the guard with the red handlebar moustache. He had no idea what had prompted this interruption, since he had done nothing to cause any suspicion, justified or not.

The guard barely glanced at the dice.

"Just as I thought," he declared. "Check his pocket, Do-Wop ... the left-hand jacket pocket."

Before Lucas could gather his wits to protest, the greasy-looking guard next to him had plunged a hand into the indicated pocket and emerged with ...

"Here they are, Sarge. Just like you thought."

Lucas gaped at the pair of dice the guard was holding aloft.

There hadn't been any dice in that pocket ... or anywhere else on his person, for that matter!

"But ..."

"Thought you'd pull a little switcheroo, eh, sir?" The moustached guard smiled. "I think it's time you moved along ... if you'll follow me. No harm done, folks! Just keeping the Fat Chance tables honest. Reclaim your bets and pa.s.s the dice to the next shooter!"