"Now you're talking," Guido crowed. "There's always good money to be made at gambling."
"Keep your voice down, you idiot. It's supposed to be a secret."
"So who's to hear?" Guido protested.
"How about them?"
Shai-ster jerked his thumb toward a table of four enormous beings, alternately stuffing their faces and laughing uproariously.
"Them? That's the Hutt brothers. They're in here about once a week. They're too busy with their own games to bother us."
"Games? Are they gamblers?"
"Naw … well, except maybe Darwin. He's the leader of the pack. But he only gambles on businesses."
"Which one is he?"
"The thinnest one. I hear his fiancée has him on a diet. It's making him mean, but not dangerous to us."
Shai-ster turned back to our table.
"Well, keep your voice down anyway. How about it, Skeeve? The gambling, I mean. You've been here at the Bazaar before. Do you know any bookies we can get hold of?"
"Gee, the only one I know of for sure is the Geek," I said. "He's a pretty high-roller. If you boys are going to try to pull a fast one on him, though, don't tell him I was the one who singled him out."
Shai-ster gave me a broad wink.
"Gotcha. But anything we get from him, you're in for a percentage. You know, a finder's fee. We don't forget our friends."
"Gee, thanks," I managed, feeling more than a little guilty. "Well, I'd better be going. C'mon, Gleep."
"Gleep!" echoed my dragon, pulling his head up out of a tub of spaghetti at the sound of his name.
Fats had taken an instant liking to my pet, founded I suspect on Gleep's newfound capacity for the maggot like stuff barely hidden by blood-red sauce that was the parlor's mainstay.
I had never been able to screw up my courage enough to try spaghetti, but my dragon loved it. Knowing some of the dubious things, edible and in, living and non, that also met with Gleep's culinary approval, this did little toward encouraging me to expand my dietary horizons to include this particular dish. Still, as long as I had Gleep along, we were welcome at Fats, even though my pet was starting to develop a waddle reminiscent of the parlor's proprietor.
"Say, Skeeve. Where do you keep your dragon during the day?"
I glanced over to find Shai-ster studying my pet through narrowed, thoughtful eyes.
"Usually he's with me, but sometimes I leave him with a dragon-sitter. Why?"
"I just remembered an 'interruption of business' claim we had to pay the other day …ad to pay! Heck, we're" still paying it. Anyway, this guy sells dragons, see, except for over a week now he hasn't sold a one. Usually sells about three a day and says since he paid us to be sure nothing happens to his business, we should make up the difference in his sales drop… and, you know, those things are expensive'."
"I know," I agreed, "but what does that have to do with Gleep?"
"Probably nothing. It's just that this guy swears that just before everything went to pot, some little dragon came by and talked to his dragons. Now they won't roar or blow fire or nothing. All they do is sleep and frolic… and who wants to buy a dragon that frolics, you know?"
"Talked to his dragons?" I asked uneasily.
For some reason, I had a sudden mental image of Gleep confronting Big Julie's dragon, a beast that dwarfed him in size, and winning.
"Well… they didn't exactly talk, but they did huddle up and put their heads together and made mumbly puffy noises at each other. Wouldn't let this guy near 'em until it was over. The only thing he's sure of is the little one, the one he says messed up his business, said something like 'Peep!' Said it a couple of times."
"Peep?" I said.
"Gleep!" answered my dragon.
Shai-ster stared at him again.
"C'mon, Shai-ster," Guido said, giving his superior a hearty shove. "Talking dragons? Somebody's pullin' your leg. Sounds to me like he got a bad shipment of dragons and is trying to get us to pay for them. Tell him to take a hike."
"It's not that easy," Shai-ster grumbled, "but I suppose you're right. I mean, all dragons look pretty much alike."
"True enough," I called, heading hastily for the nearest exit. "C'mon, Peep … I mean, Gleep!"
Maybe Shai-ster's suspicions had been lulled, but I still had a few of my own as we made our way back to the Yellow Crescent Inn.
"Level with me, Gleep. Did you do anything to louse up somebody's dragon business?"
"Gleep?" answered my pet in a tone exactly like my own when I'm trying too hard to sound innocent.
"Uh-huh. Well, stay out of this one. I think we've got it in hand without you getting in the line of fire."
"Gleep."
The answer was much more subdued this time, and I realized he was drooping noticeably.
"Now don't sulk. I just don't want anything to happen to you. That's all."
I was suddenly aware that passers-by were staring at us. As strange as the Bazaar was, I guess they weren't used to seeing someone walking down the street arguing with a dragon.
"Let's hurry," I urged, breaking into a trot. "I don't know what we can do about the Mob moving in on the bookies, but I'm sure Aahz will think of something."
Chapter Eighteen
"Life can be profitable, if you know the odds."
THE sports arena we were in was noticeably smaller than the stadium on Jahk where we had played in the Big Game, but no less noisy. Perhaps the fact that it was indoors instead of being open-air did something to the acoustics, but even at half-full the crowd in the arena made such a din I could barely hear myself think.
Then again, there was the smell. The same walls and ceiling that botched up the acoustics did nothing at all for ventilation. Even a few thousand beings from assorted dimensions in these close quarters produced a blend of body odors that had my stomach doing slow rolls … or maybe it was just my nerves.
"Could you explain to me again about odds?"
"Not now," the Geek snarled, nervously playing with his program. "I'm too busy worrying."
"I'll give it a try, hot stuff," Massha volunteered from my other side. "Maybe I can say it in less technical jargon than our friend here."
"I'd appreciate it," I admitted.
That got me a black look from the Geek, but Massha was already into it.
"First, you've got to understand that for the most part, bookies aren't betting their own money. They're acting as agents or go-betweens for people who are betting different sides of the same contest. Ideally, the money bet on each side evens out, so the bookie himself doesn't have any of his own money riding on the contest."
"Then how do they make their money?"
"Sometimes off a percentage, sometimes… but that's another story. What we're talking about is odds. Okay?"
"I guess so," I shrugged.
"Now, the situation I described is the ideal. It assumes the teams or fighters or whatever are evenly matched. That way, some people bet one side, some the other, but overall it evens out. That's even odds or l-l."
She shifted her weight a bit, ignoring the glares from our fellow patrons when the entire row of seats wobbled in response.
"But suppose things were different. What if, instead of an even match, one side had an advantage… like say if Badaxe were going to fight King Rodrick?"
"That's easy," I smiled. "Nobody would bet on the King."
"Precisely," Massha nodded. "Then everybody would bet one side, and the bookies would have to cover all the bets with their own money… bets they stood a good chance of losing."