"Mr. Beeker, I've been awake nearly thirty hours running now," Laverna said. "If you've got something to say to me, you'll have to say it straight out-and in plain words. I'm not tracking things too well."
The butler paused, then drew a deep, ragged breath.
"Forgive me," he said. "I'm rather tired myself. All I meant was, I had assumed that from what I had heard and considering your position, you would be a highly intelligent person-intelligent enough to realize that I would not expect you to divulge any information about your employer any more than I would volunteer information about mine. People in our position don't last long if they are careless with confidences. The trust required has to be earned and maintained, so when dealing with someone of a similar standing to my own, I assumed trustworthiness and expected it would be assumed in return."
Laverna weighed his words in silence for a few moments.
"So why did you come over, then?" she said finally.
Beeker gave a rueful smile.
"Strange as it may seem, considering the constant demands on our time, I was feeling lonely and thought perhaps you felt the same. In our positions as aides-de-camp to rather strongwilled people, it occurred to me that we probably have more in common with each other than we do with our respective employers."
A sudden smile split Laverna's face, uncharacteristic to anyone who knew her.
"Sit down, Mr. Beeker," she said, pulling out the chair next to her. "We may have things to talk about, after all. Nonspecific things, of course."
"Of course," the butler said, accepting the offered seat. "And it's 'Beeker' ... not `Mr. Beeker.'"
My first conversation with Laverna was pleasant, though tinged with irony.
I, of course, said nothing to indicate that my employer was aware of her employer's planned computerized assault on the casino, nor gave any hint that Albert and his Bug Squad were working frantically to counter it even as we spoke.
She, in turn, never let it slip that there was a disruptive incident in progress ... again, even as we spoke.
It was expected that Maxine would order a certain number of diversionary incidents during this period. If nothing else, they served, or so she thought, to draw my employer's attention away from her real attack as well as convince him he had the situation well in hand. In turn, to convince her that her strategy was working, my employer and his force were required to play along with each scenario as it unfolded.
It is worth noting, however, for both the casual reader and the student of military behavior, that however minor or token a diversion might be, for the direct participants the action is very real.
"You'd think they'd have caught on by now," Kong King said, glancing at the door next to the loading dock as the electric delivery van pulled away. "That's the third shipment we've turned away."
"They'll figure it out soon enough." Stilman didn't even turn his head. "Restaurants need fresh food to operate. You're sure you've got your orders straight?"
Kong knew his orders, as did his four confederates. They had heard them often enough: no fewer than a dozen times even before they took up their station at the casino's delivery entrance. If anything, it was a bit insulting that the headman felt it was necessary to repeat things to them so often. He kept his annoyance to himself, however. He had worked with Stilman several times before and knew the ex-astroball player wasn't someone you mouthed off to.
"We go through the motions of shutting down deliveries to the kitchen until a security guard shows up," he said as if for the first time. "Then we let him run us off. No rough stuff beyond harsh words and maybe a little shoving."
"That's right," Stilman said with a minute nod. "Remember. No rough stuff."
"These security guards ... all they have is tranquilizer darts in their guns. Right?"
Stilman turned slowly until he was facing the thug who raised the question.
"That's what I told you," he said. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Normally the man would have been cowed by this direct attention, but instead he simply shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
"I just want to be sure this `no rough stuff' rule works both ways," the thug grumbled. "I don't want to be no clay pigeon in a shooting gallery for nervous guards."
"They aren't regular guards," one of the others supplied. "They're some kind of army types."
"Yeah?" The original questioner fixed Stilman with an accusing gaze. "You didn't say nothing about that when you was briefing us."
"It's been all over the media," Stilman said levelly. "I assumed you knew. All it means is that they shouldn't rattle as easily as normal guards would."
"Well, I don't like it."
"You aren't supposed to like it. If you did, we wouldn't have to pay you to do it."
Kong tensed, waiting for Stilman to quell the rebellion physically as well as verbally. To his surprise, however, the headman simply turned his back on the complainer.
"If it makes you feel any better," he muttered, "I don't like it, either. It's Max's orders, though, and while I'm taking her pay, she calls the shots."
Kong tried to think of another time when he had heard Stilman speak out openly against an order from Max, but couldn't bring one to mind. Coming from him, the casual complaint was of monumental significance.
"Here comes another one."
One of the small electric vans that were the mainstay of the space station's delivery network was pulling off the main drag into the loading area, a meat wagon this time.
The men waited in silence as it backed into position, then uncoiled from where they had been lounging against the wall and moved forward as the driver came around to open the back of the vehicle.
"Hey! You can't unload here!"
"Who says I ..."
The driver's words died in his throat as he turned and took in the six musclemen between him and the door.
"Hey, I don't want any trouble," he said, holding up his hands as he backed away.
"No trouble, friend," Stilman said easily. "You just got the wrong address is all."
The driver frowned. "This is the Fat Chance Casino, isn't it?"
"Maybe you don't hear so good," Kong said, moving forward slightly. "The man said you have the wrong address! Something wrong with your ears? Something we should maybe try to fix for you?"
"What the hell's going on here?"
Kong managed to keep a straight face as the men turned to confront the white-aproned cook who had come charging out of the kitchen door. It was about time someone inside had noticed the activity on their loading dock. Security should be close behind him.
The urge to smile faded as he recalled their "no rough stuff" orders.
"Nobody unloads here until you hire some union help," Stilman was saying, moving to confront the cook directly.
"What are you talkin' about?" the cook said. "There aren't any unions on Lorelei!"
Kong was distracted from the conversation by a small, dark-skinned figure who emerged from the kitchen behind the original cook. Completely ignoring the raging argument, the little man strode over to the open delivery van and shouldered a quarter side of beef, then turned back toward the kitchen.
It occurred to the thug that he should stop the unloading, or at least call it to Stilman's attention, but he was loath to intrude on the verbal brawl or take individual action while the headman was right there. Fortunately the decision was taken out of his hands. The laden figure passed close by the two arguing men on his way back to the kitchen, and Stilman spotted him.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" the headman demanded, breaking off the debate.
The little man stopped and turned to face him, regarding him levelly with dark eyes.