"Must get meat inside," he said. "Not good to leave out here. Too warm. Might go bad."
"Maybe you didn't get the drift of what I was saying," Stilman challenged, moving closer. "You can't unload that stuff while we're around."
The little man bobbed his head.
"Good. You take."
With that, he half tossed, half thrust the meat at Stilman, shoving it forward as the balance came off his shoulder. The headman was unprepared for the weighty mass suddenly launched at him, but he managed to catch it-more from surprise than intent.
The little man ignored Stilman's reaction, stepping past him to address the stunned thugs.
"You ... and you," he said, stabbing a finger at the two largest musclemen. "Get meat from there and follow me."
At this point, Stilman recovered his wits.
"To hell with this!" he roared, throwing the meat down and brushing at the front of his suit.
With his back turned, he couldn't see what happened next, much less have a chance to counter it. Kong was facing in the right direction, but even he had trouble later describing exactly what happened.
With a pantherlike bound the little man was close behind Stilman. There was a flash of metal, which resolved itself into a long butcher's knife-only visible when it came to rest pressed against the headman's throat.
"You do not throw meat on the ground!" the little man hissed, eyes slit in anger. "Now it ruined! No good! Understand?"
Kong and the other thugs stood rooted to the ground in frozen tableau. They could see that the knife was pressed against Stilman's neck so tightly that the flesh was indented, and knew without being told that the slightest move from the knife or Stilman would lay his throat open.
"Please do not move, gentlemen."
Their attention was drawn to a new figure who had entered the scene.
"What the hell is that?" one of the thugs said, though he echoed the thoughts of the entire group.
"Do not be fooled by my appearance, gentlemen," the singsong, musical voice continued, though they could see now that the sound was actually coming from a mechanical box hung around the neck of the intruder. "I assure you that though my form is not the human standard you are accustomed to, I am a member of the casino security force and authorized to deal with disturbances as I see fit."
The speaker was a sluglike creature with spindly arms and eyestalks. Balanced on a kid's glide board and encased in a tube of black fabric which suggested rather than imitated the familiar Space Legion uniforms, the creature looked more like some bizarre advertising display than an authority figure.
"No, I meant what is that you're holding?" the thug corrected. "That doesn't look like a tranquilizer gun."
The Sinthian had a sinister-looking mechanism tucked under his arm. The tubelike barrel, which was pointing at the thugs, appeared to be a good inch in diameter, though they knew from experience that the muzzle of a weapon always looks bigger when it's pointed at you.
"This?" the Legionnaire chirped, bending one eyestalk to look at his implement. "You are correct that it is a weapon. It is magazine-loaded, however, which enables me to change the loads depending on the situation at hand."
He suddenly pointed the weapon at the fallen side of beef, and it erupted with a soft stutter of air.
The thugs could see a line of impacts on the meat, but no appreciable damage. Then they noticed the surface start to bubble, and a sharp hiss reached their ears.
"As you can see," the Sinthian was saying, "I neglected to bring my tranquilizer darts on duty with me today, an omission which will surely earn me a reprimand if reported. All I have with me are acid balls-and, of course, a few high explosives."
He realigned the weapon with the motionless men.
"Now, if your curiosity is settled, gentlemen, I suggest you begin unloading the van as requested. I'm afraid it may ruin your clothes, but you should have come dressed for the occasion."
The thugs glanced at Stilman.
"Do as he says," the headman croaked, still under the knife.
"And pay for ruined meat before you go," his captor added.
"But I didn't ..."
"You throw meat on the ground, you pay for it!" the little man growled, tightening his grip. "Yes?"
"Okay, okay!" Stilman gasped. "Pay the man ... Now!"
In my privileged position, l was able to hear not one, but two accounts of the loading dock incident: the one which constituted the official report, and the one passed among the Legionnaires over drinks and coffee. As such, I could not help but note that in the account rendered to my employer, both Escrima's role and the use of the acid balls were diplomatically omitted.
Far more important to me, however, was the evidence of growing bad blood between the forces led by my employer and those reporting to Laverna's employer. This concerned me since, to the best of my knowledge, both leaders seemed unaware of the tensions building in the levels under them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Journal #234
There is much made of the satisfaction felt by a commander when a plan comes together.
Obviously I cannot comment on the conduct of all, or even the majority of, military commanders under these circumstances, but the behavior of my employer on the opening day of the Fat Chance Casino showed little of this passive enjoyment. Rather, he was more like an insecure party hostess, hurrying here and there and busying himself with countless details, dealing with both important and minor chores with equal intensity.
Huey Martin was in the middle of getting dressed when he was interrupted by an insistent hammering on the door of his suite. This was both annoying and puzzling, as people rarely visited his room, and never without calling in advance.
"Who is it?" he called, hurrying to button his shirt.
Instead of an answer, he heard the sound of a key in his lock. Before he could protest, the door slammed open and the commander of the casino's security force strode into the room, followed closely by two guards ... and Gunther Rafael himself!
A sudden pang of fear stabbed at the casino manager's gut, but gambler's reflex kept him from showing his emotions openly.
"What's going on?" he demanded indignantly. "I'm trying to get ready for the opening."
"That won't be necessary," the commander, said levelly. "You're being relieved of your duties. Effective immediately."
"I ... I don't understand," Huey said, looking at the casino owner in feigned bewilderment.
"It won't work, Huey," Gunther said tersely. "We know all about your working for Max and about the dealers you've been hiring."
"We have some interesting tapes from the eye-in-the-sky cameras," Phule said. "Your pet dealers have provided us with a catalog of skims and scams, often while you were standing on camera watching them. They're being met as they report for duty, incidentally. We felt it was best that they not work the opening. In fact, they're being given the entire week off without pay. After that, we'll interview them again to see if they're willing to work for us without the skims and perks."
"But that won't leave you with enough dealers to open!" the manager said, then realized he was admitting the extent of his treachery.
The commander smiled humorlessly. "That would be true if we hadn't arranged in advance for replacements for them ... and you."
Huey was stunned by the admission that this action against him was not spontaneous, but rather the result of foreknowledge and substantial planning.
"So what does this mean for me?" he said, both from curiosity and to cover his confusion.
Gunther looked at the commander.
"You will be held here," Phule said, "incommunicado."
As he spoke, he nodded at the Legionnaires, who responded by moving through the suite and pulling the phone in each room out of the wall.