"The Kalimort?" repeated Dante.
"They were a planetary criminal organization on Pretorius III that was about to expand to half a dozen other worlds. They needed financing, and they needed to know how to double their money while they were preparing to move."
"And you showed them how?"
"For a few years. Then they were absorbed by Barioke, one of the major warlords on the Rim, and I went to work for him. Over the years I've worked for half a dozen organizations that needed to hide and, at the same time, maximize their resources." He smiled. "The one you dubbed the Scarlet Infidel tells me you may be putting together another one."
"It's possible," said Dante. "Who are you working for now?"
"I'm between jobs," said the Grand Finale, looking uncomfortable for the first time.
"They caught you with your hand in the till," said Dante. It was not a question.
"Why should you think so?"
"Because we're as far from the Rim as it's possible to get. There's the Rim, then the Outer Frontier and the Spiral Arms, then the Democracy, and then the Inner Frontier and the Core. Why else would you be a couple of hundred thousand light-years from your warlord? How much did you run off with?"
"Not enough," admitted the Finale, unable to hide his bitterness. "I thought I'd never have to work again. I forgot how much it costs to live when you're in hiding."
"Yeah, it gets expensive," agreed Dante. "How long have you been the Grand Finale?"
"A few months." He grinned guiltily. "I saw a bakery on Ribot IV called the Grand Finale."
"Silly name."
"Well, I'm hardly likely to call myself the Banker or the Accountant when I'm trying to hide my identity."
"True enough," said Dante. "What's your real name?"
"Wilbur Connaught."
"If we decided to invite you to join us, Wilbur, what is it going to cost us?"
"It varies."
"Explain."
"I don't work for a salary. I'll take some living expenses as a draw against what I earn, but you'll pay me three percent of the profit I make with the money you give me to work with."
"Three percent doesn't seem like very much for a man with your credentials," said Dante. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. After a couple of years, you'll find yourself resenting how much you pay me."
"Give me an example of what you do."
"Let's say you give me a million credits, to name a nice round number," said Wilbur. "And let's say you don't need it for a year."
"Okay, let's say so."
"I'll use my sources to find those planets that are suffering from hyperinflation. They can't be just any planets; their economies have to be backed by the Democracy." He paused. "With more than 50,000 words to choose from, it won't be too hard to find three worlds that are returning 100% per annum on deposits, again using a nice round number."
"Okay, so you can double the money."
Wilbur snorted contemptuously. "Any fool can double the money. Just for the sake of argument, let's say each world has a 24-hour day. I'll set up a computer program that transfers the money to each of the three worlds every eight Standard hours. Figuring simplistically, this will quadruple your money in a year, but actually, given compounded interest, it'll come much closer to quintupling. There's no stock market in the galaxy that can guarantee you an annualized 500% return, and we'll do this with the full faith and backing of the Democracy. If any of those banks fail, the Democracy will step in and make good their debts."
"Very interesting," said Dante. "I'm impressed."
"That's kindergarten stuff," said Wilbur. "I just used it for a simple-to-understand example. There are investments and machinations that can give you a tenfold return in half the time. You'll need to pay an army, to supply them with weapons and ship, to keep lines of communication open. It all costs money. You need me, Rhymer."
"I'm sold," said Dante. "But it could take awhile before we're ready for you, before we have anything for you to invest."
"I'm not going anywhere," said Wilbur. "I hate Heliopolis, but I'm probably safer hiding out in this hellhole than anywhere else." He sighed. "Almost makes me wish I'd stayed a banker."
"And we won't have an army, not in the normal sense of one."
"Neither did the Kalimort—but they sure killed a lot of people."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"My job is making money. I'm not responsible for what you do with it."
"That's a refreshing attitude," commented Dante.
"But if you use it against the Democracy, I won't be unhappy."
"Why should that be?"
"There's been a price on my head ever since I worked for the Kalimort," said Wilbur. "I've got two grandchildren in the Deluros system that I'll never see. That's reason enough."
"How will I get in touch with you?"
"I'm at the Royal Khan." The old man looked at him. "Have you found your Santiago yet?"
"I'm interviewing a very promising candidate tomorrow," said Dante.
"I didn't know they could apply for the job."
"They can't."
"But you just said—"
"He doesn't know what I want to talk to him about," said Dante.
"Well, if you're here for anyone, it's got to be the One- Armed Bandit," said Wilbur.
"What's your opinion of him?"
"You could do worse."
"That's all you've got to say?"
"My job is making money," said Wilbur. "Your job seems to be deciding who I make it for. I wouldn't let you tell me how to go about my business; I don't propose to tell you how to go about yours."
"You're going to be a pleasure to work with, old man."
"If you really think so, Rhymer, you might put me in a verse or two next time you're working on your poem."
"I might, at that."
The Grand Finale got to his feet. "I'm going back to my room now. No sense waiting til the sun starts coming out. It's hot enough as it is."
"We'll talk again soon," promised Dante.
"Not necessary," replied Wilbur. "I've told you what I can do and you've agreed to hire me. Contact me again when you're ready for me."
He walked out of the bar, crossed through the lobby, and went out the airlock while Dante sipped his beer and watched him bend over as the force of gravity hit him.
The poet considered going back to sleep, but decided that he didn't feel like wrestling the Injun for his bed, so he activated the bar's holo set and watched news and sports results from back in the Democracy until the first rays of the huge sun began lighting the streets.
He checked his timepiece, decided it was still a couple of hours too early to visit the Bandit, and walked out to the lobby.
"May I help you, sir?" said the night clerk.
"Yeah. Where do I go for breakfast around here?"
"We have our own restaurant."