Part 9 (1/2)
I slipped into the standup hot tub to enjoy a delightful evening with Valerie. Good times. Good times. She seemed so real. Much later, downstairs, I played blackjack. Valerie followed me down. She even seemed content. She seemed so real. Much later, downstairs, I played blackjack. Valerie followed me down. She even seemed content.
”Do you like my heels?” asked Valerie. ”Do you think I look s.e.xy?”
”The heels are great,” I said. ”But blackjack is serious business. You are a distraction. I'm trying to count cards.”
”Little old me a distraction?” said Valerie, caressing my neck. ”I'm sorry.”
”Perhaps you could put some clothes on,” I suggested.
”You didn't complain before, in our suite,” cooed Valerie. ”I'm still wearing my heels just like you wanted. Besides, it's not like anyone can see me.”
”There is a time and place for naked bodies,” I said. ”But now, I'm trying to win money.”
”You don't seem to be very good at it,” Valerie observed with a laugh. ”I can see the dealer's cards as they are dealt. Might that be helpful information to you, sweetie?”
”Very,” I said, as I drew another bust card. ”Are you serious?”
”The dealer holds a six under that queen up,” said Valerie, observing the next hand.
I doubled down on my soft seventeen, drew a nine, and let the dealer bust with an eight. It went that way all night long. I made tens of thousands of dollars before casino security told me to leave the card tables.
I cashed in my chips, filling a backpack with $750,000. Then I wandered over to the c.r.a.ps table. It can be a bit disconcerting having a beautiful naked lady in heels hanging on your arm while playing c.r.a.ps, but I had a few drinks and was getting into it. Suddenly Valerie pinched my arm.
”Watch your back!” warned Valerie, agitated, and now fully clothed in old-school USMC combat fatigues. She kept her heels.
I turned around and was confronted by a short but wiry spider flanked by two larger spiders. All wore wraparound sungla.s.ses on their smug faces. It was Desert Claw. I reached for my concealed pistol.
”Welcome to New Memphis,” said Desert Claw. ”Do not go for your gun. You won't stand a chance against my henchmen.”
”Henchmen?” I asked.
”Yes,” said Desert Claw. ”Now that I am a respected drug dealer, I have henchmen instead of terrorists.”
”You are a leader of narco-insurgency terrorists,” I accused. ”Nothing has changed.”
”That is what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Desert Claw. ”How about a truce? I will stop planting roadside bombs and blowing up government buildings if the Legion backs off a bit. I could even put you on the payroll if you think we can do business.”
”No way. I hate drug dealers almost as much as I do terrorists.”
”Think of me as an undoc.u.mented pharmacist. I am just filling a public need. I'm just trying to be reasonable.”
”I'll think about it,” I said. ”I would like to see a truce last at least six months. We can go forward from there, if it lasts. How do I know you will keep the truce?”
”Ever since you killed David Torres, the human pestilence side of the insurgency has fallen apart,” explained Desert Claw. ”Quite frankly, the money in peddling blue powder is so good, I have lost interest in bush fighting. The insurgency is for schmucks.”
”You are ending the insurgency?” I asked. ”I doubt that.”
”Oh, I am sure there will be a few die-hards who will fight on,” said Desert Claw. ”To show my good faith, I will tip you off from time to time on their location and plans. That will make you look good. I see general's stars in your future.”
”I'll have Captain Lopez coordinate that with you,” I said. ”I think maybe we can do business after all.”
”So, no hard feelings about roughing you up in the tunnels under New Gobi?” asked Desert Claw. ”I apologize for that. I was just trying to impress the new recruits.”
”Your apology is accepted,” I said. ”To be truthful, I was hoping you were among the dead at the Miranda homestead. But since you seem to have a knack for survival, a trait I respect, I guess I'm stuck with you.” We shook hands and claws.
”You aren't serious about taking payoffs from that cretin are you?” asked Valerie. ”If so, I have sorely overestimated your character.”
”I am drunk, out-numbered, and out-gunned,” I explained, as we left. ”I would have told Desert Claw anything he wanted to hear, just to get out of a tight spot.”
”So you will not be bought off?” asked Valerie. ”That's quite a relief, sweetie.”
”It's not that simple, dear,” I said. ”There are a lot of factors to be considered. First, I have to discuss the matter with Captain Lopez.”
I punched a b.u.t.ton on my communications pad. Valerie disappeared. The process reminded me of putting a genie back into its bottle. I went outside for fresh air. The sun was already coming up to begin a new day. I spotted a real estate office across the street, and decided to give them my business.
”May I help you, sir?” asked an attractive realtor, Monica Moore.
”I am interested in cemetery plots,” I said. ”How does one buy cemetery plots in volume?”
”Are you expecting another war?” asked Monica, alarmed.
”I hope not,” I said. ”War is bad for tourists.”
”I am sorry, sir, but this is a boutique realty,” said Monica. ”We deal in high-end properties and conduct businesses by appointment only. If you want to buy cemetery plots, I suggest you contact a mortuary.”
”You don't understand,” I said. ”I do not want to just buy a few plots. I want to buy whole cemeteries. I might even buy a string of cemeteries across New Colorado and the galaxy. But for now, I just want to buy one upscale cemetery in New Memphis that uses the latest memorial brain imprint technology. It's the rage on Old Earth, and I think the technology can catch on here on New Colorado. What would it cost to get into the cemetery business?”
”I repeat, sir, I don't think I can help you,” said Monica. ”What business are you in now?”
”I'm a colonel in the Legion,” I said, placing my backpack on her desk. ”And I make more money than you can spend. This backpack contains three quarters of a million in cash. Cash is as good as money, and I have more where that came from. I want you to find me an upscale cemetery.”
”I'll put your money in our safe until the accountants can sort through it,” promised Monica, now more friendly. ”And I'll talk to my a.s.sociates. Maybe I can help you after all. I have always felt New Colorado should upgrade its tacky frontier cemeteries. Perhaps we can discuss this over dinner? You can tell me more about your business plans.”
”It's a date,” I said. ”I would love to have you for dinner. I'm staying in an executive suite atop Harrah's Casino Resort Hotel. You should see the view. It's fantastic. I'll show you my tusks. We can order dinner and breakfast from room service so we can discuss all my plans. You like to hot tub?”
”Laika Barker must die,” said Sir Babloo Srivastava VII. He sat uncomfortably, nursing a broken arm, broken leg, and broken ribs. ”My cartel stands to lose about two hundred million dollars if Barker lives five more months.”
”Why are you telling us your problems?” asked Saviano Juardo. ”I'm no longer into gambling. Gambling is addictive and evil. Drugs are much better.”
”I thought you would be interested in Barker because Barker used to be a business a.s.sociate of your late Uncle Rudy,” replied Babloo. ”Rumors persist that Barker played a role in your uncle's death at the hands of the Legion.”
”The New Gobi Desert is a dangerous place,” said Juardo with a sigh. ”She swallows up many. I don't hold grudges.”
”That's unusual for an Italian,” commented Babloo. ”Barker double-crossed your uncle. I would think that would make it personal. I came to you because you have the only muscle in the New Gobi that can touch Barker. I need you.”