Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (18 page)

“Yeah,” Larry replied. He took a gulp of wine. “We don't need
slikes like that here.”

The admiral shook his head frowning. “Definitely not. Most cops
don't care about gambling and liquor, people will get their kicks and if it's
consensual they got what they deserved. The house always wins, that's something
everyone needs to know right off. Petty theft was minor, people could replace
any material item, it usually wasn't worth the cost of stealing. Anything of
true value usually was marked in some way and a fence who took it in was just
asking for trouble.”

“Huh.”

“I don't know how long before the sheriff and other law
enforcement people on this planet will wait before they start getting tracking
tech. From what I've heard about what Io 11 passed on, maybe a decade. Maybe
less,” Irons said, taking a sip of wine. Larry grunted. Suddenly he frowned and
then looked very thoughtful.

“It's that way all throughout civilization. It changes and
evolves. Some think of it as a war, one side comes out with something, the
other comes up with a counter. Some consider it a game, a high stakes game. It
doesn't matter, what matters is that you keep evolving or you get run over.”

Larry chuckled. He had been amused at first, and he had gone along
with the small talk to get Irons to lower his guard.

The admiral knew the game, he could sense it. He could see at
least a dozen people in the room armed, and they weren't there mainly as
guards. Even the waiter had a shiv tucked up his sleeve. Defender kept his
shields powered up and on standby. The air crackled around him.

Irons explained about the history of warlords, how they evolved
into knights, lords, and kings. How they charged taxes and levies which was
basically protection money, and how things slowly turned legit. Irons also
explained how the mob had gotten into liquor and other shady businesses. “In
the past over time the police and communities evolved, as did those into shady
businesses. They had to adapt to the times to survive. Take oh, liquor for
example. You have to make sure your product is safe or you'll kill your
patron’s right?” Fat Larry nodded.

“Right. You can't sheer a sheep totally and kill it. Regulate it.
Control your wolves, your impulse to kill or maim and their impulse to do the
same and you can get what you want without inflicting harm and getting kicked
in return. Lessen your chance of getting damaged or damaging the product.”

Larry nodded noncommittally. “Ah.”

“Take gambling and prostitution. With gambling, on Earth the mob
created casinos. Places where people could come, see the flashy sights and
gamble. Both gamblers and mom and pops out for a good time. They take their
money, exchange it for chips and then play. Of course the house always gets a
cut and you keep them playing until they lose. Entice them with free food and
entertainment. Titillate them with near naked girls and stuff. Dangle the dream
of a big payday out and let them willingly throw their money at you in order to
try to get it. They get good and properly sheered for their trouble and even
thank
you in the end for the experience.”

“Um...”

“The house always wins in the end. Cheaters are... dealt with. Oh
you'll get a couple legit winners every week, chalk that up to advertising and
a business expense. I can get Sprite to upload some mob films from my archive,
you can get all sorts of ideas. Things that I bet the Sheriff wouldn't mind.”

Larry cocked his head. “Prostitution.”

The admiral spread his hands. He had no problem with sexual
workers as long as they were of consenting age and had consented to get into
the professions... and if they were checked regularly by medical staff. But how
to get that point across? He thought for a moment and then shrugged. Best to
bring it up in small doses. “If the girl or boy is sick you can't work them? If
the girl gets pregnant because the John insisted on going bare back? Or gets an
STD? And if they get the clients sick that drives all the other customers
away.”

Larry grimaced and then nodded. He'd run into that a few times.
One of the reasons he preferred gambling and loan sharking. Both were clean and
you didn't have to worry about something bad coming back at you as well. “I see
what you mean.” He grimaced, looking away.

Biscuits became impatient to do the deed but Fat Larry waved him
off. Biscuits leaned over to Larry. “We going to do this or not boss?” Biscuits
demanded in his ear. Larry scowled blackly. The stupid prick was a liability.

“Um.”

“If you're talking about getting the ape behind me to shoot me,
no, not a good idea. Very bad idea, right Sheriff?” Irons asked, raising his
voice. Sheriff Coltrain turned from the bar and nodded. The mobsters froze and
then Fat Larry waved them away with his fingers.

“Settle down, no one’s going to get whacked tonight, no, not good.
Bad for business,” Larry said, now pale and visibly sweating. He motioned with
his hands for everyone to settle down. “We don't do that sort of thing.”

“Good to hear that,” the admiral said with a smile. “This pesto is
too good to waste.”

...*...*...*...*...

“Sheriff Coltrain, that could have gone better,” Irons said,
turning to the sheriff as he approached with one of his deputies. Coltrain was
a Terran male, medium build, black hair with silver on the sides and in his
long mutton chop sideburns. He had a handlebar mustache and ivory handles on
his matching revolvers. He had a lot of flash but he seemed to know the players
and didn't like small time hoods.

“How'd you know?”

“I've seen a lot of movies. And I've been around the block a
century or so,” the admiral replied dryly. Some of what he'd done was training,
and of course his implants. But a lot had to do with watching a movie and realizing
that that fat bastard was lulling him into lowering his guard. Sometimes
paranoia paid off.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Technically he did try to assassinate a Federation officer in a
time of war. I could have pasted him and his people if I'd chosen to do so,”
Irons said. He flicked a glance to the deputy who had flinched. “But I'm...
restraining
my more primitive instincts. For now,” he said.

“Thank you,” the sheriff said, with a sigh of relief. Irons noted
the man was on edge, sweating slightly. He didn't envy the cop, he was caught
in a crack, his duty and staying alive to do his duty. “Fat Larry is usually
pretty mild. He sticks to gambling and loans and only dabbles in other things.
Fat Tony is the real...” he petered off and then shrugged. “I don't know why it
went like that.”

“I think it was the insult. He couldn't leave someone around who
challenged his authority. It set a bad example for others and showed him as
weak to the other bosses.”

“Just the same admiral, it might be wise to um...”

“Vamoose?” Irons replied with a tight smile. “I don't like running
from a fight sheriff. It's not normally in my nature,” he said. He winced
internally. That wasn't quite true, he knew when to tuck his tail between his
legs and pull out after Pyrax and Antigua now didn't he? Well, pick his fights
anyway...

“I'm more interested in reducing collateral damage sir,” the
sheriff replied, gulping slightly and looking around. Irons snorted softly.

“True. And yes, I was planning on seeing this holiday of yours so
I'll be a moving target. I'll extend some of my travels for a bit and keep an
irregular schedule. That will have to do,” he said.

The sheriff nodded.

“Don't worry about it sheriff. If Fat Larry is smart, and I'm
pretty sure he is, he's thinking over what I said carefully. I think you're
right, if he's into gambling and loan sharking he may be interested in the
casino angle.”

The sheriff grunted. “Great, that's all we need. Glitz and
glamour...”

“If it's set up and regulated properly than it won't be any more
of a headache than the current set up is. Far better possibly, he'd hire people
and bring some of his other operations out into the open and under one roof.
It's easier to watch then.”

“True.”

“He'd be down on local crime too. Anyone disturbing the patrons or
robbing them...”

The deputy and the sheriff nodded. “Would be bad for business.
Yeah.”

“And of course he'd want to work with the authorities,” Irons
said, smiling slightly. Both lawmen caught on at the hinted bribe. Coltrain
cocked his head thoughtfully. “It's something to think about. If he handled it
right it would bring in tourists and entertain people while adding to the tax
revenue of your area. Think about it sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

“Just trying to be helpful,” Irons replied with a shrug and a nod
as he turned and left.

“Gah, you sounded like a bad commercial with that last line,”
Sprite said in disgust.

“I'll try to work on that then,” the admiral replied dryly.

“Did you hear about that guy who had a chat with the mob?”

Jerry turned to the photographer who was talking to one of the
secretaries near the water cooler. “What guy?” There was something to be said
about some of the best stories coming from water cooler gossip. There was no
telling what people would talk about. Unfortunately there wasn't much truth to
many of the rumors.

Still, if it panned out it could give Jerry a small human interest
story to fill in his byline. He was getting thin on material to print. He was
hemmed in, handling the Hazard sector. He couldn't print anything about vice
and corruption because of the sheriff and commissioner. Fat Larry and Tony were
another problem. Reporters who delved too deep into their domain and saw too
much ended up on the obituary page.

So, here he was, sitting in his cubical near the water cooler in
Metropolis wondering what the hell to write... and wondering how long it would
be before the chief got wise and tossed him out on his ear.

“Some guy, says he's an admiral,” the photographer replied,
rolling his eyes. “As if that could be true.” They all heard stories from time
to time of nut jobs who wanted to relive the old glory days and promoted
themselves to admiral or general. They usually ended up in one of the asylums
if they were dangerous. Otherwise people razzed them until they went away.

“I heard he is,” the mousy girl said softly. She adjusted her horn
rim glasses. “An admiral that is. A sleeper.”

“Oh?”

“I saw him talk to Deputy Roy when I was in Hazard the other day.
Nice guy, tall, over two meters. Terran, with an offworlder coverall on. He had
a funny hat on with gold leaf.”

“Jer, is there a story there?” Jimmy the photographer asked.

“Jimmy!”

Jimmy flinched at the bellow. “Geese it's the boss,” he cringed,
ducking near the duo. “I'm in for it.”

“Jimmy! Lois needs you at that fire! Get off your ass and get over
there! Flirt on your own time!” The editor called, waving his arm with a piece
of paper in it. “Clark!” he yelled, turning.

“Yes chief?” Clark asked, looking up from his cubical. Clark
fumbled his glasses and then reached for his tie to straighten it. One didn't
look sloppy around the boss. Perry was a stickler for looking professional.

Perry stuffed his hand in his vest pocket to pull out his gold
pocket watch. He took a look and then put the watch back. “Lois is on to
something, it may be arson or it may be one of her flights of fantasy again.
Either way you know her nose for trouble. Get over there and back her up.”

“Right away chief,” Clark said, getting up and pulling his jacket
off the back of his chair. He grabbed his hat with the brass “Press” button on
it and hustled out the door. Jimmy was on his heels.

“So, tell me more about this sleeper,” Jerry said, smiling
politely to Catherine. “Miss Grant?”

The woman adjusted her too short dress and then smiled. “Call me
Cat,” she said breathily. He had to admire how she went from demurring with
Jimmy to sexy in a heartbeat. He however was on to her games, she was a vamp,
she used men to get what she wanted. A useful ploy, but one he had no intention
to fall for, now or ever. Though he did like to taste her wares from time to
time... as long as he didn't let his 'other head' get him in too deep. “What's
in it for me?” she asked coyly.

“Diner?” Jerry asked, sighing mentally. This was getting
expensive.

Cat looked thoughtful, tipping her head ever so slightly. “No, I
want a byline of my own,” Cat finally said.

“You...” Jerry blinked at her. “You know Perry will never go for
that.”

“Fashion news. He was muttering about the Bugle having the leg up.
I want it,” she said with a smile.

“I'll talk to him. If this pans out I'll give you a good word,” he
muttered.

“You'd better,” her eyes flashed.

“I tell you what. You help me do the leg work and I'll put you in
as co-writer. “That will go a long way to sell this with the brass. White's a
pain in the ass you know, meat and potato stories.”