But the only one who spoke was Mahatma, who simply smiled, and said, "Oh, yes, we will certainly see." And with that, Thumper had to remain contented until one of the squad looked up at the wall clock, and said, "Uh-oh-time to get moving. Don't want to make the new guy late on his first day here."
"Ahh, why not?" said Roadkill, grinning. "Make the rest of us look bad if he bein' always on time. Oughta start out on the wrong foot like the rest of us."
"Not correct," said Tusk-anini, shaking his huge head. "If new guy starts out on wrong foot, he doing it on his own. That what Omega Mob be all about-from each according to his inability, to each according to his misdeeds."
Super-Gnat looked up at her partner in awe. "Tusk, 1 don't know what you've been reading, but I somehow don't think it's a manual of military procedure. You're right about one thing, though-the new guy's gotta make his own mistakes. Go ahead, Thumper-the others can be as late or early as they want, but you need to be on time today. And good luck!" The others at the table laughed, but they all stood up along with Thumper.
"OK, new guy, follow us," said Street "Brandy be waitin'." And together they filed out of the mess hall toward the parade ground for Thumper's first full day with Omega Mob.
The observer in the Fat Chance casino's control center turned away from the monitor screen and called out to her superior. "Looks like Toni's got a live one," she said.
"Let's see," said the manager. She stepped up behind the observer's chair and leaned forward, looking at the monitor. "That guy again," she said. "Yeah, we've been watching this bozo for a good while now. Has all the marks of a grifter, but nobody's seen him doing anything we can nail him for-yet"
The observer leaned back. "Maybe he's running some kind of game outside the casino, then coming in to gamble with the take. I can't believe he came by that kind of money honestly-to throw a hundred bucks on the table like it didn't matter."
"As if," the manager-who was a stickler for grammar corrected her. "Well, we don't know where his original stake came from, but we can blame the old man for giving him enough to play at the big tables."
"The old man 1" the observer looked up in surprise. "What do you mean 1"
The manager grunted, then said, "This guy walked up to Victor Phule when he was pumping chips into the thousand-dollar slots. For whatever reason, Phule seems to have taken a shine to him. So he tossed him a chip and asked him to play it for him-to change his luck, I guess. The guy wouldn't take it at first, but Phule told him they'd split anything he won. Damned if the guy doesn't score an
eight-for-one, and come out four thousand ahead. This morning he changed a thousand into smaller chips-those thousand-buck chips are all marked-and that's what he's playing with now."
"Uh-huh," said the observer. "Well, it looks as if he's winning a little bit of his own. Red just came up twice more, and he was down on it both times."
"Shit," said the manager. "I hate it when these guys win. Let's just hope Toni can persuade him to let it ride a little longer-we don't want this guy getting too far ahead of the game. He's too slimy for my taste-and I'd just as soon not give him enough money to try something really big."
"Like what?" asked the observer. "I mean, he looks like a slimeball, but so far the worst I've seen him do is stare at Toni's boobs-which she's trying her best to get him to do, anyhow."
"Well, we've got a little bit of history on him," said the observer. "He and a woman were here a few months back, and we had a couple of flaky security incidents involving them-nothing we could make any kind of case on, but suspicious. And they left the station very suddenly, didn't check out or anything. Everything was paid up, so we didn't follow it up-but I'm wondering if we shouldn't have..."
"He won again," said the observer. "That's sixteen hundred he's ahead, now."
"Let him just keep playing," said the other woman, leaning forward to stare at the monitor. "Better yet, let him bump the bets even more. C'mon, Toni, that's what you're here for. Get him to put his whole wad on the red." She spoke as if the redheaded woman-whose job description fell somewhere between "shill" and "undercover security guard"--could actually hear her. Maybe she can hear, thought the observer. It wasn't unknown for the floor agents to wear equipment both to send and to receive messages.
Whether Toni had heard the supervisor or simply grasped what the situation demanded, the observer never found out.
But she leaned over to the object of their scrutiny and said something in his ear. He grinned, stupidly. Whoever this guy was, suave wasn't in his repertory at all. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of chips. He looked at them, shrugged, and put them all out on the red section of the betting layout. Even from the observation cameras lodged in the ceiling lighting fixtures, it was obvious that there were three thousand-dollar chips in the stack.
"Yes!" hissed the supervisor. "He's betting everything he has. C'mon, black!"
"Black, yeah, c'mon black," echoed the observer. Rooting for or against one of the players wasn't really professional, but there were times even the most hardened casino hands got involved in the play. And nobody could really object if they were rooting for the bettor to lose.
The wheel spun, and the spectators at the table leaned forward, holding their collective breath. So did the two unseen spectators high above the action. The wheel gradually slowed, and the ball's motion brought it down into the slotted section until it came to rest in one division...
"'All right, red again!" shouted Ernie. Suddenly there was a stunned silence around the table as the other bettors realized what had happened. The croupier turned a sour look toward the wheel as he watched Ernie scoop in his winnings-now totaling over ten thousand dollars. But it wasn't the wheel's fault, or the croupier's, either. Ernie was on a hot streak. He knew the feeling, and it was hard to keep from grinning.
It went against all his instincts to pick up his chips when his luck was running. But out of the comer of his eye he'd seen Victor Phule walk by, and that reminded him what he'd come here to do. As tempting as it was to take
another shot at doubling his money, he had work to do, and messing up this job was likely to get him in the kind of trouble he couldn't sweet-talk his way out of. He'd almost be better off coming home with the redhead-her name was Toni----who'd been egging him on to bet the house on the roulette table. At least, if he did that, Lola would vaporize him on the spot, without stopping to ask questions.
Toni looked up at him now, a rather attractive pout on her lips. "Hey, what are you--chicken? Come on, let it ride one more time. I've got a really strong feeling, red's coming up again!" She put her hand on his arm, tempting him to stay.
"Sorry, babe, gotta go," said Ernie, reluctantly shrugging off her hand. "Important business."
"Aww, and I thought you were a real man," said Toni, fixing him with her most seductive stare. Behind her, the croupier was getting ready to spin the wheel. Toni pointed to the betting layout. "Show me what you're made of, big boy."
"Well..." Ernie was torn between putting his chips back on the table and following Victor Phule toward the bank of thousand-dollar slots where he'd won his bankroll to begin with. He glanced at the wheel; the croupier stood there with the ball in his hand, smirking at Ernie, just asking to be taught a lesson. Ernie's hand moved in the direction of his pocket, and he turned back toward the table, almost involuntarily.
But just as Ernie began to turn, a big man shoved his way into the space Ernie had vacated, plopping a small pile of ten-dollar chips on the table. Ernie looked around and quickly spotted another clear space, a few feet away. He stepped quickly forward, but just as he did, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to see a cocktail waitress with a tray full of glasses. "Bring you something to drink, sir?" she chirped. "It's on the house."