The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  The man’s face was impassive, but there was anger in his voice and movements.

  “I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” he said, sinking into the offered chair.

  Maxine raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Mr. Stilman,” she said, “didn’t you make it clear that I was extending an invitation to our guest?”

  “I asked him nice,” the big man growled. “I didn’t lay a hand on him.”

  “Well, no matter,” Maxine said. “As long as you’re here. We were just admiring the tattoos on your arms.”

  The man glanced down quickly as if to assure himself that the decorations were still in place.

  “I see,” he said.

  “They’re very beautiful.” Maxine smiled. “Might I ask the circumstances under which you got them?”

  The Oriental rose abruptly to his feet.

  “They are a personal matter,” he hissed. “Not to be discussed with strangers.”

  “Sit down, sir!”

  Maxine’s voice cracked like a whip, and the man responded to the authority in her tone by quickly resuming his seat.

  “Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” Maxine purred, leaning forward to cradle her chin in one hand. “Unless I’m mistaken, those tattoos mark you as a member of the Yakuza … something crudely referred to as the Japanese Mafia. If that is correct, I would be most curious as to what you’re doing on Lorelei and why you haven’t been by to pay your respects.”

  For a moment, the man’s eyes widened with surprise, then they narrowed warily.

  “Forgive me,” he said with careful formality. “But these are things one does not speak of with strangers.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maxine said with a smile. “You don’t seem to know who I am. I had assumed Mr. Stilman had informed you before you arrived. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Maxine Pruet, though you may have heard me referred to simply as ‘Max.’”

  The man stared at her for a moment, then seemed to remember himself and sprang to his feet.

  “I didn’t know. My superior did indeed instruct me to convey his compliments,” he intoned with a stiff bow from the waist. “Forgive me, but I only received my orders recently, and they were very brief and sketchy. I thought … that is, I wasn’t told …”

  “—that I was a woman?” Maxine smiled. “I’m not surprised, really. Your organization is even more rooted in old chauvinisms than my own. It stands to reason that if my name came up in conversation, my gender would be tactfully omitted.”

  She returned his bow with a slow nod of her head. “And who might you be?”

  “I … my name within our organization is Jonesy.”

  “Jonesy?” Laverna blurted in surprise from her place in the corner.

  The man glanced at her and gave a brief, rueful smile.

  “I travel extensively for our organization,” he explained, “and it was thought that the name ‘Jonesy’ would be easier for outsiders to pronounce and remember than the one which was more ethnically correct.”

  “An interesting theory,” Maxine observed. “It does, however, bring us back to my original question. What brings you to Lorelei, Mr. Jonesy? Business or pleasure?”

  “Please, just ‘Jonesy,’” the man corrected gently. “A little of both, actually. I was originally here for a vacation, but, as I mentioned, I recently received a call from my superior instructing me to investigate certain business opportunities for our organization.”

  “And just what might those business opportunities be?” Maxine pressed. “I don’t mean to pry, Mr. … Jonesy, but I would like some reassurance that they aren’t in conflict with our own interests.”

  “I …” Jonesy glanced at Stilman, who was standing between him and the door. “I was instructed to investigate the possibility of our organization acquiring full or partial ownership of this casino hotel.”

  His words hung in the air like a death sentence.

  “I don’t understand,” Maxine said carefully. “There has always been a sort of gentleman’s agreement between our organizations regarding territory. Why are you attempting to move into an area which has always been acknowledged as mine?”

  “My superior told me to specifically assure you that we are not moving against you,” the man explained hastily. “We will continue to respect your current holdings, and we will not compete with you for this property.”

  “Then what …”

  “Please, allow me to explain,” Jonesy said, holding up a hand. “We are, of course, expecting you to attempt to gain control of this casino as you have the others on Lorelei. There has, however, been media coverage of a new security force hired to protect this facility. My superiors are impressed with the reputation of this force and the individual who leads it, and are unsure if your organization is capable of opposing it. I have simply been instructed to observe your efforts. If you are unsuccessful in adding the Fat Chance to your holdings, then my superiors feel they will be free to make an attempt of their own. In such a case, they feel they would not be opposing you in any way, but simply moving on an unclaimed opportunity. I hasten to repeat, however, that this will only be done if, and only if, your own efforts prove fruitless.”

  “I didn’t know vultures were Japanese,” Laverna observed dryly.

  “That will do, Laverna,” Maxine said primly. “If you would, Jonesy, the next time you speak with your superior, please convey to him my appreciation for his concern and his alertness in spotting an apparent business opportunity, but assure him that I have every confidence in our ability to maintain our unblemished record in this area, Space Legion or no.”

  “I will be pleased to do that,” the man said with a shrug, “but words of confidence lose their strength in the face of actual performance.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Maxine said. “Please, Jonesy. If you have something to say, just say it plainly. We’re trying to have a meeting here, not write fortune cookies.”

  “I believe there was an incident in the bar involving one of your men,” Jonesy said calmly. “At least, we assume he was one of your men, since his medical expenses are being charged to your account. If that is true, then the results of that encounter do little toward justifying the confidence you have in your plan.”

  Maxine gave a short bark of laughter.

  “Is that what this is all about?” she said, then leaned forward, showing all her teeth. “That was, at best, a diversion, Jonesy. A little something to show young Mr. Rafael that the force he has hired is more than adequate for handling any trouble that might arise. The truth is, we instructed our man to lose—to build the guards’ confidence while providing us with information on their operating methods.”

  The man frowned. “I see.”

  “Perhaps if I outlined for you what our real plan is, you’d be better able to convince your superiors that their interest is not only premature, it’s pointless.”

  * * *

  Jonesy was humming to himself when he finally returned to his own room, though the tune was none other than the catchy advertising ditty from the Lorelei beacon.

  Unlocking the door, he was just reaching for the light switch when a voice greeted him from the darkness.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sushi?”

  Startled, Sushi managed to click on the lights, and discovered his company commander sprawled in one of the room’s chairs, squinting against the sudden brightness.

  “Good evening, Captain. You gave me a bit of a turn just now. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I gave you a bit of a turn?” Phule snarled. “You’ve had the whole force in an uproar since you showed up with those tattoos. I had to move fast to keep them from charging to the rescue when that goon picked you up.”

  “Really?” Sushi said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll have to apologize. I didn’t mean to panic everyone.”

  “Well, you panicked me!” the commander snapped. “Now, what’s with the tattoos? Why are you posing as a member of the
Japanese Mafia?”

  “What makes you think it’s a pose, Captain?” the Legionnaire countered blandly. “Our regular uniforms are long-sleeved. Have you ever seen my arms before?”

  Phule gaped at him.

  “Relax, Willard.” Sushi laughed, resorting to Phule’s civilian name. “You were right the first time. It’s a disguise. I just wanted to pull your leg a little to try to get you to loosen up. You seemed awfully tense.”

  “Do you blame me?” the commander said, settling back in his chair with a glower. “All right, I’ll bite. Where did you get the tattoos?”

  “As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Rembrandt put them on for me,” Sushi said, holding up his arms to display the decorations. “Aren’t they great? I told her what I wanted in general, but the actual design is hers.”

  “Are you saying you cleared this masquerade with Rembrandt?” Phule said, ignoring the display.

  “To be honest with you, Captain, I don’t think she realized the significance of what I was asking.” Sushi smiled. “I’ll admit, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Oh, it was a surprise, all right,” the commander snorted. “But I’m still waiting for you to tell me why you’re doing this.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You said you wanted to know what was going on here, didn’t you? I simply figured that the best way to get reliable information was to go to the source—to try to infiltrate the opposition. Once I settled on that objective, it became clear to me that the best way to achieve it was to pose as a visiting dignitary from another criminal faction, of which the Yakuza was a natural choice.”

  “Did it occur to you that it might be dangerous?” Phule said, his original anger giving way to the concern that spawned it.

  “Of course.” Sushi smiled. “Remember what I said when you asked me to go under cover? About being addicted to high-risk games and not being sure I could control myself at the tables? Well, I’ve found the answer. The tables are pretty tame compared to the game I’m playing now. To be honest with you, I’m having more fun than I’ve had in years.”

  “Games? Fun?” the commander said, his temper starting to rise again. “Aside from the danger of the locals figuring out your charade, what are you going to do if you run into a member of the real Yakuza? I don’t think they’d take kindly to your trying to pass yourself off as one of their representatives.”

  “I think you’re underestimating me, Captain,” the Legionnaire said. “I may refer to it as a game, but as a habitual gambler, I’ve studied the odds very carefully. It’s doubtful it will even occur to the locals that I might be an imposter for the very reason you just mentioned: Who would ever think of posing as a member of the Yakuza? What’s more, it’s extremely doubtful that I’ll run into anyone from that organization, since they’ve been carefully staying away from Lorelei for years.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I made a few calls,” Sushi said with a smile. “While my family is quite scrupulous about avoiding criminal enterprise, myself being a notable exception, it nonetheless is aware of the underworld network and maintains several contacts for the sole purpose of information and communication. That raises another point, Captain.”

  The Legionnaire dropped his smile.

  “I’m not sure how familiar you are with the Yakuza, but it’s not really a single organization. Like its Western counterparts, it’s actually made up of several families who operate under a mutual truce. If I did run into a member, I’d simply claim to be from another family. I’m familiar with the general recognition codes.”

  Sushi’s smile started to grow again.

  “The interesting thing that occurred to me as I was planning this, Captain, is that it’s almost legitimate. What you’re doing with the company is not that dissimilar from the forming of a Yakuza clan, and on this assignment I am your representative. In fact, if you’ll look closely at my tattoos, you’ll see that Rembrandt has worked our unit’s logo into the pattern several times.”

  “Speaking of your tattoos,” Phule said, barely sparing them a glance, “am I correct in assuming that they aren’t permanent? What happens if they start to come off at the wrong time?”

  “No chance of that happening.” Sushi grinned. “They don’t come off with water, just alcohol, and Rembrandt says they should last for months. She even gave me a touch-up kit to use just in case.”

  “And if someone spills a drink on your arm?” the commander pressed.

  The Legionnaire looked startled.

  “I … I hadn’t thought of that, Captain. Thanks for the warning. I’ll be extra careful in the future—or maybe just wear regular long-sleeved shirts so they won’t show at all.”

  Phule shook his head with a sigh.

  “It sounds like you’re set on this plan,” he said. “In any case, it’s too late now for me to try to talk you out of it.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. It’s working like a charm. In fact, I’ve already gotten quite a bit of information for you, like an outline of the opposition’s whole game plan.”

  “Really?” Phule was suddenly interested. “Then there is an attempt to take over the casino?”

  “There certainly is,” Sushi confirmed. “And the mastermind is a woman named Maxine Pruet.”

  If the Legionnaire was hoping for a reaction of surprise, he was to be disappointed.

  “… who runs most of the crime here on Lorelei,” the commander said, finishing for him. “Yes, we already know the name. We just weren’t sure she was actually trying to move on us. So she’s the moving force behind Huey Martin, eh? That’s good to know. We weren’t sure if he was part of a whole or just operating independently.”

  “You already know about the casino manager?” Sushi said, a trifle crestfallen.

  “The man’s crooked as a snake, and so are the dealers he’s hired,” Phule said easily. “We spotted that they were grifting early on, and have just been waiting for the right time to lower the boom. If that’s their big plan, we’ve got it covered.”

  “Oh, there’s a lot more to it than that, Captain,” Sushi informed him. “For openers, Max says they’ve gotten into the casino’s computer.”

  “What?”

  Phule was suddenly bolt upright in his chair.

  “And that’s not the worst of it,” the Legionnaire continued. “You know how you were saying that we’re supposed to be keeping organized crime from getting a toehold in the casino ownership? Well, it’s too late. They’ve already got it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Journal #215

  In earlier entries, I have made passing reference to my employer’s temper. While he is as prone as the next person to occasional flares of irritation or annoyance, these pale to insignificance when compared to his real anger.

  Anyone who has been the focus of his attention when he is in such a mood usually goes to great lengths to avoid repeating the experience in the future, myself included. Fortunately, he is not normally quick to anger, and peaceful coexistence is not only possible but probable as long as certain topics and situations are avoided.

  One situation which is guaranteed to trigger an explosion, however, is (if you’ll pardon the pun) when he feels he’s been made to play the fool.

  * * *

  Gunther Rafael looked up from his work as the door to his office slammed with sufficient force to blow papers off his desk. It didn’t take a genius to tell that the black-clad figure that had just entered was upset.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Phule?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Maxine Pruet was part owner of the Fat Chance?” the Legion commander demanded without preamble, storm clouds billowing on his face.

  The youth blinked. “I … I didn’t think it was important. Is it?”

  “Not important!” Phule raged. “For God’s sake, she’s the head of the gang that’s trying to take over your operation! The organized crime we’re supposed to be saving you from!”

  “She can’t be,” Rafael said, frowning. “She’s on
e of the most respected businesspeople on Lorelei. In fact, I think she owns some of the casinos here.”

  “She has controlling interest in all of them except yours, and she’s working on that right now!”

  “But she was the one who—oh my God!”

  The stricken look on the youth’s face as full realization dawned on him was sufficient to cool Phule’s anger somewhat.

  “Look, Gunther,” he said levelly, “why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Rafael stammered, still shaken. “She gave me a loan for my remodeling—even suggested it, in fact. She paid me a social call to welcome me as the new owner and seemed quite open in her admiration of the facility, though she did suggest it could use some renovation.”

  “And when you said you didn’t think you could afford it, she offered to lend you the money,” the Legionnaire supplied.

  “That’s right,” Rafael said. “She said she was looking for a short-term investment to hide some money from the tax men. It seemed like a good deal at the time. She even offered an interest rate below what the bank would charge me.”

  “She did, did she?” Phule scowled. “What were the other terms of the loan? All the terms?”

  “Well, I can’t remember them all, but I have my copy of the contract right here,” the youth said, quickly rummaging through one of the desk’s file drawers. “Basically, she gave me the money against twenty-five percent of the Fat Chance. When I pay it off, her share drops to five percent, as a permanent interest.”

  “Twenty-five percent?” Phule echoed. “That doesn’t sound right. From what I hear, she usually goes for controlling interest. Let me see that contract.”

  “I still don’t see how it can …” Rafael began, but Phule cut him short.

  “Here it is!” he declared, pointing to a spot in the document’s depths. “The ‘Late Payment’ section. According to this, if you fail to pay the loan off on time, you not only forfeit the right to buy back her shares, but she gets additional points of the enterprise up to—”