“Ha, ha. You wouldn't believe these folks. Never cross Coraline Krajewski. That Purser has a computer for a heart. She's incorruptible. None of her staff bribe worth a damn.”
Albert frowned. “What will that do for our bottom line?” he asked. “We'll need enough extra cash for The Convincer. We can't do The Wire on the cheap.”
Carow smiled. “It actually makes it better. They gave us the space next to where they store the scrip. A little Carow magic, and I boosted a couple of cases of their own scrip to pay the fee. They offered a discount for cash, see? When they counted it and put it back in the storage space, I just re-wrapped it and put it back where it belonged.” He smiled. “Oh, it will be a problem, come audit time, but we should be gone long before then.”
The Conners laughed quietly. Carow continued. “Construction is proceeding, and it isn't unusual. There's always something happening on this Station, the place is in upheaval all the time. The Stables will be ready for its Grand Opening on May first.”
Albert smiled. “What about staff?”
“That's no problem. You're the owner, Albert, I mean Thayer Bussone IV. I am just a lowly cashier, Eskil Stocki.
“I've put out the word, but quietly. We're getting a lot of folks who are itching to get home, and this little scam might give them what they need to buy that ticket home.”
Carow shook his head. “This place reminds me of those 'company towns' you read about in the labor histories. The price for living here just about equals the money the workers make, so a lot of these people are stuck, unable to get home.”
Albert nodded. “One of the reasons I agreed to take this job on. The Contrioles are pretty evil, and I have no problem taking down one or more along the way.” He stretched. “Anything else? Anyone?”
Maria cleared her throat. “You know, the task may have come from our parents, and we can't be sure they aren't safety netting us somehow, but this sure feels like it's entirely our own con, doesn't it?”
The three agreed.
“I know that I've had to work my ass off here,” said Carow. “I could have used a little help some days. Still, I think the folks have been leaving us alone on this.”
Albert nodded. “I agree. Back to the operation, though. On my end, I just have to be the Owner of the Stables. We have two weeks. Time for me to put in some appearances.
“Security: we're in our roles from now until we're on our way back to Earth. Eddie, you're Hannon; Maria, you're Pia; Carow, you're Eskil, and I'm Thayer Bussone IV, but for God's sake, call me 'Jim'.”
As Albert put on the role, he seemed to enlarge, somehow. His voice deepened, and he hinted at a swagger.
Hannon turned to Pia. “How does he do that? It almost seems like he should have a cigar in his hand and gut spilling over his belt.”
Albert ignored the interruption. “We'll meet again only if there's some emergency. Everyone have their phones synched? Make sure the contacts on your phone reflect our aliases, too.
“It's been great to see you all again. We meet only as our roles require, got it? Any last questions? Okay—let's do this!”
***
“There it is again, sir,” said one of the watchmen aboard the bridge of Aphrodite Station. “Let me roll it back. Here. See? Station personnel goes down by four, then up by four twenty minutes later. There haven't been any EVAs.”
“Does the computer flag where?” the watch captain asked.
“No. Just that four people disappear, then reappear.”
“Bad sensor zone?”
“Computer doesn't say so,” said the watchman.
“Gangbang,” said an older watchman. “Saw it happen once. Bunch of people snuck into one of the upper decks, figuring the lower grav makes it better. Sensors can't tell when the infrared merges like that, so it counted six as one. Hornets showed up, busted in. Funny as hell.”
“Thank you,” said the watch captain drily. “I'm not logging anything this time. If it happens again, let me know, and we'll have the computer figure out who our ghosts are.”
STEP 5 – The Rope
Pia recognized Sandro from across the bar at the Golden Apple Casino, but kept her eyes downcast, staring at her phone or at the overhead monitors. She noticed the way he nonchalantly wandered over towards her location. It wasn't surprising, really. She knew what a path she cut among the local talent, which is to say, considerable.
The casino’s patrons sorted out into three classes: miners up from the surface, on-station staff, and tourists. Miners were nearly all men, the staff were a mixture, but lower-to-middle class, and the tourists were either very old or too young to be allowed in the casino. She was, to her reckoning, one of about ten eligible females in the place tonight, and she was the only one still in her twenties. It was a law of gravity that moved Sandro towards her.
Unfortunately, it moved a lot of other men over to her as well. She spent a great deal of her time refusing drink offers as well as others more intimate. She spoke to the polite, ignored the crude, and more than once motioned to the bartender to have a slob removed. All in all, a typical night at the Golden Apple Casino.
The entire compartment was not a whole lot larger than an Olympic-sized pool, including the stands. The number of people who could afford to gamble was limited, and each square foot had to pay for itself, or it was converted to some activity that would.
“And who is this lovely creature?” asked Sandro, to the various hangers-on.
“Don't know.”
“She won't talk.”
“Ice cube, I'd say.” The various men muttered under their breath.
“Has anyone asked her? No? Fools.” Sandro turned to gaze at Pia. “And who might you be?” he asked. “You light up the room.”
“That's lovely,” Pia said. “I am Pia Chiarella, from Elmont, New York.”
Sandro's eyes narrowed. “Pleased to meet you. I am Sandro, but you can call me Khan.”
“Khan. You don't look Asiatic. You look more…Italian.”
“I am. But I don't want to dwell on origins. I like to look towards destinations.”
Pia smiled. This guy was a charmer, no doubt. There was also no doubt that the destination he had in mind for her involved disrobing and probably pain. “Ah, sad. Sometimes the journey is the best part.” She glared at her phone. “Unless you're trying to get a bet down,” she said.
“Bet?” said Sandro, perplexed for a moment. He looked around at the monitors, which showed horse racing venues. “You are into the ponies?”
She smiled. “Elmont. It's where they run the Belmont Stakes every year. My Daddy got me involved early.” She switched on the tears, a medium drip. “Daddy…”
Sandro looked startled. “What's the matter?” he asked automatically.
Ah, so he reacts to tears. Pia slowly turned them off as she told her tale. “My parents were killed about a year ago in a helicopter crash. I'm an only child, I inherited everything. I graduated college in December, and since that time, I've been wandering around, trying to find myself, figuring out what to do. Their deaths really hit me hard. My boyfriend couldn't handle it, so he bailed. I decided to see what Venus had to offer, now I'm just waiting around for the next ship out of here. The next one leaves on the third of May. I've got about a week left to kill, and all I want to do is get a stupid bet down.”
Sandro pretended outrage. “Why won't they take the bet? Who is on the other end of the phone? I am a betting man myself, maybe I can help.”
“They tell me I'm late, the race is over. I don't see how, I always wait until five minutes before post time. Like this race: The sixth at Santa Anita. I'll message my bookie, and he'll take like fourty-five minutes to message me back that they're putting the seventh into the gates already. I don't get it!” Pia let frustration creep into her voice.
A slight smile fit itself onto Khan's face. He rubbed his mouth, a nervous gesture Pia had seen before. The man was a mass of tells. Right now, she was sure he thought she was an idiot, which was her
whole point.
“Let me see if I can explain it,” he said grabbing some items on the bar. He put his drink down, took her drink, set it on the bar, and set a salt shaker in a straight line with the other two items. “My drink is the Sun. Yours is Earth. The salt is Venus. Right now, the Sun blocks anything from Earth: radio waves, lasers, everything.”
Pia glanced at the monitors.
“What you are seeing is being bounced off of Mars. I'm not sure where it is in orbit now, but the signal from Earth has to travel away from Earth and the Sun to Mars, then retransmit down to Venus. That delays it—radio and laser aren't instant, it just seems that way on Earth. It wouldn't surprise me if the extra delay is as much as ten minutes. Your phone call has to do the same trip, in reverse. That makes the delay twenty minutes, at least! No wonder your bets are late!”
Pia stared at the model on the bar top, tracing paths out with her finger. She wrinkled her nose, which she knew drove men nuts, then smoothed everything out. “I'm so stupid!” she cried. “Why couldn't my bookie have told me this?”
“Different ways of telling the same thing. Some folks need a model, others words, others just a picture.”
Pia gazed up at Khan, let her expression soften and her eyes widen. She saw his nostrils expand slightly. Yes, he was hooked. She reached up and fingered her right earring, and watched Hannon put down an empty glass and head in her direction.
“Sandro! I thought I saw you here!” said Vult.
Sandro sighed and turned away from Pia. She saw him make the effort to be friendly. “Ah. Hannon, is it? Still here? I haven't seen you since the ship.”
Pia watched the two acquaintances chat. She noted, with wry amusement, how Khan shifted closer to her when Hannon arrived. Alpha male, for certain, she thought.
“And who is this you are protecting?” asked Hannon.
“Hi,” said Pia. “I am Pia Chiarella, and I need no man's protection.” She put her hand on Khan's arm. “But it is nice to have one offer. You are?”
Pia and Hannon exchanged their cover identities; Sandro added his real story.
“So,” Hannon said, “are you going by Sandro or Khan these days?”
“Oh, Khan. I like the sound of it better. My name always sounded like 'Sandra' to me. It's time I made a change.”
“Then do so,” said Pia. “You are a man, you can do what you want with nobody telling you otherwise.”
Khan appeared lost in thought. Pia let it go on for a beat or two, then looked up at the monitor. “Oh, they're on the ninth race already. I wonder if I can get a bet down on, what, the twelfth? She keyed her phone.
“You can forget it, Pia,” said Hannon. “Racing's over.” He held up his phone, showing a dual display of local station time and the same time in California, adjusted for speed of light delay.
“Oh, I hate it! Why do they even bother showing the races if it's impossible to bet on them?”
“It's not impossible,” said the man in the chair directly behind Pia. “Just very difficult. At least, until the first of May.”
Khan's eyes darted all over. From the new man, to Pia, then over to Hannon, who leaned on the bar. Khan moved to triangulate between the new man and Pia.
“And you are?” he said with the right amount of menace in his voice. “It's rude listening in on other people's conversations.”
“Eskil Stocki,” the new man said, holding out his hand, which Khan pointedly ignored. “As soon as someone said 'horse racing', I started listening in. I can't help it any more than you can when someone says your name. You see, I'm a cashier and the junior owner of The Augean Stables, an off-track betting operation we're starting up here on Aphrodite.”
“Oh, good!” exclaimed Pia. “Does that mean I can bet on the races?”
Eskil nodded. “We saw lots of people like the missus here, and a bunch of us pooled our savings, rented the cubic, and started construction.”
Khan looked with disgust at the black grease under Eskil's nails. “I presume that some of your stake was sweat equity.”
“Yup!” Eskil said. “Beats spending scrip. Can you say 'profit sharing'? Make enough, maybe I can get off this drum and get back home!”
Hannon perked up. “How are you going to beat the speed of light delay?”
“That's the thing!” said Eskil. “We're completely separate from the racetracks on Earth. We'll pool them all here and pay them out according to race odds.”
“Seems risky to me,” said Khan. “If the pool skews too badly one way or the other, then you could be wiped out.”
Eskil shook his head. “I'm just the cashier here on the station, but the way Mr. Bussone—he's the owner—explained it, the skews would be random, and just as likely to give us too much money as well as too little. He said it's a whole lot easier to weather variations in the money pool than to set up our own odds. Easier on the customers, too.” Eskil finished his beer and stood up. “We're behind that aluminum plate on corridor 2, Deck F. We open on the first, and don't forget Derby Day on the second!”
“I should go, too,” said Pia. “When I get this frustrated, all I want to do is get into a gii and dance katas until my mind is blank. I'm afraid I won't be any good company, Mr. Khan. I'm sure I'll see you again.”
“I'm sorry to see you go, Pia,” said Hannon. “I'll go check out this Stables thing later. The first is just a couple of days away. Join us?”
“If Mr. Khan goes, I am sure I will attend.” Pia drifted towards the exit, followed by half the eyes at the bar.
“Well, it's just you and me, Khan old man,” said Hannon. “Let's get some serious drinking done.”
***
“Your attention, please. The passage last year of Comet Temple-Tuttle has released a stream of dust and pebbles that may impact the station over the next two days. We have damage control standing by. There is little likelihood of danger. However, if you are in a compartment that has been damaged by space debris, please follow the directions of any Security Force personnel. When in doubt, head inward, to the center of your deck.
“Again, there is little likelihood that anything will happen. This announcement is made as a courtesy to you, in compliance with UN Space Use Regulation 439a. Thank you.”
STEP 6 – The Tale
“Welcome, one and all, to the first extra-terrestrial off-track betting parlor in the Solar System! Mr. Bussone, if you will join me?” Giovanna Contriole handed a pair of scissors to Thayer Bussone IV, positioned her scissors, and together they cut the ribbon across the doorway of The Augean Stables, officially opening the cubic to business.
Sandro 'Khan' Contriole was suitably impressed. If his mother, Chief of Operations aboard Aphrodite Station felt compelled to come down to cut the ribbon, it couldn't be a fly-by-night place.
Pia stood demurely next to him. She still held herself aloof, a word Khan was using rather a lot when thinking about her. He understood, in a distant fashion, why she was wrapped up in herself—she was still young, unsure, and with both parents suddenly dead. He felt drawn to her more than ever. Most women, when they realized that he was prime marriage material, practically threw themselves at him. Oh, they were fun for a bit, but he had to regularly change them out, like scraping barnacles off the SS Sandro, otherwise they would grind him to a halt.
This Pia seemed different, somehow. He wasn't sure if he was attracted, exactly. More like intrigued. She was leaving on the Hesperian Argosy, whose launch window opened at one AM on the third, so he had about thirty-six hours before she warped out of his life forever. Spending them at an OTB parlor wasn't exactly how he'd choose to use them, but getting her into bed would clearly involve negotiation, and offering a gift first seemed a reasonable way to proceed.
“Did I miss it? Did I miss it?”
Damn, thought Khan. It's that miserable Vult. That man had the worse timing in the universe. Khan almost had Pia in the bar until the kid showed up. She had escaped then, but not this time. Her arm felt very solid under his hand. Maybe she real
ly does do katas!
“Khan! And Pia! Maybe this is my lucky day.”
“Hello, Hannon,” said Pia. “How nice of you to join us. We're just waiting for the crowd to flood in. They've already cut the ribbon.”
“Nuts!” he said. “I never should have had that second drink.”
“Or the first,” said Khan, under his breath. Pia giggled quietly next to him. Vult ignored them, scanning the crowd. “Where's what's his name, the cashier? I expected to see him here.”
“Mister Stocki is probably on the job in his cashier's cage,” said Pia. “Why don't we go in now? Maybe we can get a bet down.”
“Lead on, fine lady,” said Hannon, a touch more loudly than necessary.
Khan sighed. Why must I always be surrounded by louts?
It looked like any other OTB parlor on Earth. Black polyester carpeting, darkly painted ceiling, dim lighting, and brown counters. Screens were everywhere, showing horses racing, horses walking, horses pulling little carts with the jockey riding behind. Already there were lines at the machines that took scrip and issued bet slips. A row of cashier cages lined one wall. No Eskil Stocki among them.
“Maybe he has the night shift,” said Khan, but Pia would not be put off. She approached a cage without a line in front of it and asked for him.
“Mr. Stocki is working the VIP cage. Just ask a guard.”
The guard took one look at Khan and was about to gush, but Khan shook his head quickly. The guard escorted them through a pressure door into a special, nearly empty section of the establishment. Eskil Stocki spied them from his spot in the cage and gave them a little wave. They walked over.
***
“What is this place?” asked Pia. “It's certainly a lot cheerier than the other one.” Gone was the dim and dark, this room was brighter, with buff carpeting, overstuffed easy chairs and couches, and pleasant lighting.
“They didn't tell you?” asked Eskil. “This is the VIP area. You have to be betting fifty thousand and up to be allowed in here. Welcome!”
The Longest Con: A Family of Grifters Tale Page 4