Mission: Earth Fortune of Fear

by Ron L. Hubbard

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  He looked up. He said to Krak, "You're working too hard. We're going to Atlantic City."

  She stopped putting cleaning things away and looked at him with a shocked expression on her face. "WHAT? And leave your own work undone on this planet?"

  "No, no," he said. "Not Atalanta, Manco. Atlantic City, New Jersey. And wash your face. This has got to be a clean hit."

  "Where is this place?" said Krak, coming over to him.

  He showed her the ad. He hadn't read it all. Toward the bottom it said:

  FREE FLOOR SHOW

  The Clowns

  The Apes

  Dingle-Poop Rock Band

  Mamie Boomp, Continental Singer

  "Oh," said Krak, "Iknow her. And Iwant to see her, top, to get her opinion on spring styles."

  A voice sounded behind them. "Anybody home?" It was Bang-Bang. He was carrying a sack. "I'm sorry, Joy, but those birds in that fancy shop never heard of nothing called 'hot jolt.' So I got the Bavarian Mocha Mint and the champagne. But Ithink that Scotch would go better in it. Not even the cat will touch champagne: it gets in his nose."

  "Where'd you park the cab?" said Heller. "We're going to Atlantic City." He held up the ad.

  Bang-Bang looked at it. His finger came down to the bottom of the page. He was pointing out the final line to Heller. It said:

  Scalpello Casino Corp. of New Jersey

  Bang-Bang said, "That's the Atlantic City Mafia. Small time, maybe, but vicious. If you're going to knock the place over, I ought to go with you as a back-up gun. But that (bleeped) parole officer is narrow-minded: He won't let me set foot out of New York. So you be awful careful, Jet-you hear me speaking?"

  Heller said, "The lady and I will be all right."

  Bang-Bang's eyes shot wide. "The lady! You takin' Joy down there? Jesus-beggin' your pardon, miss-but she's too beautiful to let them punks even glance at her! They don't deserve it!"

  "She'll be all right," said Heller.

  "Oh, Jet," said Bang-Bang, "that's a (bleeped) – begging your pardon, miss-dangerous place. Those (bleepards) – begging your pardon, miss-don't care who the hell they shoot." He apparently saw Jet wasn't impressed. He gave up. Then he rallied. "Well, at least I won't let her be driven two hundred and fifty miles in that (bleeped) – begging your pardon, miss-cab. It doesn't ride near good enough. I'll phone the 34th Street East Heliport for reservations and run you across town. They got a new fast chopper run to Atlantic City that's safe and comfortable. And I'll sweep out the cab."

  He grabbed a phone.

  Heller was rummaging around, picking up this and that.

  The Countess Krak raced into the secretary's boudoir and shut the door; going to get dressed, I guessed, and pack a bag.

  I was really smiling. The Atlantic City Mafia. I had heard all about them. They specialized in hijacking and beating up high winners.

  My euphoria increased. There wasn't any way I could lose. If Heller lost money, it would be just that much less that they would have to meet their bills. If he won, the Atlantic City Mafia would attack him and maybe he and Krak would both wind up in the hospital.

  What a beautiful day! It might be cold winter for a lot of people. It seemed like the balmiest possible weather to me. It was a downright rosy world!

  Chapter 5

  Despite the wintry day, I went out and took a turn around the yard. I felt too full of springs to sit too long.

  Torgut was on duty. He was wearing a new sheepskin coat and boots and cap. He was carrying a club. He looked much better fed. He bowed ceremoniously. That was good.

  I caught a glimpse of some of the staff. Their faces were white with fright. How very satisfactory!

  The BMW was gone and there was no trace of the little boys. How nice and quiet!

  I went back in and cleaned and oiled some of my guns to while away the time. And, as I worked, a message came through the slot. It said:

  Be advised I am shifting the transmitters to Atlantic City area.

  Raht

  That made me blink. I myself had forgotten that Heller and Krak were going to go beyond the two-hundred-mile activator-receiver range. How had he found out?

  Raht, to make up for the lack of his partner Terb, must have that office bugged. He might even have bugs of his own on Heller and Krak. I felt very heartened. I had even scared Raht into doing his job for a change. My, things certainly were looking up!

  Heller and Krak didn't stand a chance! I could order them shot at any time. All I needed was the word from Lombar that Heller's communication terminal on Voltar had been nullified. Now all I had to do was make sure they were enough slowed down so that they accomplished nothing that would upset Lombar's plans! And I certainly had the money to do that!

  Tolerantly, as one looks at cripples who are sure to lose any race, I turned my attention back to the screens.

  "But why do they have those silly blades on top?" Krak wanted to know.

  They were riding in a multipassenger helicopter.

  "To keep the pilot's head cool," said Heller.

  "Oh, Jettero, you're fooling me."

  "Why, I wouldn't do that. They have very hotheaded pilots."

  "Well, they certainly don't have proper antigravity airbuses. The least you could do to straighten them out is teach them how to make hot jolt."

  "I'll put it right at the top of my list," said Heller. "Look, there's Atlantic City."

  They both looked out the window at a cold and dismal winter scene. The gray Atlantic was pushing sullen swells up against the beach. The five amusement piers suffered occasional windblown spumes of chilly spray. The high-rise buildings and hotels stood battered along the mostly shuttered Boardwalk.

  Heller said, "Now, listen. Don't call me by the name Wister. Call me Johnny. We'll pretend you're just some dizzy dame that I picked up."

  The Countess bristled. "Well, I like that! Why shouldn't I call you 'Wister'?"

  "It's sort of too well known."

  "Aha. I knew you'd gotten famous here."

  "Too condemned famous," said Heller. "But we won't go into that now. You just be a dizzy dame."

  "I smell chicanery," said Krak.

  "You do. We're broke."

  Krak shook her head. "I can buy whatever we need. I have a credit card."

  "You can't buy what we have to have for IRS taxes. So please just be a dizzy dame."

  She said, "Am I in such a spin I don't even know who the enemy is?"

  "The Atlantic City Mafia runs the gambling here. They wouldn't share your enthusiasm for me. They specialize in rip-offs and we are going to rip them off."

  "Not something criminal," said Krak.

  "No. All legal. We just happen to have what we will call a 'technical advantage.' Now, I may call on you to place some bets and I may call on you to take care of the money won in case something happens. So, is your collar radio working?"

  She touched something inside her coat and said, "Testing."

  The sound seemed to come out of his collar.

  He touched his own collar and said, "Testing."

  The sound seemed to come out of her collar.

  They were using Spurk button radios! Well, it wouldn't do them any good.

  They were standing up to get out of the plane and I could see what they were wearing, a necessary datum for me if they separated.

  I blinked. She was garbed in a white fur hat, white boots, purse and gloves. Her trousers, probably part of a suit, were wide-bottomed and metallic blue. But it was the fur jacket she had on that set it off. Gray chinchilla! Even though it was only waist length, it must have cost a fortune! Others might think it a spectacular outfit. I found it only striking: at my pocketbook!

  He had on a gray flannel lounge suit and wore a gray hat with a wide brim. He was getti
ng into a trench coat of black leather.

  Amongst the rest of that crowd, that pair stood out like beacons! All the better! The Atlantic City Mafia would have no trouble at all tailing them to recover any loot.

  They were landing now and the festive crowd of high-rollers climbed into a ready bus.

  Atlantic City thought it would become very prosperous when, way back in 1976 Earth time, New Jersey got the right to have gambling casinos. And, although some new hotels were built in this decrepit old carnival town, its great expectations did not quite match up to the public relations ballyhoo. A drug runner had told me all about it when I was on Earth before. The Mafia mob had gradually taken over the key casinos and, due to their objections to winners, hopes of rivalling Las Vegas had grown dim.

  They must be pretty desperate to be running an extravaganza in the middle of a New Jersey winter. Those icy winds off the Atlantic Ocean practically blew people off the Boardwalk. There's nothing sadder-looking than a carnival town off season.

  Heller and Krak were no sooner out of the bus than Krak spotted the name "Mamie Boomp." It was in very small letters at the bottom of the biggest marquee on the biggest building which held the biggest casino.

  They fought the wind and got inside. They checked their hats and coats in a cloakroom and walked up to a mezzanine that overlooked the casino floor. There were some tables and chairs along the rail. Heller chose one and was about to seat the Countess when she said, "No, no. You go on and do whatever you are going to do. I'm going to try for backstage and see if I can find Mamie."

  Heller sat down and looked at the crowd below.

  I was quite surprised. There were quite a lot of people in the place, especially for early afternoon.

  It was a pretty vast casino. Just below him were three roulette tables. They were running and, while not jammed, were not deserted either.

  Heller turned and looked at the mezzanine around him. To his right and left were big square pillars, making the place he sat a sort of alcove at the rail. Behind him was a very wide, carpeted space. To his right, a cor­ridor went from it deeper into the hotel. Directly behind him, another corridor stretched away, seemingly to bedrooms.

  He had been carrying a case. He put it on the table and opened it. The first thing he took out seemed to be an adding machine. At least, it looked like one. He took off the bottom and there inside it lay his very ornate, silver-chased and engraved Llama.45 automatic! I blinked. Then I realized that, encased in the bottom of what was apparently an adding machine, the gun had not registered as a gun on the detectors at the New York heliport. He checked it and then put it in what appeared to be a back belt holster. He removed several clips from the adding machine and put them in his pocket.

  That done, he pulled a package of black plastic garbage bags from his grip and put it on the table. Again I blinked. Did he think he was going to win so much money that he needed that many huge sacks that size to carry it? If he did, he'd have the whole Atlantic City Mafia to fight off en masse!

  He set out a pad one could write on that made multiple copies. It had clamps on the bottom and he fixed it on his knee.

  He opened then another case. A sign: Nikon. Where had I seen that before? Ah, Lynchburg. He had bought two scrap cameras and transferred the labels and this was one of them.

  THE TIME-SIGHT!

  He was unstrapping it and checking its battery. With its Nikon label, the Voltarian time-sight looked for all the world like an ancient 8mm motion-picture camera.

  He turned to the rail, pointed it down at the first roulette wheel below and got to work.

  There was a huge clock on the far wall of the casino, very futuristic, but it had a second hand. Heller would look into the eyepiece of the time-sight and then twiddle a knob, then glance at the clock and write something on the kneepad.

  It required a trained eye to read that image in the time-sight and it took me several minutes before I could make out more than flashing dots. Then I could see numbers.

  Heller was reading the winning numbers of that wheel for the rest of the afternoon and evening! And he was recording them to the exact second on the pad!

  He couldn't lose!

  Oh, the Atlantic City Mafia would kill him if he won the quantities he inevitably would!

  Heller started on the second table's wheel. He was advancing the time-sight knob a minute or two at a time. He was writing without looking at the pad and he was doing it so fast I was missing most of the numbers.

  Heller had finished the second wheel and was working on the third when voices sounded behind him.

  He did not look around. He was almost finished.

  I recognized Mamie Boomp's hoarse tones and very American accent. "The mayor? Oh, I had the date all right, dear. But his wife was raising so much hell with him, he couldn't do a thing. That's why you find me singing here in this dump. And if they don't come across with our pay tonight, there won't be any floor show. Bunch of hoods."

  Heller had completed. He turned around. Before Krak could even introduce him, Mamie said, "So this is the sailor. Oh, man, you can pick 'em, Joy." To Heller she said, "How's the fleet?"

  Heller said, "I hope okay." He courteously seated the girls at the table.

  Mamie said, "So Bonbucks Teller worked out. Well, I'm really glad. I can't afford them myself. Maybe I ought to find me a sailor and settle down. Do they pay you well, these days, young feller?"

  "I haven't seen any Fleet pay for quite a while," said Heller.

  "Hey, that's no good," said Mamie. "That's two of us. If these hoods don't cough up... Oh, oh. We've got company."

  Two very tough-looking men had come up to the table. One said, "What you doin' with that camera, sonny?"

  Heller said, "It has no film in it."

  The second tough mug said, "Can we see it?"

  Heller opened it in front of them. "See? No film."

  The mug said, "Well, put it away, kid. We don't allow no pictures in here. What's this? An adding machine?"

  "I got a system," said Heller. "The numbers come in on the celestial spheres and I add them up."

  The first tough mug let out a barking laugh and looked at the other one as though to say, here's another one. The second one said, "Well, figure out anything you like, kid. But put the machinery away. Have fun."

  "Oh, I will," said Heller.

  They walked off.

  "Well, kids, I got to go on shortly. We only do two shows this afternoon and if we don't get paid, there won't be any tonight. Sailor, would you like to buy us some dinner around six?"

  "I'd be charmed to," said the perfectly mannered Royal officer, getting up as she rose.

  "I'll be on that stage way over there to the end of the hall," said Mamie. "So listen good."

  She was gone and Heller sat back down.

  "She's nice," said the Countess.

  "You're nicer," said Heller. "Now, pay attention, dizzy dame. Here is your list. The times are by that big clock up there on the wall-the one with the gold cupids. Here is $1,000. Go down to that window and buy $1,000 worth of chips. Go to a table and put down your bet. Bet on whole numbers only. Never bet more than $285 at a time."

  "Why?"

  "The win on a whole number is thirty-five to one. Your winnings must not exceed more than $10,000 at a time. IRS takes note of who wins more than $10,000 and they record it, but up to that they don't. So every time you win, cash in your chips. Then go back to a different table and bet on a whole number."

  "It is chicanery," said the Countess. "What is this list?"

  "The winning numbers with their times for each of those three roulette wheels. For some reason, all play stops at 10:21 P. M. tonight on all wheels. But until then, those are the numbers that win. Now, here is a plastic bag. If your purse overflows, start using the bag. Ready?"

  "And if we win enough money, we'll be that much closer to going home?" said the Countess.

  "Right."

  "Let's go," said the Countess.

  She went d
irectly to buy her chips but Heller– stuffing the rest of the garbage bags under his belt out of sight-checked his case at the cloakroom, bought some chips and then went to another table than the one the Countess was standing by.

  She watched a couple of spins to see what the game was all about. She looked at her list for that table number, verified that it really had just come up with the numbers on her list, glanced at the time and then put $285 worth of chips on the next list number, 0.

  "Round and round the little ball goes," said the man at the wheel. "Where she stops, nobody knows. All bets down."

  The metallic sizzling of the ball slowed. It went into number 5, then with a clink, dropped into 0.

  The croupier raked in all other bets than 0, tabbed it and shoved a stack of chips at the Countess.

  She promptly picked them up, went over to the window and cashed them in. She dropped $9,975 into the sack. She was going to bypass her purse from the start.

  Heller, at another table, had placed a bet on 13 and 13 came up. He took his chips and went over and cashed them in and dropped the money in his sack. He, too, was going to bypass inadequate things like pockets.

  The Countess looked at the clock, went to a different table, looked at her list and bet on 5. It came up. She took her chips to the window and cashed them in. She dropped her second $9,975 into her sack.

  Back and forth they went, always a different table from the one they had just played.

  I was certain somebody would catch on. The crowd was fairly thick and it was not too badly dressed. But Heller in his gray lounge suit, blue silk shirt and blue polka-dot ascot really stood out. He was taller and blonder than any of the men around.

  The tunic the Countess had been wearing under the chinchilla was bright metallic blue to match the wide-bottomed pants, and even though it seemed very un-frilled, she stood out like a spotlighted model amongst the furs and dowdy dresses of the rest.

  How long could they keep this up without the house getting wise?

  After about an hour, two men were suddenly confronting Heller. One of them looked him up and down. "How old are you, kid?"

  "Old enough," said Heller.

  "Kids under eighteen aren't allowed in here," said one. "You got any I.D.?"

  "Right here," said Heller. He pulled out a driver's license and passport. He handed them over.