by Mike Resnick
“I heard something about it,” responded, Bonhomme. “He mentioned that you were feeling distressed, and asked me to look in on you.” He stared at her. “You look just fine to me.”
“I am.”
“Then why did you tell him otherwise?”
“It got you out here, didn't it?” said Suma. “I was rather hoping he'd come himself, but I suppose an underling is better than no one at all.”
“You think I'm an underling?” he asked, amused.
“I know you are.”
“Well, then, speaking as one underling to another, what seems to be your problem?”
“I don't have a problem,” said Suma. “You do.”
“Oh? And just what is my problem?”
“The Madonna fired me earlier this week.”
“I'm heartbroken to hear it,” said Bonhomme. “However, people get fired all the time. I hardly see that it's any of my concern—although I must say it seems profligately wasteful of so beautiful a young woman.”
“Oh, it's your problem, all right. I don't intend to stay fired.”
“Good,” he said. “I like a woman with spunk.” He walked over to the bar. “Are you sure I can't fix you something?”
“No,” she replied. “But don't let me stop you from making yourself a drink. I think you're going to need it.”
He stared at her for a moment, then pulled out a bottle, uncapped it, and poured a few ounces of its contents into a tall glass. “Shall I assume your being fired precipitated your message?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Then why didn't you mention it at the time? The extra charge for one more sentence would have been minimal.” He took a sip of his drink, added a couple of ice cubes, and returned to his chair.
“If I had mentioned that I was fired, you wouldn't be here now, and our mutual friend would be turning cartwheels in his executive office.”
“You make him sound like a spiteful man,” noted Bonhomme.
“No,” said Suma. “Just greedy.”
“Everybody's greedy,” replied Bonhomme. “He just happens to be a little more efficient at it than most of us.”
“He's not as efficient as he thinks,” said Suma. “For that matter, neither are you.”
“Okay,” said Bonhomme pleasantly. “I'm sitting down, I'm relaxed, I've fortified myself with liquor—so tell me how this is all my problem, and then let's get on to the fun part of the evening.”
“All right,” she said. “I met our mutual friend about a year and a half ago.”
“I know,” interjected Bonhomme. “He came home raving about you.”
“He came back almost every weekend,” continued Suma. “He was a very nice man. He always had a gift or two for me.” She held out her hand so that Bonhomme could see her diamond-and-platinum bracelet. “This was one of his presents.”
“It probably wouldn't ransom more than two or three emperors,” commented Bonhomme dryly.
“It's very pretty, isn't it?” she said. “Anyway, when my vacation came up eight months ago, he insisted on flying me all the way to Deluros.”
“He can be very generous to people he likes.”
“I know. While I was there he begged me to quit the Comet and become his mistress.” She smiled at the memory. “He offered me a penthouse, and a country home on Earth itself, and all kinds of money.”
“You should have taken him up on it,” said Bonhomme. “He's a very successful man.”
She shook her head. “I've got more money than I need, and I sure as hell didn't plan to spend the next ten years sitting around waiting for him to sneak away from his family.” She paused. “But because he was nice to me, I decided not to hurt his feelings, so I simply told him that my contract with the Comet had three more years to run.”
“Well, this is a fascinating melodrama in the life of a lovely young girl,” said Bonhomme, “but I fail to see what it has to do with me.”
“We're just coming to the good part,” said Suma with a smile.
“Oh?”
She nodded. “Do you know what he said to me when I told him about my contract?”
“I haven't the foggiest notion.”
“He laughed and told me not to worry, that in less than a year I'd have more time on my hands than I knew what to do with.”
“Now, how could he have known the Madonna was going to fire you?” asked Bonhomme.
“Oh, I don't think he did. I got the distinct feeling that he thought the Comet would be out of business in a year's time.”
“Did he say so?”
“Not in so many words, but that was the impression he gave.” She paused. “He also mentioned your name.”
“He's a good man,” said Bonhomme with a sigh, “but he talks too much in bed. Always has, always will.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I put two and two together, and I decided that he planned to wreck the Comet. I even figured out that you would have something to do with it.”
“You've got an overactive imagination,” said Bonhomme.
“Perhaps,” she said. “At least, a lot of my patrons seem to agree with you.”
“You should listen to them. You're building some kind of paranoid fantasy here. Why the hell would anyone want to destroy the Comet?”
“You know, I asked myself that very question,” replied Suma. “And when I couldn't answer it, I asked a number of rather intimate friends. Do you know the answer I came up with?”
“Would you like me to guess, or will you just tell me?”
“I found out that his main competitor for the chairmanship of the Vainmill Syndicate is the head of the Entertainment and Leisure Division. Now, I never really thought he meant to blow the ship out of the sky—but it certainly makes sense for him to tamper with the books so he can show that we've been hiding enormous losses, doesn't it?”
“You think it makes sense for a member of the Vainmill board to let a twenty-billion-credit investment sink without a trace?” said Bonhomme with a mocking laugh. “Suma, I think you'd better stick to staring at the ceiling for a living. You'll never make it as a detective.”
“The investment won't sink,” replied Suma. “Just the business. He'll find some other use for the ship.”
“Do you know how quickly they'll laugh you out of court with that accusation?” said Bonhomme.
“Yes, I do. That's why I decided to back my word up with some evidence.”
“Evidence?” said Bonhomme, frowning. “What evidence?”
“I made friends with a woman in Security—you'll forgive me if I don't tell you her name—and had her make a copy of all the existing financial records six months ago.” She grinned at him. “Can you guess what I had her do last week?”
“You tell me,” said Bonhomme grimly.
“I had her make another copy, after Harry Redwine had been working on the books for a month.”
“Where are these copies?”
“In a safe place,” replied Suma with a smug smile.
“Why in the world are you suspicious of Harry?” asked Bonhomme. “He's just an old friend. He's never worked for me in his life.”
“Perhaps not,” said Suma dubiously. “But he's an accountant, and he's from Deluros, and he's sleeping with the Madonna.”
“What does sleeping with the Madonna have to do with anything?”
“It's a business move, nothing more,” said Suma. “You don't really believe he could prefer her to the rest of us, do you? It's just a way to protect his ass, and to get her to fire anyone who knows what's going on.”
“Like you?” suggested Bonhomme dryly.
“Exactly. And of course our friend would be delighted if he knew, because he'd think it meant I was available.”
“There are worse situations to be in,” said Bonhomme. “Why don't you take him up on his offer?”
“Victor, you don't seem to understand what I'm telling you,” said Suma patiently. “I'm not letting anyone kill the Comet—not you, not your boss, not
Harry. If you persist in trying, I'll turn the records over to the head of Entertainment and Leisure and a couple of other division heads whom I happen to know on a very personal basis.”
“Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
“No—except to say that if anything happens to me, I want the records turned over to the press.” She smiled pleasantly. “I also told my bodyguard that if any harm comes to me tonight, you're the one who should be held responsible.”
“You've got a bodyguard?”
“Gamble DeWitt,” she said proudly.
“He's on the Comet?”
“Yes. And he's very loyal.”
“I can just imagine,” said Bonhomme. He finished his drink and stared at her for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked at last. “You're holding all the aces, so why don't you just go public and be done with it?”
“Because I don't like hurting people,” she answered.
Bonhomme laughed aloud. “You have a delightful sense of humor.”
“Really,” she said. “And of course, there's an alternative.”
“I have a feeling that we just came to the gist of this conversation.”
“Yes we did, so pay careful attention,” said Suma.
“Because if we don't reach an accommodation, I'm afraid I won't have any choice but to expose all of you.”
“Which would no doubt cause you great emotional pain,” said Bonhomme sardonically. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”
“The Velvet Comet must stay in business.”
“I'm sure once our friend finds out what you've got on him, he'll be the very soul of reason,” replied Bonhomme. “Is there anything else?”
“Of course.”
“Somehow I had a feeling there would be,” he said. “What is it?”
“I want the ship to have motive power. We can do much better traveling from one solar system to another, rather than making all the patrons come to Charlemagne.”
“Motive power for the Comet can run into a lot of money.”
“We'll make it back,” she said confidently. “Every time we take up orbit around a planet, we'll be worldwide news. Planetary governments will bid for the privilege of having the Velvet Comet visit them for a month or two.”
Bonhomme sighed. “I suppose it can be arranged.”
“And there's one thing more,” continued Suma.
“Isn't there always?” said Bonhomme wryly.
“It's for your own protection.”
“How thoughtful of you. Go ahead.”
“The Madonna has to have some notion of what's been going on,” began Suma. “After all, she's been living with Harry for more than a month.” She stared directly at Bonhomme. “The Madonna loves this ship almost as much as I do, and she's a very stern, moral woman.”
“Not reasonable, like yourself ?” suggested Bonhomme.
“Totally unreasonable,” agreed Suma. “If she gets her hands on the data, she'll almost certainly blow the whistle on you.”
“Whereas if you became the madam, you could keep the lid on everything?”
“I'm glad to see that we understand each other,” she said with a smile. “Either way, the Comet is going to survive. But if you leave the Madonna in charge, you're not going to survive along with it. She's not as conciliatory as I am.”
“Obviously not.”
“It's time for a change, anyway,” said Suma with a smile that was a mixture of arrogance and triumph. “People like you and Harry and the Madonna can stockpile all the yesterdays you want, but tomorrow belongs to me. You're the past, I'm the future; it's inevitable that I wind up in control of the ship. Besides,” she added, “the Madonna has been very stupid.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“She forgot the prime axiom of a whorehouse: that there's a difference between love and sex. Her job is dispensing sex, and instead she fell in love with the man who's rigging the Comet's books. It was a very unprofessional thing to do.”
“I have a feeling it's a pitfall you'll never have to worry about,” commented Bonhomme.
“Never,” echoed Suma. “Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, that makes her expendable, even if she didn't have all her other faults.”
“I gather her major fault is that she's got a job that you want.”
“She's had it long enough. It's my turn now—and I'll do it a damned sight better than she ever did.”
“Perhaps,” said Bonhomme. “But allow me to point out that you're not the only person with a contract. The Madonna has one too.”
“Contracts can be broken.”
“Not if she's toying with blowing the whistle, they can't.”
“Contract signers can be broken, too,” added Suma softly.
“I hope you're not suggesting murder,” said Bonhomme. “Because I won't have anything to do with it.”
“I'm not suggesting anything,” she replied. “I merely made an observation.”
“Well, let me suggest that murder is out of the question,” he said firmly.
“What if the Madonna were to have an accident?” asked Suma. “Not a fatal one, but one that put her in the hospital for a few months?”
“We'd certainly need an acting madam during that period,” said Bonhomme carefully. “And of course, if it should be decided that she really wasn't fit to return to duty, the position would probably become permanent.” He lit another cigarette. “Mind you, I'm not recommending anything of the kind.”
“Of course not,” said Suma.
“I would never recommend anything illegal,” he continued. “And if something illegal were to occur, I wouldn't want to know anything about it.”
“What could occur?” asked Suma innocently.
“Who knows?” replied Bonhomme with an eloquent shrug. “It's a big ship. Doubtless there are numerous health hazards around.”
“Doubtless,” agreed Suma.
Chapter 18
The Madonna was still asleep when Redwine left the apartment. He had a quick breakfast in one of the restaurants, then took the tram over to the Home, and shortly thereafter was ushered into Rasputin's office.
“Good morning, Harry,” said the Security chief, looking up from his desktop computer. “I've been waiting for you.”
“I'll just bet you have,” said Redwine, sitting down opposite him. “Got any coffee?”
“I'm afraid not,” replied Rasputin. “But I can send for some.”
Redwine shook his head. “No. Once we secure the room, I don't want to be bothered.”
“You're the boss,” said Rasputin with a shrug. “Cigar?” he added, opening his desk drawer and withdrawing a pair.
“I've got my own,” replied Redwine, pulling one out of a pocket and lighting it.
Rasputin touched a quartet of small squares on his computer, then turned back to Redwine. “Okay, Harry, the room's sealed off.”
Redwine withdrew his skeleton card and manipulated it. “Just to make sure,” he explained.
“All right,” said Rasputin, leaning back on his chair.
“Shall we get down to business?”
“That's what I'm here for,” said Redwine. “But we need some ground rules first.”
“You name ‘em, and I'll tell you if I can live with ‘em.”
“First off, everything I tell you is confidential.”
“Forever?” asked Rasputin.
“Until either the Madonna or myself releases you from your promise.”
“That's acceptable,” said Rasputin after some consideration.
“Also, I want you to keep a 24-hour-a-day watch on the Madonna—and I'd prefer that she didn't know about it.”
“How much danger is she in?”
“I don't know,” admitted Redwine. “I wish I did.”
“I'll take care of it,” said the Security chief promptly. “Anything else.”
“Yeah. One more thing.”
“What?”
“I'm leaving with Bonhomme in a few days, and I do
n't want your team at the airlock inspecting my luggage.”
“That'll depend on your story,” said Rasputin.
“Fair enough,” agreed Redwine.
“All right,” said Rasputin. “Are there any other conditions?”
“No. If those are acceptable to you, we can begin.”
“They're acceptable.”
“I imagine you've got a pretty good general idea of what's going on,” began Redwine.
“Probably,” said Rasputin. “But you tell me the details, and I'll let you know if I was right.”
“All right. I was sent here to doctor the Comet's financial records.”
“Not exactly a surprise, given your prior record of accomplishments,” commented Rasputin dryly.
“True,” said Redwine. “The surprise came a little later. I committed the one sin that's unforgivable in my line of work.”
“The Madonna?”
Redwine nodded. “I became emotionally involved with the person I was being paid to victimize.”
“You know,” said Rasputin, puffing on his cigar, “we can save a lot of time if you'll just give me a blow-by-blow account of this whole operation from start to finish.”
“All right,” said Redwine, launching into a brief history of his previous jobs for his unknown employer, his instructions regarding the Velvet Comet, and the manner in which he had sabotaged the books.
When he was through, he noticed that his cigar had gone out, and he re-lit it.
“Now, let me see if I've got it straight,” said Rasputin at last. “As things stand now, the Comet is hiding a sixty-three-billion-credit deficit, accumulated over the past nine years.”
“That's right.”
“And the computer is rigged to revert to the original figures in ten months?”
Redwine nodded. “Unless the Madonna decides to move the date up or back. I'll be keeping her informed of conditions on Deluros while I'm trying to hunt us up a protector.”
“Can anyone un-rig the computer?”
“Not without a skeleton card. All we've got to do is keep Victor from getting suspicious for the next three or four days.” He paused and stared at Rasputin. “And if your men inspect my luggage while Victor and I are waiting to leave, he's going to be more than suspicious. The second he sees the copies I made of the financial records he's going to know what they are.”