Phules Paradise

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 one 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-"

"Forty-nine percent," the youth supplied. "I know. But even then it's not controlling interest. I don't know what you're worried about, though. The loan isn't due until a week after our grand opening, and that alone should generate enough money to pay her off."

"Assuming there are no problems with the opening," Phule growled, continuing to scan the document. "The trouble there is your casino manager's on Maxine's payroll, and he's been staffing your tables with crooked dealers. I'm willing to bet that when you open your doors, they won't be working to rake money in for the house-they'll be passing it out!"

Gunther blinked. "Huey's part of this?"

"That's right. Where did you find him, anyway?"

"Well, Maxine recommended ... Oh!"

"I see," the Legionnaire said, shaking his head. "It all starts to fit together. And what kind of a deal do you have with him?"

"He actually is working fairly cheap," the youth protested. "Barely minimum wage and-oh my God!"

"Don't tell me, let me guess." Phule sighed. ,"A salary and two percent of the Fat Chance. Right?"

Gunther nodded dumbly. "Maxine negotiated the deal for me."

"I figured as much," the commander said, tossing the contract back onto Rafael's desk. "That's where she'll get the missing two percent to give her controlling interest. Huey will side with her on every vote ... if she hasn't had him sign it over completely."

The youth leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"I still can't believe it," he said. "Maxine. She's been like a mother to me."

"Believe it," Phule said grimly. "Your `mother' has tied an anchor around your neck and is about to push you off the end of the pier. I suggest you start learning how to swim."

"But how?" Gunther said, almost as a plea. "If you're right, and she's sabotaged the tables, there's no way I can make enough to pay off the loan."

"Don't worry about the tables," the commander said. "We happen to have an honest set of dealers standing by ... and a new casino manager. It'll cost, but we can probably clean house in time to save the casino. I think you'll agree that the time to strike is just before your grand opening. That way, we minimize the chance of Maxine's switching to an alternate plan."

"You mean we can beat her? You've solved the problem?"

"Not so fast," Phule said, holding up a hand. "We have other worries besides the tables. When was the last time you had your computer programs checked and audited?"

"The computer?" Rafael frowned. "It was checked just before you arrived. Why?"

"We've gotten word that part of Maxine's plan is to fiddle with your computer," the Legionnaire said. "Who cleared the computer?"

"There's an outfit here on Lorelei that specifically checks the casino computers," Gunther said. "They're completely reliable and bonded. In fact, Huey said-"

"Huey?" Phule interrupted.

"That's right!" the youth gasped. "Huey was the one who recommended them. If he's working against us ..."

"Then odds are your computer is now a time bomb," the commander finished grimly. "All right, let's take it from there. What all does your computer control?"

"The whole complex is hooked into it. The hotel ... even the theater's lights for our entertainment specials."

"Does the casino hook into it for anything?"

"No, I don't-yes! The computer controls the video slot machines!"

"All of them?" Phule scowled. "Including the ones with the progressive multimillion jackpots?"

The casino owner could only nod.

"That could be disastrous," the Legionnaire said. "What happens if we pull the plug on them? Just shut down the slots until this whole thing is over?"

Gunther shook his head. "We can't do that. The slots are one of the biggest draws we have-any casino has-not to mention the most profitable. If we shut off the slots, we can kiss the whole opening goodbye."

Phule sighed. "Then we'll just have to get the programs fixed." And that means ... Damn, I hate to do that!"

"Do what?" the casino owner said.

"What? Oh ... sorry. It means doing something I really don't like to do: ask a favor of my father!"

One of the Old Earth authors, Hemingway, I believe, is attributed with the observation "Rich people are just like anyone else ... only richer."

During my association with my employer, I have grown to appreciate the truth of these words more and more. The truly rich are different, in that in times of crisis, they reflexively use money and power on a scale so alien to the average person that they almost seem to be of another species. (It should be noted here that I still consider myself to be an "average person." Though it has been mentioned that I'm comfortably well of financially, that condition is relatively recent, and I therefore lack the abovementioned reflexes of the truly rich. That mental state requires a lifetime, if not generations, of conditioning.)

Where they are like everyone else is in the problems they encounter ... for example, in dealing with their parents ...

"Hello ... Dad? It's me. Willard ... your son."

The Legionnaire commander had retreated to the relative privacy of his own room for this call, choosing not to communicate with his father from Gunther's office. This, in itself, was an indication of his uncertainty of how the conversation would go.

"I know," the holo projection in the room said gruffly. "Nobody else has the clout to pull me out of a negotiation meeting."

Seated in a corner, safely out of the camera's view, Beeker took advantage of the rare chance to compare the two men side by side.

If anything, Victor Phule looked more like a military commander than his son did-or the majority of active military officers, for that matter. His manner and bearing displayed what his heir potential might achieve in maturity. Where his son was slender, the elder Phule had the lean, fit look of a timber wolf. His features had the sharp, angular planes of a granite cliff, whereas his son's face still showed the softness of youth. In fact, the only visible clue as to his age was the white hair at his temples, but even that seemed a testimony of his strength rather than a hint of senility. All in all, anyone seeing Victor Phule would arrive at the conclusion, not incorrectly, that this was not a man to be trifled with, particularly if he was annoyed, as he seemed to be now.

"Well, you've got me," the image growled. "What's the problem this time?"

"Problem?" the commander said. "What makes you think there's a problem, sir?"

"Maybe because the only time you call me is when you're in some kind of a scrape," his father pointed out. "It wouldn't kill you to write once in a while, you know."

"As I recall," the commander said testily, "the last time I called you was on that weapons deal with the Zenobians. That didn't turn out too bad for you, did it? An exclusive on a new weapons design in exchange for some worthless swampland?"

"A deal you closed before you had the swampland under contract, as I recall," the elder Phule defended. "I'll concede the point, though. Sorry if I'm a bit touchy. This meeting is a lot rougher than I thought it would be, and it's getting under my skin. The irritating part is that what I'm offering is better than what they're asking for, but they won't budge. It's tempting to just let them have their way, but you know what will happen down the road if I do."

"They'll claim you set them up," the younger Phule supplied. "Gee, that's tough, Dad."

"Whatever," Victor Phule said. "That's my problem, and I shouldn't let it interfere with us. So why did you call?"

From Beeker's vantage point, he could see his employer wince just a bit before answering as he realized he had inadvertently painted himself into a corner.

"I'll keep this short, realizing you're in the middle of a meeting," the commander said. "Basically, Dad, I need to borrow your Bug Squad. Rent them, actually."

It is to the elder Phule's credit that he did not indulge in any "I told you so's" at his son's expense, but instead simply addressed the problem at hand.

"My what?" he said, scowling.

"The Bug Squad," the Legionnaire persisted. "At least, that's what you used to call them. You know, Albert's crew-the computer auditors."

"Oh. Them." Victor Phule nodded. "Sorry, son. I can't help you there."

"Come on, Dad," the commander said. "You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need them. Neither of us has time to play games on the price. I'll go two points on our next deal, but beyond that ..."

"Whoa! Hold it, Willie," the elder Phule said, holding up a restraining hand. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you. I said I couldn't! Albert and his team don't work for me anymore. They split off and formed their own company. Now I have to contract them myself for any work I need."

"I see," the Legionnaire said thoughtfully. "Tell me, was the parting amicable?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you and Albert still on good terms, or is he going to dig in his heels if anyone mentions the name Phule to him?" the commander clarified. "It sounds like I'm going to have to approach him on my own, and I'm trying to figure out if I'll have to go through an intermediary or not."

"Oh, there were no hard feelings involved-at least, not from his side," Victor Phule said. "He's not an easy man to deal with, though. He doesn't even give me a discount for his services, even after I footed the bill while he recruited and trained the team he's running."

"Well, you didn't hire him for his personality," the Legionnaire responded with a chuckle. "And weren't you the one who always told me that loyalty had to be earned, not hired?"

"Don't start using quotes on me unless you want to soak up a few in return," the elder Phule warned dryly. "Now, are there any other nonproblems I can help you with? Like I said, I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"No, that covers it. If you can just tell me how to get through to Albert, I'll get out of your hair."

"Stay on the line and my secretary will give you that info," the elder Phule instructed. "I've got to run, myself. You know how your grandmother is if you keep her waiting too long."

"Grams?" The Legionnaire blinked. "Is that who you're meeting with?"

Phule grimaced. "That's right. And she's in one of her 'holy crusade' moods, and you know what that means."

The commander gave an exaggerated shudder in response.

"Well, good luck, Dad," he said. "No offense, but it sounds like you're going to need it. Say hello for me, if you think it will help."

"And listen to her run on about you and your Boy Scout troop again?" the elder Phule said. "Thanks, but no thanks. Got to go now ... My best to Beeker."

"So that's it in a nutshell, Albert," Phule concluded. "Can you help me?"

The holo-image of the computer specialist nodded slowly. It had the pale, unripened complexion of someone who habitually uses a cathode-ray tube for a sunlamp.

"I'll have to pull a couple people off other things, but yes, I think we can handle it."

"Good," the commander said. "How soon can we look for you?"

"I'll have to check the flight schedules, but I imagine we can be there in a couple of weeks. It's not that far from where we are now."

"Not fast enough," Phule said, shaking his head. "We've got to have things fixed before the grand opening, and that's in a week. Charter a ship if you have to, but-"

"Impossible," Albert interrupted, shaking his head. "We might be able to get there in a week, but to diagnose any program problems, much less fix them, simply can't be done in that time frame."

"Double your fee," the commander said flatly.

"But then again," the analyst said, without blinking an eye, "if you can download the programs to us so we can be going over them in flight, all we'll have to do on-site is load the revisions. It'll be tight, but I guess we can manage."

"Right." Phule nodded. "A pleasure doing business with you Albert."

He broke the connection with a sigh.

"Well, at least that's taken care of."

"If you say so, sir."

The commander cocked an eyebrow at his butler.

"I know that tone of voice, Beek," he said. "What's the problem?"

"If I might ask a question, sir?"

"You mean why don't I just loan Rafael the money to pay off Maxine?" The commander shook his head. "Aside from the ethical question involved with buying our way out of a problem this big, there's the matter of sheer logistics. The kind of money we'd need I don't have in ready cash. It would mean having to liquidate some of my long-term assets, which I don't want to do, and even if I did, it would take more time than we have. Max wants the casino, and she's not about to let Rafael off the hook for anything less than cash on the barrelhead."

"I understand, sir," Beeker said. "However, if I may, that wasn't my question."

"Oh?"

"If I heard correctly, you were instructing Albert and his ... Bug Squad ... to focus their attention primarily on detecting and correcting any computer programming inconsistencies applying to the video slots in the casino. Is that correct?"

"That's our biggest vulnerability. Yes."

"Well, I can't help but wonder, sir, if it's wise to completely ignore the other areas which might be affected by computer tampering. It's been my experience that the people who program computers are very much like the machines themselves when it comes to dealing with users. They do specifically what they're instructed to-usually-but seldom anything else. That is, I doubt they will address any of the other problem areas under their current instructions."

"C'mon, Beek," Phule protested. "You heard him. They're going to be hard-pressed to fix the slots in the time frame we've got. Any other assignments will only slow things up."

"Then you may have to consider alternative solutions to the other problem areas ... sir," the butler said blandly.

"But they're only ..." The commander caught himself and stopped, rubbing one hand across his eyes. "Okay, Beeker. Out with it. Which areas other than the slots are you worried about?"

"Well, sir, if I understand the situation, the computer also controls the lights and sound system for the showroom stage."

"That's right. So?"

"I believe, sir, that the showroom and its featured entertainers are one of the primary draws the casino uses to attract its clientele. In short, if there's no show, there may not be many people attending the opening to play the slots, making the question of the slots program relatively irrelevant."

"I see," Phule said. "Then we-"

"What's more," the butler said as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I believe that Mr. Gunther has booked Dee Dee Watkins for the opening, and-"

"Who?"

Beeker rolled his eyes in not so mock exasperation.

"Really, sir," he said. "You really should read more than the financial pages once in a while. Dee Dee Watkins has been a rising holo star for several years now, and she's just put together a nightclub act tour, which is supposed to premiere at the grand opening."

"Oh."

"Not quite yet, sir," the butler corrected. "You see, while I have not had the privilege of reviewing Ms. Watkins's contract personally, my recent experience with Lieutenant Rembrandt while hiring our own actors leads me to believe that a performer of her standing will have a clause in her bookings requiring that she be paid in full even if she does not perform, providing the reason for her performance is a failure on the part of the booking party to supply stage equipment of at least minimal professional standards-which I would assume includes lights and a functioning sound system. I would further assume that her fees for performing, while, perhaps, not of the same magnitude as the potential losses from multiple jackpots at the video slots, are, nonetheless, substantial-and I know how you dislike paying people not to perform their contracted services."

He paused, then nodded at his employer.

"Now, sir."

"Oh," Phule responded dutifully.

Silence hung in the air as Beeker waited respectfully for his employer to digest this information.

At last, Phule let out a sigh.

"Okay," he said. "I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?"

The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.

"As a matter of fact, sir," Beeker said, "it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel."

"The front desk?"

"I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost."

"And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening," Phule finished grimly.

The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room's holophone.

"Get on the horn and order us some coffee," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. And Beek?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least."

That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the attitudes of his down-at-the-heels Space Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.

In his position of manager of the Plaza Hotel, one of the oldest, most respected on Haskin's Planet, it had been his duty to act as guardian of those stately facilities, and while the Legionnaires had turned out to be much better behaved than he had originally feared, more often than not it had placed himself and their commander in adversarial roles. As surprised as he was at the mere existence of the call, however, he was dumbfounded at its content.

"I know we're both busy, Bombest," the ghostly holo-image said, "so I'll cut right to the chase. Would you be willing to take a brief sabbatical from the Plaza to manage a hotel here on Lorelei? Say, for about a month?"

"I ... I'd have to think about it, Mr. Phule," the manager stammered, caught totally unprepared by the question.

"Unfortunately we don't have a lot of time," the image said, shaking its head. "Yes or no?"

"In that case, I'm afraid the answer would have to be no," Bombest said. "If nothing else, my commitment here would forbid it. I'd have to apply for the necessary leave time, and arrange for a replacement ..."

"I'm afraid you're underestimating me again, Bombest," Phule broke in. "That's already been handled. I cleared it with Reggie Page ... you remember the name? The CEO of the Webber Combine that owns the chain? Anyway, I've explained the situation to him, and he's agreed to give you the time off, with pay, of course, and to arrange for a replacement until you return. By the way, I hope it goes without saying that you'll be generously compensated for your work here, as well as having an expense account, so that your combined income for the period will be substantial."

"So this was all done in advance?" Bombest said.

"There was no point in asking you if you weren't going to be available," the image said, "and, no offense, Bombest, I figured I had a better chance of getting through to Reggie and getting a timely answer than you did. Anyway, the question isn't whether or not you can do it, it's whether you will do it. You're the only one who can answer that."

"I see. If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Phule, why me? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we didn't particularly get along while you were staying here."

"Oh, I don't pretend that I like you, Bombest," Phule said with a tight smile, "and I don't expect that you particularly care for me as a person. Our styles are far too different for us to ever be `good buddies.' You are, however, the best I've seen at what you do, which is handling problems at a hotel, and I happen to be in a jam right now where I need that talent. The question isn't if we are or will be friends, but if you're willing to work with me."

Bombest pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you've checked the availability of flights from Haskin's to Lorelei, along with your other inquiries?"

"Actually I've gone a bit further than that," the image responded. "When-excuse me, if-you're ready to go, you'll find the governor's military ship standing by at the spaceport to bring you directly here. As I said, we're on a tight timetable."

This bit of information spoke volumes to Bombest. While there had been no love lost between himself and Phule, their relationship was positively rosy if compared to the Legionnaire commander's interaction with the military governor of the planet. While details of those encounters were never made public, it was no secret that they fought like cats and dogs whenever their paths crossed. The fact that Phule would approach the governor for the use of the official space launch, not to mention what he must have had to commit to obtain it, was a tribute to how badly the commander wanted Bombest's services. Much more so than a casual call to Reggie Page.

"Very well, Mr. Phule," the manager said, making up his mind. "I'll do it. There are a few matters I have to clear up before I go, but they shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Then I'll be on my way."

The image smiled. "Excellent. Welcome aboard, Bombest. I'll be looking forward to seeing you."

After the connection was broken, Bombest had a few moments to reflect on the call which had just turned his immediate future topsy-turvy.

To his surprise, he realized that the money being offered had not been the major factor in his decision, though it had paved the way. The real deciding point was that he had been flattered at the lengths to which the Legionnaire commander had gone to obtain his services. For someone of Willard Phule's stature and experience to say you were the best he knew at what you did and that he needed you was enough to make you move heaven and earth to prove his opinion of you justified.

For the first time, Bombest began to understand exactly how it was that Phule was able to get zealous loyalty where others were hard-pressed to get obedience.