Under Two Moons

VIII

“You ‘ave a plan, Meesta Gull?”

“Of course.” He glanced about warily. No Black Hats were in sight as he led her through the bright, opulent doors of the Heliopolis Casino.

“You are going to fight them single-’anded?”

“Fight? My dear girl! Who said anything about fighting?” The chef de chambre was bowing, smiling, welcoming them in.

“But—But—But if you do not fight them, dear Meesta Gull, then ‘ow will you proceed?”

Gull grinned tautly and led her to the bar, from which he could observe everything that was going on. He said only, “Money. No more questions now, there’s a good girl?”

He called for wine and glanced warily about. The Casino was host that night, as it was every night, to a gay and glittering crowd. Behind potted lichens a string trio sawed away at Boccherini and Bach, while the wealthiest and most fashionable of nine planets strolled and laughed and gamed away fortunes. Gull sipped his wine and stroked his goatee, his eyes alert. Now, if he had gauged his man aright… if he had assessed the strategy that would win correctly…

It could all be very easy, he thought, pleased. And he could enjoy a very pleasant half hour’s entertainment into the bargain.

Gull smiled and stroked the girl’s hand. She responded with a swift look of trust and love. In the glowing silky fabric of the dress he had commandeered for her she was a tasty morsel, he thought. Once this Black Hat ploy had been countered, there might be time for more light-hearted pursuits—

“Attend!” she whispered sharply.

Gull turned slowly. So near his elbow as to be almost touching stood the tall, saturnine figure of Perlman. They stood for a moment in a tension of locked energies, eyes gazing into eyes. Then Perlman nodded urbanely and turned away. Gull heard him whisper to a passing houseman, “Atthay’s the erkjay.”

Gull leaned to the girl. “I don’t speak Solex Mai,” he said softly. “You’ll have to translate for me.”

She replied faithfully, “ ‘E just identified you to the ‘ouseman.”

He gave her an imperceptible nod and followed Perlman with his eyes. The Black Hat did not look toward Gull again. Smiling, exchanging a word now and then with the other guests, he was moving steadily toward the gaming tables. Gull allowed himself to draw one deep breath of satisfaction.

Score one for his deduction! Perlman was going to play.

He nodded to the girl and began to drift toward the tables himself. Give it time, he counseled himself. There’s no hurry. Let it build. You were right this far, you’ll be right again.

“Believe I’ll play a bit,” he said loudly. “Won’t you sit here and watch, my dear?”

Silently the girl took a seat beside him at the table. Casually—but feeling, and relishing, the cold gambling tinge that spread upward from the pit in his stomach, inflaming his nerves, speeding the flow of his blood in his veins—Gull gestured to the croupier and began to play.

He did not look across the table at the polite, assured face of Perlman. He did not need to. This game had only two players—or only two that mattered. As he took the dice for his first turn, Gull reflected with comfort and satisfaction that soon there would be only one.

Half an hour later he was all but broke.

Across the table Perlman’s expression had broadened from polite interest, through amusement to downright contempt. Gull’s own face wore a frown; his hands shook, angering him; he felt the first cold pricklings of fear.

Confound the man, thought Gull, his luck is fantastic! If indeed it was luck. But no, he told himself angrily, he could not cop out so cozily; the tables were honest. Face truth: He had simply run up against a superb gambler.

“Hell of a time for it to happen,” he grumbled.

The girl leaned closer. “Pardon? You spoke?”

“No, no,” Gull said irritably, “I—uh, was just thinking out loud. Listen. You got any money on you?”

She said doubtfully, “Perhaps… a little bit…”

“Give it to me,” he demanded. “No! Under the table. I don’t want everybody to see.” But it was too late; across the table Perlman had not missed the little byplay. He was almost laughing openly now as he completed his turn and passed the dice to Gull.

Gull felt himself breathing hard. He accepted the thin sheaf of bills from the girl, glanced at it quickly. Not much! Not much at all for what he had to do. He could stretch it out, make it last—but for how long? And with the game running against him…

Silently Gull cursed and studied the table. Before him the wealth of an empire was piled in diamond chips and ruby, in pucks of glittering emerald and disks of glowing gold.

Politely the croupier said, “It is your play, m’sieur.”

“Sure, sure.” But still Gull hesitated. To gain time he tossed the girl’s wad down before the croupier and demanded it to be exchanged for chips.

Across the table Perlman’s look was no longer either amusement or contempt. It was triumph.

Gull took a deep breath. This was more than a game, he reminded himself. It was the careful carrying out of a thoughtfully conceived strategy. Had he lost sight of that?

Once again in control of himself, he took out a cigarette and lighted it. He tipped the gleaming, flat lighter and glanced, as though bored, at its polished side.

Tiny in the reflection he could see the moving, bright figures in the room, the gorgeously dressed women, the distinguished men. But some were not so distinguished. Some were lurking in the draperies, behind the potted lichens. A great pale creature with teeth like a horse, eyes like a dim-brained cat. Another with the mahogany face of a prospector off the Martian plains. And others.

Perlman’s men had come to join him. The moment was ready for the taking.

Abruptly John Gull grinned. Risk it all! Win or lose! Let the game decide the victor—either he would clean out Perlman here and now, and starve out his larger game for lack of the cash to carry it through, or he himself would lose. He said to the croupier, “Keep the chips. Take these too.’ And he pushed over all his slim remaining stack.

“You wish to build, m’sieur?” it asked politely.

“Exactly. A hotel, if you please. On the—” Gull hesitated, but not. out of doubt; his pause was only to observe the effect on Perlman—”yes, that’s right. On the Boardwalk.”

And Gull threw the dice.

Time froze for him. It was not a frightening thing; he was calm, confident, at ease. The world of events and sensation seemed to offer itself to him for the tasting— the distant shout of the UFO demonstrators in the streets —poor fools! I wonder what they’ll do when they find they’ve been duped; Alessandra’s perfumed breath tickling his ear—sweet, charming girl; the look of threat and anger on Perlman’s face; the stir of ominous movement in the draperies. Gull absorbed and accepted all of it, the sounds and scents, the bright moving figures and the glitter of wealth and power, the hope of victory and the risk. But he did not fear the risks. He saw Ventnor Avenue and Marvin Gardens looming ahead of his piece on the board and smiled. He was certain the dice were with him.

And when the spots came up he seemed hardly to glance at them; he moved his counter with a steady hand, four, five, eight places; came to rest on “Chance”, selected a card from the stack, turned it over and scanned its message.

He looked up into the hating eyes of Perlman. “Imagine,” he breathed. “I appear to have won second prize in a beauty contest. You’ll have to give me fifteen dollars.”

And Perlman’s poise broke. Snarling, he pushed across the chips, snatched the dice from Gull and contemptuously flung them down. The glittering cubes rattled and spun. Gull did not have to look at the board; the position was engraved on his brain. A five would put Perlman on Park Place, with four houses: damaging, but not deadly. An eight or higher would carry “him safely to “Go” and beyond, passing the zone of danger and replenishing his bankroll. But a seven… Ah, a seven! The Boardwalk, with a hotel! And the first die had already come to rest, displaying a four.

The second stopped.

There was a gasp from the glittering crowd as three bright pips turned upward to the light.

Gull glanced down at the dice, then across at Perlman. “How unfortunate,” he murmured politely, extending a hand to Perlman—and only Perlman could see the bright, deadly little muzzle that pointed out of it toward him. “You seem to have landed on my property. I’m afraid you’ve lost the game.”

—And he was up and out of his chair, standing clear, as the pencil of flame from the shelter of the draperies bit through the smoky air where his head had just been.

“Down!” he shouted to the girl and snapped a shot at Rosencranz; heard that man’s bellow of pain and saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the girl had disobeyed his order; she had drawn a weapon of her own and was trading shot for shot with the Black Hats that ringed the room. “Idiot!” Gull cried, but his heart exulted Good girl! even as he was turning to blast the next Black Hat. There were nine of them, all armed, all drawing their weapons or, like Rosencranz, having fired them already. It was not an equal contest. Five shots from Gull, five from the girl—she missed one—and all the Black Hats were on the floor, writhing or very still. All but one. Perlman! Whirling back to face him, Gull found he was gone.

But he couldn’t be far. Gull caught the flicker-of motion in the gaping crowd at the door that showed where he had gone, and followed. At the entrance Gull caught a glimpse of him and fired; at the corner, plunging through a knot of milling, excited UFOlogists, Gull saw him again—almost too late. Coolly and cleverly Perlman had waited him out, his own weapon drawn now. The blast sliced across the side of Gull’s head like a blow from a cleaver; stunned, hurting, Gull drove himself on.

And as Perlman, gaping incredulously, turned belatedly to flee again, he tripped, and stumbled, and Gull was on him. His head was roaring, his hold on consciousness precarious; but he pinned Perlman’s arms in a desperate flurry of strength and panted, “That’s enough! Give it up or I’ll burn your head off.” The trapped man surged up but Gull withstood it and cried: “Stop! I want to take you back to .5 alive—don’t make me kill you!” The Black Hat spat one angry sentence; Gull gasped and recoiled; Perlman grabbed for the weapon, they struggled—

A bright line of flame leaped from the gun to Perlman’s forehead; and in that moment the leader of the Black Hats in Heliopolis ceased to be.

Waves of blackness swept over Johan Gull. He fell back into emptiness just as the girl came running up, dropped to the ground beside him, sobbing, “Johan! My dear, dear Meesta Gull;”

Hurt and almost out he managed to grin up at her. “Cash in my chips for me,” he gasped. “We’ve won the game!”