A Phule and His Money by Robert Asprin, Peter J. Heck Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Asprin, Peter J. Heck
dissing the Renegades, right? The part where I got in so much trouble I had to run off and join the Legion-and before the captain took over this outfit, that was a mighty desperate thing to do."
"Yes, I've heard that, too," Armstrong began. "The one thing..."
Chocolate Harry interrupted him. "Well, man, my chicken's done come home to roost. The Renegades are here, and they're gonna fry me good and crisp. Ain't no mistake-Louie heard 'em talkin' to the captain, and he came here and told me right away." Harry was cleaning a Rolling Thunder automatic shotgun while he spoke; nervously peering out the slit between the boards he'd nailed over his window.
"Well, if they're here, so be it," said Armstrong. "You know as well as I do that nobody can attack one of us without taking on the whole company. We're covering you, Harry. Anybody who thinks they can waltz in and take you has another think coming."
"Well, I sure appreciate that, Lieutenant," said Chocolate Harry. "Can't blame a fella for taking a few precautions himself, though, can you? These Renegades are mean mothers."
"Yes, I suppose I can't blame you-you'll have to make it a bit easier for the company to get its supplies, though. I'm sure the captain will help you figure something out. Still, there's one thing I don't understand."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"What in space did you do to the Renegades to make them pursue you halfway across the galaxy, years later, to get their revenge?"
"What did I do? Man, I did the worst thing anybody could have done. There's not a biker alive who wouldn't feel the same way, if you told 'em."
"And what was that?"
"I messed with their bikes," said Chocolate Harry, and his voice was like the sound of doom.
Phule burst into the Command and Communications Center like a man pursued by wolves-which, metaphorically at least, he was. "All right," he said, "I want to find out what's going on. Mother, how's the search for Sushi going?"
"mgdkjgisd," said Rose, mumbling almost inaudibly. Brazen as she was over the comm, she went into shrinking violet mode when faced with the necessity for face-to-face communication. She scrunched down, as if to make herself invisible behind the communications console.
"Oh, sorry, I almost forgot," said Phule, preparing to return to the hallway and resume the conversation via wrist communicator.
"I can answer that, sir," said Beeker, rising from a desk to one side of the room, where he'd been using his Port-a-Brain pocket computer. "I've been monitoring the situation since we learned of it. To put it briefly, security has reason to believe that Sushi and the man he ran off with remained within the hotel-casino complex."
"I heard the recording," said Phule. "It sounds as if the Yakuza have come to settle accounts with him. Somebody must have figured out that those tattoos he got aren't the real thing, and told the Japanese mob he was an impostor."
"Yes, that's the impression I get," said Beeker. "In which case he may be in very bad trouble. Those people take their secret protocols very seriously, and it's no laughing matter for an outsider to impersonate one of them. That makes it even more imperative to find him."
"They've checked Sushi's quarters, I assume? What about the other man's room?"
"Sushi's quarters are empty, sir," said Beeker. "As for the other man, we've tried to match the images of him from the blackjack room surveillance cameras against the registration desk surveillance records-as you know, every guest's face is recorded as they are issued a room key. I fear there were no matches. Either he is a master of disguise-not impossible, if he is a Yakuza-or he is not a hotel guest."
"Was the woman with him carrying any ID?"
"Nothing traceable, sir," said Beeker, with a disappointed expression. "Lieutenant Rembrandt supervised the search, and she says she's never seen anyone so clean. You wouldn't think somebody in this day and age could have bought clothes, jewelry, accessories, and a purse full of
"Yes, I've heard that, too," Armstrong began. "The one thing..."
Chocolate Harry interrupted him. "Well, man, my chicken's done come home to roost. The Renegades are here, and they're gonna fry me good and crisp. Ain't no mistake-Louie heard 'em talkin' to the captain, and he came here and told me right away." Harry was cleaning a Rolling Thunder automatic shotgun while he spoke; nervously peering out the slit between the boards he'd nailed over his window.
"Well, if they're here, so be it," said Armstrong. "You know as well as I do that nobody can attack one of us without taking on the whole company. We're covering you, Harry. Anybody who thinks they can waltz in and take you has another think coming."
"Well, I sure appreciate that, Lieutenant," said Chocolate Harry. "Can't blame a fella for taking a few precautions himself, though, can you? These Renegades are mean mothers."
"Yes, I suppose I can't blame you-you'll have to make it a bit easier for the company to get its supplies, though. I'm sure the captain will help you figure something out. Still, there's one thing I don't understand."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"What in space did you do to the Renegades to make them pursue you halfway across the galaxy, years later, to get their revenge?"
"What did I do? Man, I did the worst thing anybody could have done. There's not a biker alive who wouldn't feel the same way, if you told 'em."
"And what was that?"
"I messed with their bikes," said Chocolate Harry, and his voice was like the sound of doom.
Phule burst into the Command and Communications Center like a man pursued by wolves-which, metaphorically at least, he was. "All right," he said, "I want to find out what's going on. Mother, how's the search for Sushi going?"
"mgdkjgisd," said Rose, mumbling almost inaudibly. Brazen as she was over the comm, she went into shrinking violet mode when faced with the necessity for face-to-face communication. She scrunched down, as if to make herself invisible behind the communications console.
"Oh, sorry, I almost forgot," said Phule, preparing to return to the hallway and resume the conversation via wrist communicator.
"I can answer that, sir," said Beeker, rising from a desk to one side of the room, where he'd been using his Port-a-Brain pocket computer. "I've been monitoring the situation since we learned of it. To put it briefly, security has reason to believe that Sushi and the man he ran off with remained within the hotel-casino complex."
"I heard the recording," said Phule. "It sounds as if the Yakuza have come to settle accounts with him. Somebody must have figured out that those tattoos he got aren't the real thing, and told the Japanese mob he was an impostor."
"Yes, that's the impression I get," said Beeker. "In which case he may be in very bad trouble. Those people take their secret protocols very seriously, and it's no laughing matter for an outsider to impersonate one of them. That makes it even more imperative to find him."
"They've checked Sushi's quarters, I assume? What about the other man's room?"
"Sushi's quarters are empty, sir," said Beeker. "As for the other man, we've tried to match the images of him from the blackjack room surveillance cameras against the registration desk surveillance records-as you know, every guest's face is recorded as they are issued a room key. I fear there were no matches. Either he is a master of disguise-not impossible, if he is a Yakuza-or he is not a hotel guest."
"Was the woman with him carrying any ID?"
"Nothing traceable, sir," said Beeker, with a disappointed expression. "Lieutenant Rembrandt supervised the search, and she says she's never seen anyone so clean. You wouldn't think somebody in this day and age could have bought clothes, jewelry, accessories, and a purse full of
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