Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

Watching the Legionnaires since their arrival, however, the concern he felt gave way to amusement and, eventually, contempt. Far from being experienced casino guards, they seemed to be no more knowledgeable about the table games than the average tourist. One by one, Huey let his planted dealers shift back to their normal grifting routines, and so far not a one of them had been detected by these uniformed clowns, even when they were seated at the table with the hustle going on literally under their noses. Instead, they cheered and clapped like children as they raked in their winnings, apparently oblivious to the fact that their winning streak was being boosted by dealers who were working to empty the casino’s coffers.

A faint smile drifted across the manager’s face.

It would be deliciously ironic to use the Legionnaires to break the casino, but the Max had her own timetable for that, and Huey would never have the nerve to try to deviate from her express orders. Besides, it was easier to pass big winnings to big bettors, and the Legionnaires all seemed content to cling to minimum bets at the low-stakes tables-at least, so far.

A small flurry of noisy activity drew his attention, and his smile tightened again.

Some of the Legionnaires, among them the two sluglike Sinthians, were posing for pictures, pointing their guns at a slot machine as the cameras gobbled up film recording the scene: guards holding up a one-armed bandit. The tourists loved it.

With only a small portion of the casino open, the Legionnaires had far less to do than they would after the grand opening. In the meantime, they had lots of time on their hands to explore the space station or, as they were more inclined to do, hang around the Fat Chance and pose for the tourists who came nosing around looking to meet this highly publicized force.