Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“Okay,” said Flanders. “That’s that. What else?”

Lamont’s knowledge of Las Vegas contract negotiations had clearly reached its limit. He stared at Jerry. Jerry shook his head, trying to clear away his own confusion.

“Mr. Flanders, could we continue this inside? And later?” Jerry took Liz by the uninjured arm. “We need to get her to a doctor right away. And I’d better tell Uncle Sam that we’re home.”

“No sweat.” Flanders started hustling him and Liz and Lamont toward the entrance. A squad of security guards cleared a path.

“You’ve all got contracts, you want ’em. Top billing every night, for six months running. How we escaped the alien menace. I can get half a dozen top singers and comedians—easy—to warm up the crowd.”

Jerry goggled at him. Liz burst into laughter. Lamont grinned and said: “First, Mr. Flanders, I intend to clean you out of several million dollars. I’m feeling very lucky.”

The Luxor’s general manager grinned back. “If you can do it, without cheating, more power to you. And if it’s pure luck you’re counting on, the fastest way to make money is with baccarat. Or the hundred-dollar progressive slots. But I’ll give you fair warning—those games can gobble up your own money faster than anything, too.”

The rest of the party had caught up with them by now. Cruz, hearing Flanders’ last remark, smiled evilly and fingered his credit card. “The rest of you guys want in on this? I’ll front you the stake.”

The fact that everyone nodded like puppets didn’t seem to faze Flanders in the least. After a moment’s careful assessment of them, he cocked his head toward one of his assistants. “Andy, better get a press release ready. I have a feeling we’ll be announcing some big new winners.”

Another of his assistants looked worried. “Uh, Hank . . . You remember that time MGM Grand had an entire quarter’s profits taken in one night by a guy at the baccarat table?”

Flanders nodded. “Fifteen million bucks. And we lost almost two million not so long ago at the progressive slots. So what?” He jerked his head to the north. The great blue edifice of the MGM Grand was easily visible. “They’re still there, aren’t they? Making money hand over fist.”

And that was apparently as much argument as the Luxor’s general manager was willing to accept. “Do it, Andy,” he growled. “The publicity’ll be fantastic. By tomorrow morning, the Luxor’s going to be the most famous casino in the whole world.”

Jerry caught side of Throttler and the two dragons, still in the plaza. For such huge and fearsome creatures, they looked amazingly like abandoned puppies. The reproach in their eyes, watching their human companions leave, was almost heartbreaking.

“Hang tight!” Jerry shouted. “We’ll be back! And there’s food on the way!”

That seemed to mollify them. A little boy edged his way closer to Throttler, holding out a little bag. “You like peanuts?”

The sphinx stared at the bag. “What are ‘peanuts’?”

Seconds later, Throttler was beaming. “These are great!” she announced to Smitar and Bitar. “You should try some!”

A moment later, the sphinx and the dragons were being mobbed by tourists offering peanuts and candy bars.

“Gonna ruin their appetite,” muttered Lamont. “Thank God.”

* * *

Flanders seemed like a human bulldog. Before they knew it, he had them halfway up a curving ramp leading toward the casino itself. To their left, a huge replica of Harmakhis loomed overhead, fronting onto the Strip.

“The color scheme’s off, y’know,” commented Liz. From the pinched look on her face, Jerry thought she was trying to hold off the pain with whimsy. He put his arm around her waist and squeezed gently.

“She’s right,” he said, more to keep her mind off the pain than because he cared. “Close, but . . . the real Harmakhis is painted red, too.”

Flanders was bellowing to yet another assistant before Jerry finished the sentence. “Kenny! Get me some painting contractors!”

“Does anything make you pause?” demanded Liz.

Flanders’ grin seemed an immovable part of his face by now. “That’s why I get paid the big bucks, ma’am.”

“Tell ’em to give you a raise,” she snorted.