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Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“I intend to. Unless they fire me.” Needless to say, the last remark was said without the slightest pause.

* * *

Once they were inside the casino, Jerry’s eyes had to make an adjustment. The interior combined dim lighting with, off a bit in the distance, the flashing colors and cheerful sounds of the slot machines and gambling tables. As Flanders hustled them past the long reception desk slanting along the right side of the huge and cavernous space, Jerry got only glimpses of the Egyptian decor. The only thing that registered were two statues of hieracosphinxes.

Then he spotted a bank of phones, next to a coffee bar. The words “International Grounds” registered on his eyes, but not his mind.

“Stop! I’ve got to make some calls!”

Flanders chortled and shook his head. He guided all of them into a railed-off area in front of the coffee bar. A moment later, all of them were sitting at some round black tables.

“Use my cell phone,” he offered, pulling the instrument out of his suit pocket. Then, to Liz: “I’ll get you a doctor right away.”

Flanders gave some quick orders to yet another assistant. By now, he seemed to have a little mob of them surrounding him, along with at least a dozen security guards. His eyes fell on Arachne, huddled in McKenna’s sheltering arms. Now that the excitement of the moment was over, the Greek girl was clearly abashed by her nudity.

The general manager jerked his thumb at a nearby boutique. Luxor Logo Shop, it was called. “Get her a bathrobe, Linda,” he ordered. “Now. Comp it. Then go over to the boutique in the Galleria and get her something fancier.”

The female assistant’s eyes gave Arachne’s body a quick and expert size measurement and she was on her way. Not quite running.

“Run!” bellowed Flanders.

He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed. He was hauling a large cigar out of one jacket pocket and a Zippo out of another. “Been saving this for a special occasion.” A moment later, Flander’s still-grinning face was shrouded with blue smoke.

“Best day I’ve ever had,” he announced cheerfully. He eyed Lamont and Cruz, and pointed the cigar toward the gaming tables. “Thattaway, gentlemen. Let’s see if you can make good your boast.”

Lamont looked at Jerry uncertainly. Jerry paused from punching numbers into the cell phone and smiled. “Go ahead, Lamont. It’ll take me a while to get through to somebody, anyway. I’ll see the word gets passed to Marie. You might as well take care of your retirement.”

Lamont rose from the chair, almost giggling. “No more rusted bolts for me!” A moment later, he and Cruz were gone. Medea began to rise, about to follow her new man. Then she relaxed into her chair and hugged her two children close.

“See?” she demanded. “A good provider! Not like that worthless father of yours!”

From the cloud of blue smoke, Flanders’ booming voice issued. “Pedro! Get this lady a divorce lawyer. Best one in town. Comp it.”

Perched on his own chair, looking a bit like a squat, lion-headed kid, Bes’ voice boomed even louder.

“Where are these dwarf-tossing contests I heard about?”

“Alice!” boomed Flanders. “You heard him—book the act.”

Jerry had finally gotten through to the Oriental Institute. But all he got was a message: this number is no longer in service. So he overheard the exchange between Bes and Flanders, which caused him to go slightly pale.

“Uh, Mr. Flanders . . . that’s likely to be a little tough on the dwarf tossers. Would-be tossers, I should say.” He eyed Bes uncertainly. “Unless he’s lost his powers.”

Bes stood up and transformed his wrought-iron chair into a modernistic sculpture. In three seconds.

“Guess not,” muttered Jerry.

“Better yet!” boomed Flanders. “Rita! Get hold of the World Wrestling Federation! Book half a dozen top figures. Villain types, you hear? The Little Guy’s Revenge, we’ll call it.”

A doctor came rushing up. “Thank god,” murmured Liz, holding out her arm. “Something in this place isn’t showbiz.”

“Wendy!” boomed Flanders. “Get the best illustrator in town! I want this lady’s cast to be a piece of art!”

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Categories: Eric, Flint
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