Chapter 22

May 12, 3025

Malthus Casino

Mach 'Beh

Suk II

J.J. shook the rain off, invigorated from the cold water but kept warm by the heat as he strolled past the door security who graciously opened the door for him. Glad I'm not wearing a suit like them in this weather, he thought to himself as he strolled up to a craps table towards the center of the "pit," as it was typically called.

Looking around, he silently whistled to himself. Despite their underworld reputation, these Malthus guys sure know how to build a casino.

For a Malthus Resort, which was a commercial powerhouse in almost all reaches of the Inner Sphere at this point, this one felt like a smaller, more cozy kind of place. Most Malthus Casinos were huge, almost gaudy affairs by J.J.'s standards. This one was the kind of place that felt like a place to hang out after work while the jazz pianist smiles your way and keeps playing while you enjoy a nice sandwich or dinner. Which was a good thing, because this one was just that.

The pianist, with a full suit and tie and a miraculous mop of hair down to his shoulders almost seemed to read his mind as J.J. glanced over and nodded. He nodded back, not breaking his stride on an electronic Steinway that still had the old-fashioned Terran Sitka spruce exterior. A smooth, wholesome melody played while J.J. casually tossed a hundred C-bill note on the table. It wasn't all that busy. Just a pair of newlyweds at the end of the table probably having their first newlywed argument about one of them wanting to go somewhere else instead of spending their honeymoon at a craps table. That and another guy standing next to him, sipping a Timbiqui white wine and doing little motions with his mouth to fully appreciate the taste.

J.J. that knew that from the label on the half-liter bottle tucked underneath the top of the table along the shelf. That, and because this was the man he was supposed to meet. "The lone gray-haired man drinking T.W.W. at Malthus. He lives there, so he'll be dressed casually," his most recent contact had said.

"Nice choice," J.J. said casually while receiving a large stack of red clay chips.

"Thanks. Most people don't even seem to know there's a full-blown winery on Timbiqui. World's become synonymous with their beer and that's about it." The old man next to him chuckled and toasted his glass at J.J. "So, you're the guy. Figured you'd be a little less…Drac'y. No offense."

People always say that right when they say something offensive. J.J. let it slide and tossed some chips back at his nearest dealer. "Six and eight, please." The point was at 11. One half of the newlyweds more interested in the table than his new spouse and tossed the black and white dice. Minature spotlights from a ring overhead that matched the shape of the table came on and bathed both dice in their golden/white glow, tracking every bounce, never missing. As the dice finally came to a rest on a two and a five, the spotlights flashed a few times, while the newlyweds shook their heads and left as the table was cleared of all chips except one.

The only chip on the table belonged to the old man. Five hundred C-bills in the form of a little black and blue chip was given a matching one as he doubled his money. He simply toasted J.J., dropped a few chips for the dealers and grabbed the black-and-blues. "Cash me out too, please. Table got cold."

"Totally understand, sir." The dealer was respectful as he handed J.J. three solid blue chips and one solid red. Eighty C-bills.

"Congratulations on winning a half-second of HPG time," J.J. offered with a smile. C-bills represented one millisecond of time for a HPG transmission, no matter where in the universe it was sent. The nearly instantaneous Comstar transmitters were usually limited to one per planet, so they were always in demand.

Most people opted for the more efficient option of sending packets of data or letters to their friends and loved ones, but the super-rich, or the leaders of superpowers enjoyed face-to-face transmissions from one side of the Inner Sphere to the other, though it cost them dearly to do it.

A single back-and-forth conversation between interstellar leaders lasting a few minutes might cost as much as the salary of an entire world's population for a single day.

The older man turned to him and offered a drink with a gesture, which J.J. politely shook his head at. The man looked like he could be a director of the local erotic movie scene with his rather comfortable attire of a dark red bath robe and slippers. Guess he was just really really comfortable with his self-image at his age, J.J. thought. Or maybe he just didn't care anymore, but he seems classy enough to give a damn.

"You ever turn on those spotlights when it's your turn to shoot? Never liked them myself," the man said while smiling at the younger J.J. His slicked-back gray hair shined with the hair products he used. Even his gray moustache had a sheen to it. At his age his hair would still be considered nearly flawless on another planet, so J.J. figured he might be a local here.

Malthus Casinos always had the spotlights at the tables. Any traditional table game had some variation of the rings. Craps spotlights exclusively followed the dice if the shooter opted for it. Roulette had spotlights on both the ball and the spot on the table the winning number represented, as well as smaller lights for colors, various rows and adjoining spots for winning numbers. Blackjack would have spotlights for anyone who got 21, or different colors like a dim golden glow for an opportunity to split or double-down.

Part of the ambience of a Malthus Casino was a tiny amount of non-toxic vapor that would waft through the casino floor, invisible and harmless, and gave a bit of a "smoky room" feel when the special light from the spotlights shone through it.

Part of the controversy of a Malthus Casino were the tiny sensors implanted in the roulette ball and craps dice, leading to numerous accusations of cheating, despite the house already having winning odds in the long-term.

"I don't mind it, but I usually turn it off when it's my turn." Keep it neutral. Don't let anything change this man's opinion of you for the worse, he would keep reminding himself. J.J. felt like he was getting more used to this private investigator routine, though he couldn't help this growing feeling behind him that he was running out of luck.

"Walk with me, son. Let me tell you about the glory days of Las Vegas on Terra."

"I've read some stories myself. A casino with a light so bright it shone into the planet's orbit, long before we could jump beyond its beam."

"Ah, the Luxor. A famous one, but I was more partial to the stories of the Freemont Street Experience. The entire street was closed off to vehicles. You could only walk there. And one end to the other had a gigantic video display for a ceiling which had shows every hour." The man took a walking sip of his wine in one hand, with the half-open bottle in the other. "What was so nice about it to me was the casinos there were a lot like this one. Homey, comfortable. Like you were hanging out in someone's really big mansion instead of a giant room."

"Can't argue with that. Have you spoken to our mutual friend in the camera business? I'd like to hear what he has to say about gun-cams. If we could score that contract when the Militia decide to renew their it next year. Then we could have our own mansions," J.J. said smiling as they made their way up a large staircase with red carpet, presumably towards the old man's hotel room. The regulars get the first floor up. Neat.

"Yes, I've spoken to him about it recently. Not sure if we're going to get that contract, but he wants to speak to you about a few things first. He's staying with me." The old man gestured towards his room at the end of the hall. "Says he's got a bit of a doozey."

After opening the door with his thumbprint, he went in first, quickly. Much more quickly than he's moved the entire time. What the hell? The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand up. Something's wrong, here. The door opens inwards. He slowed down as soon as he cleared the doorway. Is there… "one moment please, my friend. I think I see someone I know coming up the stairs." J.J. slowly turned and began to walk back down the hallway, towards the casino floor. From behind him inside the room, a voice he didn't recognize suddenly shouted in a manner J.J. couldn't understand, so he broke into a sprint.

A lady came out from a doorway in his path and they crashed into each other. A loud oof was heard from the woman as he swept her aside. The motion allowed him to glance back at the old man's door, where several heavily-armed men with various kinds of bulky weapons came out and lined up on the far side.

If I can just break their line of sight, I can get out of here! J.J. thought in a panic, when a dull pop was heard behind him and milliseconds later, a small net with padded weights pushed him forward and caused him to tumble down the stairs. The net wrapped around his arms, throwing off his center of gravity and his head smacked into a stair at a high rate of speed. Screams of surprise and panic from the nearby bar rang in his ears along with the pain of the impact. His feet were free, but they wouldn't listen to him.

The weighted pads also had small durable batteries and sensors hooked up to the net itself, allowing for electric shock if enough tension was detected on the net. J.J. struggled despite the pain in his head, but the shocks he received jumped between his teeth visibly and that was enough to get him to stop moving.

Several burly security men from the casino showed up to see what was going on at the bottom of the stairs, but the three men with the bulky weapons simply aimed them at the guards. One of the fully-armed men shouted, albeit muffled by his face guard, "P.I.D.! This man is wanted for crimes against our people, which will be revealed at a later date." The man opened a pull-down flap on his vest, showing his identification. "He's coming with us. Everyone go back to what you were doing. Sorry to bother you."

Planetary Investigation Division. The guys with all the fancy spy toys and the clearance to do almost anything they wanted with them. They were well-known, despite not wanting to be, but the people's taxes helped pay for their toys, so they just had to accept that part of the bargain.

That's what they say they are, anyway…J.J. was at least grateful he didn't say that out loud, or the pain in his head would be double or triple what it was right now. The men picked him up by his arms, still wrapped up against his sides, and casually walked towards the front door where a parked car was waiting with an open door.

As the murmurs of curiosity competed with the ringing in his ears, J.J. could look back over his shoulder one last time at the old man at the top of the stairs, toasting him with his glass and a smile.