In the conference chamber of the Fickle Finger Gaming Commission, all was silent and all eyes save for four were clapped on the dead face of the Mount Charles boss. Of the other four, two were, of course, the eyes in that slack face… and the other two belonged to the standard issue middle manager who had discreetly entered the room, discreetly drew a tiny kinetic energy gun from inside his suit jacket, and not-so-discreetly put an end to the most vocal opposition to the Lead Soprano’s deal.
“So,” he said, as the people sitting around the table began to shift their attention from shootee to shooter . “Let’s not have any more talk about who does or doesn’t have how many men in place. It’s not productive.”
Instantly the table was abuzz with outraged and frightened responses. There were no other weapons in the room, no security… this was their private meeting place, their sanctuary, and none of the commission members trusted the others enough to allow any of their security forces inside it.
“What?”
“How?”
“You all buy a single model of manager from a single supplier,” he said, shaking his head. “One set of retinas, one gene code, one voice pattern. You call it efficiency, but you know what it is? It’s careless. You try to save money by cutting corners, but it just costs you more in the long run, doesn’t it? We have agents positioned throughout your middle management layer, working undercover, completely independent of each other and completely indistinguishable from your run-of-the-mill drones.”
“What do you want from us?” Commissioner Krautmick asked.
“Two things, Commissioner. The first was to make a point.. that we are here and we do have the power to tip things one way or the other. The second is to make sure that you don’t do anything overly foolish, since no matter which way this thing goes, our employer stands to gain a hefty financial stake in the affairs of your agglomeration. Therefore, any action that results in further damage to the profitability of the operation will be strongly dissuaded.”
“In other words,” the Commissioner said, “you really do intend to hang back, wait to see who’s winning, and then take credit.”
“Not entirely,” the gunman said. “We’ll see which way things are going and then we’ll help speed them along. A fast and smooth return to normalcy will be to everyone’s benefit. Well, except the losers.”
“Your employer could end this the most quickly and smoothly by acting decisively now,” the commissioner said.
“The quickest way would be to shoot all of you and then tell Fortunato he owns the place,” the manager said. “Fortunately for you, my employer is a man of honor and wouldn’t…”
“Honor?” the Commissioner sputtered.
“I should point out that I singled out your departed colleague to make my initial point because he was disrespectful, not because he was entirely wrong about the general shape of things.
“You’re one man with a hand KEG,” one of the other commission members said.
“That’s one more man with a hand KEG than you’ve got in this room.”
“He couldn’t hope to stop all of us!” somebody said.
“I don’t have to,” the Trojan manager said. “Because none of you are going to risk your own lives so that the others will have a chance to prevail. You folks run a casino. You know the odds aren’t worth the payoff, and you haven’t gotten to where you are today by taking that kind of bet. So let’s all sit tight and just…”
He whirled around as the doors slid open behind him. There was a bang, and he fell to the ground as another middle manager came into the room.
“Consider this an object lesson,” the newcomer said. “My employer has eyes and hands everywhere. You probably thought you were clever, buying mass-produced managers in bulk from the same source…”
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