Well Now My Pretty

Twenty-five minutes before the truck arrived at the Staff entrance, Mish Collins drove up to the Casino in his hired car, swung a tool box over his shoulder by its leather strap, got out and stared up at the lighted entrance.

The doorman, magnificent in his bottle-green and cream uniform, converged on him. The doorman considered this big, fat man in uniform was spoiling the de luxe background of the Casino.

Before he could remonstrate, Mish gave him a friendly grin and said, "You have an emergency. Mr. Lewis flashed us. Seems you have a circuit breakdown somewhere."

The doorman stared at him.

"I haven't heard about it," he said. He had been with the Casino almost as long as Regan. He had collected a fortune in tips by opening and shutting car doors. During the years of standing in the hot sunshine, doing a simple, mechanical job, he had become alarmingly slow witted.

"Look, chum," Mish said, his voice suddenly sharp, "do I have to worry about that? This is an emergency. It's no skin off my snout if the electricity fails, but I've got this call and whoever made the call is laying eggs. Where do I find the fuse boxes?"

The doorman blinked, then suddenly realised what it would mean if the Casino was without electricity. He broke out in a cold sweat.

"Sure . . . I'll show you . . . you come with me."

Mish had almost to run to keep up with him as he led him down a narrow alley, lined on either side by orange trees, heavy with fruit, and to a steel door, set in a wall.

The doorman produced a key and unlocked the door.

"There you are," he said, snapping on the light. "What's wrong?"

"How do I know, pal?" Mish said, setting down his tool box. "I'll have to take a look, won't I? You want to stay and watch?"

The doorman hesitated. Somewhere at the back of his turgid mind he vaguely remembered the rules of the Casino: no one should be allowed into the control room without authorisation and should never be left alone there. But this was only the vaguest memory. He thought of the people still arriving at the Casino, even at this late hour, and the dollar tips he was missing. He eyed Mish's uniform and the tool box with Paradise City Electricity Corp. written on the lid in startling white letters.

What was he worrying about? he thought. He should be on his job.

"You fix it," he said. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Don't rush," Mish said. "I'll be here for at least half an hour."

"Well, okay, but you wait here. Don't go away until I get back." The doorman hurried away up the path.

Mish grinned. He turned to examine the fuse boxes. He quickly found the fuse that controlled the calculator. He had some minutes yet before he went into action. He lit a cigarette and then opened the tool box.

He was very calm and sure of success.

* * *

Bic Lawdry felt a drop of sweat roll down his nose and then drop on his hand. He had been dozing and, surprised, he stiffened, now aware of the heat in the vault. His fat face creased into a puzzled frown.

"Hey! Ain't it getting hot in here?" he demanded, leaning over to give Hank Jefferson a shove. Hank was absorbed in a paperback with a jacket picture of a naked girl lying in a pool of blood.

"Wrap up!" Hank said. "I'm busy."

Bic wiped the sweat off his nose and glared at the air conditioner. He slid off his stool and walked over to the machine, putting his hand against the grille. Only hot, steamy air was being forced out by the fan.

"The goddam thing's broken down," He announced.

The four girls were working at high pressure. The tide was now turning, and the gamblers had at last hit a winning streak.

Rita, busy answering the red flashes on her desk, felt her dress sticking to her, but she couldn't stop. The activity and the need for concentration allowed her only to wave her hand, signalling to Bic to do something about the breakdown.

Such was Bic's nature, he looked helplessly at Hank. If he could find someone to take action on any little thing, he inevitably passed the buck.

"Hank! Quit that muck! The air conditioner has packed up!"

Hank dragged his eyes away from the small print. Right now, a girl was being raped. She was putting up a terrific fight and the lurid details intrigued him. He considered Bic dumb and lazy, and he had no patience with him.

"Drop dead!" he said. "You do something about it for a change." Then he returned to his reading.

There came a sharp rap on the door, and at the same time the whining sound from the calculator slowed, then suddenly ceased.

"Damn!" Rita exclaimed. "Now the calculator has stopped!"

The four girls paused. They suddenly realised how warm the vault was growing. The piles of money, some banded, some only halfway through the counting machine, now lay in inert piles.

Again the rap sounded on the door.

With a sigh of exasperation, Hank got off his stool, shoved his paperback into his hip pocket and opened the grilled, judas window. He saw a tall, good-looking man, wearing a peak cap with the yellow and black I.B.M. badge on it, regarding him.

"Yeah?"