From: Lester <maxim@netcom.com>
Date: Fri, 17 Oct 1997 21:49:55 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: The Logo Fyles #5
Message-id: <Pine.3.89.9710172122.A28182-0100000@netcom11>
He had taken the gambler's charter out to Mineola, and was about to go into Parker's Grid Game Casino and Detention Center for a few racks of high stakes Tray. A man was taigling in the shadows, and called to him in a raspy voice, "St! -- Kam! Feel like laying down some tiles?"
"Who's there?"
The man stepped into the light. Sneb. Adeem Sneb. Brond had met him at a party at Isabel's a week ago. They had discussed word games over a bevvy. Adeem was in town with his brothers, Blip and Jird, for lexica updates and a remedial spelling seminar. The brothers suddenly appeared out of the shadows, and Brond remembered walking into the casino with the three of them, thinking what coxy droogs they were ...
He had to postpone his attempt at recall. His empty wallet gaped at him. It was necessary to scrape together some wonga, pronto. His Magnox lay on the table. It was guaranteed not to lose a second in a millennium, and could probably fetch some decent ackers, but Brond couldn't bear the thought of giving it up. It had saved his life, more than once.
He thought of calling Skudler to demand they speed the paperwork on his severance, but he knew it wouldn't accomplish anything. Just give the pompous nerk another opportunity to sneer. Sooner pan in the subway with the skells than ask Skudler for batta.
A bell tore into his brain. They had never removed the special phone. He picked it up. "Brond."
Zeriba's sexy voice. "Skudler wants you to come in," she said. She paused, as if about to say something else, then hung up.
He held the dead phone, its echoey ring clattering in his ears like a chamade.