I looked carefully around me. All the ways out of the lobby were very thoroughly blocked off. If Scott should order the Jacksons to open fire, it would be a massacre.
“They don’t look that tough,” said Molly.
“But they are,” said Frankie. “Please don’t start anything.”
“Is there a null operating?” I said quietly to Molly.
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she said. “Major null. I couldn’t produce a bunny out of a top hat.”
“Then let’s not start anything, just yet,” I said.
“What do we do if they open fire?” said Molly.
“Hit the floor first, and hide under the bodies,” I said.
“What if they fire through the bodies, to make sure?” said Frankie.
“Well, hopefully by then I will have thought of something else,” I said.
One of the Jacksons noticed we were still talking, and came forward to glare at us. Molly and I moved to stand close together, and regarded the Jackson thoughtfully. He stopped, and looked at us. He’d been a soldier for many years, you could see it in his movements and in the way he held himself, and he knew a real threat when he saw one. I could tell just from looking at him that he’d seen pretty much everything bad the world had to offer, and that he hadn’t got where he was today by taking unnecessary risks. He gave us his best scowl, checked we weren’t obviously armed, and decided he was as close to us as he needed to be.
“Pay attention!” said Scott, into the silence of the lobby. He didn’t sound like a manager, all calm and patient and dedicated to the comfort of his guests; he sounded like a man who served Casino Infernale. “I regret to say . . . that there has been a major breach in hotel security. Someone has betrayed the trust placed on you, as guests. Someone has broken into Franklyn Parris’ private office.”
A short anticipatory murmur ran through the crowd at the name of the man in charge of the Games, but it was quickly shut down by threatening looks and movements from the Jacksons. Everyone looked quickly at everyone else, in search of a culprit. But since everyone there looked equally suspicious, and equally guilty, that didn’t really help much. There was also a certain look of admiration on many faces—that anyone had dared take on the man in charge. Of such things are reputations made. Frankie looked at Molly with something very like horror.
“How close did you come to getting caught?” he said, very quietly.
“Shut up,” said Molly. And she stamped on his foot, hard.
“Mr. Parris is extremely annoyed at having his privacy invaded,” said Scott. “He has therefore authorised me to punish someone. Since we cannot know who the guilty party is, and it seems unlikely that they will do the decent thing and own up, I have decided that someone will be punished . . . right here. Right now. Someone chosen entirely at random. To make the point that no one defies the rules at Casino Infernale.”
Scott produced a gun from inside his jacket. A simple, brutal handgun. Another quick murmur rose and fell, as the crowd realised they were going to see someone die. That Scott was just going to pick one of them, and shoot them dead. Just to make a point. Some of those present looked quite excited at the prospect. Scott moved forward, and everyone fell back before him. The manager swept his gun back and forth, quite unhurriedly, his cold gaze moving almost impartially over the people packed together before him. Here and there, men and women tried to back away, but either the people behind them wouldn’t let them, or there were armed Jacksons in place to prevent them. Scott paused before one man, who made a high-pitched hysterical sound, and then dissolved immediately into a tower of water that splashed to the lobby floor and ran away.
“Now that’s what I call nerves,” said Molly. “He wet himself.”
There was a sudden burst of nervous laughter, but it didn’t last long, in the face of so much tension and a very real threat. Scott was still pressing forward, moving his gun back and forth, taking his time, savouring the moment. The Jacksons were still standing solidly in place, making sure no one got away. Men and women flinched and clutched at each other as the gun targeted them. Some cried out, involuntarily. A few begged and pleaded shamelessly until the gun moved on, and then they cried bitter tears of relief and self-disgust. Some tried to hide behind other people, who fought them savagely off. Scott looked at me. I stepped forward, to put myself between him and Molly. I didn’t think about it; just did it automatically. Molly quickly shouldered past me, to stand between me and the gun, shooting me an angry glance to remind me that I didn’t have my armour’s protection any more. That honestly hadn’t occurred to me. I glared at Scott. I didn’t know what I’d do if he settled on Molly, but I knew I’d do something. Frankie hid behind both of us. And Scott and the gun moved on, leaving us behind.
Someone was about to die, because of something Molly and I had done, but I didn’t even consider confessing. Partly because I still had a war to stop, and partly because just by being here, at Casino Infernale, all of these people were guilty of something. I’m not normally that cold, or at least I like to think not, but these people deserved everything that happened to them.
And then Scott suddenly raised his gun and shot a man in the head. Quite neatly and proficiently, straight between the eyes. The man’s head jerked back, as blood and brains spattered the faces of the people behind him. They cried out in shock, but they didn’t say anything. The man crumpled bonelessly to the floor, his face blank and empty. He hadn’t even had enough time to look surprised before he was dead. Silence lay heavily across the lobby. Some people looked angrily at Scott, some looked relieved, but nobody looked shocked. This was Casino Infernale, after all. You had to expect things like this. Sudden death. Unfair death. It was part of why people came. Scott nodded briefly, satisfied, and put his gun away. He gathered up the Jacksons with his eyes, and led them out of the lobby.
Everyone else relaxed, and started talking again. Chattering loudly and excitedly, laughing nervously, speculating wildly on what might have been behind what just happened. If anyone there knew the dead man, no one was admitting to it. They all stayed well back, giving the body plenty of room. Quiet uniformed staff came forward, bearing a stretcher, and removed the body with casual ease. They had clearly had to do it before.
“Who was that?” said Molly, to Frankie. “Who was it who just died?”
“No one important,” he said, coming out from behind us now the danger was over.
“How can you be sure?” I said.
“Because if it had been someone important,” Frankie said patiently, “I would have known them. Mr. Scott chose his target very carefully, and not at all at random. He couldn’t afford to kill a Major Player, or even a potential Major Player, because of all the money and prestige such people bring to the Games. And, because you can’t kill a Major Player that easily with just a gun, even inside a major null. They always have some hidden protections. No, Scott had to kill someone, for the pride of the hotel, and Franklyn Parris, so he chose a nobody. Someone whose death wouldn’t matter. He was just making a point, after all.”
“I really don’t like this place,” said Molly. “Such small evils, such petty malice. I’d expected something more . . . romantic, from a big operation like Casino Infernale. Tragic betrayals, major reverses, souls lost and won on the flip of a coin . . .”
“Please,” said Frankie, “it’s just a business.” He paused to look at us both accusingly. “Did you really . . . ?”