The Liberation Paradox

One Con Too Many

Sid Stone

00:29

(last night)

Sid Stone was not having a very good night. Tonight's con was supposed to be his last score before he got off the planet with enough money to live comfortably for a while. With tonight's scam, he would have had just over $300,000 in quality Gonaways scratch. He was going to leave Distortion and this entire area of space on tomorrow's starhopper. But as it turned out, he had apparently overstayed his welcome here on Distortion by one con too many.

Just as he was about to seal the deal for his last $50,000 three big gorillas in lower-end designer suits had come flooding into his hotel room with their guns drawn. They hadn't even needed to kick the door in or anything. Claiming to be "hotel security," they'd had a key card. Sid was no fool. He had just surrendered, knowing he would likely be able to either talk or bribe his way out of the situation. The guy he'd been selling his counterfeit bonds to, some local politician, had been taken elsewhere and all of Sid's money had been seized. So much for bribing his way out of the situation. Now, he would just have to rely on his natural charm.

It had been over an hour since he'd been locked into this room on the 16th floor. Though the room had once been a normal hotel room, it had been converted to something much more nefarious. The walls and floor were tile and a heavy duty drain had been installed in the floor. In the middle of the room, a steel table was bolted to the floor. It had an eye bolt sticking up from its center. Sid had been in enough police interrogation rooms to be familiar with this kind of table design. The eye bolt was for securing a prisoner's handcuffs to the tabletop. Sid wasn't restrained in any way, but the room was windowless, and he doubted if he'd be able to open the door. Just for good measure, he walked over and gingerly tried the knob on the heavy, steel door. As expected, the knob didn't budge.

He sat down on one of the small room's two uncomfortable chairs. They were made of some kind of polymeric metal which seemed always to be cold and uncomfortable. But they were probably easy to clean blood off of. Sid had no doubt about what usually went on in this room. He was going to have to incorporate all of his skills to talk his way out of this mess.

Before long, he heard the electronic door lock activate. Sid affected a casual and confident air as the same three goons who had earlier broken into his room now entered. "Hey, guys. How's it going?"

The three goons didn't answer him. The head goon, the one the others had called Mr. Miles earlier, just watched as the other two grabbed Sid by an arm each and led him out of the room. Sid offered no resistance and allowed himself to be led, albeit somewhat forcefully, down the hall and to the elevator. As he went, Sid made a mental map of as much of the building as he could. He doubted if it would help him, but one never knew.

Still holding his arms in their trap-like mitts, the two ogres followed Mr. Miles's lead onto the elevator. Sid watched out of the corner of his eye as Mr. Miles swiped an access card and pressed a button that was labeled PH.

"Access granted!" a chipper, pseudo-female computer voice sang out from a hidden speaker. They went up one floor. The two ogres followed Miles as they drag-led Sid out of the elevator and down a short corridor. Out of habit, Sid put his photographic memory to work. He mapped the penthouse floor in his mind just as he'd done with the floor below, counting his steps. He made note of doors, a stairwell, and just gathered as much information about his surroundings as he could. He might need it if he had to make a down-and-dirty running escape.

The goons led him into a plush office with leather chairs, a minibar, an unlit fireplace, and probably the most beautiful desk Sid had ever seen. The desk was made of a salmon-pink wood with natural swirl patterns in it. Burl wood. Red gum, he guessed. The desk must have cost a fortune. Atop the desk was an all-too-familiar pile of money, his money, and a stack of equally familiar counterfeit bond certificates. And behind that imposing desk sat a middle-aged man with neatly combed, evenly graying hair, and round-rimmed spectacles. He was dressed informally in pajamas and a silk robe. Even still, the man emanated power from his bearing, his appraising eyes, and the obvious deference the other, much larger men in the room showed to him. Sid could tell right away that this was no man to be trifled with.