"Like it?" beamed the little Big Shot as they landed on the roof of a rococco monstrosity which must have cost millions.
"Gorgeous!" beamed his guests.
Mike's harem, twenty beauties of every race, color and state of deshabille, was waiting for them. Squealing with synthetic glee, the girls bore them on embroidered litters to their quarters. These resembled glorified hotel suites replete with gold-plated bathrooms, priceless tapestries and uncomfortable furniture.
"What awful taste the beast has," laughed Sadie as she dunked her long-legged body in a scented and mirrored pool. "And to think I once wanted to be a Big Shot ... wanted to be one so desperately that I tried to rob a joint like this."
"What happened?" He was eyeing her appreciatively.
"Oh I was caught, of course. They slapped me in a concentration camp. See that scar? It's a burn I got in the uranium mines. That's where I joined the Underground."
"Funny place to have a scar," he grinned. "Get out of that pool and help me put on this cursed armor.... Are all their palaces like this one?"
"Worse!" She dripped water down his back. "Huge, gloomy holes where bored gangsters try to pretend they're having a wonderful time. The Big Shots are just Incors who made their pile and are out to show off like wicked children. Well, tonight let's pretend we're wicked children too."
"That shouldn't be hard for you." He helped the girl don her own light armor. "Sometimes I think you're a potential Big Shot still, at heart."
They entered the palace donjon to find Mike chatting uncomfortably with Hirokima Schmidzu, chairman of the Wildoatian board.