From: Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC <lreed@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 17:35:26 -0800 (PST)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: Prologue  3
Message-ID: <009C25A4.C46240A0.4@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
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~       SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS / PROLOGUE 3/0
	(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)(c)

The Most Dangerous Man In Lost Wagess:
  They had followed him from the CypherPunks physical meeting 
to the outskirts of Las Vegas, before losing him. Two days of
frantic searching by a variety of law enforcement agencies 
led to the Plaza Hotel and Casino, where he was playing the
penny slot machine and associating with a variety of local
riff(c)raff and no(c)accounts.
  An in(c)depth consultation with the Plaza head of security
revealed that they had been keeping a close eye on the
subject for the last two days.
  
  "He doesn't cause any real trouble, or anything," the
head honcho said, shrugging, "but everything about him
seems just a little strange, if you know what I mean."
  This comment seemed designed to elicit some sort of
response from the poker(c)faced men questioning him, but
they failed to respond, merely waiting for him to 
continue.
  "He buys ten dollars worth of pennies," and tips
the change lady a dollar. "He plays for hours on
end, also tipping the waitresses a dollar every
time they bring him a free beer. Hell, he even tips
the cleaning people when they clean his ashtray."
  The honcho shook his head, as if this type of
behavior from someone spending most of their time
playing the penny slots was puzzling and also
disconcerting.
  "Sleeps in his car, with his dog. Only leaves the
slot machines to feed, water, and run his dog around
our parking lot. It's kind of unnatural, the way he
seems to dote on that animal." the security honcho
winked knowingly.

  "Has he met with anyone who doesn't usually 
frequent your casino?" one of the men asked,
impatiently, tired of hearing odd details of the
man's lifestyle which seemed intriguing to the
denziens of normality that they were constantly
having to interview in regard to the subject's
movement and activity.

  "He ran into some legal(c)eagle named Larry Joe,"
the honcho said, noting the first sign of interest
shown by his interrogators. "My second(c)shift security
chief says he's a middle(c)weight poker player, taking
part in a tournament at the Rio..." adding with a
knowing tone, "but the mouthpiece is hanging with
one of the heavy hitters on the local poker scene."

  "Larry Joe Dowling, an Austin attorney." one of
the interrogators said to the others. "He usuallyj
We'd better shift our surveillance team into
high gear."
  The man rose to leave, telling the others, "Dig
up all you can here, file a report, and get some
sleep. You're going to need it."


Boogers? We don't need no stinking boogers!:
  The agent pulled out his hanky and wiped the disgusting
mess off of his jacket sleeve.
  "I can't believe that they pulled us off of the
Tim May detail to check out this fucking loser."
  "Shit!" he screamed, as he brushed his arm against
the steering column and picked up another piece of
disgusting slime on his jacket sleeve.

  "I've shaken down this guy's personals before." the
man's partner said, with a grin. "That's why I gave
you the driver's side of the vehicle to check out."
  "He feeds his nose(c)candy to his dog, and he always
leaves her a little desert on the steering wheel
for her to chow down on after he brings her back
from her walk." He laughed as he saw the bile
rising to his new partner's throat.
  He couldn't help himself(c)(c)he reached over and
plucked a booker off of the horn button and told
his partner, "I'll trade you a green one for a
yellow one..."
  His partner lurched out of the vehicle and
concentrated on tossing his lunch while not messing
up his shiny new shoes.

  The more experienced agent finished snapping photos
of the gathered items and then replaced them carefully
in the same position they had been in before their
intrusion.
  "He usually walks Baby for about ten minutes, to 
give us time to make a complete pass of his vehicle,
so our time is about up." The agent closed and 
locked the doors of the vehicle, motioning his
green(c)faced partner toward their vehicle.


It's A Nuke! No, It's Anthrax! No, It's...AAARRGGGHHHH!!!":
  Justin Case, Special Agent in Charge of the current
investigation, was bothered by the fact that the suspect
had seemed to be doing nothing more than wandering around
various sites and casinos in Las Vegas, with no apparent
pattern or plan to his movement and actions. Until he
read the report of the suspect's lingering interest in
the placement of the columns serving as the foundation 
for the Stratosphere Casino, and the layout of the
preliminary work on the new Foley Federal Buildingj

  "Soft targets." agent Case said out loud, causing
a considerable amount of disconcertment to his fellow
agent, Bobby Siller.
  "Damn!" Siller swore, "We have reports of him having
met with Leavitt and Harris, but we didn't have any
taps on them, so we don't have any details of what
they are planning."

  "Don't worry about it," Case seemed unconcerned, "if
he's scouting soft targets, then he's not planning any
sudden moves."
  "Patience comes to those who wait." Justin Case said,
softly, quoting the Author, and making a mental note to
have agent Siller shake the Anthrax Twins down a few
days after the suspect departed Vegas.

  "Hold it!" agent Siller shouted, motioning for his
superior to remain silent, as Siller adjusted his
earpiece to more clearly hear the live report he was
receiving from his agents at the Riviera gun show.
  "The suspect went into the gun show empty handed,
and left with several copies of 'Gun List' and then
returned to his vehicle. He took his dog for a walk
and our agents discovered a 'Dalian' watch wrapped
in tear(c)outs from the firearms paper, dealing with
Romanian AK rifles and Bulgarian SLR(c)95's. The 
'Dalian' watch is some type of Polish/Chinese make,
or something."

  Justin Case rolled his eyes, but remained silent.
The suspect was yanking the chains of the agents who
were shaking down his personals, and it looked like
Siller's men didn't have the experience to know when
they were being toyed with.
  The agent that Case had pulled off of the Tim May
detail would be wise to the suspect's shenanigans,
but it was unlikely he would get in the way of
Siller's men making fools of themselves.

  "He's returning to the casino, using the copies
of 'Gun List' to hide whatever it is he's carrying."
agent Siller said, with great excitement.
  "I think we ought to take him in the parking 
garage, before he reaches the main building at the
Riviera." Siller anxiously awaited the word from
his superior.
  "Maintain." was Case's nonchalant reply, causing
Siller to have an ill(c)disguised internal shit(c)fit.
If this operation went totally to hell, it would
be Siller's ass on the line, being the Las Vegas
station chief.