"What then?"
He smiled beatifically. "The boys and I held a little meeting yesterday
evening, and we--ah--formed a union, with me as leader. I'd like to
discuss the idea of a general wage increase for every one of the
exhibits here."
"Higgins, you blackmailer, how can I afford--"
"Easy," he said. "You'd hate to lose a few weeks' gross, wouldn't you?"
"You mean you'd call a strike?"
He shrugged. "If you leave me no choice, how else can I protect my
members' interests?"
After about half an hour of haggling, he sweated me into an
across-the-board increase for the entire mob, with a distinct hint of
further raises to come. But he also casually let me know the price he's
asking to call off the hounds. He wants a partnership in the Institute;
a share in the receipts.
If he gets that, it makes him a member of management, and he'll have to
quit as union leader. That way I won't have him to contend with as a
negotiator.
But I _will_ have him firmly embedded in the organization, and once
he gets his foot in the door, he won't be satisfied until he's on
top--which means when I'm out.
* * * * *
But I'm not licked yet! Not after a full lifetime of conniving and
swindling! I've been over and over the angles and there's one thing you
can always count on--a trickster will always outsmart himself if you
give him the chance. I did it with Higgins. Now he's done it with me.
He'll be back here in half an hour to find out whether he gets his
partnership or not. Well, he'll get his answer. I'm going to affirm, as
per the escape clause in the standard exhibit contract he signed, that
he is no longer of scientific value, and the Feds will pick him up and
deport him to his home world.
That leaves him two equally nasty choices.
Those fake documents of his were good enough to get him admitted to
Earth as a legitimate alien. How the World Police get him back there is
their headache--and his.
If he admits the papers were phony, the only way he'll get out of
prison will be when it collapses of old age.
So I'll give him a third choice: He can sign an undated confession,
which I will keep in my safe, as guarantee against future finagling.
I don't expect to be around forever, you see, though, with that little
secret I picked up on Rimbaud II, it'll be a good long time, not even
barring accidents, and I've been wondering whom to leave the Corrigan
Institute of Morphological Science to. Higgins will make a fine
successor.
Oh, one more thing he will have to sign. It remains the Corrigan
Institute as long as the place is in business.
Try to outcon me, will he?