[pshrynk]

Juan Carlos Rivera de la Carraca y de la Vega was a very worried man. As the concierge of the Blue Parrot Hotel and Casino, his was the duty and honor to plan and execute the poker tournament of all ages. He had spent months on the details. It must be perfection from beginning to end. It must run flawlessly. It must attract the attention of all the world's newspapers and even some of those upstarts in that new fangled contraption called "radio."

What it must not be, however, is interrupted by a wildcat strike of the casino workers.

It had all began with the chairs he had special ordered from Canada. Bird's eye maple wood. Plush red velvet seats. Little gold inlay across the backs that indicated that one could sit here, but one would not, in fact, belong in such a lofty position. When they had arrived all had seemed in order.

Then the manufaturer's representative had made an entrance. He was an unassuming man of average height and build without a memorable face. He spoke French and smoked rancid cigarettes constantly. He had been very insistent that the men unloading the chairs not jostle them at all, nor smoke within ten feet of them.

Juan Carlos understood the need to keep the chairs pristine. They were, after all, a big part of the ambience of the tournament. When he had pointed out to the Fench Canadian gentleman that he, himself, was, in fact, smoking near the chairs, he had had to endure a twenty minute harangue on the need to know what one was doing when handling such cargo.

Then the workers had all gone on strike. And there were pamphlets.

Mr Falcchione was going to definitely give him a stern look when he arrived later this afternoon.