A bleached blonde with highlights in her shoulder-length hair, not all of her restrained in a flowing white dress with matching gold shoes, belt, and a small clutch purse, politely but firmly shouldered her way to the rail, casually tossed a $100 bill on the green felt of the craps table, and sang out in a soft contralto, "Ten-dollar come."

"Pass-line bet," corrected the dealer with a smile. One glance and he had her number.

The blonde bowed her head in thanks at Dupre when he shifted to allow room. Other players couldn’t miss the movements, and those on either side of the two adjusted positions to fit her in, all sharing a dazzling smile of appreciation for their efforts.

* * *

With Marcel subdued to near comatose, it did not take long for Bob Anderson to arrange an agreed upon payment plan to the Swords. Thursday afternoon, precisely at four o'clock, one of Marcel's people would arrive at the blackjack table they had just vacated—he emphasized, the very same one they had just come from, no other—and would play until he was ahead by $1,000. Whomever the player Marcel chose—there would never be a substitute—he would be a quiet participant...

"Denny, I want all of them, not just those three thugs, made on the computer. If they ever get near the Sultan again, I want to know about it beforehand."

"Then why the charade?... Why pay them anything?"

"Time. Time is everything to us. We need to organize better so they don’t get to us so fast the next time. We were lucky. Lucky that I was there. Lucky that Dutch held back long enough...lucky! Can you imagine running a casino and banking on luck? Time and luck, Denny. We can't operate without time and we can't operate with luck."

* * *

"How are you doing?" Royce asked.

"Great. I'm doin' great. How you doin'?"

"'Bout middlin'," Royce told him, "'Bout middlin'."

But there was nothing middling about the little guy. Frisky now, jumping from one foot to the other, rubbing his hands together. Royce wasn’t sure if he had a case of the goes or had caught a bug.

"You in some sort of trouble?"

"Nah, no trouble. You could say I was just anxious-like. You know, anxious."

* * *

Royce spotted Alice Ann and waved. She was a radiant sight with that swirling hair and dazzling toothpaste-shine-smile. Even from where they were sitting they could enjoy her feline sway.

One of the craps players, dice in hand, stopped the play as she approached his table and said something to cause her to alter her course to move over to him. They watched as she touched the player's arm and leaned down as though to kiss his hand.

Scott was about to say something to Royce when the explosion shattered hundreds of eardrums.