I packed a travel bag at my apartment, then met Shauna at the door to her bar. Her bag was sitting on the curb as she hung a sign on the door which read, "Closed for renovations."

"Renovations?" I asked as I walked up.

"Less likely that people will try to break in," Shauna explained. She lifted her bag. "Nice to see you in pants; I was tired of looking at your scrawny legs. Where to, glorious leader?"

"Time to get a bit more control over our fates," I said, and dialed my cell phone. "Hello, Mr. Maris, please. Tell him that it's Mister Jones; we met over drinks last night, and I wanted to arrange for a small demonstration. I'll hold."

Shauna's eyes had widened. "Will," she said, pulling on my jacket sleeve. "I like living!"

I smiled, and spoke into the phone, "Hello, Aaron. I need a few items from you in order to effect your request. I need plastic and papers." Shauna nodded in sudden comprehension. "We'll be there in ten minutes." I hung up the phone. "If he wants his dirty work done, the least he can do is pay for our travel. Have you ever flown business class?" Shauna shook her head as we headed down towards the Strip.

We entered the Mirage and headed directly for the elevator. We were indistinguishable from the dozens of other couples carrying luggage from the lobby, and exited the elevator on floor three. "Three fixation," I murmured to Shauna.

"March is the third month, genius," Shauna replied, nudging me.

We walked down the hall, and I knocked on the door to room 10317. A brunette in a business suit opened the door as I finished the knock. "Mr. Jones?" she asked. I nodded, and she gestured us inside. "Mr. Maris is out of town, but left a package for you. Come right this way." She sashayed down the hall and led us to an finely appointed conference room. Shauna elbowed me as I stared after her gray-clad posterior. I grinned at Shauna and we walked into the room. Shauna walked to the table and picked up a thick envelope as I wandered around the room. "He's got a print of Picasso’s Guernica,” I said, stopping at the cheapest item in the room, “but it looks like the Greek and Ming vases are real. I believe that statue is actually a Michelangelo. Of course, creepily enough, ll those weapons look like they have real blood,” I continued, gesturing towards the racks ranging opposite the windows.

“Fortunately, Maris isn’t here to demonstrate their use. He did leave us some interesting items, though…” Shauna held up the contents of the envelope. “I don’t think I heard you use my name.”

“I didn’t, why?”

“Well, there is a credit card and a matching passport. For each of us,” Shauna said with a frown. “You also have a love note.”

“I’d rather have a crush on Lucifer,” I snapped as I took the hand- addressed envelope from her. I cracked the wax- seal, and withdrew a piece of linen paper.

“'Dear William,'” I read aloud. “'I hope your taste of true power has left you eager to continue in my employ. You'll find me a most generous god. I look forward to your prompt return, at which point we can negotiate a more permanent arrangement. Please wish your Irish lass well, and be clear: even with her gone, I know where her relatives are. Best wishes, I'm an asshole, blah blah blah.' I may have editorialized that last bit."

"I gathered," Shauna said while she handed me my items. She opened her purse and placed her own documents inside while I flipped open passport. The identification and credit card both carried my real name, and the photo in my passport looked a lot like me, even though I knew I hadn't posed for any pictures lately.

I pocketed my papers, and opened the conference room door. "Oh, pretty lady?" I called out into the hall. The receptionist- slash- secretary- slash- assassin- for- all- I- knew appeared. "Could you please arrange two tickets to Cairo, first class, of course. Earliest flight, passengers named William Jones and Shauna O'Malley, two els."

"Very good, sir." She vanished, and reappeared ten minutes later. "No direct flights were available, but I have you departing from McCarran in four hours, changing in Cincinatti and Frankfurt."

"Excellent, Moneypenny," I replied. I took a certain gleeful pleasure in her confused expression.

Shauna was sitting at a table towards the front doors with -- of all things -- a shotgun across her lap. The bar was otherwise empty, and looked somewhat unnatural. After a few moments, I realized the neon Open sign was turned off. I had never seen it off before. I slipped out of the office, and startled Shauna.

I had never seen Shauna riled before; it was a scary sight. The shotgun was pumped and aimed at me before I took two steps. "Geez, Shauna, what the hell! Where are my clothes?"

"Stay put, William." Her voice was colder than I had ever heard before. The words wouldn't have stopped me, but the tone -- and the shotgun -- left me to stop stock still.

"Okay, Shauna, I don't know what's going on, but my hands are tied -- literally -- and a dear friend is pointing a shot gun at me, so can you please tell me what I've done wrong?" I pleaded. I held my hands up in what I hoped was a non- threatening gesture, displaying the rope binding my wrists together. "What happened? Where's Marcus?"

"I don't know what happened, William."

"What's with this 'William' thing. I'm Will!" I was growing exasperated and increasingly confused. The shotgun was holding steady pointed at me; no sawed- off job, Shauna's gun was full length, with shadows disguising whatever the load might be. It had all the smooth and clean lines indicating a well- loved and cared- for weapon, and I knew Shauna had too much determination for me to intercept. That gun would fire if she wanted it to, and unless it was pointed elsewhere, it would kill me.

"You came in here, caused Marcus to have a seizure, and then tried to take my pot. I want to know what happened before that."

I stared at her, slack jawed. "What?"

She gestured at the table closest to me. "Those two business cards were the only things on you. Ring any bells?"

I hesitantly took a step, and when not shot, took another, ending close enough to pick up the two cards. The one had a hand written name on it, Johnny Mustafa, and an address. I didn't even recognize the language the address was written in. The other was the simplest business card I had ever seen; a name, an address, a phone number. It had the understated elegance of someone who was so utterly certain of his position in life that he felt no need to tell anyone who he was. The phone number was New York's 212, but the address was local. The name was familiar, and I felt a growing sense of unease. I dropped myself into a chair still alongside the table, and looked up at Shauna. "Shauna, why do I have Aaron Maris's business card?"

Shauna frowned, but apparently she believed my reaction. The shotgun wavered, then was lowered. She didn't clear the chamber, but did leave it pointed only in my general direction. "The name is familiar. Who is he?" She stood and took a few steps towards me, leaving five tables still between us.

"Aaron Maris would be the name of the current incarnation of Ares."

"God of War, Mars, et cetera?" Shauna asked, skeptically.

"That would be the one." I dropped the card back to the table and buried my head in my hands. "Okay, so you tell me what you know, I'll tell you what I know, and try to figure out the missing pieces."

Shauna looked at me measuredly, then cleared the chambers of her shotgun, and placed it carefully down. She walked over to me, and untied my hands. "You came into the bar around four in the morning, wearing what you have on now, and triggered a seizure in Marcus." I looked at her with my brow crinkled. "Then you walked into my office after ordering me to get you a drink, and when I came back after sending Marcus off the hospital, you tried to steal my pot."

I replied in shock, "Shauna, I would never! I know how valuable it is!" She waved off my excuses. "Did I say anything?"

"You said you were going to borrow my gold to take a trip to Egypt."

"Borrow a leprechaun's pot of gold? There are less painful ways to die..." I glanced down, somewhat embarassed, and caught sight of the hand written address. "Wait, Egypt?" I held up the card. "Apparently I was planning on going to Egypt to meet this Johnny person. So we had the what, I was the who, someone pretending to me was going to use your gold was the how, when was soon..."

"We're just missing the why," Shauna said, apparently willing to ignore the gold issue for the moment. I was thankful for the brief respite; messing with a leprechaun's gave me reason to believe I may have briefly had a death wish.

I tapped Maris's business card, and said, "I'm not entirely sure I want to know the why.

"I remember having breakfast with you, then going to the roulette wheel. I hit a few other casinos..."

"Were you winning?"

"Of course!" My pride stung a bit, but I'm sure Shauna was more than slightly pissed at me at the moment.

"Fairly?" A slight smile played on her lips.

"For me, yes. I did a circuit, and returned to the Bellagio. Did you know you can get Johny Walker Blue in the high roller's room in the Bellagio?"

Shauna gestured towards the liquor shelves behind the bar. "You can get Johnny Blue here, as well."

"Ah, but I didn't have to pay for it."

"You haven't paid for drinks half the time you're in here!" Shauna's indignation caused her cheeks to blush slightly in anger.

"Ah, but I always drink cheap drinks." Shauna shook her head, but left the familiar conversation tabled. "I was winning, and..." I paused as I tried to remember the blurry parts of my night. "I remember having a terrible headache... I lost." My head came up, and Shauna looked at me quizzically.

"You never lose. At roulette, at least."

"Someone cheated."

"Other than you, you mean," Shauna positively smirked, secure in her value as a business owner.

"Someone changed where the ball was going to land." I ignored her implications of impropriety. "I lost after Seeing."

Shauna said, "That takes one hell of a lot of power."

I nodded. "I can't do it; I don't know any half- blood who could."

This time Shauna tapped Maris's business card. "Well, there's at least one god in town, and we know he was in the picture."

I thought for a while, looking down at the table. Something on the arm of the jacket caught my attention, and I stared at it, trying to unravel the hidden pattern. It was a splotch of something dark; it looked like someone had spilled red wine, or maybe ketchup, on my sleeve. I lifted it, and took a sniff. The smell took me back, and I remembered.

I made it to the bathroom before retching; I threw up in the toilet.

"Tony Saccardi tried to kill me," I said, looking up from kneeling by the toilet. "I made the money, then tried to earn back my initial bank roll. I lost almost two hundred and fifty thousand due to interference, and that gorilla of his grabbed me as I went to leave the casino. Tony and George beat me into a bloody pulp, but my debt was bought just before they killed me." I tapped the business card, and Shauna's pale skin went white.

"You owe an Obligation to Ares?" Shauna said, her eyes nearly saucers. Momentarily she forgot how pissed she was at me as she pondered how screwed I was.

"It's a doozy," I said. "I have to destroy my Mother."

"I like your mom!" Shauna objected. "She sent me a wine opener when I first opened this bar!"

"I like my mom, too. I'm supposed to kill my Mother," I said, clearly enunciating the capital M.

"Oh. Wait. The God of War wants you to kill the Goddess of Strife? That's sick politics for you."

I nodded. "Unfortunately, it's not purely political. He threatened... well, a friend." I nodded in Shauna's direction, and this time I appreciated the blush across her freckled cheeks. "I tapped Johnny Mustafa's card. "Apparently, he can facilitate the operation. I can see why gods are gods, and we're left with pickings; I vaguely remember Maris touching me, and all I can remember before waking up here was feeling like, well... a god."

"That explains your eyes. They were almost glowing, even after you attacked Marcus," Shauna leaned back; her posture was relaxing as she began to understand what had happened.

"I'll have to do something to make it up to him," I said, wincing. "I rather like him."

"At least you're not using past tense, or referring to him as 'human,' like you were last night." Shauna frowned. "You're not really going to do it, are you?"

"Well, apparently I can't kill Mother, but I can destroy her; something about needing time for her power to reform in another incarnation." I shrugged. "If I don't, you're in trouble, as am I. At the very least, I have to try; that entire Obligation nonsense."

"I'm coming with you."

I looked at Shauna, and told her, "No. I'm screwed, but I'm not dragging you into this."

"Will, my safety and by extension that of all my cousins were threatened by someone who is currently the most likely culprit for setting you up to be killed by the Mafia. I'm Irish, and remarkedly stubborn." Shauna frowned. "Besides, you've never been out of the country. You need all the help you can get."

I started to argue, then realized I'd rather have a second pair of eyes watching my back, particularly a pair I could trust. "Okay. I can probably trade you in Egypt for a camel, in any case."

"Billy, you have some really good luck. You were going to die, you know that, right?" Tony waited for a moment, then asked again, "Right?"

I tried to form words, but my jaw wouldn't respond. Tony finally felt satisfied when I managed to give something resembling a nod. "You were due to die. You owed my family a whole lot of money. However, a friend of your mother's made me an offer I couldn't refuse." I blinked slightly at the comment regarding my mother; my mother was in the Granite Falls Retirement Community in the Florida Keys. I didn't know her to have any friends in Vegas, much less any with easy access to hundreds of thousands of dollars. I tuned back into Mr. Saccardi's voice as he grabbed hold of my chin roughly. "Are you listening to me? I want you to know that you are apparently worth seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars to someone. He'll be here to get you soon.

"I want you to know how it's going to be after this, William Jones.

"We know you. We know what you do, how you operate, where you live, who you spend time with. As long as you don't come near us, you're safe. We don't want you even remotely involved in anything involving my family. You've shown yourself to be dishonorable, and a traitor, Billy, and I don't want people like that near my family. Stay away, and we won't inflict any punishment on you. This offense has been paid off; our accounts are balanced. Don't give us any reason to have to revisit this... conversation."

I absently noticed the complete lack of expletives while Tony Saccardi was clad in his suit, but didn't have any time nor inclination to respond before the door swung open. Tony released his iron grip on my chin, and I fell back to the floor. I couldn't lift my head on my own, and so could only see my savior by his shoes and the bottom of his black pant leg.

"You didn't mention he was in such bad condition." My savior's voice was as smooth as expensive vodka, slipping down and warming me inside.

"Had you reached us any later, we may not have been able to make a deal. Do you want to cancel our deal?" Tony's voice sounded like gravel by comparison.

Please no, I pleaded, unable to form the words. Luckily, my unseen hero felt the same way; he said, "Of course not."

Tony continued, "Well then, we've kept our end of the bargain..."

"Oh, yes. Seven hundred and fifty thousand, in twenties. A silver briefcase was placed on the floor with a clump a foot ahead of the black shoes of my still anonymous rescuer. George's far cheaper shoes approached, and lifted the briefcase. I heard it placed somewhere with greater echo -- probably the table in the corner. A snap, and rustling told me the contents were being examined.

"Very good. Good night, Billy." Vague echoing footsteps faded into silence as the door closed behind Tony Saccardi and Minion George as they left me behind. I still couldn't lift my head, and my body hurt beyond belief. I knew my life had been saved, but I still didn't know by who.

"Hello, William. We've never met, but I'm a friend of your mother's." A chair appeared just before me. The lights in the room reflected off its metal surface, and the unclear reflection of myself I could see in the chair legs made me feel even more wretched. Unexpectedly, a strong pair of arms gripped me under the arms and hoisted me into the chair. With assistance, I got my first real look at my unknown benefactor.

The black suit was obviously hand made; the very slight lighter black lines were lined up too cleanly at every seam to have been done by a machine. The shirt under it looked as it was made of snow, and his tie was a deep blood red. He was tall, and what I could make out of his body had him more in the body builder frame than in the lanky category. His torso was nearly triangular, and I was placed oddly in mind of the shape of Roman gladiators. Even dressed as a gentleman I had the distinct impression that this was a killer. His hair was long, and pulled back into a pony tail with a leather tie. At first glance he appeared young, but as my eyes managed to stay focused on his features, I noticed fine lines throughout his features. He could have been sixteen with too much sun exposure, but after dropping seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I had the distinct impression he was a bit older.

"How are you, William?" He seated himself on the edge of the table, grinding out Tony's abandoned cigar with an expression of distaste.

"Water," I managed to gasp out. My mouth had too much of the taste of blood, and I didn't relish the idea of throwing up. Without response, my hero poured a glass of water from an unseen carafe, and left it beside him.

"I just want to be clear, William. You are aware that you would have been killed if I hadn't intervened." In the back of my mind, something sounded slightly off about that comment, but all I cared about was the glass of water too far away from me.

“Yes,” I managed to croak, still desperately eyeing the water just too far away from me.

“Perfect!” My velvet- voiced aide stood up and handed me the drink. He seemed far too pleased to have me acknowledge something we both already knew. “Then there’s something you’ll need to do for me, William.”

Despite my pain, my head rose at this; I saw his eyes for the first time, as he had removed his designer sun glasses. They were the grey of storm clouds, far darker than mine every shaded to. “Sorry, I don’t do well with favors. I’ll pay you back-- ”

The manipulative bastard interrupted, “I neither need nor want your money. Isn't it interesting how the value of money changes? Someone starving thinks a single dollar is a prize worth killing for; a few minutes ago, three quarters of one million dollars saved your miserible life, and that amount will not set your free from your obligation" -- the silky voice of my rescuer positively carassed the word -- "to me."

The only word to describe his smile was predatory. His grey eyes snapped into clear focus as my swimming head caught up with what he had said. The glass of water in my hand suddenly fell as I mentally capitalized the word Obligation. My no- longer- savior moved smoothly across the room as it fell, and caught the glass with a languid motion before it could hit the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your master?”

“What the hell are you talking about? United States, freedom, ra ra ra,” I said, hoping I could still convince him I wasn't in the Family.

"Servant, kneel!" The liquid tones formed an imperative in my mind, and I struggled with all my might to ignore his command. My bruised body just couldn't handle the stress, and I slipped from my chair to the cold tile floor, still slippery with my blood. The smile across his face broadened, and I felt sickened.

"Master," he said clearly, indicating himself. "You were far from trapped; you invited this yourself. I’ve just placed a karmic burden on you. I saved your life, so I can require one task of you in return. Don’t tell me you didn’t know how life debts work among your Mother’s people."

"You're not my mother's friend; you're my Mother's friend." I spoke up, and clearly he didn't understand the mental capitalization. He wasn't a half- blood, then, as if his eyes hadn't been clue enough. "Although, I doubt that 'friend' is the right word."

He shrugged, relishing his control of the situation. “I understand you’re a smart boy. I just need you to accomplish one simple little task for me, then we can go our merry ways.” The guy was a talker; he put me in mind of the years of Bond villains who would explain in full their cunning plans. Unfortunately, Q hadn't outfitted me for the day.

"Don't you have any minions?" I asked, regretting my position but not seeing any way out of it.

"Of course, and children as well. Unfortunately, I need someone who's not intimately connected to... well, good and evil are such passe concepts. Call it my side. I need someone to run an errand unnoticed. It's not terribly complicated, but it is a little... delicate. You are ideally suited to slip unnoticed, and probably the likeliest to succeed." Big Man was delivering his lines with a practiced smoothness.

"Why me? Why not just go after one of Lady Luck's kids, they're better far better at party tricks than I am."

My boss -- even in my mind I refused to refer to him as master -- rose. "Have you ever met any of those irritating snots? Being constantly lucky just means you never have to work for anything; things always go in your direction. They end up living lives of utter mediocracy, never doing anything even remotely interesting or challenging. They have no concept of how to work, how to pursue a goal. You've actually worked at challenges throughout your life, William." The compliment didn't throw me off the track, and my nature got the best of me.

"Oh, what you mean is that you weren't clever enough to entrap one of Lady Luck's brood, and had to settle for me?"

Bossman stood upright, sighed, and shook his head slightly. Then I hit the wall across the room, not even aware of being hit, or of crossing the distance. I fought to remain conscious as I crumbled back to the floor. I could vaguely see my reflection in his shoes as he crossed to me, and then my head was wrenched back. "Listen you smart ass, you belong to me. Now, will you do this one task, or do I have to start threatening that little Irish girlfriend of yours?"

Vaguely I realized he was talking about Shauna; my head felt impacted, and I was surprised I could put two thoughts together. He threw me back against the floor with a gesture of casual contempt. "Have you accepted your task?"

"I don't know what this damn task is!"

"Oh, right. Simple, really. You need to destroy your Mother, Eris, Goddess of Chaos, Strife, and Dischord."

I blinked, and then laughed, a choking noise that racked my body with pain. "You can't kill a god, asshole. Nice task."

He went to hit me again, then paused. "Destroy is not the same as kill. I just want her gone. There's a... gentleman in Cairo; you'll find him, tell him what you want to do, then assist in executing the task."

He had me trapped; I never would have hurt my mother, but my Mother? I was pretty sure she could take care of herself, even against treacherous half- blood sons. "Fine."

"Good. William, this really doesn't have to be this difficult. You will find me to be a generous master." His hand dipped town, then carassed my forehead.

I fell backwards as the power flowed into me. It was the best Scotch, the best sex, cocaine, heroine, a hit of LSD, all while winning the World Series and the Super Bowl, with crowds of adoring fans reaching out to touch me at my first rock concert -- everything cruising through me. I felt my wounds stitch close, and my bones reknit themselves in the short silent hush between breaths.

I stood. I could feel the power flowing through me; and realized what it must be like to be a god. Hell, at the moment, I was a god.

I stood a head shorter than my master, but looked into his eyes unafraid. "Right," I said, taking control of the situation. A pleased smile crossed his features. "What must I do?"

My master handed me business card with a hand-written name on it, and said, "Visit this man--"

"I can figure out the rest." I didn't need hand- holding; I would impress my master with my initiative and creativity. "Visit him, destroy my Mother, Eris. Anything else?"

"Bring me proof," my master said, his smile growing ever wider. "Then we can negotiate something more permanent than your minor Obligation."

"Right." I started walking out of the room, intent on my task.

"Oh, William, you'll need this to find me again." This business card had a name and address on it. I picked my repaired jecket from the floor so I would have somewhere to keep the cards, and flung the jacket over my bare shoulders. I headed out into the desert night back towards the lights of the Vegas Strip.

I walked into O’Malley’s three hours later. I breezed through the door, and Marcus looked up at me as if I was insane. Foolish human that he was, I decided he was due to have an seizure, and continued through the bar as Marcus collapsed foaming on the floor. Shauna ducked out of her office as one of the girls who had just been flirting with the gay little bartender shrieked in terror. I caught Shauna's arm as she dashed by me, "Shauna, please be a dear and get me a drink."

She endeavored to throw off my hand, "What's wrong with you Will? Come help Marcus!"

"Oh, he'll be fine. The human just forgot his place."

Shauna blinked as I dropped her arm. "The human? Will, he's a friend! What's wrong with you?" She hurried over to the bar as I let myself into her office. Silly little locks.

While waiting for Shauna to bring me my drink, I entertained myself by counting out her pot of gold. "He stopped seizing, but I'm going to need your help to cover the bar," Shauna's voice wafted around the corner as she walked towards her office. I more felt than saw her freeze at the door. "Will! Get out of my gold!"

The blow she launched in my direction never landed. I saw where it would land, and stepped around it, still counting the gold coins. The blow whistled by, and Shauna looked confusedly where I had been sitting a moment before. I leaned against the far wall, coin stack in hand. "Is this all you have?" I asked, tossing the coins back into her pot.

"Will, you had better start explaining yourself, or you're going to end up cursed."

"Relax, I just need to borrow some of your money to take a trip to Egypt."

"You're not borrowing my gold," Shauna's voice lost all trace of sympathy. "You're going to tell me what happened, now."

I shook my head. "No time, love." I kissed her cheek and picked up her pot of gold. I walked out of the room, and froze in the doorframe.

I had used my available cash to fund my day's events, and couldn't recover my loss the next morning. I knew how much it took out of me to simply know what was coming, and didn't know of anyone in town who had the power to fix a game of chance. I shook off my headache, and Saw the ball landing on thirteen. I placed my bet.

Another soundless gong, another loss.

I looked around, a sense of unease growing within me. I placed another bet, my vision and stress fading. Another gong, another loss. I gave up Seeing, and placed my bets on the outside. Soundless impact, another loss. And another. And another. And another.

I lost on every spin; I couldn't make up any of my losses. I didn't have any other options, though, and kept trying. My pile of chips dwindled, thousands with every spin. It wasn't random chance, no matter whether or not I Saw, the soundless gong told me why I lost.

My chips dropped in half, and then I was down further. I packed it in at two hundred thirty thousand, and walked with an escort back to the cage. Mindy cashed me out, providing me with a cashier's check for two hundred twenty five thousand dollars. I thanked her absently, leaving in a fog of pain. I managed to pull my cell phone out of my pocket with the intention of asking Shauna to find out who was in town. Unfortunately, the steel toed boots currently trampling over my brain protested the intrusion of the ringing, and I hung up before Shauna could answer.

I stumbled my way past the flashing lights; the bright slot machines blurring one into the next: the ducks were purring and running up and down ladders, the dwarven warriors were building oil wells. I had to get out of there. Thankfully, it was an autumn weeknight, and the crowds had dwindled while I was playing in the high roller’s lounge. I was able to make it to the door, stumbling like a drunkard. I could plainly see the exasperation on the casino managers’ faces as I went by. The thought of “good riddance” was almost audible.

“There you are, Mr. Bathory,” a high-pitched male voice said as I pushed my way out the revolving door. I didn’t have the time to process before a meaty hand was clenched around my upper arm, and I was nearly carried to a waiting limousine. “Right this way, sir.” To anyone watching, I had just received personal care of the highest caliber. The abduction would not be reported soon enough for me.

George sat me down in the back of the limousine, and closed the door behind me. I looked around in a near daze, trying to establish where I was. The limousine was elegant; a classic stretch, not one of the newfangled Hummer jobs that offended everyone’s sensibilities. I was alone in the back, with a solid partition raised between myself and the driver. I checked the door; it was locked, and the window controls had been disabled as well. My cell phone reported no single; apparently the classic limo had been updated to have a faraday cage. I felt the front passenger corner of the car sink, and then heard the muffled slam of a car door through the near sound proof glass. Apparently, Tony Saccardi wanted to see me – now.

I was able to follow the view out the window long enough to establish that we were headed into the desert; unfortunately, after a few turns off the strip, everything near Las Vegas is desert, so I had no idea where we were headed. I made an ersatz ice pack from the napkins and ice stocking the wet bar in the back; I eschewed the alcohol and settled for some sips of water. I took some more pain killers, but I doubted they would do much good. I didn’t know who had decided to screw up my life, but I knew something serious was afoot. I couldn't affect the actual outcome of something random, but I could see what was coming. The amount of power to redirect the 'fated' outcome was far beyond my abilities, and whoever had done it had done it a few dozen times. I stopped focusing on the amount of power required, as it was causing my headache to redouble. I had never been overly good with math -- other than probability, of course. Instead, I focused on the who part of the equation. It was a futile effort, as I had no names to start with, so I distracted myself from my pounding head by stressing about someone who I didn't know was in town while being driven out of town to meet what was most likely my certain death. Tony Saccardi had publicly announced my death if I failed to deliver, and I wasn't going to be able to deliver.

After almost twenty minutes by the Timex on my wrist, the limousine came to a halt. I could make out a street light and the outline of a building through the smokey glass. The limousine shifted again, and I knew George was coming to retrieve me. I briefly entertained the notion of resisting, but I wasn't much of a fighter. I knew where a random dice throw might land, but a deliberate punch had no randomness for me to predict, and I knew from last night that George's punches weren't light. The door opened, and a curt, "Out," was all I heard. I left my ice to puddle on the floor of Tony's limousine, a spiteful and childish prank that was the only offensive tactic I currently had to hand. I climbed out of the car, and stood up next to George. I could see the dilapidated structure behind him mostly as a dim outline against the night sky. There was a broken marquee on the front which had letters still clinging to it saying, "C  D DR  KS  ER ." It looked like an abandoned convenience store, likely destroyed as 7-11s and Kwik-E-Mart's spread across the countryside. A door to the side opened as I awaited further instruction, and light bored out like a puddle on the desert floor.

George pulled me with him towards the pool of light, apparently deciding to forgo conversation in favor of using brute force to get his point across. I didn't want to give him an excuse to treat my ribs as a snare drum, so I went without complaint. The ground was the bare baked sand of the desert, with no obstacles to trip over as we came up alongside the doorway. I could see the limousine pull out silently into the street, turning around back to Las Vegas.

"Well, Billy, it sounds like we have some things to talk about. I really didn't want to talk about them again." My eyes were still blinking adjustment to the near-daylight of the interior when he spoke, but I recognized Tony Saccardi's voice. I started at the clank as George closed and locked the entrance behind us. When I turned back, my eyes had adjusted enough that I could see Tony leaning against a table in the corner. His hair was as well coiffed as it had been when I had last seen him, but he had decided to pass on the expensive, poorly tailored suit. Instead, he was wearing what would best be described as a butcher's apron. His clothes were decidedly unfashionable, but I had the distinct impression that the last few people who had seen them hadn't had the opportunity to turn him in to the fashion police. He was flipping a set of brass knuckles around in his hands. "George, please make our guest comfortable."

My arms were suddenly and cruelly twisted, and I felt the cold ring of handcuffs on my wrists. My arms were wrested above my head, and attached to an hook hanging from the ceiling. I was lifted just enough so that I was forced to stand on my tip-toes to take any weight off my arms. Had this been a meat- packing plant, I wouldn't have been surprised by the accoutrements, but the surroundings told me that this former store had become a safe location for the Saccardi family to administer their peculiar brand of justice. I felt oddly detached from my surroundings as I watched George circle around in front of me, taking off his gorilla- sized suit jacket. "Take off his clothes." George came up to me carrying a wicked looking razor blade that I remembered the Italian barber I had grown up with using to neaten my sideburns. With surprising gentleness, George slced open my jacket and shirt, managing to cut them cleanly off without touching my skin. He removed my pants with similar precision, and Mister Saccardi stopped him before he stripped off my boxers. I was left clad in my plaid boxer briefs and unexpectedly my socks and fancy leather shoes, dangling from my handcuffed wrists. It would have been moderately comedic, but I had a sneaking this night was not going to be ending well.

"Well, Billy, I'm very sorry that I must have this conversation with you. We thought you were a good employee, but well..." Tony wandered slowly towards me, then slammed his fist into my side. I felt a rib break against the brass knuckles around his fingers. I lost the slight balance I had on my toes and my entire weight dropped onto my suspended wrists as I swung slightly side to side. I lost the next few moments of Tony's speech as I panted for breath. "... it's unfortunate that you decided to betray our trust."

"Your money," I managed to pant.

Tony turned, clearly annoyed. "Billy, why must you continue to annoy me?"

"You... want... your... money." I managed to get the full sentence out before Tony completed the swing. Fortunately, this time he didn't have the brass knuckles, so it was purely the pain of being hit in my just broken ribs.

"Of course I want my money, you stupid little fuck!" Tony screamed at me, flushing in anger.

I struggled to get enough breath. "My jacket pocket! It's in my jacket pocket!" It's not that I'm a coward; I just didn't want to die. I had planned on paying him back, in any case.

Tony idly punched me, this time in the other side, then ducked down to pick up the scraps of my jacket from the floor where George's tailoring had left it. He checked the right breast pocket, then the left. He grunted softly, and walked away carrying the still sealed envelope. He gestured to George as he went, and George stepped forward, taking Tony's place. George's cro- magnon features broke into a sick charicature of a grin, and then I ceased paying attention to his appearance as he began slamming his ham- sized fists into my sides, left, then right, then left...

The impacts blurred in my mind, and after a while, I ceased really feeling each new impact. Even when not being hit, my muscles cramped uncontrollably, drawing my muscles across the shattered bones that had been my rib cage. I started looking forward to my forthcoming death; at least then the pain would stop.

I barely noticed when George was ordered back and Mr. Saccardi returned holding the cashier's check. He pulled my head back by the hair, and screamed into my face, "Are you trying to insult me, Billy? This is not five hundred grand. Did you think I wouldn't notice, you ignorant fuck?" I struggled to get enough breath to promise him the rest, but Tony stepped back and took a sharp jab to the side of my face. The brass knuckles had made a reappearance, and I saw stars as pain exploded, the shock of the blow combining with the fierce headache I had developed while still playing. Tony and George took turns. Each new blow added new layers onto the pain I was already feeling, and I had to fight for each gasp of breath.

After an interminable length of time, I ceased trying to struggle for breath. My vision faded, and I was only peripherally aware of George's transition to slamming his fist into my back. I could feel blood trickling from my lips, my forehead, and from what felt like hundreds of places all over my body. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I knew I wouldn't last much longer, and was left wishing I had had the time to do some things over; most of them involved leaving the country several months earlier.

I did notice when the beating suddenly stopped. My dim vision could barely make out George standing calmly to the side, and Tony Saccardi on his cell phone. He was eyeing me like an horse trader at the county fair, looking me up and down. I couldn't make out any part of the conversation over the roaring in my ears. Despite my resignation towards my death, I found myself struggling to regain my breath despite the pain in my body. The beating didn't resume, and I treasured every minute of the unexpected break.

I was a house built in worship to chaos. I was empowered. I didn’t care about the hundreds of thousands of outcomes around me, only the one. I focused on the croupier, on the ball in her hand. She hadn't even begun throwing the ball, but it was in her hand. I could see the wheel only as a blur even here, every number a possibility. I couldn't make the ball go anywhere, but I could see where it would go. I focused on the ball, and saw the ball as it would travel. I followed the path of the ball, as it would travel in the croupier's hand, the path it would follow through the air, and around the roulette wheel. I saw all the possibilities as the ball travelled, and eliminated the ones the ball wouldn't actually follow. I felt the familiar pressure as I reached further into the future, the beginning of an ache as I reached inside to focus on the course of the ball as it would finish spinning around the roulette wheel, watching to see where it would land. I followed the bounce against the wheel as it dropped into the pockets, making its final bounces randomly among the numbers and landing in--

I snapped back to the now, and my hand continued its trajectory, dropping two hundred on five, another two on seven, four on twenty three, and finally another four on eleven -- where I knew the toss the croupier was just beginning would end up. I stayed in the present as the ball followed the trajectory I had already seen for it, the pressure that had started builing in my head fading to a dull throb as I sipped my drink. The ball landed in eleven, and I nodded to the polite applause around me. I collected my fourteen thousand dollar winnings, updating my running balance while sipping my Jack and Coke. I lost the next seven throws, dropping ten thousand over the course of the runs.

The pain in my head faded enough after throw seven, and I saw again. I watched the random elements align, the bouncing of the ball, the land in three. I won seven thousand this time, losing an additional thousand in lost bets. My head was pounding, but I was halfway to my goal of leaving the Bellagio up twenty thousand dollars. I lost six thousand over the next six spins, then accidentally won three thousand on an outer. I made up for that with two more losses before following the ball, savoring the longer delay before my headache redoubled. Thirty more throws and I was at fifty- four thousand, two- hundred and fifty dollars, and it was time for me to move on. The casino host nodded to the croupier to approve payout, and my chips were racked. Unasked, a security guard appeared to accompany me to the cage. I threw two five- hundred- dollar chips to the dealer, "Will you be here this afternoon, dear? I could use a lucky charm after my meetings."

"I'll be working until seven. Feel free to come by this afternoon; I'd love to see you again!" the dealer said as she pocketed the thousand dollar tip. Yeah, I bet you would.

The security guard escorted me to the cage; but not back to Tammy. The cage I was escorted to had no lines, and I knew it to be the high- roller's area. I glanced around, bored, as the cashier counted out my chips.

"How would you like this paid, sir?"

"I'd like it redeposited into my bank account. Take any fees out of the money, but leave me, oh, three grand in cash."

"Very good, sir."

Brittany clearly was more familiar with the mechanics of a wire transfer, and even handed me a remote keypad to key my account number into. I was handed a receipt for the fifty thousand and change that had been deposited into my account, and three thousand in cash.

"Will you be returning, sir?" I know Brittany didn't particularly care, but I'm sure her management would be interested in being sure I returned to the Bellagio.

I threw five hundred dollars in her tip slot. "Of course! I had a wonderful time. I have a day full of meetings, but I'll be back this afternoon, and can play into the night!" Brittany would take that to mean the money would return to the casino, I knew the fun was just getting started. I left the Bellagio, and entered a waiting cab. "Mandalay Bay, please." The cabby pulled out onto Las Vegas Boulevard. I had walked into the Bellagio with thirty thousand dollars, and left with fifty- thousand. I was on my way to the five hundred thousand, and not by way of any meetings.

I did the same process over the course of my day, up and down the strip. I left Mandalay Bay with seventy- five- thousand, Paris with just over one-hundred thousand, and one hundred twenty thousand when leaving the Monte Carlo. I ended my loop at the north end of the strip, leaving the Wynn with one- hundred- seventy- five- thousand and the Venetian with the final piece of my stake, with two- hundred- fifty thousand.

I juggled the money through the same wire- transfer bank account; leaving everyone with the impression I would soon return. The casinos were all very professional; I was chump change to them, and had put up enough of a stake that they didn't see me as a risk. Keep me happy, and I'd return, and I'd lose the money that time. Not hardly...

I took a break at Hamada, snacking on a few pieces of exquisite sushi. I mostly enjoyed the relative quiet in the post-dinner restaurant crowd, and let the shade, quiet, and a few sips of sake aid the Excedrin in reducing the pounding in my head to more manageable levels. I had done this before, but never for this long. I wasn't concerned about being flagged by casino security nearly as much as I was that I wouldn't be able to finish winning the money; it was painful to look where chance would take me -- I was half- human.

I walked back to the Strip, still as bright as at noon, but now because of the lights of the casinos. I flagged a cab, and took it back to the Bellagio, my randomly chosen target. I walked in just as security escorted someone out. I felt a twinge of guilt, recognizing one of the cheats I had told Styles about the previous night. Of course, he shouldn't have gotten caught.

The casino was far busier than it had been; the week-day morning crowd had given way to the frenetic pace of visitors and locals alike, looking for some way to forget themselves for the night. I, on the other hand, was thankful for the crowd, as it made it easier for them to forget me. I walked through the casino to the high- roller's area, and the cage where Brittany was no longer. The casino host looked at me slightly curiously, but I could see him decide to wait as I walked directly to the cashier. He could always have me escorted elsewhere if I didn't belong there, but he would give me a chance to prove I belonged. I walked up and spoke laconically, "I'd like to withdraw some funds to game with."

Her name tag read Cindi, and she looked like she dyed her hair with the same color both Brittany and Tammy used. "Very good, sir." I provided her with my account information, and the same passport. "How much would you like to withdraw?" I knew her screen would show how much I had played with this morning, and her subtle gesture of approval to the casino manager did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, I had such fun this morning. Say... two- hundred- and fifty- thousand?"

Cindi blinked, and smiled. "Of course, sir." She began pressing buttons, one of which must have summoned her supervisor, who carefully watched the funds being counted out. A security guard appeared without verifying that I wished the assistance; it wasn't in the casino's interest to be exposed to the liability of a lunatic wandering around with a quarter of a million dollars. It was fine with me. Cindi was tipped two hundred dollars, and I carried the stack of racks to the roulette table, pleased to find a table with a two- thousand dollar maximum.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" The waitress had appeared before I was even fully settled; the service was far more responsive in the high roller's room.

"Johnnie Walker Blue, neat."

"Very good, sir." I may not plan on making any money for the day's excusion, but I could certainly enjoy the free alcohol.

The croupier was professional, and the roulette wheel was a single zero. Others might have increased the probability change, but it really meant nothing to me. I would win, it was just a question of how big my headache would be. I shared the table with four others, two of whom had roughly as many chips showing as I did, and the last was clearly at the lower end of the high- roller's area. All four were dressed remarkedly similarly to myself, with only minor changes in colors. The low- roller was clad in bright pink, as was one of the big money players. The other was in a green shirt with a tan suit. There was a universal aura of well- manicured, well- cared- for among the four of us. Even the croupier seemed a bit better put together in this room.

I smiled slightly to myself, and picked up two thousand in chips. It turned out one of the well- funded players wasn't proficient at placing bets, but the rest of us finished in moments. The croupier threw, and I lost. I gambled without any tricks, and peaked at three hundred thousand, and dropped to one hundred seventy five. The inexperienced player lost thousands, and rose back up. The other moneyed player stayed remarkedly stable; no real losses, no real gains. The least- funded gamer at the table seemed on a roll, nearly doubling his chips in the time it took me to finish my first glass of Johnnie.

I was just slightly up when I decided to make my push. It was nearly eleven at night, and I wanted to finish up before the following morning. I focused, and watched the ball on its future course, and placed my bets accordingly. I won, I lost, I won. Winning without suspicion is a suspicion game. The computer wouldn't notice any pattern; they weren't programmed to expect someone to actually predict where the ball would fall. I only had to worry about winning to quickly. I bet the maximum across the board on individual numbers, ten numbers at a time. I focused once every seven losses, with random play in between to break up the profile. My head hurt more and more each time, but my columns of chips multiplied in turn. My vision in real time was starting to get blurry, but I was nearing my goal. I focused and deliberately lost fifty thousand in a row, and recovered the monies over the next. As the night went on I mirrored the increasing emotion of my fellow players, but inwardly I was calm. This was my place, and nothing was a surprise.

My mental tally had me at four hundred ninety thousand, and I stopped focusing for a while. My balance yo- yoed, but wouldn't rise on its own. Everyone else who had started with me had retired for the evening, but a few late- comers were keeping me company. My head had calmed somewhat, and I focused, intending to push myself to the five hundred thousand mark.

I placed the bet on the outside, a variation on what I had usually been doing, and won with black, and lost the next bet. I won the next two, and then finished off with a bet on odd. I had reached my five hundred thousand dollar target. I sat out one spin, eyeing my profits for the day. I had won all that I needed, and while my head was pounding, I was on a high. I made a mistake. I kept playing.

I focused on the next throw, planning on just picking up enough to make up the thirty thousand I had begun the day with. I Saw the ball travel through the air, bounce through the cups, and end up in the twenty-three. I placed the maximum bet, and sat back, a napkin to my bleeding nose. The stress had gotten to me, and my headache had transitioned from throbbing pressure to feeling as if an ice pick had been shoved into my ear drums. I finished my final Johnnie Walker, and watched the ball spin around the wheel, dropping from the outside to the bounce around the cups.

Today, I needed them to think me the high roller as I walked out of the door with thousands of ill gotten gains. I was going to be a unknown cheat, and walk out with an invitation to come back.

First I had to beat the cameras. When floor managers knew everyone by sight, I'm sure my methods wouldn't have worked. The computers, however, could always make a mistake, an angle miscalculated. With me, they would.

I had done this before, but never to this scale in a single day. I forced myself to stroll calmly across to the casino, surveyed it for a moment as if I had never been on the floor of the Bellagio before. After a moment, I strolled over to a casino host. I walked straight up as if I owned the place, and asked, "I would like to transfer some money from an international account. Who will help me?"

The casino host had the look of a career employee, and took my brusqueness in stride. He politely gestured towards the cage, and walked with me over to it. His composure broke slightly when I tipped him with a one hundred dollar bill as he left me in the line. I could see him speaking quietly into his radio as he walked away. My myth for the day was beginning.

I stood in line, presenting every appearance of being impatient. Inwardly I was calm, even placid; I knew the line would move, and I would reach the front eventually. My persona for the day, however, was not nearly as patient. One of the cashiers finally called me over, "Here, sir."

"Finally," I said with exasperation. "I was about to go to that awful Eiffel Tower thing across the street. I'd like to withdraw thirty thousand dollars."

The cashier was a more recent employee than the professional host who had walked me over. She blinked at the amount, despite the fact that it wasn't terribly high. I would have rather started with a higher bank roll, but I hadn't had time to save up for this escapade.

"Of course, sir, which bank?"

"Sainte Catherine de Buis, Switzerland."

The cashier slipped a piece of paper and a pen through the shield of the cage. "Please write your account number down, and I'll arrange for the transfer."

I picked up the pen, and scribbled my account number down. "I've heard such wonderful things about the games here. I haven't played here before, but it's my first time in Vegas. I decided I'd play for a few minutes while waiting for my meetings later today." The cashier was nodding politely, her focus on the computer slightly off to her side. I knew, however, that this conversation was being recorded, and after I began winning, it would be reviewed.

"Can I please see some idenfitication?"

I pulled my new papers from my back pocket. My passport was from Hungary. Today I was Mihai Bathory, and my dark hair and grey eyes matched the passport photo, as did my horrific signature. Her eyes flicked from the picture to my face and back, and then she took it over to photocopy the document. A quick pass under a blacklight verified it to their satisfaction; conveniently, it was actually a real passport acquired in a more calm period of my life.

"The transfer was approved," the cashier said as she returned the passport to me.

"Of course it was," I asked, honestly offended. I was here to take their money at the tables not from the cashier.

"How would you like it?"

"Oh, hundreds would be a good start," I answered. "One thousand in twenty- fives."

"Very good." The cashier began counting out the chips into a chip rack. She stacked two ten-high rows of hundreds, then an additional nine. The forty twenty- fives were piled alongside, and she called over her manager to check her cashout. I signed the withdrawl slip with a barely legible scrawl. My real signature wasn't much better, and having a slopping signature made it easier for me to remember how to sign for every identity that I slipped through.

"Would you like an escort?"

"Why, yes, yes I would. You do have roulette, I hope." I slipped a hundred chip into Tammy's tip jar, joining the ones, fives, and odd twenty already there. Her eyes flicked to the tip jar, and I was walking away with the security guard before her eyes returned to me. I knew she would be happy to see me when I came back to cash out later, even if the rest of the casino was rather sad to see me go.

“So, Jimmy,” I read off the guard’s name tag, “where are the roulette wheels?”

“Right this way, sir.” I could really get used to all the sir-ing that went on when money got waved around, although I’d rather that for once it was out of true respect. Oh well, I knew I was a ne’er- do- well. I could buy their respect if I had to. Jimmy led me through the floor of the casino to a roulette wheel with a twenty-five dollar minimum. I flipped him a hundred chip as he turned to walk away.

The secret to being rich is, from what I’ve figured out, the ability to separate needs from wants, and saving the wants until you’ve had all you need. Some sound financial planning probably wouldn’t hurt, either. The secret to appearing rich, however, is to throw money around. I wasn’t rich, but I was on my way to having a whole lot of people convinced that I was.

My aim for this morning’s excursion was to just about break even. Breaking the bank would come on my afternoon return trip. I was already down three hundred dollars, plus the cost of breakfast. I didn’t want to win too fast, so after I converted my chips for roulette I played the first dozen spins on the up and up. I was the bored player in the corner. Not the excited individual every time he won, or the devastated dentist over at that other table who was clearly not looking forward to explaining to his wife where their retirement money just went. I took my losses, and my wins. I played inside numbers, and a few errant reds and blacks. I was losing, of course. House odds on a double zero wheel like this were just slightly above the payout amount; the casino edge. They paid out as if the single zero and double zero weren’t there, skewing the odds ever so slightly in their favor. The two percent different in probability was where they made their money. I knew the odds were in their favor; everyone who entered a casino did.

I sat upright in bed as the buzzing resumed, followed by the sound of something impacting the ground from a height. With a start, I noticed my cell phone dancing on the floor, and surged out of the covers and onto the floor. I grabbed the phone, and fumbled with the buttons. "Hello?" I managed.

"You are so slow, Will." I blinked at the clock. I managed to make out the time glowing in red digits on the nightstand.

"Shauna, what the hell are you doing out of bed at nine in the morning? More importantly, why are you calling me before nine in the morning?"

"It's nine sixteen, William Erisson Jones," Shauna continued, her smile audible over the wireless connection. "I felt bad about last night, and figured the least I could do was find out where the five hundred dollar debt came from." Echoing tricks from the drug trade, Shauna instinctively shifted zeros from the bottom of my debt. I appreciated her discretion, although I didn't know where she had learned the trick from. I had learned it from a Philip K. Dick I had read in my younger years.

"I'd love to know," I answered as my mind slowly woke up to focus on the important part of the conversation. "However," I continued, looking down at my boxer- clad body, "I think I'm not ready for this conversation. Meet me for breakfast, my treat."

"Bellagio, then." I winced. Shauna didn't like spending her money, but was happy to spend mine. "Is that a problem?" she asked in a sickeningly saccarine voice.

"No, Shauna. Thanks for your help. See you there in an hour?"

"I'll be the one with the lobster and mimosa," she laughed as she hung up.

I glared at the phone for a moment, then threw it on the bed. I took a quick shower, and then wiped the mirror and shaved. I stared deeply into my own eyes, psyching myself up for the day ahead of me. My eyes shifted from light blue to dark grey as I watched, dancing between colors. Shaking my head, I pulled out some hair gel and forced my normally tussled hair back. A handful of hair gel left me feeling vaguely like a greaser, but I had introduced the desired variation in my normal appearance. I retaped my ribs as best I could, and then chose to restrict myself to a button up shirt. I went with a grey silk tailored shirt that looked out of place in my dingy apartment. The silk black suit and leather shoes I pulled on looked similarly inappropriate, but perfectly fit the high roller image I would need for the remainder of my day. I extracted a clean identity from behind my bottom dresser drawer, and left the apartment behind me, whistling tunelessly as I went.

I was late for the hour mark, having had to walk a few blocks to catch a cab. Shauna was as good as her word; I found her sitting in the Bellagio buffet, three empty champagne glasses next to the half full mimosa. "I see you started without me," I said as I sat down across from her.

"I'm Irish in the purest sense. It's not like it's ever too early to drink."

The waiter came over promptly, and I ordered, "A mimosa, hold the champagne." He looked at me blankly.

"He thinks he's funny," Shauna interjected. "He wants a boring old orange juice." The waiter looked to me for verification, then glided away. "You have to learn to read your audience, Will."

"I'm not a stand up comedian, you know that."

"You're not any kind of a comedian." Shauna was clearly enjoying that she had something I needed for a change. She looked different, almost glowing. It may have just been the sunlight.

I grumbled, then got up to gather breakfast. I came back to the table, to see Shauna digging into lobster benedict. She glanced up as I sat down, then froze. "Will, isn't that your girlfriend coming this way?"

I turned in surprise to see a very angry Elise storming across the buffet floor. I had just enough time to mutter, "Shit" as she finished crossing to our table. She was dressed casually, having the morning off, and judging by the table full of beautiful girls watching behind her, she had also come here for breakfast with friends.

"Hi, honey," I started weakly, desperately reaching for excuses. "I was just--"

I was cut off by Elise's fist impacting my chin. She was slight, but apparently knew how to throw a punch. Yet another thing I didn't know about her past. I hit table next to ours, and fell to the floor. I looked up her long legs atop her high heels, with what would have been an otherwise enticing view up her short skirt.

"You son of a bitch!" Elise shouted loudly, attracting the attention of all the people in the buffet. "You tell me you were too tired last night, and had meetings when you were just running off with that, that, that tramp!" She pointed at Shauna, who was too busy laughing to take much offense to the tirade.

"Honey, that's not true!" I tried to stand up, only to receive a fierce kick to my side from Elise's exceedingly expensive shoes -- which I had bought her.

"Shut up, you bastard! To think I was all excited to move in with your cheating ass! We're through!" Elise stormed across the buffet, leaving her friends to hurry to console her.

I pushed myself off the floor, and slid red-faced into my chair. I looked deep into Shauna's laughing eyes and asked, "Why did everyone choose this week to hit me?"

"You'd rather they chose next week?" Shauna managed to get out between giggles.

"I'd rather they chose when that damn coin still worked." Shauna managed to stiffle her laughter after a few moments.

"I still don't know what you ever saw in that girl. Isn't she a stripper?"

"Who am I to judge, Shauna? She makes uses her talents to make money. I use my talents to make money. Both things are legal, and I wouldn't want to tell my mother about either job."

"True enough, Will. I just never understood what you saw in her. I mean, sure she's beautiful, but..."

"Well, it wasn't just about the sex. We would talk for... well, we understood each... Oh, hell. It was about the sex."

That set Shauna off laughing again, and I stole her mimosa while she was distracted, swallowing down half the glass, hoping my cheeks were fading from their embarassed reaction.

Shauna managed to recover, and grabbed for her glass. After a swallow, she grimaced. "You stole my mimosa. Don't you know it's dangerous to steal from a leprechaun?"

"You're only a half blood."

"Right. Whatever happened to that Karen girl? She was nice, I liked her. She never thought my standards were so low that I would sleep with you."

"I couldn't get away with lying to her. She got tired of my lies about what I did for a living, and I got tired of her being so suspicious."

"Will, did you once tell her anything resembling the truth?" Shauna asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

"Of course not." Shauna smirked knowingly in response. "What did you find?"

Shauna became business like. "Will, did you do some family work last December?"

I thought for a moment, then remembered the brief encounter I had had with a full time job. "You mean the risk analysis I did? I saved them a few million dollars! I earned my pay."

"You did. You flagged a few unbalanced roulette wheels, minor wall issues on crap tables, and even advised them to change who manufactured their playing cards."

"Exactly. I didn't steal anything from them!"

"You placed a bet on 3 December, while employed by them," Shauna asked, leaning back with clear satisfacton on a job well done.

I cocked my head to the side. "What on earth does that have to do with anything?"

"Colorado Rockies."

"So? They lost. I bet on them losing after six games, and lost after game four. Damn those Red Sox."

"But at the time when you made your bet, no one expected them to make it that far. I tried to do the math, but I'm guessing the five hundred thousand is utter guesswork on their part. As far as Tony is concerned, you had some better information, and could have saved them money by telling them to change the odds on the Rockies."

I sat back, dumfounded. "You think they're holding me responsible because I didn't tell them that I thought the Rockies might make the World Series?"

"Hey, I'm not in organized crime. I'm sure it makes sense." Shauna broke out her box of cigarettes, then frowned at the no smoking sign. "Damn, I'm getting out of here. Sorry things didn't work out with the girl."

"It's better this way," I answered distractedly. "She wanted to move in with me."

"Aw, how sweet. She would have sooner or later gotten tired of you, anyway." Shauna leaned over and kissed my forehead on the way out, displaying a generous amount of cleavage. "You're a strong attractor for entropy."

"No shit, blame my Mother," I grumbled, somewhat distracted by Shauna's strange gesture. Okay, very distracted.

"Will you be able to pull this off, William?" Shauna paused before leaving.

"Oh, come on. They've switched to those silly computer identification systems; they no longer pass around pictures. Their system can't identify me, there's too much possibility for error. Bad camera angles, different hair. I'm a nobody. I'll be out of here and never be seen again, even when I walk back in tomorrow." Shauna shook her head at my confidence.

Crap was playing on the radio, loudly enough that it drove the pain of my side out of my mind. I walked into my apartment, closing the door behind me. "Elise?" I called, guessing as to the source of the noise. No response. "Elise!" I shouted over the music.

"Hi, honey!" A blond head ducked quickly out of the door to the apartment bathroom. I regretted once again giving her a key to my apartment. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Elise knocked the bathroom door shut behind her as she walked out. The sheer garment she had on -- I believe she would have called it diaphanous -- would have been a pleasant surprise on any other night, but my aching side left me uninterested in what was underneath it. She cooed, "Good evening, sugar. Do you see anything you like?"

"Not tonight, Elise," I said, perhaps coldly.

Her face fell. "What?"

I tried to recover; she was my girlfriend, after all, and was satisfied with my hole in the wall apartment. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I just had a long, rough day."

"I was trying to make sure you had a long, rough night," she responded, frowning. "Apparently, though, your desk job was too strenuous." I briefly regretted lying about my job, but didn't feel inclined to fully explain to Elise exactly what I did for a living, or how much I would have preferred to be roughed up by her now than by George at the start of the evening.

"Honey, I appreciate the offer--" I corrected myself as I saw her eyes flash into anger, "I mean thought. Just come here, and give me a hug, and let me make it up to you later."

Elise came over, and went to hug me, then froze. "You were with that bitch."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"That redheaded bitch who keeps trying to steal you away, what's her name at the bar..."

"You mean Shauna?" I asked, utterly confused.

"Oh, so you know who I'm asking about?" Elise stepped back from me, hands on her hips, projecting anger. The posturing was ruined by the fact that she was wearing solely that transparent nightgown. "I can smell her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you denying it?"

"No, I stopped by the bar for two minutes to try to see if a coworker was in. I spoke to Shauna when he wasn't there, but that was it. What exactly do you smell?"

"Her cheap-ass cigs. What exactly did you say to her?"

"Hi!" I answered, aggravated. The louder I got, the more my side hurt. This night was going downhill. "Elise, darling, I can assure you. I have never, and will never date Shauna. We're friends, and have been for years."

"You check out her chest every chance you get."

"It's hard to miss!" The moment I spoke, I knew it was the wrong answer. Elise was well-built, as well, but her leggy blonde look left her a mite sensitive against implications that she wasn't feminine enough. "She's just a friend. A friend! I've known her for almost a decade, but I don't come home to her, and I don't want to."

Elise's head tilted curiously, and unexpectedly a grin broke across her face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

The mercurial shift in her mood left me bewildered. "I... am not sure. What do you think I'm saying?" I smiled back, hoping that the conversation was headed back to happy effectively- naked girl mode, rather than furious soon- to- be- ex- girlfriend mode.

"You are! I'd love to move in with you!" Elise squealed, then grabbed me in a hug.

Oh shit. "Well, dear, let's not be too hasty..." I didn't want to ruin the relationship, but I most definitely didn't want a roommate -- especially this week. "I mean, it's late, and I'm really tired. Tomorrow's looking really bad as well, some last minute meetings." I fleshed out my plan as I went. "Let me just get to bed, and then through the day tomorrow. We'll get together for dinner on Wednesday night and talk about it..."

My backpedalling went unnoticed, and Elise swooped in to hug me. Apparently, she could overcome the Shauna's taste in cigarettes, but my ribs couldn't handle the hug. Elise was so happy she missed the agonized expression on my face, and swirled back into the bathroom, where she threw on clothes, chattering all the while. Her words swirled over and around me; I just wanted to lie down. I waited patiently by the couch, not trusting myself to sit down. Elise finally finished up in the bathroom, and came out in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long hair pulled back into a harsh pony tail. No one outside would know how phenomenal she looked a few minutes earlier, which was far safer in my apartment complex. Elise came over, murmuring, "Good night, my sleepy boy. I'll see you Wednesday, and we can discuss when I'm moving in." I muttered agreement noises, as she swished out of the apartment. The door closed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked over to the still- blasting radio. A quick twist, and blessed silence filled the room.

I poured myself a shot of Talisker, served on the rocks with a splash of water. I sipped it slowly, holding an ice bag to my side. I pondered how to setup my work for the next day. I poured myself a second shot, then let myself out of my aparment. I crossed the hallway and let myself into my other apartment, 403.

I flipped on the lights, and walked across the mostly empty apartment. I carefully circled around the mystical symbols on the floor, and walked over to the second bedroom. I paused at the doorway, and stepped ever so carefully over the boundary lines drawn on the floor. I have never been able to effect magic, but I had copied the lines studiously from some hard to find texts; I could only hope they worked. The modern numerical significance of 403 did mean, however, that I would be able to do what I was about to without risk.

I placed my drink down besides my humming desktop. I logged in, and connected to the reservations system for the Bellagio. No, I shouldn't have been able to, but the travel agent who's account I was coopting had that access. Over three years, and she still hadn't changed her password. I scanned the list of guests, focusing on the high roller suites, and for a few special names. I made my notes, then moved on to the Wynn, then the Mandalay Bay. I went through the Vegas hotels, starting from the Strip and moving out to build up my list of current interesting individuals in town.

I gave up after thirty hotels, and realized I could probably get what I wanted to from the Strip alone. I picked up a clean cell phone, and dialed a number from memory.

"Jack Styles."

"Hi, Jack, this is John from the control room of the Tropicana." There was always a John who might work in the control room. "I was just reviewing the new arrivals, and wanted to make sure that some people had been flagged."

"Go ahead."

I listed off the people who had checked into the various Strip hotels. Styles listened, and I could hear a pen scratching in the background. "Our systems aren't integrated into the rest of the strips, so I found your number, and I just wanted to be sure..."

Styles spoke in his gravelly voice, "Thanks, John. I'll make sure we keep our focus on them."

I stumbled after two steps; I was too out of practice to be good at pushing back the pain.

I made it to the door after three tries, the pain having reached the point of numbness. I pulled the door open, and walked into the kitchen. The studious avoidance paid me by the staff told me that I wasn't the first battered individual to stumble out of the back room. I used the wall for stability as I walked to the back of the building, the chaos of the kitchen fading behind me.

The blast of hot, dry air caused me to stumble as I opened the back door. I cursed as I walked into the dry night air. October in Las Vegas was much more pleasant than the summer months, but still was hot for someone raised in Maine. I managed my way down the back stair case, and tried to get my bearings in the unfamiliar alleyway I found myself in.

One wrong turn and five blocks later, I found myself at the entry to O'Malley's. My shambling walk had drawn only a few stares as I entered more populous areas; I dismissed them as tourists. From long exposure to the drunk and desperate locals had developed blindness to the plight of apparently drunk individuals; I reveled in my current anonymity. I just really wished it hurt far less.

The door to my favorite pub never felt so heavy; I had always thought the heavy wooden door a quaint touch, but as my bruised body struggled to pull it open, I wished Shauna had switched to something lighter, like paper. I entered the familiar bar, and the garish city lights faded behind me as I entered the perpetually twilit bar. Shauna wasn't behind the bar, but Marcus looked up as I stumbled into the bar. He nodded hello, then went back to drawing a beer for a stranger sitting at the counter. Marcus looked back up in alarm as he noticed my condition, and nodded silently to the back. He knew I was there to see Shauna, and not for the atmosphere.

Fortunately none of the regulars were in on this Monday night, so I didn't have to field any questions as I stumbled through the bar. The end of tonight's football game was playing silently in the corner, triggering dancing shadows over the door to Shauna's office, the modern equivalent of candlelight. I rapped on the door, and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Will?" Shauna erupted as I caught her at her secret vice. She quickly stubbed out her cigarette, pushing the pot under her desk. She stood, clearly planning on launching a blistering tirade. She stopped as quickly as she started as I fell into her office. "Jesus, Will, are you okay?" She hurried around her desk, crouching down beside me.

"That damn coin of yours failed."

"Well, you shouldn't have picked a fight in the first place!" She took a quick glance at my eyes to make sure I wasn't drunk and trying to play her -- her lack of faith hurt decidedly less than my ribs -- and helped me onto the couch against the wall. I sank gratefully into the mushy grey faux leather, my right arm held tightly to my chest. Shauna frowned at me briefly, then ducked her head out into the bar. "Hey, Marcus, bring me a bag o' ice!" Everything with Shauna seemed louder than usual, but it was probably me. "What happened?"

"A family problem."

"I thought you didn't deal with those folks anymore."

"I don't as a rule, but I apparently dealt them poorly."

"Wait, is this a family problem, or a Family problem?" Shauna's natural paranoia asserted itself suddenly in the audible capitalization.

"Just the Saccardi's," I said, my left hand flopping in an attempted gesture of placation. Shauna visibly relaxed, and took the ice bag from Marcus, closing the door behind him. "I was apparently too flippant. Some large individual named George wanted to introduce his fist to my ribs."

Shauna shook her head. "How long has it been since you've actually been hurt, Will? You wimp. Let's get that shirt off and take a look." She stepped in front of me, her generous bust precisely at eye level. "You. Take. Your. Shirt. Off. My shirt stays on, got it?" Shauna was short, but her bust was still impressive. We were friends, occasional business partners, but never lovers. With her red hair, and short, stocky physique she could easily have been unattractive, but her athletic build instead made her distractingly curvy. Normally I was a gentleman in her presence, but I wasn't exactly in top form at that moment.

I struggled out of my shirt. The polo shirt had been a good idea earlier in the evening, but pulling anything over my head was a non-starter on my own. Shauna took pity after a few moments of watching me struggle. Even with her help it hurt like hell, and Shauna's probing hands at my ribs didn't feel any better.

I waited patiently as she pressed expertly at my ribs. Her rambuncious family life followed by years working the bar had given her a great deal of practical experience in trauma, so I bore the pain stoicly as she examined me. "Ow! Damn! Fuck!"

"Quit your whining, Will. You just have two cracked ribs. Here, ice them. I'll tape you up, and you'll be good to go."

"Easy for you to say, you don't have half your chest crushed in."

Shauna throw the ice bag at me, turning around and spinning into her desk chair. "You whimp."

I ignored the slight on my masculinity, and pressed the ice bag against my bare chest. The cold took my breath away, and I missed Shauna's next few biting comments. I interrupted her muttered tirade by pulling the gold coin from around my neck, and throwing it onto her desk. "What happened, Shauna? Your cousin got it for me, I know it works!"

Shauna frowned, annoyed at the interruption. She had been getting a good head of steam going, and didn't enjoy the interruption. It was my own fault for interrupting her private time. She shook her head, and picked up the coin. Her eyes squinted as she turned it over and over in her hands, her short fingers dancing surprisingly delicately across the engraved surface. "How long have you had this for?"

"Oh, seven, eight years? I don't quite recall. Clinton was in office."

"You have an interesting way of telling time. Ah, here's why. You really don't pay attention to the world at large, do you?"

"I know who the President is!"

"Yes, but you don't pay much attention to Family business."

"Neither do you!" I argued, knowing how much Shauna avoided notice.

"True enough," she replied, ignoring the baiting town in my voice. "The short version is one of Odin's kids screwed up an entire colony's protection. Gave it to some dead chick, from what I understand."

"All of it? Geez. I picked the wrong coin."

"You should have paid more attention," Shauna replied with a smile as she tossed the coin back to me, and began wrapping my chest.

"I can't predict anything with the family. Entropy doesn't apply very well to immortals," I answered, rather irritated by the implications. "Can you get me another?" Shauna lost her smile. I forestalled her immediate response. "I know, I know. It's dangerous, but some of your cousins must have connections. I can pay."

"It's not the money, Will," Shauna sighed. "The coin must be given freely by someone who knows how to reach into the store. Only one or two of my cousins have access. The pures caught on to the smuggling, and no one is able to leave the Emerald Isle while carrying."

"That isn't a no, that's an 'it might be hard.'" Shauna froze against me, finishing the taping in silence.

She sat back down, her eyes locked on mine. I could see her weighing the risks for her, as well as all her cousins. I knew the outcome before she spoke. "No. I'm not risking the discovery of all my family for a little bit of convenience for you."

The silenced grew uncomfortable. I knew Shauna's position; she was an illegal, and that was according to people far more dangerous than Immigration and Naturalization Services. At the same time, this was my convenience she was so blithly disregarding. I knew her inherent stubbornness would not allow me to gain any ground now, but I wanted a chance of setting up to reopen negotiations later. I waited for her to speak first, but she was obviously quite happy to sit and stare daggers at me.

I blinked first, turning away, allowing her to think I felt ashamed. She knew me better, but we'd both allow the convenient fiction to exist. "Is this worth anything?" I asked, holding up the gold coin, it's chain having slipped onto the floor unnoticed. I pretended not to notice the instant greed that passed across her face like a cloud. "It's worthless to me, but it is still fae gold. It's probably worth rather a lot, even having lost it's power."

Shauna refused to rise to the bait. I knew her well enough to know she would never admit how badly she wanted the coin sitting in my palm. I leaned forward, and threw it into the pot she had so hastily slid under her desk. Shauna blinked in surprise. I stood up, pulling my shirt on with a muffled groan.

I paused at the door as Shauna asked, "How are you going to raise five hundred thousand dollars in one day?"

"It's Vegas. I'll hit the roulette wheel."

"Not the slots?" Shauna awkwardly tried to banter.

I particularly don't like guns when they're pointed at me.

The room was thrown into harsh light and shadows from the bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The man holding the gun was a mass of shadow, and the gun itself was only visible by the reflected light. I couldn't see down the barrel, but my imagination filled in the bullet I knew was facing towards me. I didn't like the gun, but it didn't terribly worry me.

George was a hired grunt; his gun was a tool of intimidation. Between the plodding mind and the finger it could order to pull the trigger, there was any number of things that could go wrong in his nervous system. Once the finger pulled the trigger, there was untold number of minor things that could still cause the gun to misfire, be discharged in the wrong direction, or for the bullet to happen to turn out to be a dud. Had George been a gun aficionado, my confidence in my safety might be reduced, but as it was, I was just slightly put out.

"I think our guest understands the seriousness of his situation," came the silky tones of Tony Saccardi, family man through and through. His manicured hand gently touched George's arm, and the trained monkey lowered his arm in response. I imagined the glower on George's face at having his fun ruined. Tony became visible as George stepped aside.

Where George loomed in shadow, Tony was standing far enough back that he could be easily seen; while I had cooperated from the moment George and one of his fellow goons had come to collect me, Tony was experienced enough to evade the possible spurts of blood from the unnecessary enthusiasm of his employees. His well-tailored suit nearly hid his increasing paunch, but I took distinct pleasure in noticing that Tony's hair was slightly mussed.

"Well, William, what are you going to do to make this right?"

"Well, it would help if I knew what was wrong," I answered. I had had some dealings with Tony before, but usually to our mutual advantage. Given George's presence, I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't too concerned. The threatened bullet would never touch me, and I was protected from more mundane bludgeoning as well.

Apparently my answer was too flippant, as Tony's eyes sparked briefly in anger. "You might play dumb, but I know better, William. You betrayed my family."

Now I was lost completely lost. Gambling sometimes introduced debts, but I kept a fairly positive balance sheet for a reason. I knew the Italian place I had been delivered to, but had never been "invited" to the back room before. I had worked for and with the Saccardi family and its associates on a few more interesting bets, but betrayal? That was a risky prospect.

Tony was growing impatient as I failed to immediately confess my sorrow. "William, William, William. You must know by now that I am not a patient man."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Saccardi," I started groveling. "I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I assure you it wasn't intended to cause any harm--"

"Not cause harm? Billy -- can I call you Billy? -- Billy, you have caused a great deal of harm to my family's finances. I know you know that I take my family's financial situation very, very seriously." Tony started gesturing to George. Even if it wouldn't hurt, I didn't terribly much want to get hit.

"Mr. Saccardi, let me make it right; I can fix it, you know I can fix it," I said quickly; I wasn't panicked, but I really wish I knew what "it" was.

Tony ceased his gesturing just as the lummox in the corner started forward. There was a noticeable delay before George realized that his master no longer wanted him to come forward. "How, exactly, will you make it up to me? To us? My wife is crying as we speak!"

Given that Tony spent less time with his wife than with his mistress, I didn't really consider the last much of a problem. The rest might be, however. "I'll make it up to you by the end of the week."

"All of it?"

"All of it." I wasn't too concerned about the threatened beating, but Tony Saccardi and his goons could make living in Vegas much more unpleasant. A bit of work, a few hours in a casino, and I could pay back almost any perceived debt I might owe the Saccardi family.

Tony stepped back, a thoughtful look on his face. I knew he would take the deal; one more dead gambler wouldn't gain him anything, no matter what his claims, but money was a great motivator. Pondering it would presumably make me think my life was worth less; it wasn't working, but I'd let him play his game. After all, it was his show, and I was just a convenient guest star.

"Today is Monday, Billy. I want the full amount repaid by Wednesday."

I gaped visibly; that line surprised me. The amount of money couldn't be that significant; I never had that substantial a dealing with the Saccardi family.

"Ah, I have your attention. Your flippancy is annoying, Billy," Tony continued, clearly pleased at surprising me. "You have until Wednesday at noon. I expect the full amount, in cash or bank check, surprise me. Otherwise, well, things will be... unpleasant, you understand?"

"Of course, Mr. Saccardi." I may not have known what I had done wrong, but I knew the way the game was played. I didn't understand what was going on, but I always got by. "May I ask one question, please, Mr. Saccardi?"

Tony turned from departing the room. He was clearly done with me, having put the fear of the Family in me. "What?"

"How much do I owe?"

Tony's face went positively livid; I still was lost on what I had done wrong, but it was apparently very bad.

"George, please remind Billy here that he shouldn't be disrespectful to his betters."

George moved fast for such a large man. He was a softly-featured blob across the room, well-tailored suit still somehow appearing to be stuffed uncomfortably full of human. Then the space between heart beats later and his massive hand was slamming into my chest, then again from the other side. I fell off the chair from the force of the blow.

I collapsed to the ground, breathing hard in shock.

George had melted back across the room. Tony was standing framed in the door, the bright lights of the kitchen outlining him. "Five hundred thousand dollars. Noon on Wednesday." Tony turned and walked out, George following.

The five hundred thousand dollar debt didn't concern me overmuch; the pounding from George did. The gold coin strung on a chain weighed heavily on my neck, and I could feel the coin touching against my bare skin. It had kept me safe for three years, until tonight.