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tournaments are weekly for the duration of Slot Tournament Season, at the crack of dawn every Thursday morning, and the password to get in is probably Geritol, Depends, or Polident. Thursday mornings at the Bellissimo are set aside for seniors. It’s a traffic jam of walkers, wheelchairs, and motorized scooters until noon, when the slot tournament and two-for-one buffet are over, then the old folks scoot home for their naps. No pre-registration, entry fee, or red tape is required, just show up with your Medicare card and bang on the one-armed bandits. The weekly winner receives a thousand dollars in cash. Thank goodness No Hair didn’t have me in the Thursday senior tournament. I sprayed my hair gray once and it had been a nightmare. I looked like I’d dipped my head in a bucket of sidewalk. Never again.
    I was in the medium-sized tournament, the middle child tournament—not the huge one that made headlines, but not the weekly senior event that wasn’t the least bit newsworthy either. Today’s tournament was the first of six. These shindigs are held once a month for the season, invitation only, and themed—Cashanova, Pirate’s Treasure, Christmas Cash, Break the Bank. And little old lady who lives in a church was signed up for all six. They required a three-day commitment, an entry fee, and you have to be a registered guest at the hotel to participate.
    It all looked perfectly sane to me, as sane as casino events go, so I turned to the next order of business, the folder from No Hair. I pulled out the photo of the little old lady. Her name was Jewell Maffini. Jewell didn’t look like she could hurt a flea, but she was my mark. No Hair’s sticky read: All known associates and details of her connection to the church.
    If history repeats itself, and it certainly does around here, No Hair already knew who this little old lady was associated with and he already knew her connection to the church. If I were a betting man, and there’s certainly a lot of betting around here, I’d bet No Hair sprang this on me with the singular goal of confirming what he already suspected.
    Wonder what he already suspected.
    Under her photograph, the details. I was on my way to the Mystery Shopper tournament, with an entry fee of $2,500. The best news? I was booked in a Lantana Suite for two nights.
    The invitation was an elaborate print production that started out like an oversized greeting card. Inside was a folded, glossy shopping bag with Bellissimo stamped in gold with braided gold ribbon handles. It pulled open to reveal silky cards, individually wrapped in creamy, thin tissue paper, secured by a sticky gold seal with a raised script B .
    Fancy shmancy. Tiffany’s should see this.
    The first card was a wedding invitation. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be the who, what, when, and where of the slot tournament. The second card listed the fabulous prizes, including the grand prize. One of the hundred participants was to be crowned the Mystery Shopper and a ridiculous cash payday was in store. The third card was a coupon for a forty-percent-off shopping spree in the Bellissimo shops, and the Bellissimo shops were nothing to sneeze at, so that meant for the duration of the tournament, the participants could get $5,000 socks for $3,000 or a $7,000 ink pen for $4,200.
    The one thing about casino work that I really couldn’t get used to was just how much money was involved-- $5,000 dresses, $7 donuts, $10,000 bets, $400 lobsters, $12,000 watches. All under one roof.
    I grabbed my things, hopped in my VW Bug, and got myself under the one roof.
    I made my way to the convention level, a venue above the casino that I’d not had the pleasure of and where all slot tournaments took place, which is another reason I didn’t know a thing about them. Not only had I not played in one, I’d never been anywhere near this part of the extensive Bellissimo properties to even walk by one.
    The Bellissimo Convention Center was, like the rest of