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crossing the lobby was like trying to fight my way downriver during spawning season. Two-by-two, hand-in-hand, couples streamed in through the front entrance, making a dash for the casino and Teddie’s theater beyond, where preparations were underway for the game show taping. No one stopped to gaze in awe at the thousands of blown-glass hummingbirds and butterflies that swooped across the high ceiling, nor at any of the other awe-worthy features. A river of humanity flowed past, effectively cutting me off from the stairs to the mezzanine and the relative serenity of my office.
    My phone rang just as I was timing my leap into the throng, risking bodily harm in the name of five-star service. I glanced at the caller—my office—then pushed to talk. “Make a note. When the time comes to renegotiate my compensation package, I want to add hazardous duty pay as a benefit.”
    “It’s too early for whining,” Miss P stated, as if it was a rule written somewhere.
    “It’s never too early for whining, but there are times when it may be way too late.” I switched my phone to my right ear as I ducked into a small alcove, and stuck my finger in my left. Why had no one thought of inventing a noise-cancelling cell phone? “What can I do for you?”
    “Have you seen Rocco Traveneti and Gail Fortunato?”
    “Couple Number One? No. Why?”
    “They’re a no-show for the taping. Trey Gold is starting to panic.”
    “Can security shed any light?”
    “Jerry said he lost them in the Bazaar.” If Jerry lost them, they had skills.
    “I was just there at the Temple and I didn’t see them—not that I was looking—but I’ll head back that way, see if I can pick up their trail.” I turned to scan the lobby. “Keep security on the lookout. The eye-in-the-sky is our best bet. This place is a zoo.” The eye-in-the-sky was our system of highly sophisticated cameras monitored by security. Of course, the casino was the most closely watched, but we had feeds from all corners of the property.
    I reholstered my phone and considered my options. The entrance to the Bazaar was just to my right, between the entrance to the casino and Reception. For once I was glad my progress had been impeded. After negotiating along one wall, I retraced my steps and once again ducked into the Bazaar. The crowd was thin. I popped my head into a few shops, but no luck. A bit too glitzy for New Jersey tastes, I thought.
    Now where would two kids from the Garden State choose to land?
    Trey Gold caught me in front of Samson’s, the Babylon’s beauty salon where females of all shapes and sizes could be primped, polished, and attended by in-the-flesh facsimiles of the Biblical hero. “You!” He stepped into my space—we would’ve been nose-to-nose but for a rather serious height discrepancy in my favor. He smelled like cheap gin, or bad cologne. “This is your fault.”
    “Most likely—along with the balance of trade deficit, inner-city blight, poverty in Africa, and all the rather unsavory uses for a Saturday Night Special, which, by the way, conjures something altogether different here in Sin City. No doubt about it, I am a one-woman wrecking crew. You’d be well advised to steer clear of me.”
    A few strands of his helmeted hair had broken free and ran across his forehead. His countenance, still an unsettling orange, held not a hint of the fury I could see in his eyes. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he didn’t look well—the same as before, but not well. He stared at me a moment through red-rimmed eyes. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been loosened, his posture, rigid with righteous indignation, sagged. His shoulders started to shake.
    “Are you okay?” I asked, as I grabbed his arm.
    He nodded as a grin lifted the corner of his mouth. Tears sprung to his eyes. The guy wasn’t stroking out, he was laughing—clearly an unusual state. Reaching for his back pocket, he extracted a purple handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, careful