It had been a decent night in Las Vegas. The gambling was, as always, successful. God only knew how many poor bastards there were in the hotels that believed they were the ones with the luck enough to break the casino's bank. The dumbasses weren't smart enough to know that anyone who got on that kind of winning streak in Fort Izzel Forts territory got a personal invitation to the hotel and casino's 'VIP' suite. Anyone who got an invitation usually never gave us any problems.

Even us earners had done well, though. I'd made a tidy little profit at the cashier's table, trading cash for hollow markers filled with marijuana. I paid my dues to WhereWasI and PJ, and they let their boys at the tables know that the markers were acceptable. Hell, they made more off the drugs than they would have just by some unlucky bastard losing his savings at the craps table. The bosses were happy, I got my empty markers back, and the potheads got their fill. Everybody wins, right?

That wasn't the thought running across my mind as I walked to my Ford Model T, however; I was thinking about the curvy little waitress that had been keeping me well-plied in what I call Scottish coffee, or coffee laced with good scotch. I was considering going back and offering to take her out dancing on her night off when I heard the argument on the sidewalk.

"What the fuck do you mean we can't?" That voice was a high one, belonging to a tall man that was skinny as the cattails surrounding a pond.

"I mean that it would be idiotic to do it now!" growled the other voice, a much deeper one belonging to a short, burly man that probably weighed more than my Ford.

"Idiotic to do what now?" I asked, with all the friendliness in the world. I'd turned my body where they couldn't see my hand going behind my back for the .38 hidden in my waistband.

"None of your fucking business!" The reed spoke like a man who had authority, who could drive fear into a man. I wouldn't buy into any of that bullshit, though. His friend was the muscle, pure and simple.

"It's plenty of my business, friend." I tried to stay nice. The revolver was comforting in my hand. "I work here. Mind letting me in on the details?"

The tall man turned suddenly, his hand going for his pocket. I started to raise my gun when I noticed the flash of gray to my left; the short fat bastard had a gun of his own!

I didn't hear the first shot; the adrenaline flooding my veins had saved me that much. I shot him first, burying a piece of burning lead his thick skull. The brains had his own gun out by this time, a .45 automatic pistol. Two shots had burned through my shoulder and my side by the time I left his brains on the pavement. I turned to look at one of the security officers running towards me when I collapsed. My last sound was the impending wail of sirens.

OOC: To be continued.