To the untrained eye and the cameras monitoring the casino floor—and to any law enforcement—it looked like any ordinary poker bluff. But Cobus’s opponent was no ordinary gambler. He was the money man for the triad, and his job was to stay perched at that table and drip away money to anyone the triad owed cash. The accounts payable came in on his earbuds, and once the debts were settled, the benefactors of his carefully calculated ineptitude cashed out. Money and contraband were never to be in the same place at the same time, and this system guaranteed that the money side of the business was completely obfuscated as it entered and exited the triad accounts.

“I’d like to change five thousand dollars,” Cobus heard over his shoulder.

He turned to see a man slap a thick stack of bills on the table. Cobus recognized him as the white john who had been eye-fucking him at the Emperor Sauna.

The Chinese dealer waved off the interloper, muttering under his breath in annoyance.

“What! My money’s no good here? I just got taken to the cleaners at the Venetian. Figured these tables might be warmer.”

The skinny triad moneyman glanced up at him and hissed, “Private game.”

The unwelcome gambler swept up his money in frustration, adding a bit of theatrical huff to sell his ruse. He turned to Cobus. “Screw it. I’ll just grab some of that overpriced sushi down the hall.”

Cobus returned to his beer, masking his concern as the dealer tossed him his next hand.

Knight sat at the bar of Mizumi Sushi, devouring tuna nigiri with one hand as he continued to make progress on his pinball video game with the other. A clean beer glass sat next to the one he had poured for himself.

The white hold ’em player suddenly appeared at his side, looming over him like a storm front. “We both know you didn’t come here to gamble.”

Knight set down his phone. Afrikaans accent, no question.

“Neither did you, based on the way you were playing those garbage hands. So that’s how they pay you, huh? Launder it through some sucker who sits at the table all day long on the phone, with a pile of money to give away.”

The man glared at Knight in silence, playing his hand much tighter than he had in the VIP room.

“Sit down. I figured I’d need two glasses.”

Knight poured him a glass from his large bottle of Sapporo, then lifted his glass in a Japanese toast. “Kanpai.”

The visitor didn’t reciprocate. He didn’t appreciate being toyed with.

Knight gestured to his large platter of sushi. “Have at it.”

“I don’t eat sentient beings.”

“You can have my seaweed.”

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I was following your employer. You were a lucky accident.”

“Who are you?”