“That’s quite a gun you have there,” Jason said. “But guns make me nervous. I’d appreciate it if you took it off.”

Kerk scowled down at the gun, as if he were seeing it for the first time. “No, I never take it off.” He seemed mildly annoyed by the suggestion.

The testing period was over. Jason needed the upper hand if he was to get out of this one alive. As he leaned forward to put his drink on the table, his other hand fell naturally behind the pillow. He was touching the gun butt when he said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist. I always feel a little uncomfortable around people who are armed.” He kept talking to distract attention while he pulled out his gun. Fast and smooth.

He could have been moving in slow motion for all the difference it made. Kerk Pyrrus stood dead still while the gun came out, while it swung in his direction. Not until the very last instant did he act. When he did, the motion wasn’t visible. First his gun was in the armholster-then it was aimed between Jason’s eyes. It was an ugly, heavy weapon with a pitted front orifice that showed plenty of use.

Jason knew if he swung his own weapon up a fraction of an inch more he would be dead. He dropped his arm carefully, angry at himself for trying to substitute violence for thought. Kerk flipped his own gun back into the holster with the same ease he had drawn it.

“Enough of that now,” Kerk said. “Let’s get down to business.”

Jason reached out and downed a large mouthful from his glass, bridling his temper. He was fast with a gun-his life had depended on it more than once-and this was the first time he had ever been outdrawn. It was the offhand, unimportant manner it had been done that irritated him.

“I’m not prepared to do business,” he said acidly. “I’ve come to Cassylia for a vacation, get away from work.”

“Let’s not fool each other, dinAlt,” Kerk said impatiently. “You’ve never worked at an honest job in your entire life. You’re a professional gambler and that’s why I’m here to see you.”

Jason forced down his anger and threw the gun to the other end of the couch so he wouldn’t be tempted to commit suicide. He had been so sure that no one knew him on Cassylia and had been looking forward to a big kill at the Casino. He would worry about that later. This wrestler type seemed to know all the answers. Let him plot the course for awhile and see where it led.

“All right, what do you want.”