The huge white cat leaped to the floor and meandered over to Ted. Putting down his BlackBerry, Ted dropped to his knees and whispered to the cat, who yawned, then slapped at Ted's hand with one of its paws.

Marble Rose laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement. "That means Lily likes you."

Marble Rose walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you hardly seems adequate. Will it do?"

"It will do," Lizzie said.

"Miss Fox. . .where does my mother live?"

"California. Land of sunshine. Here, take this," Lizzie said, handing her the card Beatrice Preston had given her. "Good luck." She reached out to hug Marble Rose.

In the car, Lizzie settled herself, and said, "I love happy endings."

"Was that true what you told her, about your mother and all that? Now, where are we going?"

"Ask yourself why I would lie about something so sacred. We're going to the Babylon to a meeting, so please be quiet and let me think."

Ted always followed orders.

"It looks to be a slow evening," Mike Oliver said to those seated at the long table affording them a view of one of the monitors that covered all the casino's entrances and exits. "I think we should lie low for a few days. Udal is on our ass, and. . ."

"You aren't paid to think, Mike, so shut up. Did you forget who runs this operation?" Hank Owens asked.

The 290-pound blimp, as Owens called Mike Oliver, his right-hand man, was not intimidated. "It's my ass on the line, and I'm worried. There are too many damn people here all of a sudden. The goddamn outgoing director of the FBI suddenly shows up with some retired judge. Tell me that's not something to be concerned about. And suddenly we have to have this martial-arts exhibition, right-now-or-else thing. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"The outgoing director is here to get married. People do that, you know. For some asshole reason, they think it's romantic to have some over-weight clown with sideburns pretending to be Elvis marry them. This isn't the first time we've had spur-of-the-moment events. It happens all the time, and you damn well know it. Don't go blowing this all up into something that is nothing but a pimple on your ass. I'm on it, Mike."

Dwayne Richards, the second member of Owens's inner ring, was a muscular-looking thug with a pockmarked face that scared little children. He tilted his head to the side and stared up at his boss. He was soft-spoken, which made him seem all the more deadly. "If there's nothing to worry about, why did you switch up this morning and raise the ante from $1 million to $5 million to that breast cancer research? And why is our glorious boss and owner of the Babylon, Homer Winters, on his way here from the airport?"