Outside, just as Harry was sliding into the backseat of their stretch limo, Jack's cell phone rang. He stepped away from the car and brought the phone to his ear. "Talk to me, Charles, and tell me where the girls are." Jack listened carefully, then said, "We just bought a copy of the paper. Tell Maggie she's a genius. Yeah, I know she knows it, but tell her anyway." He continued to listen as Charles rattled on. "Tell me you're making that up, Charles. No one in their right minds would agree to pay out that kind of money. Well, I understand it's easier to pay it out now than risk losing ten times that much. Okay, okay, they write it off. You want me to. . .what? Yes, Charles, I heard you. Okay, okay, I'll do my best." Jack powered down and stepped into the limo. He looked over at Harry and gave him the high sign to keep quiet but at the same time letting him know he had news.

Harry started to jabber in several different languages, to Jack's amusement and the driver's chagrin. Somewhere in Vegas he was sure there was an interpreter who would try to dissect Harry's verbiage. Jack tried not to laugh because Harry made up words as he went along when he wanted to be ornery. Jack knew just enough Cantonese and a smattering of Japanese to grunt a few words in reply. Wouldn't that interpreter be surprised to find out they were talking about manure and topsoil. At least that's what Jack thought they were talking about.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, both men stretched out, their eyes closed. They looked like two weary visitors who didn't have a care in the world.

While Jack and Harry were pretending to snooze, the vigilantes were pacing the confines of what at one time had been a nursing home. Now it was just an empty building out in the desert. On the long ride from the airport, the only things they could see for miles were a few straggly trees and some unhealthy cactus even taller than the trees. The driver had pointed out an oasis a mile before he brought the car to a stop at the empty building.

"Some Indian named Little Fish owns that spread. It's like the marvel in marvelous. All that green grass. A couple acres of it. The owner has an ongoing war going on with the Strip. The Babylon in particular. No one knows exactly what it's about, but it must have some weight and some teeth to it because none of the owners have ever bounced him. Every so often he will mosey into town with his posse and take the Strip by storm. I read somewhere that his property is mined. To keep people out," he added, as though the women might not know what mined meant.