"This town isn't what I thought it was," Ted said as he wolfed down two of the sweet rolls, one right after the other. He looked at Lizzie questioningly as to whether she wanted the other four rolls or not. She shook her head and sipped at her coffee. "You know, they bill it as a family place kind of thing. Family, my ass. This town is about money and nothing else. The only relationship this town has to family is it takes a family's money. Bottom line. The security is one step below the Mafia and the gestapo. Where the hell do they get off billing it as a family atmosphere?"

Lizzie swigged from the orange juice bottle. "And you didn't know this?"

Ted was taken aback. "And you did?"

"Of course. What time did you get here last night?"

"Around three. I took a cab. No, I didn't have any tails. I was shooting the breeze with a couple of reporters from the Sun and the Review-Journal. I wrangled an introduction from a buddy at the Old Gray Lady. The three of us hit it off, so we went off for a few beers. You were sleeping pretty soundly, or I would have woken you.

"I found out that reporters are pretty much censored, and they don't like it. It's not like back in D.C., where the only people you have to watch are the politicians—here you have to watch the casinos' security and the cops as well. One does not tread, even lightly, on their toes. No one knew anything about Marble Rose and her big winnings. At least that's what they said. They talked a lot about the celebrities who come here. And the guy from the Sun told me he'd just gotten a text message that there is going to be some kind of martial-arts exhibition at the Babylon in the next few days. The Babylon is the biggest draw here. Even the Wynn can't hold a candle to it. They talked quite a bit about the top-notch security and the guy—Owens—who runs it. They were telling me about his inner ring, but said they weren't allowed to write about it. They said those guys, the ones in the inner ring, live in mansions and drive Porsches. They wear five-thousand-dollar suits and handmade silk shirts, but they still look like goons. The reporters said they can't print that, either. The casinos own both papers. Those reporters make twice what I do. I might think about relocating here. They have unlimited expense accounts, too."

"Is there anything else going on that we should know about?" Lizzie asked as she checked the time on her watch.