"Yeah. But neither guy could put his finger on what it is. Something involving Owens and the Babylon. I asked a few pointed questions about the Gaming Commission, and they clammed up when I asked one too many. Suddenly they both wanted to call it a night. They did give me a little human-interest story early on if I want to follow up on it when I'm here. Seems there's some guy who lives out in the desert who's named after a fish. They said he has more money than God. He lives in the desert, but he's surrounded by green grass. They thought that was amazing. What I found amazing was the guy's got claymore mines all over his property. He has a major hate for Owens, but according to them, everyone in town has it in for Owens. The guy is supposedly lethal."

"His name is Little Fish and he's a full-blooded Shoshone," Lizzie said, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Ted sucked down that tidbit of information the way he sucked down his coffee. "Jesus! You didn't leave this place last night, so how do you know. . .Never mind, I don't want to know."

"That's a good thing because I wasn't going to tell you. You gotta love that old devil attorney-client privilege." Lizzie looked at her watch again. "Time to go, Mister Reporter. I ordered a car last night. It should be waiting out front just about now."

I ordered a car. It sounded like she'd just said she ordered Chinese. He could hardly wait to see what kind of car Lizzie had ordered. He made a bet with himself that it was something flashy, with a rocket engine that would start off at a hundred miles an hour. Lizzie was all flash. She wanted the world to see her coming. Probably a fire-engine red Porsche.

The only vehicle Ted saw when they went outside was a champagne-colored Range Rover. He just knew it was the latest model and fully loaded, not that he knew squat about four-wheel drive vehicles, much less fancy-dancy Range Rovers. What he did know was that the little baby sitting at the curb cost upward of a hundred grand, and Lizzie had just ordered it.

"Nice set of wheels," Ted said.

"I agree," Lizzie said, climbing behind the wheel. "Use that map on the dash. You're the navigator. Tell me where to go."

"What's the address of the county jail?"

Lizzie put the Rover into gear and pulled out onto the road, and without missing a beat said, "It's 330 South Casino Center Boulevard. Downtown. I would have thought they would lock her up closer to the Strip, but I don't really know where the substations are. There might be a reason for her being where she is. We'll know soon enough."