Well, Anshutes didn't have a say in anything anymore.

c.o.ker stared at his ex-partner. The big man lay dead on the highway like roadkill of old, his pockets stuffed with silver dollars.

c.o.ker turned them out, filling his own pockets with the coins. Then he walked over to the one-armed bandit.

The Cogwheel Kid was primed for action--Anshutes' coin between his lips, his lone robotic arm held high in the air. c.o.ker pulled the slot machine's arm.

Ribbons of neon danced across the one-armed bandit's chest. Bucking broncos, charging buffaloes, jackalopes that laughed in the desert night.

After a while, the neon locked up.

Two t.i.ttering jackalopes with a snorting buffalo between them.

Hardly a jackpot.

c.o.ker smiled as the neon flickered out. Losing wasn't a big surprise, really. After all. Lady Luck was gone. She was up ahead, driving an ice cream truck, heading for the land of dreams.

The Cogwheel Kid started walking. He headed east, toward Vegas, looking for another mark.

c.o.ker jumped on the robot's back and held on tight.

He smiled, remembering the look of her frosty blue eyes. Lady Luck with a shotgun. He should have hated her. But he was surprised to find that he couldn't do that.

She was chasing a dream, the same way he was.

He couldn't help hoping she'd catch it.

The same way he hoped he'd catch her.

If he was lucky.

by Barbara Paul

Barbara Paul has a Ph.D. in Theater History and Criticism and taught at the University of Pittsburgh until the late '70s when she became a fulltime writer. She has written five science-fiction novels and sixteen mysteries, six of which are in the Marian Larch series. Her latest book is Jack Be Quick and Other Crime Stories.

"TACKY," Milo said, the expression on his face suggesting someone had just handed him a dead fish.

"You're his friend, LaB oz Can't you tell him how shamelessly exhibitionistic he's being?"

"No one tells Gil anything," LaB oz said mildly.

"That could be his trouble. I really don't want to be here tonight.

These little divertiss.e.m.e.nts were intended for one's private amus.e.m.e.nt.

One doesn't invite an audience."

LaB oz didn't answer. Milo had a habit of displaying an elegant disdain for the philistine gropings of the not-truly-gifted, but this time LaB oz thought he was right. Gil's inviting an audience to a Minus One was like asking someone over to watch you paste stamps into an alb.u.m.

But Gil was no glib social mingler, and he'd never

forgiven Milo. Milo had been there the year before when Gil's father drowned; but instead of jumping in the water after him or calling for help, Milo had stood there helplessly flapping his hands as the older man went under. Expecting constructive action from Milo in a time of crisis was perhaps a trifle unrealistic, but Gil had avoided the other man for an entire year. So why tonight's invitation?

They rode the funicular up to the hilltop home that Gil inherited from his father, along with one other pa.s.senger, a Eurasian woman older than the two young men. Her name was Shalimar, appropriately exotic, and she lived in the Andaman Islands. She'd never met Gil.

"I feel I know him, though," she said amiably.

"I was a friend of his father's."

"Ah," said LaB oz "then you've been here before."

"No, this is my first visit. Gil's father was guest in my house."

"I'm afraid it won't be a scintillating visit," Milo said with a sniff.

"Gil has some Minus One play he wants us to look at."

Her eyebrows went up.

"I thought it was a Virtual Reality game."

"Good heavens, no!" Milo shuddered theatrically.

"It's a Minus One. At least we won't have to harness ourselves into all that c.u.mbersome VR gear. We just have to concentrate on staying awake. Here we are," he said as the funicular door slid open, "and here's our genial host waiting to greet us."

Irony tipping over into sarcasm: Gil looked anything but genial, his face pinched and his eyes hard. He spoke first to the guest he didn't know.

"Shalimar-at last. I'm glad you could come."

"It was time we met." She looked closely at his face.

"Are you ill?"

"I was, but I'm well now." Gil turned to LaB oz

"Welcome back, old friend. I hope your journey was a pleasant one."

"Very pleasant. But it's good to be home."

Milo stared at LaB oz

"You didn't tell me you'd been away."

"h.e.l.lo, Milo," Gil said casually. He offered a hand to Shalimar, chatting easily with the woman who had been the last love of his father's life. Gil led them to a reception room where two other guests were waiting.

LaB oz was astonished to see them both. Gil introduced Shalimar first to Phoebe, outspoken and determined Phoebe--to whom Gil had once been married.

The other guest was Theodore Kimmel, an older man and business compet.i.tor against whom Gil's father had once brought criminal charges of fraud and grand theft. The charges had been dropped: insufficient evidence.

LaB oz went over and exchanged a light kiss with Phoebe.

"Surprised to see me here?" she asked with a smile.

He nodded.

"I recall a very angry young woman proclaiming she'd never set foot under the same roof as Gil again. Ever."

"I said a lot of things," she answered ruefully.

"But Gil can't get to me anymore. He kept saying it was important for me to be here. Do you know what this is all about?"

"I'm as much in the dark as you are."

Across the room, Theodore Kimmel was talking to Gil but staring pointedly at Shalimar.