I didn't know what book he was talking about, but all the other players agreed with the dealer and the book so I decided not to take a card.

The dealer had a six and a ten on the table. He dealt himself another ten. "Dealer busts," he said.

And I got another chip. Hot damn. No wonder people liked to gamble. This was easy.

We started a new game and I got sixteen again with the first two cards. The dealer had a nine showing. I told him I didn't want any more cards. What the hell, it worked the first two times. Now he told me the book didn't like that decision. Well, God forbid I should go against the book. "Okeydokey," I said. "I'll go with the book and take another card."

I got dealt a king of hearts.

"Busts," the dealer said, and he took my chips and my cards.

So much for the book.

I played another hand. Lost another chip. Everyone played their hands out and we started over. Connie was nowhere to be seen. The guy in black was behind me, watching me. I could feel him back there. The photo images of shattered skulls popped into my head. The memory of the heat and numbing blackness that followed the hit from the dart washed over me. I felt a panic attack trying to get a toehold.

The dealer wanted to know if I was going to play.

"What?" I asked.

"You need to put a chip in to play"

I shoved a red chip into my circle.

"Red chips are worth ten," the dealer said. "This table has a twenty-five-dollar minimum."

I pushed a different colored chip at him. The chips had numbers on them, but I was too flustered to make sense of it.

The dealer gave me a ten of spades and a two of hearts. This was easy to add. Twelve. A long way to go to twenty-one, right? I asked for another card. This started a lot of arguing. Apparently the book wasn't clear on this one. The dealer gave me a ten of diamonds. Damn! Busted again.

I didn't know exactly how much I had because I was having a hard time adding up all the different colored chips, but I knew I didn't have a lot. One more hand, maybe.

When the new game started I pushed a couple chips into my ring. The dealer gave me a nine of spades and a three of clubs. I bit into my lower lip, unsure what to do, and I felt a hand settle on my shoulder. I turned and looked. It was the guy in black.

"I'm going to help you," he said.

There was a lot of noise behind me. I heard Lula let out a shriek and the guy in black gasped in surprise, jerked away from me, and went over backward. Everyone at the table stood and gawked, including me.

Lula and the guy in black were on the floor. Lula was ass up, on top of the guy in black. You could hardly see him under the pink spandex. He was squashed spread eagle under Lula so that only his hands and feet stuck out. Connie was standing on one of his hands.

"Don't freakin' move," Connie yelled at the poor smushed guy in black.

From what I could see there wasn't much chance of him moving. I wasn't even sure he was still breathing.

Uniformed and plainclothes security instantly appeared and wrestled Lula off the guy in black.

"He was going for a gun," Lula said. "He's a killer."

The guy in black didn't move. He was still on his back, gasping for air. "I have identification in my inside jacket pocket," he said. "And I think I have a broken back."

"Can you move your toes?" one of the security guards asked him.

"Yeah."

"How about your fingers?"

He wiggled the fingers on one hand. Connie was still standing on the other hand.

"Ow," the guy in black said to Connie.

Connie stepped off his hand. "Sorry," she said.

One of the plainclothes men lifted the identification. "Erik Salvatora. Looks like he's a rent-a-cop."

"I'm a licensed private investigator and a security specialist," Salvatora said. "I'm employed by RangeMan LLC and I was asked to protect Ms. Plum while she's in town. God only knows why when she's got Big Bertha and the Bonecrusher with her."

He was Ranger's man. RangeMan was Ranger's corporate name.

"Hey," Lula said. "Watch who you're calling Big Bertha. Nobody tolerates that political incorrectness anymore, you little candy ass."

"This was a terrible misunderstanding," I told everyone. "My friends and I didn't realize he was assigned to guard me. My usual bodyguard missed his flight."

Now they were all wondering who the hell I was that I needed a bodyguard. And that was fine by me because I wanted this to go away. We were all carrying guns, probably illegally. I had no idea what the gun laws were in Nevada.

"I thought he was going for a gun," Lula said.

Erik struggled to get up. "I was going for my wallet. I was going to buy her some chips. I was supposed to keep my distance, but I couldn't stand watching her play anymore. She's the worst blackjack player I've ever seen."

"Really sorry," I said. "Can we take you to a hospital or something?"

"No! I'll be okay. Probably just a slipped disc and possibly a broken bone or two in my hand."

"Don't worry about six o'clock," I called after him. "I might not be going to the airport."

He looked at me blank faced. As if taking me to the airport was too terrible to contemplate right now. "Okay," he said. And he limped away.

"Sorry," I said to the security people. "I guess we'll be going now, too."

"We'll see you out," one of the uniforms said.

We were escorted out of Caesars, the doors closed behind us, and we stood blinking in the sun, waiting for our eyes to adjust to daylight.

"That was sort of embarrassing," Lula said.

I whipped my phone out and I called Morelli. "Reporting in," I told him. "Anything new?"

"I was just going to call you," Morelli said. "I know a guy on the Vegas police force. I gave him a call when I got off the phone with you and asked him to keep his eyes open for Singh. I just got a call back from him. They found Singh in his car in the airport parking lot about an hour ago. Shot twice in the back of the head, close range. We're checking the passenger lists on all Vegas flights in and out of LaGuardia, Newark, and Philadelphia."

I had a moment's pause where I didn't know what I felt. There was an emotion struggling around inside me. Relief that there was closure on the Singh hunt. Disappointment that I hadn't been able to save him. And dread. The killer's constant presence was wearing me down.

"The Cones?" I asked.

"All present and accounted for."

"Too bad. That would have been so easy. At least I can leave Vegas now. And I'm bringing something home with me that might be helpful. . . Singh's laptop."

Silence at the other end. "Susan Lu gave it to you?"

"I found it on the sidewalk. I think there might have been a break-in and the laptop got dropped and left behind somehow. And I found it."

I wasn't sure what was going on at the other end of the connection. Either Morelli was smiling or else he was banging his head against his desk. I was going to go with smiling.

"I'll pick you up at the airport," Morelli said. "Try to stay out of trouble. Do you need a police escort when you leave your hotel?"

"No. I've had enough police escorts for one day. Thanks anyway." I disconnected and relayed the information about Singh. "The Vegas police found Singh at the airport an hour ago. Two bullet holes in the back of his head," I told Connie and Lula.

"I was sort of hoping it was a bluff," Lula said. "That the killer wasn't really here and he sent you the flowers to get you to go home. Not that I'm scared or anything."

We all did some mental knuckle cracking and tried not to look nervous.

"We should go back to the hotel," I said. "If we're going to make the plane we need to pack."

Everyone agreed, so we flagged down a cab and we all piled in. I called Ranger on the way. I told him about Singh and then I told him about Salvatora.

"I already talked to Salvatora," Ranger said. "His hand is okay, but he said he needs a chiropractor for his back." Ranger paused and when he continued I could hear the laughter in his voice. "Salvatora said a fat woman in pink spandex and silver sequins fell on him."

"That would be Lula. And she didn't fall on him. She tackled him."

"She did a good job," Ranger said. "I'm sorry I missed it. Salvatora's partner will take you to the airport."

"How will I know him?"

"He looks like Salvatora . . . but more."

Five minutes later we were walking through the hotel to the elevators and we were being very vigilant. We didn't know what the killer looked like. It didn't seem likely that he would strike in a public place, but there was no guarantee.

We took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, walked halfway down the hall, and Connie unlocked our room door. She stepped in and muffled a scream. Lula and I were directly behind her and we had the same reaction.

The dog had destroyed the room. Pillows were chewed. The blanket was shredded. A corner of the mattress was missing. Toilet paper was everywhere.

Connie closed and locked the door behind us. "Don't anybody panic. Its probably not as bad as it looks. Cheap mattress, cheap blanket, right? How much could a pillow cost?"

"Uh-oh," Lula said. "I think he pissed on the cable wire and shorted the television. This here's like traveling with a metal band," Lula said.

Boo was on the bed, tail wagging.

"But look at him," I said. "He's so cute. And he looks sorry. Don't you think he looks sorry?"

"I think he looks happy," Lula said. "I think he's smiling. I'm glad we saved this little guy. That bag of monkey doody Mrs. Apusenja deserves him."

"We weren't gone that long," Connie said. "How could such a little dog do all this damage?"

"Guess he was feeling anxiety," Lula said. "Poor things been through a lot, what with getting dognapped and everything. And look at him, he's just a puppy. He might even be teething. At least he didn't eat the flowers. It's nice to come back to fresh flowers in the room."

"They were sent by a serial killer! They're death flowers" I said.

"Well, yeah, but they're still nice," Lula said.

I looked at my watch. I had to pack. "Not a lot of time to take care of this mess," I said.

"Here's the plan," Connie said. "We check out and it all goes on Vinnie's bill."

"See that," Lula said. "This dog's nothing but good luck. We get to stick it to Vinnie all because this dog was smart enough to eat the room. I think this here's been a positive experience. That's my new philosophy anyway. Nothing but positive experiences. That's why I'm driving home from here."

"You've got to be kidding," Connie said. "It'll take you days."

"Don't matter. I'm not getting back on a plane. I'm done with planes. They aren't any fun. All that searching and starving and standing around in lines. I don't do lines. That's another part of my new philosophy. No lines. And I can take Boo with me if I drive. Me and Boo can have a road trip. I'm starting to get real excited about this. I always wanted to have a dog when I was a kid, but I never had the chance. I was dog deprived."

"Works for me," Connie said. "If you take Boo we don't have the hassle of crating him and getting him on the plane."

I called valet parking and had the car brought around. I gave Lula the pepper spray and the stun gun and two hundred dollars. Connie contributed another hundred and fifty. It was all the money we had between us. We loaded Lula, Boo, and Lula's luggage into the car and waved good-bye.

"I'm not sure if she's the smart one or the dumb one," Connie said.

There were only two of us now and we each had a loaded gun in our pockets. We stopped at the snack bar, got a bag of food, and returned to the room to finish packing.

My packing was simple. Take all the little complimentary soaps and shampoos from the bathroom and put them in my carry-on bag. Connie s packing was more complicated.

"Oh shit," Connie said, "look at this."

She was holding up the wedding photo. It had a few dog tooth marks in the lower left corner.

"Do you suppose you actually got married?" I asked her.

"I don't know. I don't remember." She closed her eyes and groaned. "Sweet Jesus, please don't let me be married to an Elvis impersonator."

"There must be some way you can find out," I said. "There have to be records. Probably you can have it annulled."

There was a rap on the door and Connie and I went into panic mode for fear it was the maid. I looked out the security peephole and recognized Erik's partner from Rangers description. The guy in the hall looked a lot like Erik, but bigger and weirder and scarier. He looked like a Vegas pit boss on steroids.

"It's our chauffeur," I said.

I opened the door and invited the big scary guy in. He was dark-skinned with slicked-back black hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. He was wearing black cowboy boots, black leather pants, a black leather jacket, and a shiny black silk shirt that was unbuttoned half down his chest. He had a colorful crucifixion tattooed onto the back of his left hand. And he had a gun at the small of his back, under the jacket.

"I'm Miguel," he said. "I'm Erik's partner."

"Jeez," I said. "We're all really sorry about Erik. I hope he's okay."

Miguel gave a brief nod, which I took to mean that Erik had his back straightened out and was recovering nicely.