She'd been impressed with the factory, looking it over, commenting on the paint job. She'd played the stand-alone version and said it was fun. But when he'd gone to kiss her, she'd deflected his face with a hand and asked him to take her to the dorms.

"I have to pick something up," she said.

He'd driven her back to Findlay after that.

"Can I see you again? I'll be down on Christmas Day to see Bill and Janet," he'd said.

She'd looked at him with an odd look that John hoped wasn't pity. He felt so desperate asking, but looking at her, he couldn't help himself.

"Sure, my parents are having an open house. Come by after three thirty," she'd said. Then she'd pecked him on the cheek and disappeared into the house.

Colored lights adorned the eaves of the house. The huge pine out front was covered in flashing bulbs, at least as high as Mr. Nicholson's ladder could reach. Electric candles flickered in each window. There was even a small menorah in an upper-story window. Cars were packed in the driveway, and someone had built a snowman. The rising temperature had exposed swatches of brown gra.s.s and forced the snowman to a thirty-degree angle.

"What am I doing here?" John muttered. He should have been back at the factory. He should have been working on what he would say at the hearing with the Department of Gambling Control. Instead he was here waiting outside Casey's house.

He almost drove away. He almost got out and knocked early. Just as he pulled the handle on his door, the front door swung open. There was Casey, in a white fur-trimmed red dress that came halfway up her thighs. Then someone followed her out the door, his arm around her waist.

John's heart jerked.

Jack leaned forward and kissed her. She reached around his neck and held him tightly as she kissed him back. His hand reached around her and under the dress.

John looked away.

Then he looked back, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, leaning forward to see through the fogging windshield. He felt sick.

Jack finally let Casey go and sauntered down the path. He waved once from the end of the walk, then climbed into his car and drove away. Casey watched him the whole way. Finally, she turned and went back inside.

John, his hands shaking, started his own car and began the solitary, vivid drive back to Toledo.

The day before the Las Vegas team was to arrive, Grace and Henry returned. The weather had turned suddenly dark and windy. Drifts of snow covered the alley and the Trans Am got stuck. Henry and John spent three hours shoveling the brickwork, only to have it fill in again later that day. Grace spent the same time sweeping the empty factory, throwing cardboard boxes and pallets into the incinerator, and scrubbing the new rust from the old rust. The gas company had agreed to service on credit, and they had the furnace in the bas.e.m.e.nt cranked up to at least ten degrees Celsius.

"I hope they don't have to use the bathroom," she said. "It's still frozen."

"The showroom looks good," Henry said. And it did. A second coat of paint and two floor lamps had made it seem almost cozy. The bare bulbs were gone, as well as all the cobwebs, and the stove kept that room, if not the whole factory, at a toasty temperature.

"I hope they can make it in tomorrow," John said. Sleet pounded against the window. He rubbed the frost off the pane and looked out at the six more centimeters that had covered his car. The alley was empty; John hadn't mentioned the break-in or the stalking duo to Henry or Grace. It didn't seem to matter.

"It'll clear up-"

"It'll clear up-"

Grace and Henry spoke on top of each other. They glanced at each other and giggled.

"It'll clear up by tonight," Grace said. "They come in this afternoon."

Henry put a quarter in the stand-alone and started playing a game lackadaisically.

"This is growing on me," he said.

"See?" John said.

"With all that capital," Grace said, "we can afford to heat this place."

"We can afford to pay some workers," Henry said.

"We could hire a lawyer," John said.

"We could buy a decent soldering gun," Henry said. "And get a decent supply of Plexiglas."

"We could hire a salesman," Grace said. "And a receptionist. And we could have a lunch for everyone's birthday."

"We could countersue Ray," John said. "We could pay Kyle." I could buy something for Casey, he added silently. Something more than Jack could ever afford.

"So the plan is to hang at my apartment," John said. "They'll call when they land and rent their car. And then we can go to the factory and meet them there."

The snow tapered off by sundown. John drove Steve home and Henry and Grace to the dorms. There was a message from Casey on his machine when he got home.

"John, sorry you couldn't make it on Christmas," she said. "Something come up? Call me."

John deleted it and went to bed.

The phone rang.

John jumped. Grace dropped her book and grinned sheepishly. Henry nodded his head.

"It's them," he said.

It was ten minutes before the Typhoon Gold people's plane was supposed to land.

"They're early," John said. He picked up the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, is this John Wilson?"

"Yes, this is he."

"This is Brad Urbeniski, Typhoon Gold."

"You've landed then?" He grinned at Grace and Henry.

"No, not exactly."

"Huh?" They couldn't be calling from the plane. Weather? The airport was open. Maybe they'd been snowed in somewhere else.

"We figured we'd give you a call," Urbeniski said. "We're not going to make it."

"What did they say?" Grace whispered.

"What? Why not?"

"We've heard that the game has been enc.u.mbered."

"What does that mean?"

"Someone else has a claim on the technology," Urbeniski said. "There's a suit in court. It makes your game less interesting to us."

"But that's all a mistake," John said. "No one else has a claim on this!"

"Sure, but until the mistake is fixed, we can't make an order. You understand."

"But-"

"When the problem is fixed," Urbeniski said, "we'll consider another arrangement." The line went dead.

"What?!?" Grace cried.

John placed the phone in its cradle, then sat down on the couch. "They heard about Paquelli's suit. They won't make a deal with that hanging over us."

"But it's c.r.a.p!" Henry cried.

"Yeah, I know."

"They can't do that!" Grace cried. "That was a huge order! That would have made it all right!" She looked close to crying.

John just shook his head.

"We're doomed," Henry said.

"We'll win our case," John said. "We'll deal with the city of Toledo. We'll get another big order."

Grace said, "I don't think so. This was a stupid idea!" She stormed off to the bathroom.

Henry looked on in surprise. John couldn't blame her. This was all his fault for getting them into this. He remembered then the card he'd gotten from that guy at Woodman's. What was his name? Visgrath? Ermanaric Visgrath? He'd been weird looking and he'd acted funny. But he'd wanted to invest. He'd probably be as leery as Typhoon Gold was. Where was that card?

There was a bowl of c.r.a.p on his kitchen counter, next to his keys and his wallet. He dug through it, tossing aside receipts and pieces of paper.

"Here it is," he said. The business card was crumbled and folded, but the name and number were still visible.

"What?" Henry said.

"What if we got an investor?" John said. "What if someone would fund us?"

"You want to bring someone else in?"

"They have money, and we don't."

"Yeah, but..." Henry seemed to consider it.

"We're not only going to lose it all," John said. "We're going to lose it to Ray Paquelli."

Henry gritted his teeth, as if he found the idea abhorrent. "I dunno." He glanced at the bathroom door.

John picked up his phone, then put it back down.

"Should I call?" he said. "Should I find out if they're still interested?"

Henry shrugged.

John felt a moment's anger at Henry's ambivalence. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"Mr. Visgrath's office," a male voice answered after the first ring.

"This is John Wilson. Mr. Visgrath gave me his number. ..."

"Ah, yes, the Pinball Wizards," the voice said. "Just a moment."

"They remember us," John answered.

"Why would they remember us?" Henry asked.

A deeper voice spoke into the phone. "Mr. Wilson, so good of you to call. What can I do for you?"

"You-You said you'd be interested in financing our pinball machines."

The door to the bathroom opened and Grace came out looking perplexed.

"Who's he talking to?" she whispered.

"Investors."

"Yes, we're interested, though your circ.u.mstances have changed, have they not?"

"How so?" John asked.

"The lawsuit, of course, by Raymond Paquelli," Visgrath said. "And the problems with the city of Toledo."

How could everyone know their business so easily? John wondered. How had Typhoon Gold and Ermanaric Visgrath both learned of it?

"Those things will go away in no time."

"So you say."