Eyes locked straight ahead he barely breathed as he walked at a nervous but steady pace through the clatter and din of metallic clicks, whirs, groans and cheers of the casino's main gaming room. Brilliant colours, flashing lights, the noise of excited chatter, none of it registered as he focused on his goal.

Reaching the lobby doors he paused and made an anxious peripheral scan before taking a much-needed deep breath, then stepped outside through the outer doors, past the salutation of the smiling doorman, and straight to the taxi rank. The driver started his meter and pulled out into the stream of traffic lining the glitzy street of dreams, both broken and realized.

"Where to?"

"Bus terminal."

The man held the old-fashioned briefcase tight to his chest, his hands trembling as they gripped the oversized lunch box design of his prize. Horns blared, bass thudded from the open windows of passing cars, but his eyes remained straight ahead, a bead of perspiration on his lip licked away nervously.

The taxi made a turn and the traffic thinned to a stream of vans and delivery vehicles, denizens of the backstreets of the city. The bus terminal loomed as a grey concrete edifice with a vertical sign that flashed its purpose like those on the casinos, and the vehicle slid easily into a slot reserved for taxis.

He struggled out of the cab and handed the driver enough for the fare along with a handsome tip then hurried inside. His part of the plan had been sketchy after the initial stage was completed, and in truth, he wasn't sure he would have made it this far. Planning further seemed way too optimistic . . . now he had an important decision to make.

He stood examining the departures board - a cheap bus was scheduled to leave shortly for the destination agreed upon. How the others were travelling was not discussed, but he felt this was the least obvious or risky.

The first casual meeting, the easy conversation and acceptance of shared company, gradually permitted the disclosure of more personal topics, and the scheme, presented with such confidence, appeared not only as a financial benefit, but as a satisfactory solution to his domestic plight. He had finally agreed to take the risk, and now, having done the deed, he was tasked with completing his role in the plan.

Clutching the briefcase close, he zeroed in on the bus departure headed for Salt Lake City within the hour. At the ticket counter a one way trip was purchased, and while he waited, he bought some coffee and a soon-to-be stale sandwich from the line of vending machines. For a dollar and a pull of the lever they also offered a chance at financial freedom; he didn't need to waste a dollar, his case held many thousands of them.

Everything had gone exactly as planned, and he remained astonished by the initial idea and his own daring. Edwin Del Darrigo was a fifty-three-year-old Mexican accountant, married to a thirty-seven-year-old shrew interested solely in his ability to provide for her every whim, and the main reason for his rash entry into the world of white collar crime.

When the bus arrived he lined up to board along with a few other travellers, choosing a seat right at the back where no one could sit behind him. With his case tucked safely between his body and the side of the bus, Edwin ate his sandwich, drank his second coffee and closed his eyes to sleep . . . and dream.

*****

King Braddock listened to his manager's report, his expression growing darker and the frown increasing to a point where his face began to resemble a Chinese Shar-Pei. The manager could barely keep the quaver from his voice as he confessed that one of the money room accountants had removed, unnoticed, a considerable sum of money from the room, and also gained egress from the casino without being spotted.

Braddock brought up the man's file on his computer and read all about Edwin Del Darrigo in the personnel data. A nondescript nobody accountant, passing an intense security vetting at hiring, had evaded all the casino protocols and waltzed out with a bagful of his money, increasing his barely suppressed rage. He pressed a buzzer on his desk, dismissing the manager with a growl.

The new man entered the room and closed the door with deliberate care, turning and crossing the room to the front of King's large glass desk.

"You buzzed?"

"We have a problem that I want you to take care of, and the sooner the faster."

"Details." The man began loading the information his employer gave him into a personal manager.

"I don't know how he pulled it off and there is nothing in his file about him possibly being a risk of any kind, so I'm thinking we have overlooked something so simple in our security that he somehow discovered and exploited."

"Maybe a lucky fluke?"

"Regardless, I want the money he stole, and I want a lesson given, fluke or no friggin' fluke. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly." The man closed his device and left, going straight to the security room to view the camera footage of the casino floor.

After several minutes he found the man he was looking for and watched the screen as he simply walked straight through the entire room and out the door without a pause. He switched to the exterior and saw the man enter a taxi. Freezing the image, he enlarged the picture, noting the cab name and number.

"Back that up and run it again, and find any other views that might show exactly where he came from."

The security man called up the appropriate tapes for the time in question and ran them simultaneously on his bank of screens.

"There! Stop it there, that one." Ralph leaned closer and studied the still picture. "Where is that?"

The operator tracked the tape back a bit more and stopped it again. "The washrooms near the money cage, and before you ask, all the restrooms, men, women and staff were thoroughly searched for anything suspicious." Ralph was looking at the time stamps and he held up a finger to shush the operator.

"According to that screen, he left the money room at exactly nine twenty-eight. The stamp on that screen there shows him going out to the street at nine forty-seven. It took him nineteen minutes to walk from the money room to the street?" The operator moved the tape along to where Edwin came from the washroom area and pointed to the time.

"He was probably in the restroom for twelve and a half minutes; must have crapped himself."

The remark was intended to be funny, but Ralph ignored him and focused on the screen. A cleaning cart entered the same restroom one minute after Edwin left, and came out again two minutes later. The person pushing the cart couldn't be seen clearly because of the uniform cap and the sudden appearance of three men, all laughing and blocking the view as they pushed through into the washroom.

"Who was that with the cart?"

"No idea. They don't have particular schedules. Sometimes there's emergency clean-ups, like when somebody loses big time and chucks up all over the room. Anyone handy gets the job."

"So you can't tell who is who, when, or where among the cleaners."

"Nope."

"How many do you have?"

"There's a crew of fifteen; eight work the main room the rest cover the suite floors and elevators etcetera, but we checked them all."

Ralph spent another two hours poring over the tapes, looking at all the people in proximity to Edwin as he left the casino, grasping for any inconsistency of behaviour and dissecting each frame when he found one. When he was finished he had a list of notes that held items of interest and people who may or may not have been anything more than simply on camera.

An unrelated thought about the types that gambled crossed his mind when he looked at the crowd. The whales, where the table was packed with the voyeurs pandering to their envy, the lone, down in the dumps black jack players hoping for that perfect hand. He saw young couples, groups of women, players seated at slots that looked like they lived there, expressions never changing as they automatically dropped their money and looked at the results.

Ralph shook his head and stretched, thanking the security people as he left.

A call to the taxi company, whose driver had picked up Del Darrigo, and a suggestion that the casino would be grateful for cooperation, netted him the driver's log via radio, and he made his next call to the bus terminal with a description of Edwin. There was some doubt, so he hopped a cab and went to the terminal with Edwin's employee photo, learning that the person he was looking for bought a ticket to Salt Lake City, and the bus had left a couple of hours ago.

The man checked his watch and calculated that the bus would reach Salt Lake in approximately five to six hours. He went back to the taxi and ordered the driver to the local airport. There was little to be gained chasing the bus by car; he could meet it right in the terminal and be back all in one fell swoop.