Susan and I stood for a moment outside The Mirage watching Hawk move away down toward the Strip. He was wearing a white straw planter's hat, a dark blue linen shirt, white slacks, and blue suede loafers. People studiously avoided looking at him until he was past them. Then they stared at him over their shoulders.

"People notice him," Susan said.

"Yeah."

"He frightens them."

"Yeah."

"Have you ever figured out why?"

"They know," I said.

"Yes," Susan said.

"They do."

We stood for another minute watching the Hawk's progress.

Then the tram from Treasure Island arrived and we were swarmed with heavy people in colorful shirts. We fought our way through them and went first for a look at the white tigers in their climate controlled habitat. Then we backtracked, and looked at the people lounging by the pool.

"It's amazing that no matter how small women's bathing suits get, they still manage to cover all they're supposed to," I said.

"Do I hear disappointment in your voice?" Susan said.

"Yes."

The desert air lived up to its cliches. It was hot, but the dryness made it seem less hot. We moved north along Las Vegas Boulevard, casino by casino. The hotels were garish, but the north side was less so than the south. It was Hawk who got to go into Caesars Palace, which looked like ancient Rome, and the Luxor, which looked like a pyramid, and Excalibur that looked like a fortress, and MGM Grand, which looked like Oz. We had only Treasure Island, which looked like a Caribbean seaport, though we did get the live pirate show where one ship sinks another in the Treasure Island Lagoon, while the mist machines on the perimeter cooled us down. The rest of the hotels on our part of the strip looked like big ugly hotels, a fifth-grader's dream of luxury, and nighttime excess, shopworn in the unblinking Nevada sunlight.

The street crowd was mostly the same kinds of people who dream those kinds of dreams, people who'd decided this year to come to Vegas instead of Disneyland, people who looked like they'd just come from a square dance, people who looked like they'd just arrived on a freight car, pink shorts, small plastic mesh baseball hats, small children, Instamatic cameras, white boots, large bellies, plaid shirts, high top sneakers, camcorders, just married, street peddlers mostly black and Hispanic, private security people wearing black shorts and yellow shirts, riding bicycles, and carrying Colt Python revolvers, people in pointed shoes and checked sports coats with dark glasses and their shirts unbuttoned, a little guy with a big nose, wearing a flowered shortsleeved shirt and a Panama hat, and a perfectly dressed sophisticate from Boston with his stunning companion.

Inside the hotels, the casinos seemed interchangeable: air-conditioned, windowless, artificial light, no clocks, the pinball colors of the slots dominating the room, the carnival chatter of the slots overpowering all other sounds. We stopped at a blackjack table, watched some games, moved on to the next table, watched some games. The little guy in the Panama hat was better on foot than he was in a Buick. He wasn't obvious, but, if you're looking for a tail, there's not much the tail can do to avoid being seen. He was in the casinos when we were in them, lingering near the exit. He was on the other side of the street, down a ways, when we were strolling between casinos.

"Would he play poker?" Susan said.

"Might. But in poker you play against the other players, not against the house. I have a sense that Anthony wants to bust the MGM Grand or somebody."

"Not only money, but notoriety," Susan said.

We checked the poker tables. Only two were in use this early.

The blank-faced dealers expertly distributed the cards, presiding over a game in which they had no stake. We strolled past the blackjack tables again on our way out.

"No one seems to smile here," Susan said.

"It's about money," I said.

"Of course," Susan said.

"No wonder they're so serious."

"Want to play?" I said.

"Certainly," Susan said.

"If you'll stay beside me and tell me what to do."

"Of course," I said.

Susan bet five dollars. She got a seven and a nine. The dealer had a ten showing.

"Stay," I murmured.

"Hit me," Susan said.

The dealer gave her a jack.

"I lost," she said.

"Un huh."

We played for another fifteen minutes in which Susan lost a hundred dollars. She paid no attention to what I told her to do. On the fourth hand I said nothing. She glared at me.

"What should I do?"

She had a three and a five.

"Hit," I said.

She got a ten.

"Stay," I said.

"Hit," Susan said.

She drew a five.

"I hate losing," she said.

"Well, I don't mean to be critical," I said.

"But why are you taking a hit with eighteen?"

"I don't want to just stand there," Susan said.

"Of course you don't," I said.

We didn't find Anthony that day, or the next one. But Susan did locate something called the fashion mall, down past Treasure Island.

"Maybe they have a Victoria's Secret in there. You could buy one of those seductive floral nighties."

"You know I don't wear nighties," Susan said.

"We've known each other a long time now. It's okay, I think, for you to see me naked."

"Oh good," I said.

"But not right here," Susan said. c'Give with one hand, take with the other," I said.

CHAPTER 16

I came trudging back in the late afternoon of day three. Susan had taken the afternoon to explore the shops in Caesars Palace next door, and I had cruised the casinos alone, swinging off the Strip this time just to vary the monotony. The little guy in the Panama hat stayed with me. I wasn't expecting to find a Vegas Buster at the Debbie Reynolds Hotel. And I didn't. The little guy had trouble at the Debbie Reynolds Hotel. The lobby casino was too small to be unnoticed. He did his best, feeding quarters into one of the slots aimlessly, while I was not finding Anthony.

"Debbie'll sign her book for you," the clerk said.

"Comes right out every night after her show and talks with people." He gestured toward the coffee shop.

"Right outside there. I can sell you tickets.

Show starts at eight."

I thought about getting two tickets, one for me, and one for the little guy, but decided that I wasted too much time being self amusing When I came into the lobby of The Mirage, I was thinking about beer. At the casino entrance on the rude bridge that arched the artificial flood, Hawk was leaning on the rail, looking at the water.

"Anthony's here," Hawk said. He nodded toward the casino.

"Blackjack?"

"Un huh. He a guest here."

We started toward the blackjack tables.

"You know that for a fact?"

Hawk looked at me.

"Of course you do," I said.

"It pays to have contacts."

"You know you got a tail," Hawk said.

"Little guy, big beezer, Panama hat," I said.

"Un huh. You don't want to brace him?"

"No. Let's let it play out." I said.

"See what happens when he sees us with Anthony."

"You figure he's from Gino?" Hawk said.

"Or Julius, or Marty Anaheim, or all three, or Wayne Newton, for all I know. But I figure it's Anthony he's trying to find."