He was a meticulous planner, which was fortunate because the type of theft he favored required careful attention to detail and timing. In fact, he had been scouting the Fat Chance for nearly a week before he decided that a score was possible, and passed the word to the other members of his team who were scattered through the other Lorelei casinos.

The plan Lucas used required five people working in close cooperation, though, of course, great care was taken to be sure the pit bosses and casino security would not be able to spot that they even knew each other, much less were functioning as a unit. Their target was the craps table, where the odds were nearest to favorable to the player, and even more favorable with their system. It was a complicated system which involved the shooter palming one of the dice as he threw while another player dropped a loaded die onto the table as if it were one of the original pair. A third player would snatch up the dice and throw them back to the shooter, covertly switching them for a pair of honest dice as he did it, so that even if the house got suspicious and examined the dice, they would be clean. Two other players were at the table solely to create a diversion at the crucial moment, while the fifth, Lucas, placed the bet.

The beauty of the system was that the very number of players necessary to work it would make the pit bosses reluctant to believe they were being taken. The one placing the big bet wasn't the shooter, who would be betting the table minimum, and the shooter himself would never be vulnerable to being caught with the crooked die. While they could only work the gag a few times in a given casino without drawing undue attention, at the "adjusted odds" a few times was usually enough.

The other necessary ingredient to the scam was a sloppy croupier, which was much of what Lucas had been watching for the last week. It was also why he had chosen this time for the team to assemble for work.

The crowds from the opening-night festivities had thinned to a point where there were several seats available at the various tables. More important, the pit crews were tired from the crush and were openly glancing at their watches as if they could speed the end of their shift by willpower alone.

Lucas had been sitting at the target table for nearly an hour, carefully building the pattern of a slow loser who would bet heavily occasionally in an apparent effort to recoup his losses. The croupier was behaving as he had for the last several nights, splitting his attention between the table and a shapely cocktail waitress who winked at him in passing with increasing frequency as the end of their shift neared. Whether they were flirting or lovers, Lucas neither knew nor cared. What was important was that the croupier wasn't paying attention to what was happening at his table.

One by one, his team had drifted in and eased into their places with apparent casualness, until they were only lacking one member before they could swing into action. In spite of his confidence and control, Lucas felt his excitement starting to build. In another fifteen minutes, they'd either have scored their hit or scattered, looking for another target.

"Your dice, sir."

Lucas gathered up the dice and began shaking them slowly in preparation for his throw. This wasn't the big score, of course. He'd be the bettor, not the shooter, when they were ready for that. He was simply marking time and taking his turn in the rotation of shooters until the team was assembled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the last team member drifting toward their table, pausing to watch the action at other tables in his show of indifference. They were just about ready to go.

"Come on, seven," Lucas said almost automatically as he raised his hand to throw the dice, and ...

"Just a moment, sir!"

A vicelike grip closed on his wrist. Startled, Lucas glanced around and discovered he was held by a black-uniformed security guard, flanked by two others.

"What ..."

"Let's have a look at those dice ... Hold all bets!"

Genuinely puzzled, Lucas surrendered up the dice he was holding to the guard with the red handlebar moustache. He had no idea what had prompted this interruption, since he had done nothing to cause any suspicion, justified or not.

The guard barely glanced at the dice.

"Just as I thought," he declared. "Check his pocket, Do-Wop ... the left-hand jacket pocket."

Before Lucas could gather his wits to protest, the greasy-looking guard next to him had plunged a hand into the indicated pocket and emerged with ...

"Here they are, Sarge. Just like you thought."

Lucas gaped at the pair of dice the guard was holding aloft.

There hadn't been any dice in that pocket ... or anywhere else on his person, for that matter!

"But ..."

"Thought you'd pull a little switcheroo, eh, sir?" The moustached guard smiled. "I think it's time you moved along ... if you'll follow me. No harm done, folks! Just keeping the Fat Chance tables honest. Reclaim your bets and pass the dice to the next shooter!"

Lucas barely noticed the shocked faces of the other team members as they faded back into the crowd. His entire attention was arrested by the firm hands gripping his arms as he was propelled gently but steadily toward the casino entrance.

"But I'm a guest at this hotel!" he managed at last, still trying to make sense of what had happened.

"Not anymore, you aren't, sir," the sergeant informed him. "You'll find your luggage waiting for you outside."

"But I didn't do anything! Honest!"

While he might have accepted the risks of his chosen profession, Lucas shared everyman's disbelief and indignation at being found guilty of a crime when he was, in fact, innocent.

"I know that, sir." The sergeant winked. "We just got tired of waiting for you is all. Now, if you'll step this way?"

Things suddenly snapped into focus in Lucas's mind.

"Wait a minute," he said. "If my luggage is waiting, then somebody had to have packed it before you ..."

Wrenching his arms free from his captors, he stopped dead in his tracks and pointed an accusing finger at the sergeant.

"You set me up!" he proclaimed. "There wasn't anything wrong with the dice I was holding! And he ... he planted that extra pair in my pocket!"

"Quite right, sir," Moustache said smoothly. "The dice were yours, though. We just took the liberty of moving them from your room into your pocket is all."

"My room?"

"Yes, sir. If I might suggest, sir, it's unwise to keep an extra couple dozen pairs of dice in your luggage when staying at a casino. It tends to make nasty blokes like us suspicious, and not everybody's as nice and understanding as we are."

"What ... you searched my luggage? Before I did anything?"

"Just looking out for the owner's interests, sir," the sergeant said.

"But that's ... that's ..."

"Illegal? Quite right, sir. It would seem that you're not the only crook on Lorelei, but, of course, you already knew that. The real trick, sir, is not getting caught. Now, if you'll step this way?"

Sprawled at a table near the open front of one of the casino's cocktail lounges, Doc and Tiffany watched the procession march past.

"You know," Doc said, "that actually looks like it would be fun. Maybe I should put in a request to stand regular duty once in a while. If nothing else, it would justify wearing these uniforms all the time."

The actress made a face as she sipped her drink.

"It's got to be more fun than troweling makeup onto Dee Dee the Dip five times a day," she said. "Wouldn't you know that, after making that big fuss about not wanting a live stage crew, now the computer's been dry-cleaned, she's insisting we keep working the shows?"

"All I have to do is work the curtains," Doc said, "but I know what you mean. Still, I suppose it's closer to show business than standing around watching drunks lose money day in and day out."