"My, you're a sparky little slitch! You remind me of a fox terrier I once had. Look, dear, I can't play games with you; I have to keep this office open. Now tell me the truth and I'll put your name on file."

"Sorry, chief. I shouldn't have sounded off. All right, I'm an elite courier. If I carry it, it gets there and my fees are high. Or my salary if I'm hired as a specialist staff officer. As for the rest, of course I have to be the best, bare-handed or with weapons, because what I carry must go through. You can list me as a DI if you wishÄbarehanded or any weapon. But I'm not interested in combat unless the pay is high. I prefer courier duty."

He made notes. "All right. Don't get your hopes up. The hairy characters I work for aren't likely to use couriers other than battlefield couriersÄ"

"I'm that, too. What I carry gets through."

"Or you get killed." He grinned. "They're more likely to use a superdog. Look, sweetheart, a corporate has more need for your sort of messenger than does a military. Why don't you leave your name with each of the multinationals? All the big ones are represented here. And they've got more money. Lots more money."

I thanked him and we left. At Goldie's urging I stopped in at the local branch post office and made printouts of my own brag sheet. I was going to ease off on the required salary, being sure that Boss had favored meÄbut Goldie wouldn't let me. "Raise it! This is your best chance. Outfits that need you will either pay without a quiver.

or will at least call you and try to dicker. But cut your price? Look, dear, nobody buys at a fire sale if they can afford the best."

I dropped one at each multinational. I didn't really expect any nibbles but if anyone wanted the world's best courier, they could study my qualifications.

When the offices started to close, we slid back to the hotel to keep our dinner date, and found both Anna and Burt just a leetle tipsy. Not drunk, just happy and a touch too deliberate in their movements.

Burt struck a pose and declaimed, "Ladies! Look at me and admire! I am a great manÄ"

"You're swacked."

"That, too, Friday, m'love. But you see before you wup! the man who banked the broke at Monte Carlo. I'm a genius, a blinkin', true-blue, authentic, f'nanchal genius. You may touch me."

I had been planning to touch him, later that night. Now I wondered. "Anna, did Burt break the bank?"

"No, but he certainly bent it." She stopped to belch carefully, covering up. "Scuse me. We dropped a little here, then went over to the Flamingo to change our luck. Got there just before post time for the third at Santa Anita and Burt put a superbuck on the nose of a little mare with his mother's nameÄa long shot and she romped home. So here is a wheel right outside the track room and Burt put his winnings on double zeroÄ"

"He was drunk," Goldie stated.

"I am genius!"

"Both. Double zero hit, and Burt put this enormous stack on black and hit, and left it there and hit, and moved it to red and hitÄ and the croupier sent for the pit boss. Burt wanted to go for broke but the pit boss limited him to five kilobucks."

"Peasants. Gestapo. Hired menials. Not a gentleman sportsman in their entire casino. I took my patronage elsewhere."

"And lost it all," said Goldie.

"Goldie m'old frien', you do not show proper respec'."

"He might have lost it all," agreed Annie, "but I saw to it that he followed the pit boss's advice. With six of the casino's sheriffs around us we went straight to their casino's office of the Lucky Strike State Bank and deposited it. Otherwise I would not have let him leave. Imagine carrying a half a megabuck from the Flamingo to the Dunes in cash. He wouldn't have lived to cross the street."

"Preposterous! Vegas has less violent crime `nany other city North Amer'ca. Anna, m'true love, you are a bossy, notional woman. A henpecker. I shall not marry you even when you fall on your knees at Fremont `n' Main `n' beg me to. Instead I shall take your shoes away from you and beat you and feed you on crusts."

"Yes, dear. You can put your own shoes on now because you are going to feed all three of us. On crusts of caviar and truffles."

"And champagne. But not because you are henpeckering me. Ladies. Friday, Goldie, my true lovesÄwill you help me celebrate my f'nanchal genius? With libations and pheasant under glass and gorgeous show girls in fancy hats?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Yes before you change your mind. Anna, did you say `half a megabuck'?"

"Burt. Show them."

Burt produced a new bankbook, let us look at it while he buffed his nails on his stomach and looked smug. Bk 504,000. Over half a million in the only hard currency in North America. Uh, slightly over thirty-one kilos of fine gold. No, I wouldn't want to carry that much across the street, eitherÄnot in bullion. Not without a wheelbarrow. It would mass almost half as much as I do. A bankbook is more convenient.

Yes, I would drink Burt's champagne.

Which we did, in the theater at the Stardust. Burt knew how much cumshaw to give the captain of waiters to get us ringsides (or paid too much, I don't know which) and we sopped up champagne and had a lovely dinner centered around Cornish game hen but billed as squab and the show girls were young and pretty and cheerful and healthy and smelled freshly bathed. And they had show boys with stuffed codpieces for us women to look at, only I didn't, not much, because they didn't smell right and I got the feeling that they were more interested in each other than they were in women. Their business, of course, but on the whole I preferred the show girls.

And they had a swell magician who plucked live pigeons out of the air the way most magicians pluck coins. I love magicians and never understand how they do it and I watch them with my mouth hanging open.

This one did something that had to involve a pact with the Devil. At one point he had one of the show girls replace his pretty assistant. His assistant was not overdressed but the show girl was wearing shoes at one end and a hat at the other and just a smile in between.

The magician started taking pigeons from her.

I don't believe what I saw. There isn't that much room and it would tickle. So it didn't happen.

But I'm planning on going back to watch it from a different angle. It simply can't be true.

When we got back to the Dunes, Goldie wanted to catch the lounge show but Anna wanted to go to bed. So I agreed to sit with Goldie. Burt said to save him a seat as he would be right back after he took Anna up.

Only he didn't. When we went up I was unsurprised to find the door to the other room closed; before dinner my nose had warned

me that it was unlikely that Burt would soothe my nerves two nights in a row. Their business and I had no kick coming. Burt had done nobly by me when I really needed it.

I thought perhaps Goldie would have her nose out of joint but she didn't seem to. We simply went to bed, giggled over the impossibility of where he got those pigeons, and went to sleep. Goldie was snoring gently as I dropped off.

Again I was awakened by Anna but this morning she was not looking sober; she was radiant. "Good morning, darlings! Pee and brush your teeth; breakfast will be up in two jounces. Burt is just getting out of the bath, so don't dally."

Along toward the second cup of coffee Burt said, "Well, dear?"

Anna said, "Shall I?"

"Go ahead, hon."

"All right. Goldie, FridayÄ We hope you can spare us some time this morning because we both love you both and want you to be with us. We're getting married this morning."

Goldie and I put on fine exhibitions of utter astonishment and great pleasure, along with jumping up and kissing each of them. In my case the pleasure was sincere; the surprise was faked. With Goldie I thought that it might have been reversed. I kept my suspicions to myself.