We walk down the alleyway that the nervous guy walked down. It is getting darker, and I understood why Tommy the old guy said don’t come to this part of town after dark. For one, it was freakin’ creepy, and number two, anyone who has an ounce of cash on them has the chance to be jumped when they are leaving clubs of this nature.

Bell stops walking in front of me. There is a door on the left, and it has written in small silver letters, “The Real Deal.” It is not the sort of entrance that I was expecting, well not on a club that Alex had managed. I just guessed it would be like the Starlight or something all uptown and hip.

I could have eaten my thoughts for dinner, had they been words. Inside was nothing like the entrance. It wasn’t uptown or hip, but it was a bit fucking posh. Old man Tommy never said it was anything like this, maybe he had forgotten that part.

I wasn’t even sure we were going to be let in. The guy on the door had looked us up and down, it was only when Bell pulled out a large roll of notes that he opened the door.

“How much cash have you got in that roll?” I ask.

“I would estimate seventy-five,” Bell says.

“You don’t carry seventy-five thousand around with you,” I say.

“Yeah, I know. Seventy-five dollars,” Bell says, smiling.

“But that roll is huge.”

“Who said it was all cash, there are only about four or five notes there, the rest is printer paper,” Bell replies.

“That is sneaky,” I say, impressed.

“It opens doors easier than any key,” she replies.

I shake my head in disbelief. “The question is, who do we ask?” I say. “We can’t just ask the bosses because that’s too risky.”

“The dealers, they have nothing to gain and nothing to lose,” Bell says.

“Oh look. Roulette. I won three thousand plus on this in Jamaica,” I say.

“We haven’t come to play, we have come to find Alex.”

“I know, but let’s just have a quick look. I am not sure how I did it, but I noticed a pattern last time,” I explain.

“Bah, there is no pattern,” Bell replies.

“There is only one way to find out.”

We stand at the roulette table and watch. In Jamaica, it was about six spins, and then the pattern went into reverse.

I watch the wheel. Black, black, red, black, red, red. That was the first six spins, now the second six. Red, red, black, red, black, black. I check the third six turns of the wheel.

“It is the same, I can see the pattern,” I say.

Bell looks at me.” Bullshit. It is entirely random, I see nothing.”

“Give me your seventy-five dollars.”

Bell pulls the real notes from the roll of paper. “You can have fifty, we need gas.”

The girl spinning the wheel looks at me strangely when I ask for dollar chips. It is only to prove a point, and I am not a gambler. Well, not at heart. I follow the exact same method I did on the island. Four chips on a color, and one on a number.

Thirty minutes later, Bell was still scratching her head about how I had managed to turn fifty dollars into a few hundred. I give her the money.

“Shove that on your roll,” I say.

“You must have some serious divine intervention, that is godly what you’ve just done,” she says.

“I don’t know how I do it,” I say.

“You could clean up at the big tables,” Bell says.

“I am not interested in that.”

“Can you do it with cards?” she asks.

“I have no idea, I have never actually played cards,” I say.

“We will try when we get home,” Bell says. “I am curious.”

I show my phone to the girl as she trays up the chips. “You know this guy?” I ask.

“Alex, of course, he used to manage here,” she says.

“I don’t suppose you have seen him lately?”

The girl shakes her head. “Sorry, I have not seen him for a few weeks.”

“Is there anyone else who might know?” I ask.

“I think anyone from here will give you the same answer,” she replies. “There is one guy who works on the strip.”

“What is his name and where does he work?” I ask, hoping for more of an answer.

The girl furrows her brow. “I think the guy works in ‘Aces High,' and his name. I just can’t remember. Oh, it starts with B, I know that.”

“Thanks, Jenny, you have been a great help,” I say.

“How do you know my name is Jenny?” she asks.

“I don’t know, maybe you look like a Jenny,” I say, smiling.

Bell looks at me really confused. “Are you a freakin’ alien or something?” she says, now chuckling.

“Maybe that’s one of those bad habits I picked up,” I reply.

“Don’t get reading my mind or anything,” she says.

“I can’t read minds. I do know you had a bit of an event with Joseph and Stacey,” I say as we walk to the door.

“No way, how did you do that?” Bell asks.

“It just came to me in a flash.”

“Wow, that is so cool and so scary,” she says.

I turn to Bell. “Not really, Shona mentioned it.”

Bell slaps me on the shoulder. Right before she laughs and calls me a bitch.

“Geez, it is dark now, what time is it?” I ask.

“Almost nine.”

“I think it’s a bit too late to go to that casino,” I say.

“I agree, we should be having dinner, there is nothing at home,” Bell adds.

“You choose, at least you have the money to pay for it,” I say.

“I have money, I just don’t carry it with me,” Bell says, frowning.

We head back to the car and can see a few dodgy guys lurking around the end of the street. I am sure they won’t bother us, we are not actually dressed like we have money.

I bang my hip against the door and pull on the handle. I slip in the passenger seat as Bell watches the guys down the street.

“You can never be too careful, that is when they jump you, just as you are getting in the car,” she says.

“I will remember that.”

“What do you want for dinner? Um, there is anything you can imagine here,” Bell says.

“I feel like oysters.”

“We have won a couple of hundred, this is Las Vegas. We are not going to be able to afford a plate full of oysters,” Bell says plainly.

“I suppose it’s pizza then,” I reply.

“Pizza, yep. We will get takeout and a couple of beers. I want to see you with these cards.

Bell starts the car, and she heads off to the best pizza takeout in Las Vegas. Or that’s the way she explained it. Any pizza was nice to me, I just loved the stuff.

“Here we are. Popperelli’s Pizza,” she says.

“You like it spicy?” I ask, as we get out of the car.

“The hotter, the better,” Bell replies.

I look at the clock as we walk into the pizza place. Ten thirty. I wonder what ordeal Alex has been through since last night. He has probably been tied up, beaten… and he may not have had anything to eat. The poor soul.

“Spicy Mexican,” Bell says.

“Is there such a thing?” I say laughing.

“Definitely.”

“I was just thinking about how Alex has been treated,” I say.

“Who knows, maybe they’ve beaten him.”

“Don’t say that, it’s bad enough me thinking it,” I reply, feeling sick.

“Well, whatever they are doing to him, I bet he is not enjoying it,” Bell says. “It is not as if he has any freedom to play cards or hold a woman in his arms.”

“Yes, it must be a living hell for him.”

“A living hell for one person can be a day in paradise for another.”