“Mr. Benedict? We’ve got company.”

“Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a great white card shark in our midst. Stay on him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Yes sir.”

“Security Teams A and B— keep an eye out for accomplices and be ready for a discreet escort on my command.”

“Are you kidding? There’s nothing discreet about him. Half of the guests are already staring. If you were hoping for a quiet eviction, sir, then good luck… no pun intended.”

“Shut up and keep all available cameras on him. Valet Station— find out what vehicle he arrived in. I want an excuse to get him outside.”

“No good, Mr. Benedict. He can fly, remember?”

“Damn, you’re right! Did he have a rider at all?”

“I’m fairly certain he came alone, sir.”

“We’re running out of options here. We need a distraction before that thing hits the credit counter!”

“Why not just kick him out? This is your casino, after all.”

“And risk having PETMA on my ass? Not a chance.”


“People for the Ethical Treatment of Mythical Animals! Don’t you read the papers? If they find out we’ve discriminated against a Luck Dragon, they’ll throw buckets of paint the color of whatever that thing’s blood is all over the place! Plus, I’m pretty sure pissing off a creature that embodies luck isn’t the wisest thing for a gaming establishment to do. Think, damn it, think! What’s the one thing that Luck Dragons love more than anything?”

“Umm… children?”

“No good. There’s no one under twenty one for miles. We need to do something drastic. Maybe offer him a free buffet…”

“Mr. Benedict! Valet Station is on the line. They’re having a problem finding room for another guest’s bike.”

“I don’t have time for that! Tell them to put the damned motorcycle in the parking garage.”

“That’s the problem, sir. It’s a Rockbiter. The bike is taller than the parking garage.”

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