---

When you think of Las Vegas, you think of the flash, the glitter, the sparkle, the neon, the light. But there's another Las Vegas, too, if you go behind the Strip, behind the standalone casinos scattered through the town at Suncoast, Boulder Station, Palace Station, and down a shopping arcade called Easy Street. You might notice that the parking garage is always full from the basement to the roof, even though its eight levels seem extravagant for the two blocks of small stores below. But if you turn right at the end of Easy Street onto Siegel Avenue, you'll see a series of small clubs in large buildings, and these are the casinos that do not need to advertise their presence.

They are the old breed of casino, a place for gamblers to wander from blackjack to craps, where you still pull the handle on the one-armed bandits, where the dealers deal from their paws and not from a shoe, keeping up a line of patter all the while. There are no celebrity chefs, no hotel rooms, no gift shops, only a bar, the slapping of cards, the ringing of slots, and, in some casinos, the thick haze of smoke overhead.

There was no haze of smoke in the Persian, even by the bar where Sean was sitting. As far as he could see and smell, the patrons of the Persian were entirely canid: wolves, coyotes, foxes, dingos, and dholes. No other red wolves, but that was okay. He was used to being mistaken for a coyote, and used to being the only red wolf in the room.

It was illegal, of course, to restrict entry based on species, and the Persian did no such thing. But it was one of the few casinos in town that did restrict smoking in deference to the sensitive noses of their canine patrons. Because the casino depended more on word of muzzle than advertising, its canid regulars tended to tell their friends, and a haze of canine scent was as off-putting for some other species as smoke was to canids. There are no shortage of casinos in Las Vegas, and if one doesn't exactly suit, then it's easy enough to go elsewhere and leave the Persian to the canids.

Even apart from the lack of smoke, the Persian was the perfect place for Sean. His nondescript tan shirt, collar unbuttoned, and pair of ordinary brown slacks served to mute rather than highlight the red accents in his fur. On any evening, he spoke rarely; in the Persian, there was no shortage of things to listen to and watch, a constant barking over the jingling of paying slots. Tonight, Sean's attention was focused on one particular thing.

The fat wolf sitting next to him was a perfect companion, because he appeared to have some kind of affliction that made it hard for him to stop talking. The guy was like a caricature of a 1950s businessman, wearing a blue suit with a yellow striped tie and a white shirt with gold cufflinks, chomping on a cigar--unlit, of course, just for the taste of it. He wore three rings and had a pocketwatch with a gold chain. But his tie was stained and the cufflinks tarnished, and at this distance, Sean could smell that the wolf was using some cheap cologne that stung his nose.

Sean knew his type and knew why he was here rather than over on the Strip where he belonged. He was here because he thought the Persian was a nice exclusive place, and he was the sort who wanted to be in exclusive places, even ones where he didn't belong. And when he started to realize that he didn't belong here, well, sometimes he called someone like Sean. And Sean's job was to make him feel better.

"Anyway," the wolf said as he drained his gin and tonic, "the table's over there. I'll see you there in a bit."

Sean took another sip from his half-filled club soda. He didn't gamble well while drunk. "When there's an opening."

The wolf nodded, pushed his bulk off the chair, and set off for the table. Sean watched him go with some distaste. His tail flopped back and forth over the seat of his pants like a rag, and one of his shirttails had come untucked as he sat at the bar. Really, you'd think someone with all that money would take better care of himself.

Sean sipped his drink and sighed. Still he had to play nice, impress the guy. He wasn't worried about his skill at the cards. He was more worried that he would say something about the smell. But he was very good at lying to people. He had to be.

The wolf shouldered his way onto the blackjack table they'd been watching. Sean leaned against the bar and studied the dealer yet again.

The casino's ancient Persia theme was mostly executed in the names of the drinks at the bar and the pictures on the slot machines. None of the employees wore particularly Persian costumes, and the blackjack dealers were no exception. The dealer Sean was watching was a slender silver fox, his fur jet black with creamy white under the muzzle and down the chest. Sean only knew he was wearing a plain black vest because he also wore a name tag and a shiny pin on one shoulder, and although the vest was invisible against his fur, he wouldn't have fastened the pin in his fur.

It wasn't out of the question that he would be shirtless, though, because he was a flirty little thing, smiling at each of the players at his table and curling his tail up so the white tip was just visible over the edge of the table. His paws moved around the cards like hummingbirds, a blur of motion and then stillness as he waited for the players to make their decisions.

At the Persian, each of the dealers was a personality. Next to the black fox, a coyote in a parti-colored shirt tossed her deck from paw to paw and let the cards flutter theatrically to the table. At the table closest to Sean, a vixen bounced on her heels, highlighting the twin attractions that most of the males at her table were ogling. He could hear the patter of the coyote one more table down, telling jokes as he dealt the cards. Each of the dealers was well known, with regulars who just played to be at the table and would-be regulars who just wanted to be seen at the table.

Sean took out the worn deck of cards he carried in his pocket and shuffled them. The feel of the smooth card backs soothed his paws. He shuffled them a couple more times than was strictly necessary, watching the simple double circle pattern on the back. When he felt relaxed, he dealt out his standard layout on the bar: three cards. He got the Jack of Clubs, Three of Hearts, and Ace of Clubs. Then he looked again and saw that the Three of Hearts was actually the Three of Clubs.

The wolf frowned. He hadn't drunk enough to be seeing things. It wasn't unheard of to get flickers of uncertainty in the cards like that, especially in a casino where there was so much luck and magic swirling around, but his readings were so simple that he rarely saw the phenomenon. He scooped the cards up in his paw before someone could come over and ask what he was doing. The Jack of Clubs meant a reliable friend, but he would hardly count the fat wolf as reliable, and he was more of a King signifier, anyway. The other cards were clearer: the Three meant money or help coming from a partner, and the Ace signified new endeavors. He often saw that combination at the beginning of a job that was going to turn out well. Of course the Three of Hearts meant caution, being careful what you say. He rubbed his whiskers and thought over that combination, and the flicker he'd seen.

It wouldn't do him much good to deal out another spread. Unless you asked a completely different question, the cards tended to muddle things in their attempt to clarify, focusing in on details and projecting other possibilities. The first reading would have to be sufficient for him to get a sense of what was going on.

He hadn't quite finished his soda when a dhole at the silver fox's table finally got fed up. Sean left a tip for the bartender and sauntered over to the table, giving the fox a big smile as he sat down and pretending not to know the fat wolf three seats to his left.

"Well, hello, Slim," the fox said. "Welcome to the table." His lapel pin was a Club, and his name tag read "Jack."

Sean indicated it with his muzzle, and grinned. "Thanks, Jack." Of course his name was Jack. What else could it be? He pushed three hundred over the table, two fifties and a bunch of twenties, and then took one more crumpled twenty from his pocket and added it to the stack. "Hope this is enough to let me play for a while."

Jack scooped it up and riffled the stack of bills casually. "Three twenty," he said, dropping it into his till and sliding a stack of chips back over to Sean. "Good luck, Slim."

Sean experienced an odd and powerful urge to breach casino protocol and touch the fox's fingers before he withdrew them from the chips, but he held back until the chips sat alone on the table, and only then did he pull them all back. He made a show of looking at the minimum for the table--twenty-five dollars--and then slid out a single $25 chip in front of him.

"Everybody in? Cheer up, Angel, your luck is about to turn. I feel it." The fox shuffled the cards in his paws, and almost effortlessly dealt. Sean's cards seemed to appear in front of him: Three of Clubs followed by the Eight of Diamonds. An interesting combination, he thought, reading them automatically. The Three of Clubs again: a wealthy partner, but in conjunction with the Eight, it meant that the money would arrive through practicing an art or skill, jointly between both partners.

Of more practical import, of course, was the fact that he'd been dealt an eleven. He glanced at the fat wolf and saw an Eight of Spades and the Ace of Hearts. Nineteen--not bad. The other players had less promising hands: two that added to seven, and the busty female wolf just to his left had drawn a Nine and Six for fifteen. He saw her frown and saw Jack's apologetic smile in response; apparently she was "Angel."

The dealer had the King of Diamonds showing. That would have been a good significator for the fat wolf, Sean thought. Rich, influential person. Influential in this case, because it promised a good hand for the dealer, especially given the lack of face cards on the table. Dealer's twenty was a hard hand to beat.

Apparently reading the odds the same way he had, the fat wolf used the flexibility of his Ace to hit again, and got a Six for fifteen. He scowled, hit again and busted. The next two players both hit and ended with seventeen and twenty, and Angel looked much happier with her twenty than she had with fifteen.

Sean slid another chip out beside his first. "Double down," he said.

Jack grinned at him. "Good to listen to the cards," he said as he flipped the Jack of Clubs to Sean's hand. "Well, look at that. Twenty-one, and with my namesake at that."

Sean leaned back, one paw just resting on the edge of the table. "That Eight wouldn't lie to me," he said, almost to himself.

Jack paused in the act of turning to the coyote seated to Sean's right, then completed the motion, but as he dealt out a Five and then an Eight to the coyote, leaving him with twenty, Sean noticed that his eyes flicked over once or twice to meet Sean's own. With the coyote's deal done, the fox returned his full attention to his own hand.

"Oh, my," Jack said, "I've got a twenty-one and a couple twenties on the table. And dealer has..." He turned over the Queen of Clubs. "Twenty. So sorry, ladies and gents, a bad round for the table. I promise the next one will make up for it." He raked in everyone's chips, sent two of them to Sean, and followed them with a look that made Sean's ears flick back in surprise. It wasn't one of the casually flirty looks he obviously had in his extensive repertoire. It was a look of honest curiosity, and even though it lasted only a second, Sean sat up straighter and perked his ears.

"So, Slim," Jack said as he dealt the cards, not looking at Sean now, "haven't seen you around before, I don't think."

"I don't gamble much." He took his winnings and left a single chip out as ante again.

"You know the cards, though." That remark was delivered with the same tone as the look: curious, not flirty, though he threw in an empty smile.

"I play lots of Gin Rummy with my mother," Sean said. He reminded himself that he especially should not be flirting now, not with the fat wolf sitting right down at the other end of the table glowering at him.

It was hard not to, though, especially when Jack stopped in front of him, vest hanging open to reveal his smooth chest and tight, flat stomach. Sean kept having to shake the image of his paws sliding behind that vest to hold the fox against him, and it didn't help that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been on an honest-to-goodness date with someone he'd chosen to spend the night with. It also didn't help that Jack seemed to pause longer in front of his seat than any of the others.

"Is your name really Jack?" Sean said during one pause while a new player took Angel's place. The female wolf had finally cashed in her last few chips, taking Jack's apology that the "cards just weren't falling tonight" with a smile and a bounce of her chest. Sean had no doubt that she'd find someone to make her and her painted-on dress feel better.

"Sure as the skies are blue," the fox said.

Sean chuckled. "It's nighttime out now," he pointed out, just to keep the conversation going.

Jack riffled the edge of the deck with his thumb and grinned back. "Nothing but blue skies do I see," he said.

The red wolf, whose eyes were blue, smiled. "Irving Berlin," he murmured as Jack dealt the cards out.

"Him and ol' Blue Eyes," Jack said, pointing to the ceiling, where Sean could now hear the strains of "Strangers In The Night," and he wondered if Jack had waited to point out the music until that song came on, or if the casino just played a lot of songs that encouraged people to hook up.

"Not a bad choice," Sean murmured, and then caught a glare from the fat wolf, who had to be down four hundred already, and looked at his cards.

He lost that hand, but won the next two, and was actually up a hundred fifty after half an hour. He usually bet conservatively enough not to lose, but the cards were falling well for him tonight. Along with Jack's flirting, it gave him a sense of well-being that was not unlike being buzzed.

The wolf finally stood and walked away, and that was Sean's signal to do the same. He had been hoping the wolf would stay because he was enjoying himself so much, but on the next hand he was dealt the Four of Hearts, a change or journey card, and he tapped it when Jack came back around. "I'm being called away," he said casually, as if the card had nothing to do with it.

Jack looked at the card and smiled. "Sorry to lose you, though my bosses won't be," he said, nodding at Sean's pile of chips. "Hope it's not for a couple more hands, though. I hate to see those blue skies go."

Sean couldn't see the fat wolf any more, but he could make excuses for remaining at the table. He pushed ten chips out and grinned. "Deal me in, tall, dark, and handsome."

The eyebrow the fox raised was black with silver edging. He smiled and dealt out the next hand, and though he made a point to flirt with the other players and not with Sean, the Jack of Clubs he dealt Sean said more than any words could. The Jack of Clubs, in addition to signifying a dark-furred youth, also signified a reliable friend, and Jack had as much as announced in that first hand that it was his card. The next card Sean got was the Seven of Diamonds, which meant a surprise or a reward from consistent effort. Again Jack delivered the card without a word, after telling the dhole to Sean's left how his eighteen was a good hand. He went on to deal an eleven to the coyote to Sean's right, who eyed Sean's stake and then prepared to double down.

Seventeen, Sean thought as Jack went back to the beginning of the table. He should stay on seventeen, but that card combination was tempting him. A surprise or a reward from a reliable friend. Was Jack telling him to hit? He tapped his fingers on the table. That was the feeling he was getting, and if he had learned nothing else in his line of work, it was to trust his feelings.

"You'll stand on seventeen?" Jack had come quickly around to him, but was hesitating.

"Hit," Sean said.

The coyote next to him said, "Hang on!" to Jack, and then laid a paw on Sean's arm. "Son," he said, "you got seventeen. You always stay on seventeen."

"I know," Sean said. "I just have a feeling." The coyote tilted his muzzle and put his ears to the side, so Sean made something up. "That girl who took the wolf's place, she's a red fox, and whenever a new red fox joins the table, if I get a red card, I have to hit on it."

The coyote grinned, and slapped a paw on the table. "Here I took you for a tenderfoot. You go on ahead and hit. Don't let me mess with your mojo."

Sean was watching Jack's muzzle, while everyone else was watching the cards, and he could swear that Jack's grin started before he even flipped the card over. "Four of Diamonds," Jack said. "Looks like your finances are definitely improving."

That was the meaning of the Four. Sean tapped his fingers on the cards, not even bothering to hide his grin as the coyote next to him whooped. Jack knew the cards, and it sure felt like he was dealing out whatever cards he wanted. Sean would never be able to follow those nimble paws with just his eyes, though he kept imagining them on his tail, his rear, his thighs. He collected his winnings and cleared his head of those thoughts, but even though he watched the next deal closely, he couldn't follow the movement of the black fingers. If he was cheating, Jack was good.

He was good anyway, of course, and that was the problem. The next hand the red wolf got was the Seven of Hearts and the Seven of Diamonds, and that had to be intentional. Apart they were good cards, the Heart somewhat less than the Diamond, but together they meant love and pleasure.

Jack grinned down at him. "Quite a pair," he said. "Want to split those up?"

Sean gave him a wide, answering smile. "No, I'd like to keep these together. Don't think I need anything else."

The coyote scratched his ears. "Son, I can't argue with your winnin's, but you got some mighty peculiar superstitions there."

"Whatever keeps him happy," Jack said, and Sean noticed the tip of the fox's tail twitching back and forth.

"Winnin's what keeps me happy," the coyote said. "And another one o'them sevens would just about do the trick right now."

Jack skipped a card towards the coyote's thirteen, and the three of them watched as the Seven of Clubs came to rest. "Usually I don't take orders," Jack said. "But for the gentleman, this once..."

The coyote shook his head at Sean. "You'd have hit twenty-one, son. Maybe you should re-think."

"Oh, I don't know," Sean said, his eyes on Jack. "I have a winning feeling."

Jack winked, unmistakably, but just as the coyote was saying something like, "Hey," Jack revealed the dealer's eighteen, and the coyote's objection vanished as Jack swept Sean's chips over to his.

"And I think that'll do it for me," Sean said. He pushed four of his chips forward and smiled at Jack. "For you," he said.

"Sorry, sir," Jack said, and pushed the chips back. "I don't take tips at the table."

Sean's ears stayed up through an effort of will. Of course they were allowed to accept tips at the table; he knew that. But if Jack didn't want his money, there was nothing he could do about it. He took the chips back and then tilted his muzzle to one side. "Is there anywhere you can accept tips?"

The fox's tail jumped, but Jack didn't react otherwise. "It's very kind of you to ask," he said. "But you seem so familiar with the cards that I can't help but think you already know the answer." He gave Sean a wink, and started the deal again.

As Sean got up from the table, confused, the coyote turned and laid a paw on his arm. "Y'aint the first to try to get into Black Jack's pants, and you won't be the last," he said in a low voice. "But shoot, you got closer than anyone I seen in a while. I thought for a minute you two was old friends."

"No," Sean said. "Just met." He smiled and nodded. "Good luck."

At the newer casinos, it was all done with electronic tickets, but at the Persian, they still had chips and cashiers. Sean leaned on the cashier's window ledge looking at Jack as she counted out his money. He felt obscurely disappointed, not in Jack, but in the cards. Had Jack been manipulating them to get Sean to stay longer? Had the whole flirting just been an act? Sean was pretty good at reading people, and he'd thought there was some genuine attraction there, but maybe he'd been fooling himself. Jack was a professional just like he was.

The cashier had to say "Hey" twice to get his attention.

He turned. The plain wolf behind the grille was holding up a white chip. "This isn't one of ours."

Sean blinked, and saw writing on the chip that said, "Full House Café." An image of Jack's paws sliding his tip back to him flashed through his head. "Oh, sorry," he said, and took the chip back. A gold-embossed '1' was all that was on the other side. "Don't know how that got in there."

She slid his money over to him, and he pocketed it and walked quickly to the sports book area. The fat wolf was there at the bar, pretending to watch some game. His tail was twitching; it was definitely not wagging. One paw was tapping the bar, and Sean could feel the intensity of the wolf's attention in how studiously he was not looking around.

The red wolf slid a rumpled ten into the video poker machine next to his client. "Took long enough," the wolf growled under his breath.

"Just doing my job," Sean said.

"Looked like you were enjoying yourself a little too much," the wolf replied, and then shut up as the bartender came over to take Sean's order. When he'd delivered the club soda, the wolf started up again. "I'm not paying you to flirt."

Sean sipped his drink and tapped the video poker buttons almost at random. "You're paying me to do a job," he said, "not for the privilege of telling me how to do it."

The wolf didn't respond to this, just kept tapping his paw on the bar. "Look at that," he said to the screen. "Goddamn Holy Cross can't buy a bucket." The bartender moved away again, and the wolf lowered his voice. "So, did you spot anything?"

You're terrible at being sneaky, Sean wanted to tell him. Instead, he said, "No. If he's cheating you, he's good enough that I can't spot him and he's even fooling the casino cameras."

The wolf made a growling noise, a frustrated snarl that drew some looks. He gestured at the screen again. "They're terrible!" he said loudly, and the other patrons turned back to their own business. "So what next?"

Sean could feel the weight of the white chip in the pocket of his shirt. "I might be able to get a little closer," he said. "All that flirting wasn't for nothing, you know."

"How's that going to help? He doesn't cheat unless he's at the table."

"No, but he might keep something elsewhere that would help us."

"Like what?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have to go look."

The wolf took a drink of his beer and was silent. Finally, he said, "I'm not paying for you to go screw the guy who's screwing me."

Sean restrained his initial reaction. "You want me to keep investigating or not?"

Another long drink, and the beer was gone. "Tomorrow, same time. I'll expect a full report."

"I have your number. I'll call you if anything develops before then."

The wolf pushed himself gracelessly off the chair and left without a word. Sean shook his head and played the video poker machine until his money was gone, then headed out to the dark Las Vegas night. His work day was just beginning.

The Full House Cafe, like any other place in Vegas where someone might stop for more than twenty seconds, featured automated gambling machines. Sean was amused to see that in addition to the table-top video poker, the cafe had a video slot in the corner on which a cartoony rendition of an old yak in white robes with a long beard was dancing on a pile of gold coins. Above the old yak was written the name of the game: "Philosopher's Stone," and beneath that, in smaller letters, "turn wisdom into gold!!"

At the counter where he ordered his coffee, black, he saw a pile of white chips similar to the one in his shirt pocket, and realized that they were a clever type of business card. "Take one," the rabbit behind the counter said when she saw Sean looking. "They're lucky."

"Got one." He patted his shirt pocket.

"All right, then. Good luck," she said, which seemed to have replaced "good-bye" as a parting expression in some parts of Vegas.

The "Philosopher's Stone" machine featured Nietzsche, Hegel, Locke, Descartes, and Rousseau, as well as various symbols, and if you got four in a row of one of the philosophers, you got to debate him for extra credits. The game looked too silly for Sean to pass up.

Being a slot machine, of course, it was long on promise and short on delivery, but he finally lined up four Nietzsches. The machine display sprang to life with a picture of the old wolf and three phrases that were apparently attributed to him. Sean chose "Error has made man of animals," and got 40 credits and moved on to another set of three phrases. The actual "debate" was somewhat of a letdown, but he made most of his starting ten dollars back.

"I like a fellow who can take on Neitzsche," said a voice behind him.

He turned to see Jack, still wearing his vest with the club pin but without the name badge, his scent lost amidst the strong coffee smell of the shop. Sean grinned, feeling his tail wag. "You did show up."

"Of course," Jack said. "The cards said I would."

"I have a feeling they had a little help," Sean said as they cashed out and returned to the table. The initial feeling of delight was fading and now he was a little wary. The flirting at the table was nice, but here they were in a different element, on equal footing. Jack sipped some sort of latte while Sean lapped at his now-lukewarm coffee.

Ignoring his comment about the cards, Jack asked immediately whether Sean was a tourist, and Sean admitted he wasn't, that he just didn't get to Siegel much. Jack conversed as smoothly as he dealt, and Sean found it impossible to work any more questions about his dealing into the conversation. He did find out that the fox had been born and raised in Las Vegas and had been dealing blackjack for various casinos since he was seventeen. He blamed his career on his name. "What else is a black fox named Jack going to do in Vegas?" he said.

Jack's laugh, sincere and light, put Sean at ease. By the time his coffee was gone, so was his nervousness. He was comfortable telling the fox about his childhood in New Orleans, mimicking the Cajun accent of his youth, and telling him that he lived over near downtown, though he didn't mention where.

"Well," Jack said. "I live a block away, you seem like a nice guy, and I'm tired of this coffee shop. Want to come over?"

Sean grinned. "You always move this fast?"

"I don't have time to move slow." The fox got up from the table and inclined his head. "Coming?"

The red wolf hesitated. His only worry was that Jack was onto him and that this was some kind of trap, but his whiskers weren't tingling. "Hang on a second," he said, and reached into his pocket for the cards. "Just want to check with my friends."

Jack grinned at him and watched him deal out a three-card layout. For a moment, Sean studied them, then swept them back to the deck and stood. "All right," he said. "Let's go."

"You put a lot of faith in them," Jack said as they walked out into the night. To the south, Sean could see the glow of the Strip and the single beam of the Luxor shooting up to the sky. "Wish I had friends that are that reliable."

"This was my mother's deck," Sean said. "She gave 'em to me when I left home."

The fox gave him a sidewise look. "So you asked your mother if you could come back to my place?"

Sean laughed. "Not my mother. Just a family friend."

"What would you have done if they'd said no?"

The red wolf examined Jack. He saw no reason to dissemble. "I'd have politely--and regretfully--declined."

Jack shook his head. "You're an odd one, all right."

He'd said it almost affectionately, so Sean wasn't offended. "Isn't everyone in this town?"

The fox grinned as they stopped at an apartment building. "Touché." He tapped a code to open the gate and held it for Sean, who had been studying the resident list trying to figure out which one was Jack. "I'm not on there," Jack said, grinning. "Like to keep a low profile."

"Okay," Sean said, embarrassed at having been caught. He walked into the lobby.

The building was plain, but clean and relatively new. Tile floors and wood paneling made Sean think it had been built as part of the boom of the late 90s, when a lot of people searching for a cheap alternative to L.A. had driven up demand for homes in the Vegas area. Jack stepped past him to the stairs and led him down a second floor hall that smelled of carpet cleaner, to an apartment with "206" on the door, and inside.

The fox slid out of his vest easily, but it was the coming-home action of shedding a coat, not an invitation to Sean. He walked across the small living room they'd entered to a cabinet, and opened it. "Something stronger than coffee?" he asked, looking back.

Sean was looking at his slender chest with its white throat ruff and the thick black fur down his shoulders and back. "Only if it's tall and black," he said with a grin.

"All right then." Jack grinned. "I keep that in here." He beckoned Sean into the next room.

There was nothing in the living room to help Sean's investigation, and he wasn't sure what he was looking for anyway. A book on "how to cheat at card dealing?" A membership card to the International Federation of Underhanded Blackjack Dealers? He had a phone bug in his pocket; illegal, but usable in his case because they weren't looking to bring criminal charges anyway. What he really hoped was that exposing the cards to this place would give him a good read on how his case was going to turn out. For that, he'd have to stick around here for a while.

The final swish of the fox's black tail as he disappeared into the other room suggested a pleasant way to pass that time. Sean unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and walked into the bedroom after Jack.

The fox caught him by surprise, paws around his waist and warm breath in his ear, murmuring, "Now, let's see what kind of hand we've been dealt." He brushed his muzzle within an inch of Sean's, giving Sean time and chance to inhale his scent in return.

Sean made a practice of learning people's scents from a distance, but preferred to smell someone up close. Jack's strong vulpine scent masked a myriad of details, which shifted through his nose like the nuances in a fine wine. He wouldn't have been able to put a name to many of them, but he compared them to other people he knew: here the same excitement as his friend Michael, here the same touch of passion as an ex-lover or two, here the same caution he knew in himself.

He always savored that moment of introduction, especially in this context where he expected the encounter to progress to something more intimate quickly. This getting to know his partner, being let into their private space, was special to him on a personal level, but also excited the part of him that liked finding out about people, liked getting more information about them. He kept his eyes open, too, and looked around the small bedroom.

Jack kept a pair of dressers, a vanity, a bed, and a bookcase that was full of not only books, but also DVDs, CDs, and various trinkets. The DVDs included "Ocean's Eleven," obligatory viewing for any Vegas resident, as well as "Rounders," "The Sting," "The Cincinnati Kid," and "The Hustler," and those were just the ones that leapt out at Sean before the fox's paws slid inside his shirt and around his midriff. Funny; he hadn't even felt his shirt's buttons being undone.

The touch made him shiver. Jack's paws were as sure as they were quick, claws tracing just close enough to his skin to be felt without exerting any pressure. He placed his paws on the fox's slender form in return, brushing down the sleek black fur to come to rest on his hips. They rubbed their long muzzles together, teasing each other's whiskers while their paws pulled their bodies close. Sean realized that somehow, all of his shirt's buttons had been undone, and the shirt itself was hanging off his shoulders. He pulled back a little bit and looked into a grin as Jack's paws moved up his chest and over his shoulders, slowly forcing the shirt off.

He had to take his paws off the fox to let it fall, and that brought a brief flash of self-consciousness, because Jack was thin and sleek, and Sean, though he worked out, did not do so regularly enough to get rid of a little extra weight around his waist. But Jack didn't look anything but pleased at what he saw, and his paws wandered happily down the ivory fur on the red wolf's chest and stomach. Sean put his paws back on Jack's hips and slid his fingers under the waistband of the fox's pants, exploring the thick black fur and slender hips, and then worked around to feel the base of the long, fluffy, black tail.

Jack pulled the wolf against him with surprising force, and Sean found that, mysteriously, his pants had been unfastened as well. They slid down his hips, guided by a confident pair of paws that let them hang around his knees before moving back up the outside of his legs to cup his rump. His tail started to wag of its own accord, and then he put more energy into it as he felt Jack's tail match his enthusiasm.

It had definitely been a while, he thought. There was no reason he shouldn't be undoing Jack's pants the same way the fox had undone his, except that the fastening was pressed up against his boxers, pressing, in fact, right into his hardening sheath, and not only did he not want to relieve that pressure, he didn't want to change Jack's paws, which felt so good on his rear, under his wagging tail. Jack had somehow managed to open his pants, and Sean was sure that if he were more used to this type of encounter, that he would know how and when to reciprocate. As it was, all he could do was slide his paws further inside the still-fastened pants.

He thought at first that he'd accidentally slid inside the fox's underpants as well, and congratulated himself on his luck in moving forward, but as he explored the slender hips and ventured around to the fox's tight rear, he realized that Jack wasn't actually wearing underwear. He felt a little embarrassed at his white cotton boxers, until Jack's paws slipped inside them, brushing under his tail and driving any embarrassment out of Sean's mind. He whimpered softly, answered by a low "mmmm" from Jack.

Sean mirrored Jack's caresses, trailing his fingers under the fox's tail and between his furry cheeks, getting a nice press and rub against his sheath in return. Jack rubbed his nose against the wolf's and pulled his hips back, sliding his paws around to the front and cupping Sean's erection. "Feels like someone's ready to move to the bed," he murmured.

"Yeah," Sean said, and took the opportunity to reach around the front and fumble with Jack's pants until he got them open. "I guess we both are," he said as he got his fingers around the fox's shaft, similarly hard. It was slenderer than his, smooth and warm to his pads, and just a little bit sticky right at the tip. Their progress to the bed was delayed while Sean slid his fingers up and down the fox's hardness and Jack's paw closed around the wolf's, starting to pump up and down.

Sean felt wetness at his tip, spread by the fox's fingers. His body was shivering, twitching, fur prickling with arousal. He licked the fox's muzzle, rubbing the tip of his shaft, and grinned. "Didn't you say something about a bed?"

"Right behind you, Slim," Jack said, and gave Sean's shaft a squeeze. "Maybe you need a new nickname, hm?"

The red wolf rubbed his muzzle against the fox's, flicking his ears at the remark, and licked up the edge of one of Jack's long, triangular ears, following it as it flicked around. Jack squirmed, the first sign that his arousal was overwhelming his composure, and Sean pressed the advantage, licking further into the ear as Jack buried his slender muzzle into the red wolf's shoulder ruff.

"Bed. Right," Sean whispered into the fox's ear. He turned Jack around, keeping his muzzle in the fox's ear and working his shaft up under the big fluffy tail. The lithe black form pressed back, tight and hard. "Lead the way," Sean murmured.

"Walk this way," Jack said, settling his paws back on Sean's hips and walking forward. The red wolf matched him step for step until they got to the bed, where the fox let go, jumping up on all fours. He rummaged in a drawer of the nightstand and tossed a small tube back to Sean, remaining on all fours with his tail up. "Let's see if we have a good pair here."

"It looks like the high hand to me." Sean squirted some lube into his paw and slickened up his eager erection, then applied his paw under Jack's tail, searching for the opening there and taking perhaps a little more time than necessary to explore and lubricate it. Both he and the fox were panting hard by the time he was through. He scrambled up behind Jack and wrapped himself around the fox's lithe frame, grasping the dangling shaft with his slick paw as he positioned himself and thrust forward.

They gasped in unison, Sean closing his eyes at the tight warmth around him. He couldn't help himself; he leaned over and grabbed the fox's ruff in his muzzle, holding the smaller canid and thrusting into him, his knot already tight and hard. Jack didn't seem to mind, pushing his rear back into each thrust and whining through his teeth as the red wolf pushed into him. Sean hadn't been thinking that he would tie with the fox, but the more he drove into him, the more his knot wanted the pressure around it, and finally he couldn't resist any longer. Holding Jack's body firmly, he pushed with his hips, getting help from the fox, who seemed to want it as much as he did.

When he slid inside, he overbalanced, taking them both flat to the bed, his paw trapped around Jack's shaft. Gasping, moaning, he thrust his hips forward and back as much as the knot allowed, jerking his paw back and forth around the hot stiffness until he felt the arousal in him come to a peak. He pulled up on the fox's ruff, panting hard through his nose and moaning into the black fur as his hips drove the smaller canid into the bed and filled him with his release. Dimly, he was aware of the fox squirming below him, but it wasn't until he collapsed atop Jack that he realized that his paw was hot and sticky as well.

"Uhhh," he moaned, and Jack echoed his moan with a contented exhalation. Sean nuzzled the tall black ear again, making the fox squirm and turn his head away from the tickling whiskers. "Definitely...a winning hand..." Sean panted.

He felt the fox squeeze his shaft, tight tail clenching around him until he giggled and squirmed himself, and Jack said, "No argument here...I think you take the pot."

Sean slowly extricated his sticky paw and said, "Let's share it."

"Mmm. Deal." Jack wriggled. "What's your tie time?"

"Ten minutes, usually."

"Not bad.

You like to talk or just cuddle?"

"Whatever. I'm easy."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Jack brought one of his slender paws to Sean's and held it against his chest. "You weren't difficult, but you weren't easy, either. I had to drop a bunch of hints."

"The cards?" Sean kept his demeanor casual, but turned on his detective mind.

"Words, and the chip," Jack said. "I always let the cards guide me, not the other way round."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?" Jack curled his tail around under Sean's, laying across the red wolf's rump. "You thought I was picking those cards?"

Sean thought for a moment before answering, and then decided, to hell with it, and told the truth. "I thought it would be extraordinary if you hadn't. But the cards know. It's just been a long time since..."

Jack squeezed his shrinking knot. "Since?"

The red wolf wriggled and grinned. "Since I met someone so in tune."

"Don't get the wrong idea here," Jack said. "I'm not looking for an attachment."

"Me neither," said Sean, and after a moment's silence, he said what he thought they were both thinking. "But what if the cards..."

Jack shrugged, but Sean could see the corners of his grin. "I didn't say I wasn't open to one."




The water pressure in Jack's shower wasn't great, but Sean didn't mind. It almost took him longer to choose which scented soap to use than to get his fur clean. He had scanned the bathroom for anything that might be a clue, as if to convince himself that he really was here for work and not just following his cock. Really, he was relieved to have nothing to report to the fat wolf, though he told himself sternly that if Jack had admitted to cheating, he would have done his duty to his employer. His cock tingled in mild reproach as he soaped it, recalling the tight warmth of the fox and the way he'd abandoned himself to it, but it had been expected of him, he reasoned. Jack would've been suspicious if he hadn't gone to bed with him.

That didn't sound very convincing, but it was the best he could do. He got out of the shower and dried as much of his fur as he could with the large towel he found folded neatly on the toilet seat. For a moment, he debated whether to wrap it around himself before walking back out, but he'd feel silly if Jack were still naked, as he suspected the black fox would be.

He was right. Jack swung his legs off the bed as Sean walked out of the bathroom."You clean up nice."

"Your turn." Sean watched the fox swing his rump and tail back and forth as he walked into the bathroom; a moment later the water began running.

The red wolf stretched and pulled on his boxers and pants, and then thought, might as well do a little detective work. He walked around the bedroom, looking sharply at the neatly arranged bookshelves and making note of the titles. A few science fiction novels, a few spiritual books, a little of everything, in fact. Just the sort of book collection he would have if he didn't want anyone to be able to learn anything from it. No books on the cards, though he wasn't surprised; he didn't keep his in plain view either. They were full of his notations and he wouldn't want anyone seeing some of the titles anyway.

In the living room, the same things he'd noticed before. Nothing new presented itself, but something nagged at him. He looked around at the coffee table, the low black sofa, the television, and couldn't see what it was. The kitchen, though full of interesting smells, was similarly unhelpful. He returned to the living room and, cocking an ear to the shower to make sure it was still running, lifted the fox's vest carefully from the coat rack. He slipped his fingers into the pockets and found the business card holder that held the casino ID and, behind it, a driver's license.

Jack Filcher. Not an auspicious name. But the IDs were all in order. He memorized the driver's license number and replaced the small card holder, and that's when he realized what was nagging at him.

He took the wallet out of his pants and opened it. Bringing it to his nose, he caught the very faint scent of fox.

Jack had been in his wallet while he was in the shower. He closed it again and then laughed silently. Turnabout was fair play, after all. His detective license was in there, but at this point it didn't really matter whether Jack knew he was a detective. Replacing his wallet, he went into the other pocket and took out his cards.

He sat on the couch as he shuffled, inhaling the scent of the apartment and focusing on his question: was Jack cheating the fat wolf? The noise of the shower stopped suddenly, and Sean found his mind occupied with images of the sleek black naked fox, wondering what he would look like all wet, the water running through his fur in trails. He shook his head and laid down the third card, and stared. All three were the Jack of Clubs.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and now only the first was the Jack of Clubs; the other two were blank.

Slowly, Sean picked up one of the blank cards and turned it over. The back was the same deck he had known since he was a cub, the double circles soothing in their regularity. He turned the card back over and saw a Three of Hearts. When he set it down on the table again, the design vanished.

The third card, when he picked it up, revealed four clubs, and he shivered. The Three of Hearts was a warning: careful what you say. He'd seen it at the beginning of the job, too. The Four of Clubs was worse: lies and betrayal. Alone, it would have meant bad things for Jack. Together with the previously negative card, though, it seemed to be intimating that Jack would be betrayed if he weren't careful. Or if Sean weren't careful. He picked up all three cards and shuffled them back into the deck, paws moving automatically while his mind worked.

Jack ruffled through clothes in the other room. Sean slid the cards back into his pocket. Whether Jack was causing the odd effect or just happened to be drawn to it, he could investigate later, on his own time. He had only encountered this effect once before, the day he'd left New Orleans. In any event, the unreliability of the cards was hardly enough for him to follow up. If Jack were cheating, he wasn't doing it by any detectable means that would satisfy the fat wolf.

"Want something to drink before you go?" The fox came out into the living room wearing a silk robe with an Oriental pattern.

Sean got up and shook his head. "No, thanks. I should get back home." He walked over to Jack and extended a paw. "Thanks for a nice night."

The fox grinned an open grin, tongue hanging slightly out. He stepped into Sean and slid his arms around him. "Anyone who just stuck the pot gets a hug before he goes."

"Mmm. Okay." Sean couldn't detect any hint that Jack was annoyed at the information he'd found in Sean's wallet. He hugged back and let himself enjoy the feel of the fox's slender body against him.




"There's no evidence that he's cheating you purposefully," he told the fat wolf the next evening. They'd met at the bar in the Persian again, and Sean had braced himself for the wolf's anger with a scotch and a written copy of the contract he'd signed.

"That's fine," the wolf said. He was on his second beer. "Glad to hear it. Here's your money."

He slid an envelope across the bar to Sean, apparently not caring whether anyone saw it. Sean picked it up and stared at him. "So that's it?"

"Yeah. If he ain't doing it intentionally, then..." The fat wolf shrugged. "I'll play some other table." He appeared to turn his attention to whatever game was on the TV for real this night, but Sean looked closer, at the twitching of the tip of his tail and the curl of a smile at the corners of his muzzle. He felt a shiver then, all down his own tail, and without even looking at the check he grabbed it and shoved it into his jacket.

"Nice doing business with you," he said, and slid off the stool, the scotch overwhelmed by the bad taste in his muzzle.

He searched the casino floor, but Jack was nowhere in sight. Not working, or just on break? The cards in his pocket were tingling. His fur stood on end. The sense of urgency made his ears and tail twitch. He had to do a layout, or did he? He knew something was wrong, involving the fat wolf and Jack. He should find out what it was before asking the cards for direction.

The big-bosomed vixen at the next blackjack table told him Jack had called in sick that night. She looked oddly at him when he asked if Jack had called himself. "Who else would have called?" she said, and that he didn't know.

The Full House Cafe was another dead end. No black foxes stood by the Philosopher's Stone machines. He hurried out, down the street, to Jack's apartment building, even though he hadn't watched Jack enter the code, and he had no way of getting in.

Luck, decidedly, was on his side. The gate was ajar. He checked up and down the street and then slipped inside.

There, the insistent tingling of his cards grew stronger, raising his fur. He padded quickly to Jack's apartment and listened at the door. No sound came from inside. He bent to sniff the door handle, and caught Jack's scent, strong, and wolf, not him. Standing again, he considered the door. Knock, or just barge in? He lowered a paw to the door handle, and felt a brush against his tail. The tingling of the cards vanished.

Sean turned and clapped a paw to his pocket. As soon as he turned, he saw Jack in the hallway, holding his deck of cards gingerly and looking grim.

"I wouldn't go in," he said softly. "Your friends are mighty annoyed they haven't been able to catch me."

"They're not my friends," Sean hissed.

Jack arched an eyebrow. "They know a lot of things only you know." He inclined his head toward the apartment door.

"I didn't tell them. They must have followed me."

"Very convenient. Plausible, even. I congratulate you." His fingers riffled through the deck. "Good detective work."

"Jack..."

"I think these will be adequate payment for the inconvenience of moving again," the fox said, to himself. "I haven't seen a deck as sensitive as these in a long time."

"They were my mother's," Sean said.

Jack's paws stopped and squared the deck. He looked up at Sean. "Fair trade, then."

"Listen, I didn't mean to...I came back to warn you!"

"Did you now?"

"I believe you're not really cheating him, but he thinks you are!"

Their ears caught the noise at the same time. Jack flipped himself over the banister of the staircase in a moment. Sean held up a paw to his ear, a well-conditioned reaction to surprise.

The door opened, allowing a large grey wolf muzzle to poke out into the hall. The nose twitched, smelling the air. "Hang on a second," Sean said to nobody, and turned his attention to the wolf. "Sorry. My girlfriend was supposed to be home but she's still playing the slots over at Caesar's. With my money." Without waiting for a reaction, he turned his attention back to the imaginary earpiece. "I know I gave it to you, honey, but it is my money. Yes, it is. Look, I'm coming over there. Don't move." He waved to the wolf and looked up from his imaginary conversation. "Sorry if I bothered you. You know how it is."

The wolf narrowed his eyes. "You seen a black fox?"

"What, ever?"

"In the building. Why you here in the building?"

"Buddy of mine lives up on four." Sean pointed up the stairs. "I was hoping to have a few beers with him, but now I gotta go to Caesar's before all my goddamn beer money is gone. That okay with you?"

The wolf studied him for a moment. Faintly, from below, Sean heard the flick of cards, and thought he felt a sympathetic twitch to his fur. He itched to run down there, but he waited, and finally the wolf just grumbled and stepped back into the room. He saw, for a moment, the door to Jack's bedroom, and another part of him twitched. As soon as the door was closed, he spun and ran down the stairs to the next landing.

"Jack?" he whispered.

No response. The stair was empty.

He hurried downstairs, skipping steps. Beyond the empty lobby, the gate stood closed. He was about to run outside when he spotted a card stuck into the row of mailboxes: the Jack of Clubs.

On the back, he saw when he took it down, was his double circle pattern. The mailbox swung open easily. He reached inside, and pulled out his deck of cards.

The tingling was gone from them, the crisis apparently passed. He sighed and sat with his back to the wall of the lobby, and then set the Jack of Clubs down on the floor. Slowly, he dealt out the top two cards, keeping his mind blank. Jack had been the last to shuffle this deck, and his imprint would remain on it for a little while. Sean was as sure of that as he was that Jack had not had to search the deck to find his significator. It would have risen to his fingers, drawn by the pull of the black fox.

He dealt the Five of Spades and the Seven of Diamonds, and his muzzle curved into a grin. A change of opinion, victory achieved at cost; and the reward from consistent effort, a card he seemed to see a lot. He looked at the tableau one more time and then scooped the cards up.

So Sean's little performance had changed Jack's mind, at least enough to leave Sean his cards. And he knew they had power, so he knew that he did, too. Sean was interested in Jack for that, but he was also intrigued by the fox. What did he do with all that power? Just deal tables? As he walked out of the building, even though it was night, he whistled a tune to himself, singing the lyrics in his head. I was blue, just as blue as I could be / Ev'ry day was a cloudy day for me / Then good luck came a-knocking at my door / Skies were gray but they're not gray anymore.

It appeared that he had himself a case.