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tracker to notice. Ric realized he heard that too.

Tallgrass had seen the Metropolis robot in the guest penthouse atop the Emerald City hotel-casino in his home city of Wichita. In this more sophisticated yet austere environment, all laboratory white, she shone like a polished suit of armor walking through a snowstorm.

She stopped in front of Ric. “Master.”

“No one’s your master now,” he said.

Her streamlined metal features turned to regard Christophe and Tallgrass before returning to face him. “I must answer to my maker, my caretaker. If not you, who else?”

It was her first sentence.

Ric found Christophe’s head and sunglasses bowed, looking down, staying neutral. Tallgrass’s dark eyes, often so noncommittal, had gone blank with shock.

There it was. The quandary.

If Ric didn’t use his natural power over this complex homemade CinSim, this brave new creature who was as diverse as mogul Christophe/rock star Cocaine/acquaintance Snow, who or what would fill that vacuum? She could be Good Maria/Bad Maria/robot/actress.

“Thank you . . . Brigitte,” he said, using the actress’s name to establish himself as . . . director. “You may go.”

She turned and strode away to the ajar double doors Ric knew led to the home theater. Could she even sit down in that wooden bodysuit? Did CinSims need to?

Tallgrass released a windy sigh. “Certainly not one of the spirit-walkers of my forefathers.”

Snow looked up at Ric, smiling. “In this case, looking out for my own interests dovetails with your needs, Montoya. Who can argue that this entity doesn’t harbor a demon, as the drug lord Torbellino maintained. He’ll want her and his cartel has limitless reach. You need powerful allies too.”

He directed his gaze at Tallgrass. “You might have need of a dragon again,” Christophe added, referring to a recent battle with El Demonio’s forces in Wichita.

“And you, Mr. Christophe, of a Wendigo.” Tallgrass smiled.

“HE’S A SUPERNATURAL something,” Tallgrass told Ric once they’d reached the Inferno’s main floor again. “That’s my opinion. We know Christophe’s powers are impressive. You’ll never know their extent unless you watch him as closely as he seems to want to watch you.”

“‘Watch over me,’” Ric said. “That’s his claim.”

Tallgrass grinned. “You already have Miss Delilah doing a much more personal job of that. It’s hard to tell these days, Ricardo, who or what has anyone’s best interests at heart. If you can strike a mutually advantageous deal with this smooth operator, you’re doing well. I worry about you too. Meanwhile you and me have to keep the government working for us as we work for it. That’s our priority now.”

“Before we leave, want to meet Godfrey’s ‘cousin’ at the Inferno Bar?” Ric asked.

“Home of Miss Delilah’s Albino Vampire martini?” Tallgrass’s laugh boomed out, attracting amused stares. “She nailed Mr. Christophe but good by inventing that at his own bar. Sure, if they serve plain spring water. We’ll need our sharpest wits soon.”

“That’s all right. We can let Nick Charles do all our drinking for us.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

THERE WERE A lot of reasons a venture to the Karnak Hotel made me edgy, and a few hundred of them had fangs. Just because the Karnak was a relatively new kid on the block in Vegas didn’t mean it wasn’t chock-full of the evil dead.

In “middle-kingdom” Las Vegas, when the hotel-casinos first aspired to be modern architectural marvels instead of hyped-up motels with attached casinos and nightclub acts, the main hotel-casino buildings were set far back from the Las Vegas Strip.

More people drove than flew to Vegas then. Land was plentiful and cheap. Like aristocratic proprietors of country estates, the owners of major properties wanted long driveways leading to the magnificence of their main buildings, something impressive on the scale of the Roman Empire, say, of which Caesars Palace was the first and best example.

And even Caesars had installed a moving sidewalk from one corner of the Strip to the front facade early on.

So tourists had hoofed blocks along the Las Vegas Boulevard sidewalks and more blocks along driveways to reach the first hint of air-conditioning, the fabled zing, zing, zing of slot machine coins, and leggy cocktail waitresses bearing free drinks.

Call it sweat equity. Tourists consider the sweltering heat part of the experience.

Then some accountants realized the time the customers spent hoofing could be more profitably used having them cool and relaxed indoors, betting and spending money. Newer properties had entrances that cozied right up to the Strip, more like the long established Riviera and Flamingo hotels.

That explains why the Egyptian-themed hotels like the Luxor, Oasis, and Karnak planted