ld
dealer. "Good evening, Brother." I had a surge of relief. The strong-arm
stuff was over. This was the casino's TK.

"What kept you, Brother?" I said, sounding a little sore. "These
characters were going to kick my teeth out."

His grin had a taste of viciousness. "I did give them a little time," he
agreed. "How was I to know?" He looked calmly at them over the tops of
his glasses. "You can go now," he said, like a schoolmarm dismissing
class.

The gorillas helped the blindly staring dealer to his feet, brushing at
the sawdust that clung to his clothing, and had him presentable by the
time they led him through the door. They seemed glad to get away.

"The Blackout," the TK said musingly to me. "You hear about it, and the
Psiless cringe when they think it might happen to them. But you don't
see it every day. You're in the Lodge, of course?" he added.

"Of course," I said coldly.

"Please," he said, waving a hand at me. "Don't take it so big. So am I."
From five feet apart we exchanged the grip, the tactile password
impossible for the Psiless to duplicate--just a light tug at each
other's ear lobes, but perfect identification as TK's. "I'm Fowler
Smythe," he said. "Twenty-fifth degree," he added, flexing his TK
muscles. "What is it, buster? You on Crap Patrol?"

I paused before I answered. Twenty-fifth degree? Since when could a
gambling casino afford a full-time Twenty-fifth? TK's in the upper
degrees come high. I had already figured my fee at a hundred thousand a
day, if I straightened out the casino's losses to the cross-roader.

"Wally Bupp," I said at last, deciding there was no point to trying some
cover identity. My gimpy right wing was a dead giveaway. "Thirty-_third_
degree," I added.

He had a crooked grin, out of place beneath his scholarly glasses. "I've
heard of Wally Bupp," he admitted. Well, he should have. There aren't so
many Thirty-thirds hanging around. "And you are young, smug and snotty
enough to play the part," he concluded without heat. "Still, that's all
it might be, just play-acting, with Barney going through the motions of
being blind. You could be outside the Lodge, sonny. Any cross-roader who
can tip dice the way you were working them can twitch an ear. Let's see
some credentials."

He scuffed through the sawdust to the bar and took a stack of silver
dollars from his apron. He held them, dealerwise, in the palm of his
hand, with his fingertips down, so that they were a column surr