e have a
replacement for you here. Here's your ticket for Lake Tahoe," he added,
holding out an envelope from a travel agency.

"I'm staying here, Maragon," I said. "I'm a TK surgeon. I'm all through
tipping dice."

"You may not find it practical," he said, getting up to leave.

Well, I hadn't. Three snakes inside my head had made me a sucker for the
real one on my arm. Maragon had made his point. I might have reached the
thirty-third degree, but I wasn't quite as big a shot as I thought I
was. I could feel that rattler on my arm all the way to Lake Tahoe.

* * * * *

Like any gambling house, the Sky Hi Club was a trap. Peno had tried to
kid the public with a classy _decor_. It was a darned good copy of a
nineteenth century ranch house. At the gambling tables everything was
free--the liquor, the _hors d'oeuvres_, the entertainment. Everything,
that is, but the gambling and the women. The casino was taking its cut.
And the women--or should I be so sure?

You paid for your drinks if you stood up to the long mahogany bar. I
turned my back to the rattle of cocktail shakers and chink of glasses,
one heel hooked over the replica brass rail, and took a long careful
look at the crap tables. There was a job for me at one of them. I began
to shut out the distractions of sight and sound. I wanted nothing to
dull my PSI powers.

A blond bombshell slithered down the bar and ground herself against my
leg. "Wanna buy me a drink, honey?" she gasped. I smuggled a lift and
slipped all four of her garters off the tops of her hose. A funny,
stricken look replaced the erotic face she had made at me. She headed
for dry dock.

B-girls usually work in pairs, so I looked down toward the other end of
the polished mahogany. Sure enough, there was the brunette, frowning as
she tried to figure why the blond bomber had high-tailed it out of
there. I shook my head at her and she let it lie.

That should have cut out the last distraction. But no, I could see one
more bimbo working her way through the laughing, drink-flushed crowd
toward me. She had hair-colored hair, which was sort of out of character
for a barroom hustler. I put plenty of TK on the heel of her right
slipper, and she stepped right out of it. It might as well have been
nailed to the floor. Nothing was going to discourage this one, I saw. I
let her pick it off the floor, squeeze it back on her skinny foot, and
come toward me.

This new babe le