One More Job

Linus muttered to himself, "Naturally. Not that we need a physical description or anything. Lousy, good-for-nuthin', HR speakin', messenger-bot. We'll see who gets the last laugh when automation puts you on food stamps." He turned to the rest of the team, composing himself quickly, "I'm sure the target will make themselves evident shortly. We'll have a better grip on the situation once we see them in action. Until then, well you heard 115. Make merry! We rendezvous at the $100 blackjack tables in one hour. Don't be late." And with that Linus made directly for the taproom.

Big Dog wasn't too different from any other high end resort. Tourist traps immediately inside the main entrance, pretty women who clearly worked for the resort sitting at the roulette table "gambling" the house's money back into its own pocket, themed food stations for every race and nationality under the sun, flashy bartenders who could chat the ears off Satan himself but couldn't make anything more complicated than a pre-mixed margarita to save their souls. What a classless sham, Linus thought to himself, how the mighty fall. It almost made him nostalgic for the illegal makeshift back-alley joints he used to frequent. Almost. Security around here was more discrete after all, no pat downs or strip searches, no possibility of gang violence, no random beer bottles to the head. Just good old-fashioned people-watchers, teched out in the latest and greatest gear for certain, but such gadgets were nothing more to a half-witted guard than a nuclear bomb was to a lesser ape. They were no match for professionals.

Luckily, Big Dog also played by the convention of keeping the quiet bartenders in the back. They were the ones smart enough to work daylight hours at a cash cow like Big Dog, but not ambitious enough to make the jump to the culinary arts. Savvy enough to make a proper Manhattan, but not nosy enough to ask why you didn't order an Old Fashioned instead. Linus quickly sidled up to such a bar and ordered a Sazerac. This would make as good a perch as any from which to scout the field, he figured.

Bruce was never one to gamble at casinos, not liking the smell of smoke and the presence of a lot of people. He'd rather spend a weekend fishing on a lake or something peaceful like that.

But he could handle this much. Considering that the hacker was likely here to game the system, Bruce decided to look around the one armed bandits, seeing as the slot machine was one of the few games that relied on the use of technology. Walking through the rows of oversized, flashy machines, he picked a bass fishing themed one to sit in front of, which had a good view of the rest. Internally sighing, he puts in his card and pulls the arm. Casino Royale my ass.

Bruce sighs internally, and keeps an eye on his belongings, including the casino card in the slot machine.

"No ma'am, I'm not with security. I can help you look for your glasses though."

He pulls his card out of the machine. Might as well get a little walk in, since he'd already spotted the hacker.

"Now then, where did you last remember having your glasses on?"

"Matter of fact, there's a slight favor I would ask of you. You see that man over there?" Linus gesticulates to the...unseemly man at the blackjack table as the bartender nods in acknowledgement. "That sorry excuse of a man is my brother-in-law. Or rather was until my dear sister discovered his penchant for making excessive acquaintance with her lady friends. This weekend was meant to be a pleasant affair, but the sod's gone and taken it literally!" The bartender gives an amused chuckle as Linus grabs a pen from his jacket and a spare order sheet from the bar to write a short message on the back of it. "Could you kindly have someone bring this and a martini on the rocks to his royal loathsomeness?"

The bartender takes the finished note from Linus before neatly tri-folding it and producing a martini glass. "I'm sure we can make that happen. My condolences, sir." Linus leaves a sizable tip and nods in gratitude before leaving to find the others and inform them of the developments.

"...They're on your head, miss."

Bruce quietly folds the dollar bill up, and puts it in his pocket. Damn agent. Can't even catch what's under her nose.

"I doubt you would present a better deal...But I'll stop by for a minute. Just to see her."

Thomas has been holding up at table at one of the bars on the casino floor. He's trying to pass himself off as a business man who has to send an email. That old story.

While Bruce and Linus are making contact with the Target, Tom is working on Plan B until they call him. A digital honeytrap to help lead the man where he can more easily be nabbed.

He has total faith in the Team and Plan A, but it never hurts to have a backup plan.

Bruce drifts around the different games, and checks out Table 17 briefly. Tired of gambling, Bruce decides to spend the time up to the meeting eating ox tail soup at the casino's restaurant. He keeps an eye and ear out for anything interesting.

The long hand of Linus's watch clicks to perfect vertical. He looks up and smiles at the fact that everyone has managed to find their way back together without having to be babysat. "Well everyone, let's not keep our guests waiting. Who's got the best poker face?" The group stands silent in front of him, faces unwavering. "Hilarious, you're a load of comedians. Now enough of the cockamamie, who's it gonna be?"

"...Can you draw the target away from that table? I recognize one of the other players from an old job. They...will not take kindly to our mission."