The actress glanced around the casino, but none of the regular troops were in sight.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, gathering up her purse. “I guess we can handle it.”
“Sure we can,” Doc assured her. “There’s two of us and only one of him, and it sounds like he’s drunk, to boot. Besides, if he gives us any trouble, we’re armed, remember?”
He patted the tranquilizer pistol in the holster at his hip.
Tiffany rolled her eyes.
“Please don’t start going macho on me, Doc. One of the things I like about you is that you don’t strut.”
“Sorry,” the stuntman apologized easily. “Hanging around with both actors and military types seems to bring out the melodramatic in me. Seriously, Tiff, I figure all we have to do is check to see what the problem is, then use our wrist radios to call for the appropriate help-if it’s needed at all, that is. That much we should be able to do.”
Even though it was still technically “indoors,” the open air along the Strip was a pleasant relief for the mock Legionnaires after days of close confinement in the casino showroom. Because of the size of the Fat Chance, it was a several-minute stroll to reach the alley-a service access for the loading docks, really-and they took advantage of it, moving at an unhurried pace as they drank in the sights and sounds of Lorelei.
“You know, this place is really something,” Doc commented as he shifted his gaze from the soaring light shows to watch the stream of people walking along the Strip. “I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve been outside. I guess working backstage, it’s easy to forget just where the stage is located.”