“Let’s go,” he said abruptly and started walking her south up the street. Las Vegas Boulevard, the sign said. He tried to remember something useful about Las Vegas and couldn’t remember a thing. He had only been there once or twice in his life, and that had been for only a day or two and on business at that. He had visited a few casinos and recalled nothing about any of them.
They reached the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Flamingo Road. Caesar’s Palace was on the left, the Flamingo on the right. He hurried Willow across, pushing through a knot of people going the other way.
“Far out, honey!” one called back and whistled.
“You been to the Emerald City?” another asked.
Great, thought Ben. This is all I need.
He swept Willow on, ignoring the voices, and they faded behind him. He had to come up with a plan, he thought, irritated at how matters had worked out. He couldn’t just wander about the city indefinitely. He glanced at the two massive hotels bracketing the boulevard on the south side of the intersection. The Dunes and Bally’s. Too big, he thought. Too many people, too much going on, too… everything.
“Where’s the circus, doll?” he heard someone else shout.
“Ben,” Willow whispered urgently, clutching at him tighter.
Questor, Questor! You better be right about this! Ben walked faster, sheltering Willow as best he could, moving her to the inside of the street traffic, hurrying her past the crush of people coming and going through the entrance to Bally’s. The Shangri-La loomed ahead, then the Aladdin and the Tropicana. He had to pick one of them, he admonished angrily. They had to spend the night somewhere—had to get their bearings, decide where to begin their search for Abernathy. Maybe it would be better if he did choose one of the larger hotels. They might be less noticeable there, blend in a bit easier with all the other bizarre sorts…
He turned Willow about abruptly and walked her through the entrance of the Shangri-La.
The lobby was jammed. The casino beyond was jammed. There were people everywhere, the sounds of cards and dice and roulette wheels and one-armed bandits a steady, low-level din mixed with the excited voices of the game players. Ben took Willow through it all, ignoring the stares that followed them, and went directly to the registration desk.
“Reservation for…” He hesitated. “Bennett, please. Miles Bennett.”
The clerk looked up perfunctorily, looked down, looked up again quickly on seeing Willow, then nodded and said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Bennett.”
Willow, confused about the name, said, “Ben, I don’t understand…”
“Shhhh,” he cautioned softly.
The clerk checked his reservations sheet and looked up again. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have a reservation for you.”
Ben straightened. “No? Perhaps you’ll find it under Fisher then. Miss Caroline Fisher? A suite?”
He took a deep breath while the registration clerk looked again. Naturally, the result was the same. “Sorry, Mr. Bennett, I don’t find a reservation under Miss Fisher’s name, either.”
He smiled apologetically at Willow and for a very long moment was unable to look away from her.
Ben stiffened in feigned irritation. “We have had that reservation for months!” He lifted his voice just loud enough to draw attention. A small scattering of people slowed and began to gather to see what was happening. “How can you not have any record of it? It was confirmed only last week, for God’s sake! We have a shooting schedule that begins at five o’clock in the morning, and I cannot afford to waste time on this!”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” the clerk said, understanding only that something had gone wrong for which he was not to blame.
Ben pulled out the wad of bills Questor had given him and began to thumb through them absently. “Well, our luggage will be here from the airport shortly, so I see no point in arguing about the matter. Please arrange whatever you can for us, and I’ll speak with the manager later.”
The clerk nodded, looked back at the reservation sheet, looked next at the bookings on the computer, then said, “Excuse me just a moment, Mr. Bennett.”