I wrapped my arms around my body to stop the shaking. I needed to think, and think hard. Both Alfred and Lewis George had something to do with the casino. I had no addresses, but I’d seen Alfred Naquma there.

I looked at the clock over the sink in the kitchen. Eight-twenty. It would be dark in about an hour—or close to dark. Should I ask Dolly to go? Did I go myself? Where did I begin?

The casino was all I had. I was going alone, I decided. I didn’t want a little woman in a cop suit, with cop rules, along. I would blend in with the Friday night crowd. There was no question that I would find one or both of the men, and when I did I wouldn’t leave without Sorrow.

___

The casino parking lot was filled with cars. Couples made their way toward the big front doors with their arms around each other. Groups laughed and teased and hurried along. I was the only lone woman. I slipped into step with the group ahead of me and went through the doors, into the giant room lined with clinking, clunking, and buzzing slot machines. Lights flashed everywhere. There were shouts of joy and groans of misery. The smoke was dense enough to shut my lungs down for a month or two. I walked close behind people sitting over their machines, backs bent, eyes transfixed on grapes and apples and happy faces circling on reels in front of them.

At one end of the cavernous room was the restaurant. At the other were a gift shop and a bar. Beyond was a corridor opening into yet more rooms. In the middle were the poker tables and craps tables and pit bosses and girls carrying drink trays and small crowds milling around a winner and rows and rows of machines. It wasn’t the people at the tables or machines I looked at as I did a slow stroll from one end of the room to the other. I watched the faces of men who stood at corners; men in suits, standing with their hands crossed over their genitals as if fearing a head butt. These men worked for the casino. They didn’t smile, only kept their eyes on the crowd. It would be among these men in charge that I would find Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. It would be here or maybe in the restaurant.

As I walked and smiled at happy people passing, I watched every Native American face in the casino. None were the two I searched for. I went down to the restaurant and told the elderly hostess with the bent back that I was there looking for a friend. She nodded me on.

The booths were full, but neither man was there. I had to do something more aggressive or I’d be leaving without Sorrow.

I found a machine where a woman was just getting up and grabbed it before a man on a walker could beat me to it. It was a triple payoff machine with a repeat spin on the third reel. I put in the ten dollars I felt I could spare. I hit the button and watched the wheels go around while still, from the corners of my eyes, watching who walked behind me; who might be watching me. I even glanced upward, to make sure the overhead cameras got a good look. I was here and I wanted it known.

The ten dollars was gone in twenty minutes. I had to come up with another idea. I had been so sure I would be tapped on the shoulder, led to some back room, and finally brought face to face with both men. I was certain I would get a chance to demand my dog back.

Though I’d lost my money and wasn’t playing any longer, I stayed in the chair in front of the machine, swinging my legs back and forth, turning down proffered drinks, and thinking. I made myself conspicuous but there were no bites.

At a tap on my shoulder, I turned slowly, expecting the confrontation I wanted, or at least an invitation to follow someone. An elderly woman with puffed white hair stood there, pouting smile on her face asking me not to get mad at her.

“If you’re not using this machine, can I have it?” she asked. “It’s one of my favorites, you see.”

She blinked a few times as if expecting me to body slam her for the machine. I nodded. Smiled back. Muttered “Sorry,” and got up.

Frustration grew. The crowd got bigger. I had to elbow my way up and down the middle of the room. Almost all of the machines were occupied. People walked slowly past, hoping to be the first to jump on a seat, should anybody get up. It looked like a big, slow game of musical chairs. There wasn’t any way to find the men in this throng.

I began asking for them.

The lines at the cashiers were long. What better way to make myself noticed than to jump ahead of the others? I pushed to the front of the line, in front of a man with four quarter cups hugged to his chest.

“Hey,” he yelled, “wait your turn.”

I stuck a finger in the air asking for a minute, and leaned in toward the cashier. “I’m looking for Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. You know where I can find them?”

The heavyset woman scowled at me. “Get in line,” she ordered.

“I don’t have any winnings. I just need to speak to the men.”

“Ask at Hospitality,” she said, and motioned me aside.

The hospitality desk was down on the other side of the building. There was a long line there too, all waiting for their badges and whatever else they needed. I pulled the same thing, stepped to the head of the line over howls of protest, and asked for the two men.

“Ma’am,” the polite little girl behind the desk said, smiling and keeping her hospitably bright voice in place.

“I’m looking for Lewis George and Alfred Naquma,” I repeated.

“Ma’am, there are others ahead of you. I’m sorry …”

“They are men who work here or run this place. You have to know them. They’ve kidnapped my dog …”

She leaned back, narrowed her eyes, and waved her hand in the air.

Immediately, two very large guards were beside me, easing me from the line with slight shoulder pushes. I looked up into each face. No smiles on these dark faces. No anything. They were removing me from center stage, getting me to walk between them back down the crowded center aisle.

Good, I thought. Now I was getting someplace. I pushed back at the wide shoulders holding me in place.

They kept me between them without laying a hand on me. Somehow I was being hustled forward. Suddenly it dawned on me that maybe I should have told someone I was coming out here. As it was, nobody knew. If I came up missing—who would think to come to a casino?

I moved with the tall, stiff men in guard uniforms. As if joined at the hip, we made our way through the crowd. When we got close to the restaurant, they turned me toward the front door. I was being escorted out. That wasn’t my plan.

I stopped dead. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. I know they’re your bosses. If I don’t see them I’m going to the police. Do you two hear me?”

They didn’t look down. Their bodies came in closer. I was a sandwich filling, and a not too pleased one.

I tried to pull back, out of lockstep with the wide shoulders leaning into me. “Look you ignorant bastards, I’m not leaving until …”

I was out the door, standing in the dusky parking lot alone. I could see the two huge mutes on the other side of the glass, watching me.

If I weren’t such a delicate lady I would have flipped them the universal signal of distaste. I didn’t. I only sniffed, turned on my heel, and went to my car. I was enraged and trying to think what there was left to do. Something. I had to come up with a way to find those two men everyone protected. I drove out of the parking lot, and was almost rear ended by a driver too eager to grab my parking place. My biggest regrets were that I hadn’t found the men, didn’t know where to look next, that I wasn’t bringing Sorrow home with me after all, and that I’d lost that damn ten dollars I could have used to put gas in my tank