Aroon_s

twenty-four hours' action . . ."
"That's tonight. Investors only. Tomorrow's too late."
"How do I know you don't hit the lifts with the bundle?"
"You think I could make it—with all the eyes that will be watching me?"
"Who else is in?"
"You're the first. I've got a lot of ground to cover before sunset, Mr. Farb. Are you in or out?"
The hawk-nosed man touched his fingertips together, scratched his chin with a thumb.
"I'll go four M," he said. "Better have five ready by sunset tomorrow."
Bailey accepted the stack of gold chips. "You've made a smart move, Mr. Farb. Tell your man to tail me from close enough to move in if some sharpie tries to play rough."
Six hours and forty-one calls later, Bailey returned to the Aroon pad with twenty-six M in chips. His reluctant partner goggled, hastened to sweep the loot into a steel box.
"It's safe," Bailey said, sinking wearily into a chair. "We bought plenty of protection along with the cash. Every investor on the list has a man or two out there keeping an eye on his stake."
"Bailey," Aroon's voice had a faint quaver. "What if we bomb out? They won't leave enough of us to tie a tag on."
"Then we'd better not bomb out. Just give me time for a cup of feen, and we'll start booking them."
Aroon sweated heavily during the first hour of the night's play. Of the ten thousand or so that was the normal wager on the twenty-three hundred hour readouts, Bailey diverted two to the private book, scattering the bets so as to disturb the normal pattern as little as possible.
"The longer we can keep the big boys off our necks at this stage, the better," he pointed out. "We'll feed them enough to keep 'em happy until we've built up some steam."
"They're bound to tip after a while," Gus protested.
"We'll be ready. Jack the ante to thirty percent next s