"What's he done wrong?" asked Howlet blandly.
Jorgensen scowled at a pair of baggy-seated sandeaters who strode through the front door with pale green tickets clutched in their hands. They sniffed once at the bar, but followed their stubbled chins into the back room at max acc.
"I don't say it's wrong," growled Jorgensen, glaring after the pair. "It just makes the place look bad."
"Oh, it's good advertising, Jorgy," laughed McNaughton. "People were forgetting that game could be beaten. Now, Mr. Howlet—"
Jorgensen talked him under.
"It's not losing a little money that I mind—"
Some of the drink I was sneaking slipped down the wrong way.
"Well, it's not!" bellowed Jorgensen. "But if they all pick up the broadcast that this is where to get a free ride home, I'll have just another sand trap here."
Howlet shrugged and put down his glass. Van Etten nudged me and made a face, so I got up first.
"Never mind," I said. "Being the one that took him in there, I'll check."