Clown's porcelain grin gleamed in the neon haze.
"Then tonight," he said softly, his tone almost musical, "you're in for your first real game."
Hades narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Clown didn't answer. Instead, he snapped his gloved fingers once, then clapped twice — sharp, deliberate.
The sound cut through the buzz of the casino like a gunshot.
At once, the gamblers went silent. The music stuttered to a stop. Heads turned toward the center of the room.
The Clown's expression never changed. "Showtime," he murmured.
A door on the far side of the hall opened with a metallic creak.
The smell of alcohol and gun oil drifted in before the men themselves did.
First came the leader.
