The Serpent's Kiss

54

Scott Abrams walked through the slots room of the Greektown Casino, part of his regular tour of duty. As Casino Manager, Abrams regularly toured the facility to keep staff on their toes and get a feel for the mood of the gamblers. He thought the mood was a little edgy today, though there didn’t seem to be any real change in the buzz, clank and ching of the slots. Maybe he was just projecting the day’s events onto the casino.

The Greektown Casino, the original one, not the new one being built on the corner of I-375 and Gratiot across from Comerica Park and Ford Field, was 75,000 square feet of gaming area with over 2400 slots. It was in the heart of Greektown, across from Trappers Alley, one of the more vital entertainment districts in Detroit, and one of three casinos in the city.

Abram’s assistant, Lisa Mobly, appeared around a corner. He smiled and joined her. “Everything seems to be going well.”

Lisa Mobly was an elegant Native American woman, the assistant Casino Manager. The Greektown Casino was 90 % owned by the Chippewa Tribe, and Mobly had come down from Sault Ste. Marie, where she grew up. In her gray suit, Abrams would never have guessed her for Chippewa except for her dark hair. And it didn’t really matter. She was his right-hand.

“I was afraid with all these attacks going on in the city that business might drop off,” she said. “But if anything, the numbers are up a little.”

Abrams surveyed the room. There were easily fifty or sixty people in this room alone, and the casino had seven floors. His estimate was close to six hundred, which for a weekday afternoon wasn’t bad at all. “Not our usual afternoon crowd,” he said.

“Fewer retirees,” Mobly agreed. “More shift workers. And the university’s shut down. I think a lot of city businesses closed down, too, in response to the attacks. There are more college kids here than usual.”

“Maybe everybody feels lucky today,” he said. “What’s the news, anyway?”

She shook her head. “Still got the feds chasing their tails. Let’s hope this ends soon.”

Abrams nodded, satisfied. Time to move on and check out other areas. “I have a feeling it will.” He clasped his hands, looking at the gamblers feeding the machines. “Something tells me it’s just about over.”

Mobly cocked an eyebrow and soaked in her boss’s good mood. “I hope you’re right.”

“Yeah,” he said, heading toward the poker room. “I bet it’s just about over.”