Jirel ran after Michael as they dashed through the casino. Two uniformed Las Vegas police officers stood by a craps table.
Michael said, “Montez, North. You’re needed upstairs.”
The two officers ran ahead towards the pressurized airlift shafts.
“Are these real policemen?” asked Jirel as they followed.
“Yes,” said Michael.
“Do they think you’re a policeman?”
“No, they’re faithful Catholics. I’m the patron saint of policemen.”
“But you’re not a saint, Sir.”
“Don’t I know it.”
They entered an up shaft and zoomed to the fifth floor, where they found the police men waiting.
Michael said, “They’re in room 522.”
The men dashed down the hall to 522. Montez knocked. No answer.
“Kick it in,” said Michael.
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