"So this is a casino... Never been to one before."
Coins clinked endlessly, roulette wheels spun like crazy, and poker chips exchanged hands like candy.
"Double or nothing, baby!" shouted a man in sunglasses, pumped up.
Glamorous and provocative women strutted through the tables while loud music wrapped the whole scene in a mix of chaos and celebration.
The Purple Cat was the kind of place where you could either strike it rich… or end up completely broke.
"If you already know who the culprit is, why are we here?" Alice asked, clearly uncomfortable.
Bazt, along with four other team members, blended into the crowd in disguise.
"Relax. Just trust me," Bazt replied as he approached a table.
"I'll play at this one," he said in a clumsy tone, though it carried a hint of false confidence.
Even if he lost the money, it wasn't a real problem. After all, it was Alice's cash.
Jameson and Claus were with him. Margaret had wanted to join too, but Bazt had given her a different mission.
"I see… You new here, kid? Ever played before?" the dealer asked.
"Nope, never played. But they told me this casino is easy money," Bazt said, doing his best to look naive.
"Oh sure, sure. This place may be illegal, but it's beginner-friendly," the manager replied with a polished smile.
But his eyes... his eyes were those of a predator eyeing his prey.
Bazt caught the look and leaned deeper into his role.
He had dressed casually, looking like a clueless young guy hoping for fast money.
"Come on, I'll get you your chips. Tell me how much you wanna start with. The round's about to begin."
"Hundred dollars. Here you go." Bazt handed over the bill without a second thought—despite the death glare Alice was throwing his way.
"Good pick for someone inexperienced. But who knows, maybe you'll make something out of it."
"You all heard that, boys. We've got rookies in the house—make 'em feel welcome."
The players smiled and welcomed them with fake warmth.
"Alright. Let the game begin," said the manager, starting the match.
---
"Well, would you look at that? Won again," Bazt said with a smug grin.
Since the start, he had already won three rounds in a row.
"Looks like we've got a natural over here. You should switch tables—this crowd's too easy for you."
"Yeah, I'm just getting trash hands tonight. You're killing it, bro," another player chimed in.
(It's starting…) Bazt thought to himself.
He knew how these places worked. Most of the players were casino employees in disguise.
The trick was simple: let the newbies win a few hands to build confidence.
Then they move them to another table with higher stakes, where they win again—just enough to get cocky—before losing everything.
By then, the player thinks it was just bad luck, borrows money from the house, and ends up buried in debt.
"Yeah, I think I was born for this. Take me to another table," Bazt said, now sounding arrogant and cocky.
Exactly as planned.
"Alright, follow me," the manager said, leading him to a new table—this one golden, fancier, more dangerous.
This was the real table.
"This is where the big boys play. Bigger hands, bigger risks. But with your luck… you'll be fine."
Bazt sat down immediately, putting on his best desperate-player face.
The manager brought out the premium chips, and the game began.
Three minutes in, they were already finishing the second hand.
"Wow, I won again. I really am lucky today."
Bazt laid down a three and a two. The table froze. Tension filled the air.
This wasn't supposed to happen—but it was happening.
"Let's go again," Bazt insisted. The dealer started to shuffle.
His trick was simple—he memorized the cards as soon as they were dealt, letting him predict his moves with perfect timing.
They played six more rounds. Bazt won them all.
Then, in the final hand of the seventh game, he slammed down a royal flush.
More and more people crowded around. Bazt had become the star of the show.
"You… sir, have had an outstanding performance. The owner wants to speak with you," said one of the staff.
Like he'd been waiting backstage for the cue, a man in a purple tuxedo with a trimmed beard walked over and sat down across from Bazt.
He sized him up slowly while a few men in black suits stepped closer.
"Let's be honest. We're not going to pay you all that money you just won. But I'm sure you already knew that, right?"
He spoke without breaking eye contact with the approaching guards.
"Yeah, figured as much. That's why I only want two things. First, two hundred dollars. Just the double of my original bet."
Alice was still glaring at him. He had to at least recover her money.
"And the second?" the man asked, arms crossed.
"I want you to erase someone's debt."
The goons moved in again, but the owner raised a hand, stopping them.
"Alright. Give me a name."
"Yimmy Adams. Wipe all his debts clean."
---
"Good work today, Yimmy. Get some rest."
"You too, boss. See you tomorrow."
Yimmy Adams had just clocked out. Today was special. He had planned everything.
A bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates, his best clothes.
Tonight, he would finally confess his love to his crush.
"Oh? Who's calling me at this hour?"
But his smile faded when he saw the name on the screen. He picked up immediately.
"I swear I'll pay a little next month! Just give me some more time!"
{"No, Yimmy. Just calling to let you know—your debts have been paid."}
"Paid?! By who?" Yimmy couldn't believe it.
{"A guy named Bazt. You know him?"}
Yimmy dropped his phone and took off running.
They got him.
{"Yimmy?"}
"Shit! How the hell did they do it? It was perfect!"
Fear twisted his face as he ran, not daring to look back.
"Gotcha."
A foot stuck out from a nearby alley and tripped him.
Margaret stood above him, flanked by several agents.
"Yimmy Adams. You're under arrest for the murder of Wally Humberman"