Cold Burn

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"Data! Data! Data!

I can't make bricks without clay."

-SHERLOCK HOLMES

1

LIKE THE BEACON OVER BETHLEHEM, THE FALLEN BUT bright star called Las Vegas had long ago guided wise guys from the east to this unholy city where Christmas of a sort was celebrated year-round. Ever since Ben "Bugsy" Siegel had died for the sins of tourists everywhere, men had journeyed across the desert, lured by the glowing neon temples called FLAMINGO and SANDS and CAESAR'S, summoned by celestial bodies with names like Liberace and Sinatra and Darin, to worship at the altar of the elusive fast buck.

Right now, with Christmas less than a month away, gamblers were high-rolling into town like a horde of last-minute shoppers, bucking the odds and dreaming of a green Christmas.

Driving through the Lake Mead National Recreation Area in the predawn darkness, Ranger Ally Scott-like most residents of Las Vegas-was contemplating the upcoming holiday in terms that had nothing to do with gambling. That is, except for the gamble she would take buying anything for her perennially hard-to-shop-for father. Then there was her sister Elisa…a gift certificate, that would just be cold.

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