Slit slipped out for a morning jog around seven thirty, the air was fresh with the clear sky exhibiting a magnificent rich blue, contrasting against the rugged reddishness of the surrounds, to sit well on the soul. The Regatta mystery fell into place as Slit could see the preparations being made on the river, quite literally in front of the Casino. On her return she chatted with the doorman and had him explain the days proceedings. It seems rowing wasn’t required or even possible as the Todd river is totally dry being nothing more than a sandy river bed, only carrying water for a few days every other year when it rains. Some ‘idiot’ decided to have an annual rowing regatta to raise money for charity. The contestants all gather in bottomless boat looking frames, and run up the dry riverbed in front of thousands of drunken onlookers who gamble on the outcome. Slit decided to keep Mrs Ferret in suspense while privately assuring herself an event such as this was the result of a whole community going to bed early. She could also see why being at today’s preceding would be a lifelong ambition for Matches and the other guys, as rolling around in the dirt while drinking, and gambling on something absolutely stupid would be bliss in their small testosterone saturated brain.
 
Slit was interested to hear the Casino is named after a guy called Lasseter who found gold somewhere out in the desert, returning to town only to spend thirty years trying to find his way back to the gold. He died in the dessert without ever finding it again. Apparently many still search for Lasseter’s gold, clearly another consequence of going to bed too early. Slit could see some irony in a casino being named after someone who couldn’t find there way to waiting riches.
 
Back at the room everyone was up going though the ‘I’ve just got out of bed’ motions, after a shower and breakfast Slit commenced to dress by cutting the legs off a pair of hipster jeans as high as she dared, before putting them and joggers on. She went ‘Commando’ up top under a tight, sleeve-less tee shirt displaying the words, ‘Have a go at these little beauties’ across the chest. Slit encouraging Megan and Mrs Ferret to dress in similar distasteful form. Megan needed help adjusting to the idea cutting the legs out of a pair of expensive jeans she had yet to wear, but eventually got her mind around it. Slit figured a charity event designed to appeal to a drunken layabout audience, had to be corruptible and as she had seen Matches and Bang avoid running many times, a serving of extra flesh by the ladies was the best chance they had of a taking a trophy home for Matches to proudly display above the stockade bar.
 
The girls stood at the Casino entrance while the trike was collected, the silent valet displayed a smile that couldn’t hide how he thought they were rather ‘cool’.  Back at the camp sight, the guys were all still impersonating the dead. Mrs Ferret started to administer life into them by making several loud threats, reinforced with an occasional strategically positioned kick in the ribs trying to workout who was whom, before giving poor Ferret extra lashings of imposed responsibility. Eventually the place started to show signs of a complete recovery with the guys mumbling their way through activities preparing for another dose of daylight.
 
With time everyone piled onto the bikes and proceeded to the spot where the guys had arranged to meet. A few practise runs in their boat allowed Mrs Ferret to understand what lifting her shirt and running like crazy actually meant, she was quite impressed with the stupidity of the occasion. At race time they matched up against eleven other groups of fools and tried there hardest. It wasn’t good enough, sixth being the best they could manage, but before tripping over each other, they were running second. Matches was satisfied all had given it their best shot, besides he arranged for some photos to be taken for the bar, that was enough; this year.
 
With the sun still high in the sky the guys decided to start the drinking, so they might be available for an early start next morning to put as much of the Plenty Highway behind them as they could, in one day. This meant they intended to drink all afternoon and probably have a mixed grill for dinner, so the girls set off back to the casino, after arranging to meet at the campsite around six next morning.
 
The girls cleaned themselves up and returned to the casher to collect their chips only to be rather politely ushered off to meet with the casino manager. The manager was a well presented, reasonable looking person, although the same description wouldn’t describe the two suit wearing ‘gorillas’ sitting quietly in the rear of his office, behind where Slit, Mrs ferret and Megan were invited to sit. The manager explained, in a tactful tone, how winning four hundred and eighty six thousand dollars in one sitting on the tables, plus turning up unannounced at the Casino door with loads of money, had raised some eyebrows in the security department. The identity check of the credentials of Robyn Feather, Helen Cross and Maree Priest was escalated to management, when it was discovered they have current passports, yet records indicated none had survived childhood.
 
“This made us curious about our guests. We asked our principles in Las Vegas to scan the images from our security cameras and they have produced interesting results.”
 
“Robyn Feather is better known as Megan Savage, a person of interest to Interpol, wanted for a string of offences by the Indonesian authorities.”
 
“The Helen Cross search was quite interesting; it revealed a string of some thirteen known aliases, all associated with the identity of Hana Keiko; no criminal record. Hana is quite the celebrity in Las Vegas circles. Banned from eleven Casinos, for being a master card shark. She doesn’t cheat, but counts the fall of cards and calculates future probabilities in her head, always winning. Casinos don’t want her using the tables because it’s not profitable, so they exercise their right to refuse entry. She entered Japan several days ago and is, by all accounts still there.”
 
“You might think this was enough, but no it gets better; Maree Priest, thirty-seven aliases, linked to Hana’s activities and is banned from the same eleven Casinos. She is known only as ‘Slit’, because, like the person who never was, no one has been able to establish her true identity. As her identity is not known, neither is any criminal record available. She is thought to be responsible for numerous extortion activities, particularly involving people who struggle to explain the detail of their losses to the authorities. Slit is known around town for her reliable freelance activities for complex yet discrete garbage removal.”
 
This note also includes a recommendation. I’ll share it. “It is recommended an amicable agreement be reached with your guests. Don’t be tempted to use heavy tactics. No matter what your instincts might tell you. History would indicate your bouncers are not experienced enough to full fill their obligations, with this situation.”
 
“Do any of you have anything further to add?” The manager uttered still without demonstrating anything other then calmness in his voice.
 
Slit answered, “No, most of what you have explained sounds like a believable plot for a good fantasy novel. I am however a little curious why you are sharing your story with us. It appears you must be interested in some kind of co-operation. I don’t see any cops here and any assessment of the future prospects for your gorillas, back there, would have more merit if they started without our full attention. You don’t seem like a nasty or foolish person so I guess we should hear any ideas you have. We are simple business folk available to negotiate any offers of mutual convenience.”
 
A quick side exchange followed, when the largest ‘gorilla’, offended by some skinny chick calling him names, rushed forward to confront her. Slit stood to face him, using his forward momentum to her advantage she gave him a rapid open hand to the face, breaking his nose, then followed up by pinning him to the carpet with a well-executed judo throw. The guy become completely immobilised, to preoccupied to breath, as during his aerial transit Slit reached into her hair and offered her trusty open flick knife to the guy’s throat with considerable conviction.
 
The manager’s voice took on some urgency as he quickly requested there be no bloodshed, asking Slit to please stop and sit down again, before apologising for the behaviour of his staff and demanding both bouncers leave the room immediately.
 
Slit gave her quarry a no hard feeling smile as she stood up and offered a hand to help him off his back, while keeping her knife hand at her side with the blade menacingly available for a quick upward trust under the rubs, just in case the guy was without honour or common sense. Slit offered him an olive leaf by saying; “If you’re into arm wrestling we could meet in the bar later tonight for a quite drink, best of three, loser pays.”
 
The guy didn’t answer his eyes remained fixed on the knife as he edged backed, out of arms reach, before turning to the door following his partner out.
 
With the room cleared and everyone again seated the manager resumed talking with more then a hint of nervousness now entering his persona, “Wholly shit, your quite some lady. Where on earth did that knife come from; were you really going stab him?”
 
Slit grinned replying, “What’s this deal you have on your mind. At first I thought your casino was the ants pants, but it’s starting to go cold on me.”
 
The manager continued, “I’ll lay my cards on the table. Your winnings are yours to take; they were won fare and square. If you take them you’re banned and we, as Casino operators, are duty bound to report our reasoning to the gamming authority, which is a back door to the police. However, if you’re willing, we could play this out another way, something that may be mutually satisfactory. We don’t get a lot of real high rollers out here to strut their stuff. You guys have already started chins wagging and as you know this is our Regatta weekend, when the community gets behind the local charities. We at the casino are no exception, if you are prepared to play for charity you can continue to stay and play tonight, as you are leaving tomorrow and won’t be back any time soon we wouldn’t need to cover our position and have you banned.”
 
“Currently you’re up four hundred and eight six thousand, add to that we are out of pocket for the cost of two nights in the presidential suite, drinks, meals and, so far, one broken nose.”
 
“The deal is: You guys donate half a million from your winnings so far to the ‘School of the Air’ and we are square for last night. Tonight you play again, this time for the ‘Royal Flying Doctor’ you play down on the public gaming tables so everyone will get behind you. You announce in advance your generous donation and how you are playing for charity again tonight.” 
 
Slit was somewhat taken back, she shook her head and replied, “Did you say square, according to my maths we are down fourteen grand. It sounds to me like you’re into extortion. Who are these charities anyway? Are you sure they are not someone’s personal bank account on the Isle of Manx.”
 
The manager explained, “No, no the charities are on the level they do a good job, you can ask anyone. The people out here are so isolated that the children on the properties out of town, traditionally did their schooling over the radio, and now days they use the Internet, hence the School of the Air, it’s a long distance school operating from Alice Springs over the radio and covers all of the outback. The Royal Flighting Doctor Service is the same deal it was formed years ago so a doctor could visit people in the bush who become sick, or injured. They call them up on the radio and the doctor visits in a plane, now days it is more like an air ambulance but it is still very necessary.”
 
“You are quite right, we win with this deal. If we donate to the charity, everyone thinks we ripped him or her off first, and gave that money to charity. But if you guys rip us off and give the money to charity. You are the nice guys and so are we. We still claim the money off our tax and the punters line up to try and beat us, because you showed them how to do it.”
 
Slit replied, “So if everyone is looking to win why do we need to go down for fourteen thousand dollars to make this deal work.”
 
The manager responded, “No reason really, but you wouldn’t want to look like cheap skates and give away an uneven amount, would you? You’re supposed to be high rollers, champions of the little guy. Why would you worry over a few dollars? Besides we have our expenses for the room and as your still staying there for free you can shout the bar tonight on us.”
 
Slit replied, “Ok, You have us over a barrel anyway. Meet us half way and we have a deal, sometime tonight you arrange for us to win three package holidays for two, to Disneyland, return economy ticket from Sydney to Los Angeles, a few nights in a modest hotel in Anaheim, and what ever else people who don’t draw attention to themselves, going to the states do. I should add; it goes without saying if we get picked up anywhere from here in. I’ll assume a tip off came from you personally, and will make special arrangements for your future. Do we have a deal?”
 
“It’s a deal. You’ll win three double holidays to Disneyland no problem and your personal detail will stay in this room,” the manager offered back, immediately putting out his hand to seal the deal and invite them all to have a drink while discussing how they would announce though the Casino their very generous offer to charity, such that it had the maximum impact on the patrons.
 
Slit, Mrs Ferret and Megan returned to the suite to find a new outfit for Slit as she had torn and crumpled the one she was wearing with her confronting performance; her hair was a mess also. Megan was concerned they would be caught, but both Slit and Mrs ferret assured her all was on the level, the guy would keep his deal, explaining how guys like him were so big they appear legal, you have to bend to accommodate them, but if he dishonours the code, his organization will crush him like an insect.
 
The evening went off as well as it had been planned, the School of the Air management were beside themselves with the generous half-million dollar donation, in gambling chips. People flocked to see the girls work the table with there remaining two hundred and eight six thousand dollar kitty being risked in the name of the Flying Doctors. Megan was a curiosity, not betting at all but blowing good-luck kisses for hits that always seemed to come off and celebrating milestone wins by shouting the floor. By coincidence three times during the night a joker card was drawn from the pack, twice by Slit and once by Mrs Ferret, each time it happened, bells rung with the lights flushed, followed by the evening host announcing, “Yes folks it’s mystery prize time.” Pulling a ticket from the barrel he continued, “And our lucky winner has won a trip for two to Disneyland.” Followed by much cheering and fanfare, enough to have Megan shout the house to drinks, allowing all the patrons to celebrate and share in the good fortune.
 
By the nights end, the girls handed over two million, one hundred thousand dollars in casino chips to the manager of the Flying Doctors, after first openly deducting their original float of just under four hundred and twenty thousand dollars. With so many onlookers watching the proceedings, those in the know were not game to question the anomaly. Because of their generosity, the Royal Flying Doctor Service management stuck with tradition, allowed the girls to name the next Aircraft. The choice was instantly popular with everyone thinking a plane flying the outback, named ‘The Gypsy Wanderer’ was most appropriate.
 
It was sometime after three when the girls finally got away to the room, thinking about sleep. They ordered breakfast for nine-thirty. The guys could wait around for them, for a change.
 
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