He pulled out a business card and said, "Give me a call if you want to make money," he winked, grinned, and whispered as he leaned closer to me, "a sh...tload of money."I reached for the business card that the overly eager stock broker offered me. I would thank him for the offer, excuse myself, and head up to my room. Before my hand reached the rectangular card, a slender hand gently gripped my wrist. I turned my head and gazed at the long, delicate fingers with manicured nails painted blood red. "Even poverty requires some income. No Deke, you have been hitting small town banks." He looked into my eyes when he firmly made that last statement."Even if I have, what make you think I would help you?" I was actually enjoying it by that time."How about fear of the FBI?" he suggested."You have said that about a dozen times, and I have told you I have no fear of them. If you want, I will tell you where you can find a phone to make your call." I knew he was bluffing by that time.As if he could. More

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