The sky was perfectly clear and their hearts were racing as they strolled past the faux-tropical lagoon on the Las Pegasus Strip. The volcano sprayed red plumes of flame high into the air as a crowd of elderly tourists in matching sweatshirts applauded. It was an awesome sight, one that would be repeated every fifteen minutes until midnight. Drake’s Nineteen took a deep breath and boldly entered through the golden double doors that led into the (former) Flimflam Brothers’ Resort, one at a time, at one minute intervals. Their plan was to enter as customers, and if they all started winning, the Richs would have no choice but to show themselves. Spike was the last one to enter. An inadvertent smile moved across his face as he looked at the vast atrium once more.

Spike felt like everyone was staring at him as he moved through the lobby and down the ramp that led to the casino. He passed no less than three uniformed security officers on the way. Thankfully, none of them gave him a second look. They were a heist mob, and within a couple of hours the big operation would either succeed or fail.

Impossibly Rich had converted the resort into a place for whales, not weekenders or conventioneers. She replaced the marble with stuff handpicked from Itaily, the chefs were stolen from the highest-rated restaurants in the guide books, and in the villas, for her big players, the silverware was actually gold, and the rest of the stone warrior statues—undoubtedly also filled with the counterfeit cash from the truck—lined the red carpet that cut through casino floor. Impossibly Rich had spent the past several hours checking and rechecking every inch of the property, getting ready for the grand opening.

The place was jumping—women in shiny tube tops, showing ample curves and way too much skin, mingled with men in leisure suits. Groups of Jockeypanese men, red-faced from alcohol and shouting loudly at one another, melded into junkets from Dodge Junction and Appleloosa. Cowboy hats, silk suits, leather pants, gold lamé, slicked-back hair, ponytails, even the odd tuxedo—it was perfect.

The lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on Impossibly Rich.

“Welcome, friends, to the greatest casino in the world! Flimflam Resort is so passé, it has been reborn as the Rich Towers! Plenty of tables and slots for all! You’re all winners in my book!” she announced. “Especially you losers...” she added under her breath.

After Impossibly Rich’s little speech, Spike’s Spotters spread out through the casino, taking positions at the tables. There were two or three shills at the platinum Roulette wheel, more attractive girls in smart evening dresses who had been given fifty dollars with which to warm up the dead tables, and there was a very drunk man clinging on to the high surrounding wall of one of the crap tables and shouting exhortations to the dice. The energy level was at an all-time high, and their ears were ringing from the noise as they reached the blackjack pit. Even though he was prepared for this, Spike was anxious; the place was more distracting than any amusement park.

And he saw that something else had changed: every single dealer from the Blackjack tables to the Roulette were pretty women dressed in the same colored uniforms as Impossibly Rich’s employees – short plaid skirts, light blue blouses with reddish-purple vests, black metal-studded belts, dark blue bowties, and black heels over dark blue nylons.

As Spike moved through the crowd, between the tables, into the center of the Blackjack area, he scoped the scene, taking count of the others. Shifting his gaze as he walked, Spike almost immediately picked out Soarin and Zephyr Breeze, two tables apart. Zeph, the preppy tennis jock, was flirting with a beautiful blonde standing next to him at one of the Craps tables as he pulled a huge wad of cash out of his back pocket. She looked like a stripper, with magnificent fake breasts in a tube-top and a skirt riding high up her thighs. Nobody would be noticing Zephyr. That was for sure.

“Snakes Eyes,” he said as he put down fifteen $10,000 chips. “All of it.”

Soarin was playing a different role, slumped over with two empty glasses in front of him, constantly rubbing his eyes like he was about to pass out. As soon as he had stepped into the casino, he’d liberated a Scotch from a passing cocktail waitress’s tray, took a sip, and then splashed some of the liquid onto his shirt. He messed up his hair, undid a few buttons, and rolled one sleeve almost to the elbow. Now, he looked like a man left behind by his friends, too drunk to hit the clubs and too stupid to quit gambling for the night. He wasn’t really drunk, but he was making his cheeks red by holding his breath when nobody was looking, throwing his chips out recklessly when he raised his bet, asking the dealer for help adding up his cards when the pit boss was watching. He hardly even seemed to look at his cards; it took Spike a second to realize Soarin was reading the numbers from the reflection on his empty drink glasses like a pro.

And if Soarin was a pro, Rainbow Dash was playing on a whole different level. Spike saw her sitting at a crowded table close to the elevators, her athletic body daintily perched on her stool, her legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. A group of rich, drunk Jockeypanese businessmen surrounded her. They were giving her advice as she played, trying to impress her. She flirted back, covering her mouth when she laughed, responding in equally broken English. Even the dealer was smiling at her, helping her add her cards together.

“Blackjack, Blackjack, Blackjack, Twenty, Twenty,”

“That’s five Blackjacks in a row!” one of the men exclaimed.

“That’s crazy!” said another.

“I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Rainbow Dash clapped her hands together, jabbering loudly in broken Jockeypanese. She hugged the shoulder of the man next to her, and joined the rest of the table in a round of applause. In ten minutes, she had won sixty thousand dollars. Sassy Saddles had been over three times to offer her comps such as a free stay in one of the luxury suites, tickets to a variety of sold-out shows, and dinner passes to all the casino’s top restaurants. The only player who didn’t congratulate her was an angry little woman with streaks of grey hair and mottled skin.

Feather Bangs, who was under the guise of a prickish rich kid from a wealthy Manehattan family, stood at the Roulette wheel with three men in expensive silk suits, trying to make friends with the cocktail waitresses. He had two-thirds of the board covered (less the zero), and since the dozens played odds of two to one, he stood to win every time any number lower than 25 turned up. After seven coups he had won six times.

“My jet stream of luck is unstoppable!” he shouted.

He lost on the seventh when thirty came up. He kept off the table for the eighth throw. Zero turned up. Fluttershy, at another Blackjack table, acted like she was scared to play (which was not hard for her to do), and mentioned that her boyfriend was playing Craps. Discord, also playing Blackjack, turned his attention to the betting circles. He was already up $200. Grogar had three hundred dollars down. Tirek was betting two fifty. Sombra had five hundred dollars in front of him.

Discord placed two five-thousand-dollar chips into his circle.

“That’s how it’s done,” Grogar said, impressed.

He took a handful of cigars out of his pocket and offered them to the table. Tirek and Sombra each took one, Haakim declined, and Discord shrugged.

“Thanks,” he said, letting Grogar cut the tip for him with a cigar cutter.

“I’m doing a whole lot better at this place than I ever did with Flimflam Resort,” Grogar said. “I could get used to this.”

“When this place was still Flimflam Resort, I loved the games a lot more regardless of whether I won or lost,” Sombra shared.

“I know, right?” Tirek replied. “It’s like something’s missing.”

“Or maybe someone,” Grogar added.

“The Lucky Prince,” they all agreed.

Chrysalis pushed a seemingly random handful of chips into her betting circle. Three blacks, two purples, and six green—one thousand four hundred and fifty dollars. Let the Eyes in the Sky try and figure that one out. They’d never guess that this crazy lady knew the count. Spike saw Applejack win in Five-Card Draw with a Straight (Eight High) against a Two Pair (Kings over Nines) after exchanging three cards. He also saw Starlight Glimmer rise from another table, scooping black, purple and orange chips from the felt while Sunburst drifted around the slot machines.

“It’s only beginner’s luck,” she said.

Then Spike saw Celestia. She was the picture of perfect health. Her hair was washed and brushed. She was wearing a virginal white silk and lace dress, white pantyhose and golden shoes. Her skin was pale and her eyes were beautiful. He nodded discreetly at her as she glanced up fleetingly from a Blackjack table, toying with a handful of playing chips. He then spotted Trixie chatting with her father at the casino’s bar, and Vinyl, who was calmly sipping a sweet-looking fruity drink and watching Pinkie Pie’s stack of chips pile high.

Pinkie, who was also playing Blackjack, fumbled with a handful of folded bills as the thin, bespectacled croupier named Copper Plume counted out $30,000 and slid Pinkie a stack of 500-dollar chips, of which she bet four. He dealt Pinkie a pair of tens. His hole card face down, Copper Plume dealt himself the Eight of Clubs. Pinkie stayed and Copper Plume flipped his hole card to reveal the Ace of Spades. Pinkie beamed excitedly, but caught herself as Copper Plume dealt her the Ace of Hearts and the Queen of Diamonds—Blackjack. Copper Plume gave Pinkie a friendly nod and, stifling a smile, Pinkie rubbed the back of her neck and leaned back with an air of confidence as her cards were collected.

Spike was amazed. They had inhabited their aliases like trained actors. Everything seemed to be moving along splendidly. There had been no heat from the other pit bosses, and no sign of anyone who would give them away. He turned and a cute girl in a short, red and black saloon-style skirt above the knees, matching corset, bow tie, and tiny pillbox hat came up to him with a box-like tray slung around her neck. It was Juniper Montage and her tray was covered with an assortment of Champagne cocktails, martinis and Manehattans.

“Candy, gum, cigar, cigarette, drink?” she asked. “Dynamite?” she added in a very quiet whisper.

Spike smiled as she effortlessly slipped him eight sticks of TNT.

“On the house, sugar,” she said with a wink.

As soon as Spike safely deposited the explosives into his crocodile skin jacket, he felt someone grab his elbow, turn him around, and drag him to a spot in the casino that had been set aside as a dance floor.

“Put your arms around us,” Bon Bon/Sweetie Drops spoke over his shoulder.

“Hold us close,” Lyra added. “There are guards and cameras everywhere.”

“I think we may be in trouble, Spike,” Sweetie Drops said. “We really need your help.”

“The last time someone said they needed my help, they knocked me out and I woke up in the back of a truck,” he replied.

He moved stiffly as he twirled them around him.

“We are undercover, Spike,” Bon Bon said. “We had no choice.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.

“Dip us,” Lyra said.

“At the same time?” he thought.

That was one dance move he had never attempted before, but he did it, and he didn’t drop either of them.

“We’re asking for real this time,” Sweetie Drops said. “Will you help us?”

Spike had been snarling the entire time they danced. Then his faced softened and he smiled. That was all the assurance that they needed. He pulled them to their feet and they brushed against his face, looked into his eyes, and then walked away.

Spike’s smile was quickly extinguished as he spotted a man in a black suit striding purposely towards the casino, flanked by a team of almost identical broad-shouldered men.

“Shining Armor just walked in,” Moon Dancer said.

“Copy that, the Secret Service is in the house,” Spike replied. “If they move towards Blackjack, somebody tip Discord and Chrysalis.”

Shining Armor perched himself on a stool at the bar, looking at nothing special, seeing everything as cubes were being exchanged at the Craps tables and balls were traded at the Roulette wheels.

“New dice coming in,” Midnight Radiance said.

Spike exhaled sharply as his friends’ winning spree continued. It took him 20 minutes to find Filthy Rich’s table, which was a few feet from the gurgling miniature waterfall. The Dazzlings, dressed in qipaos, strode up to Spike as he approached. Adagio wore black while Aria wore pink and Sonata wore purple.

They whispered, “Be careful.”

Putting a hand in his pocket, Spike swept through the abnormally large crowd and continued on to Filthy Rich’s table. Filthy sat next to his wife, Spoiled, who was playing a game of Solitaire; while Abacus Cinch, Garble and Iron Will stood behind them like bodyguards. And, of course, Trouble was with them. More specifically, trouble in the form of a five-foot-three bitch with a reputation for strewing her wake with wreck and ruin.

Twilight Sparkle, the woman who had surrendered her principles, all the things she had believed in, at the feet of Impossibly Rich. She had seen Spike coming. She was prowling, like a restless animal in its lair.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are,” Spike answered. “I’m working.”

Twilight reached for him.

“Touch me and that hand will never touch anything again,” he said quietly.

Garble searched him, moving his hands from Spike’s legs to his chest. He was not gentle. His face betrayed no emotion as he reached into the crocodile skin jacket and pulled out the eight sticks of TNT Juniper Montage had given him. He handed the explosives to Twilight and Filthy Rich and Spoiled Rich stared at Spike as he sat across from them.

“Give me one reason not to bounce you out of my place,” Spoiled said.

“You and I have some unfinished business,” Spike replied.

“You bribed our High Rollers,” Spoiled said. “You stole our big players, and now you brought them here to rub it in my face. Tell you what, let them play here and I’ll give you ten percent of their losses.”

“As I have said before, I am not that easy,” Spike stated.

“Twenty percent whenever they gamble here,” she offered.

“Your mother-in-law killed my mother!”

Iron Will reached inside his jacket as Spike grabbed the steak knife from the plate of filet mignon that was in front of him. Then he grabbed Twilight with his free hand, pulled her close, and pressed the sharp blade to her side.

“Put the gun away, asshole,” Spike stated.

Spoiled Rich nodded to the big bruiser and Iron Will did as he was told.

“I suggest you give me back what’s mine,” Spike added, jabbing the knife deeper into Twilight’s side, just enough to pierce her uniform but not her skin, “or anything goes.”

Spoiled Rich set a small bag on the rotating tray between them, in the center of the round table. It brushed past a stack of money as he spun it over to Spike.

“Open it,” Spike told Twilight.

She dumped out the contents. Gold coins.

“My Mother’s Fire Ruby, Rich. I’m not going to ask again!”

Twilight set the coins and bag back on the Lazy Susan and spun them back to Spoiled Rich, who glared back at Spike. Reaching into her purse, Spoiled took out a small item wrapped in paper. She glanced at it before putting it on the Lazy Susan. The injured Garble set a glass of white wine beside it and spun the items toward Spike. Twilight unwrapped the paper to find the Fire Ruby inside; she flinched in pain as she gave it to Spike. Spike pocketed his mother’s necklace, then grabbed the glass of wine and dumped it onto the carpet, smirking as he did so.

“You think I don’t know the old poison-in-the-drink routine?” he asked them. “If you’re trying to kill me, you could at least be a little more inventive. I’m taking back this Resort... and those Gates.”

He finally put down the steak knife and, using the same hand, snapped his fingers. When he did, the Two, the Eight and the Ten Gates Cards appeared, only to disappear again with another finger snap.

“What? You have the last three?” Spoiled Rich asked. “How were you able to find those?”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie gave them to me,” he said simply.

Spike threw Twilight across the table, into Filthy and Spoiled Rich, and took off through the casino. Garble and Iron Will gave chase. His path blocked by more dark-suited bouncers, Spike turned on his heels and sprinted down an aisle between slot machines. Spoiled paused as she watched Twilight bound off after Spike while Cinch escorted Filthy out of the casino.

Pursued by the black-clad Dragon enforcers, Spike turned a corner to see more bouncers approaching. He was choked from behind by Garble as Twilight kicked him (Spike) in the jaw. Nobody but an expert in jujitsu had handled Spike with Twilight’s lack of fuss. The cold precision with which she had paid him back had been equally unhurried, even artistic.

“Now follow me,” she said. “Or I’ll let your old friend here snap your neck.”

Almost docilely, Spike walked down the passage to a private elevator. As he preceded Garble and Iron Will into the elevator, Applejack contacted the others.

“They got Spike,” she said. “We’ve been compromised. They know we’re here. Rich’s gonna run his prints.”

“Damn,” Sunset cursed.

“That’s it. Our lucky streak’s over,” Moon Dancer stated.

“Cash ‘em in, kids,” Pharynx told them.

“They’ll scoop us all up and Rich’ll have the best night of her life,” Rainbow Dash added.

“I know what to do,” Discord said. “Back of the house, fifteen minutes.”

Next time, Spike is put in a deadly position and his women go mano a mano with Twilight.