The Dog quieted again. They were approaching the next casino/hotel, The Mirage, and a crowd had gathered outside. People flocked to The Mirage, Jimmy imagined, the way people had originally come to Vegas: the entire city had been put in a desert, its lawns kept green by damming a river that spent the previous billion years sculpting the Grand Canyon. The concept of sparkling swimming pools and lush golf courses in a desert was one brilliant promo for the lavishness of the place-- Here, Diets Are Meant to Be Broken! But by the time The Mirage was built, the excess seemed quaint. So its architects one-upped the other hotels by creating a tropical rain forest on their patch of sand. Jimmy could smell the moisture of its waterfalls before he even heard their roar. Palm trees had been transplanted full grown, their lofty crowns lit by spotlights. Just beyond, the hotel itself was ablaze with lights. But Jimmy hardly noticed. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the huge stage-board beside the island: it was more of a building than a sign, the immense full-color image of the magicians it advertised so permanent that it seemed to be part of nature. Right up there with the magicians was a picture of one of the white tigers they used in their act. An animal act, Jimmy noted wearily.

The sign twisted his guts with envy but he stayed anyway. The crowd would keep the Dog quiet and he needed to think. He shouldered through the people until he got to the guard railing that ran around the hotel's tropical island. Millions of gallons of water gushed out. Rivers roared down the island, forming the most powerful waterfall Jimmy had ever seen. Every half hour it all turned into a volcano: colored lights turned the water red; gas plumes ignited, sending flames shooting fifty feet into the air. He stayed for three eruptions.