THE PENTHOUSE TAYLOR Jefferson Rusk moved into the hotel a week ahead of the team. He took the key to his assigned room on the ninth floor, dropped it into his back pocket, then checked into the penthouse suite as E. Fudd. The huge twenty-fifth-floor suite had a 360-degree view of Park City, and access was limited by a special key to the private elevator. Taylor s plan was to stay hidden. \"You guys going to win the Super Bowl, Mr. Rusk?\" The bellman unloaded Taylor s bags from the dolly. \"We got it on pay TV here in the hotel. Every room ll be filled at triple the rate.\" \"My name is Fudd. E. Fudd.\" He handed the bellman a fifty- dollar bill. \"Mr. Rusk is registered into a room on nine. Anybody wants him, send them there.\" He handed the bill to the uniformed man. \"General Grant will arrive every day the identities of Mr. Ft~dd and Mr. Rusk stay separate.\" ; The tall quarterback pulled back the curtain to view the city skyline; the sun was high, casting hard shadows through the light smOg. The Pistol Dome was humped up far to the south, dark The bellman slid the fifty- \"That s the latest line outta Vegas.\" \"I don t gamble.\" Taylor stared at the giant growth on the horizon. \"Too much like believing in God, banking on a miracle to keep the corn growing or the dice rolling Too much ritual, not enough substance, to show He has chosen you.\" The quar- terback pointed at the Dome. \"There s your cathedral, one hundred and sixty million dollars of veneration. The Opium of the Masses. OPM. Other People s Money.\" The bellman s pointed face pulled into a wolfish smile. \"I was just wondering if you heard talk? Sixteen points is a big spread.\" Taylor turned to the pockmarked, nervous, rumpled man. Dirty gold braid decorated his dark-green outfit. \"Well, what do you think?\" The man was looking for an edge on life. Any edge. \"What do you think?\" Taylor tossed back. --- 3 --
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