This wasn't Casino Royale.

It was Java.

Little dwarfs greeted us.

'Welcome to fantasy Island.'

Hadn't I seen the sitcom before?

'Da plane, da plane.'

Shut up, Jack.

'You didn't need to belt me in the head.'

Then Max gave him a backhander.

I could see what was going on, it was plain as day.

The Indonesians had enough of spending their hard-earned cash in Singapore and decided to set up their own casinos.

Whores and gambling, wasn't that a perfect partnership?

'Did you enjoy your jet pack ride,' asked a lovely PR lady, dressed up stylishly, wearing a vest, short but not quite sluttish skirt and a face  that made you want to say, 'I'll buy the next ten rounds.'

Are we being monitored, asked Jack.

'Now now Mr. Russel,' said the PR lady, a Javanese,  about five foot seven and very top-heavy.

I winked at her.

'He's my brother and he's obsessed with tits.'

The PR lady gave one of those smiles, that said, 'I know you want to see what is under my freshly pressed starched white shirt.'

'Big boobs, I'm assuming,' said Max, who requested we be taken to the high rolling table. 

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