The Cajun had appreciated the offer of a room at the Lucky 38, but he'd decided not to impose on Mr. House any more than he needed to. Maybe the big man would even find it a bit courteous that he'd not waste the valuable space of his casino. Or maybe he'd been insulted by the rejection of his offer. Either way, what was done was done. He had another room anyway in a casino more to his liking. Del had spent most of this time after their...well, "Meeting", he supposed he could call it, at the poker table in Gamorrah. He was on a winning streak at the moment, with just under a fifteen hundred caps worth of chips sitting pretty in front of him. He had to admit, it sure as hell looked better than the last time he was here. The girls weren't nearly as strung out as they'd been back when Big Sal had been in charge, the guards were more friendly (and noticably packing less heat), and even the tables were running cleaner. He had to give it to Cachino, he'd made good on his word that he'd become a changed man.

"[i]Bon boulot[/i], Cachino." He muttered softly to himself as he looked over his cards, then at the three in the center of the table. Three of a kind so far. Aces. Still on one hell of a roll.

"Huh?" Another man spoke up from his seat beside Del, blinking stupidly. The French had probably confused him all the more.

"Eh, not'in'. Jus' talkin' wit' m'self." Del replied, pushing forward a small stack of blue chips. "Raise fo'hun'ed." There was a collective groan from the rest of the table. There were four sullen grumblings of "Fold" in a row. That left him, the dummy and the Ghoul. The Ghoul was the smart one in this bunch. His stack of chips was even bigger than Del's. He guessed this ol' walking corpse had to have been a Pre-War riverboat gambler to play his cards this well.

"Call." The Ghoul rasped, his face completely emotionless as he pushed his chips in. The dummy did the same. His face told Del of the bluff right away. The next card came down. Ace of Spades. It took all of Del's muscle control not to grin as he read the cards. The Ghoul's face didn't move a bit, but the dummy's did. He tried as best as his little brain would allow to play it cool. Another round of betting went around the table, until the pot was big enough to buy up most of the stock at the Gun Runner's stand. The last card went down. Jack of Spades. Del was sure he had this in the bag....but he wasn't dumb enough to go all in with this Ghoul still at the table. All at the table called. The cards went down.

"Four aces. Gon' need a real big bag fo' that pot." Del said with a rusty guffaw, resisting the urge to reach out and scoop up his winnings...

Then the Ghoul's hand went down.

"Straight flush. Believe those are [i]my[/i] winnings, my good man." The Ghoul's raspy voice actually sounded pretty damn happy. Not a tone he usualy heard from those poor schmucks. Del just stared at the cards for a moment while the dummy started to swear and cry. He really, really hated to see all those chips go. He looked down at what was left of his chips. 400 caps. Well...it was better than nothing.

"Think I be callin' it a nigh' fo' now, folks. Good playin' wit'cha." He said with a nod of his head, pushing back his chair and rising to walk over to the hallway and to the staircase, toward his room. Yep. Better than nothing.
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The next morning he found himself joining the others in the main lobby with a surprisingly cold bottle of Bohemea style beer (provided by Cachino), nursing the drink as he watched the rest of this motley crew with some concern. Ellie seemed good at her job, but that attitude would probably get her into a whole lot of scraps. Which would mean the rest of them would have to get involved. Which would escalate the scrap into a full on ass-kicking contest. The rest....well.....they probably weren't too much better, not counting the Nightkin and those not accounted for yet. He'd have to keep a close eye on things for this job...