WHIRLED AROUND and saw no one. No psychotic mad scientists, anyway.

“Jackpot, Max! Jackpot!” It was Fang, and he was giggling hysterically.

For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn’t giggle. Especially hysterically.

So for a second, this seemed like one of the weirder dreams of recent days, until Fang clutched my shoulders and started shaking me. “Check it out, Max!”

The jangling sound of metal coins rushing out of Fang’s machine suddenly entered my consciousness. Fang had morphed into a wide-eyed maniac scrambling to scoop all of the change into his cup, then mine. “Get another cup!” he ordered, and I grabbed two more that had been orphaned nearby.

While Fang focused on the money, I did a 360 and started to sweat. Downside of a jackpot? People notice you. And in our case, it wasn’t all pat-on-the-back, “Oh, congratulations! How wonderful for you!” More like “Who the hell are you and could you even possibly be eighteen years old?”

As I saw figures moving toward us, I had a vision of troops inside the Trojan Horse flattening their enemy as they swarmed out. “Outta here now, Fang!” I said in my most don’t-even-think-of-arguing-with-me voice.

Clutching four heaping cups of coins, we booked it into a glass elevator that delivered us gamblin’ fools down, down, down the leg of the Trojan Horse to ground level.

“Remind me never to go to a place called the Trojan Horse again,” I said.

“What’re you talking about? It was good luck,” Fang countered.

“Not exactly,” I said, as the glass door slid open and Dr. Hoonie-Goonie was standing there to greet us.