 What wouldn't Casey say to describe himself?
But—and this was the 'but' that was likely to deprive the System of my activities—even experimenting with them was illegal even if it needed to be done; also, I had promised not to rat on him before taking the job. Well, Casey Ritter may be a lot of things we won't mention, but he doesn't rat on his clients. So there I was, closeted with the ten members of the S.S. Customs Court, getting set to hear the gavel fall and the head man intone the sentence that would take me out of circulation for a long, long time. I'd argued with 'em, but inside I'd been all set for the sentence, and even sort of reconciled to it. "Aw, hell, judge, that's just one of those screwy fairy tales! How could any—" The senior judge rapped ferociously, and I skidded to a halt. Well, a cross between a scorpion and a grasshopper, to be accurate. Me, Casey Ritter, slickest slicker in the Solar System, led like a precious infant right where I'd flatly refused to go! Big as hen's eggs, an even dozen of 'em; and flawless, I'm a-shoutin', not a flaw!" My jaw must've been hanging down a foot, because I'd just been playing along with him, not really believing him, and now all of a sudden I somehow knew that he'd really lifted those emeralds.
 He'd do anything for money
 He'd never give up a client  He's a master smuggler  He's traveled all over the solar system  He'd do anything for money