Oh, sweet! thought K, looking down at the roulette wheel in the makeshift home to which he had tracked Deckard. I've never actually seen one of these in person. Saw a cartoon mouse use one like a treadmill once, but that's about it.
He spun it one time and walked away, telling himself that he was satisfied, but he was fighting against a powerful instinct. After a quick scan of the room, he returned and spun it again. And again.
Shit, this is pretty loud, he thought, spinning it a fourth time. I know I should be sneaking and shit but this is pretty fun. He began to spin rapidly, building up as much speed as he could manage.
Meanwhile, Deckard heard the noise and thought Alright, alright, let's not jump the gun here. Probably just another mouse on that roulette wheel again. He grabbed a broom and started banging on the ceiling with it.
The noise stopped. But by Deckard's estimation, it had stopped a little too suddenly. Someone—human or replicant, he wasn't sure, but both had opposable thumbs, and that was what mattered—must have grabbed the handle. Shit, he thought, grabbing his gun, gotta go actually do something. I hope whoever's making that noise likes getting shot in the face.
Then a bunch of other stuff happened, but all of that is a story for another time.