Pocket Change

The most expensive suite they have happens to be the only suite with two bedrooms. As it is we have them bring in extra beds. Each room in the top floor penthouse suite has a king bed, we are told. They will bring in double beds in each room. That will pale in comparison to the king, but it beats rubbing tootsies with Lou. We rock paper scissors for the king and I lose, for the first night anyway.

Andy and Mike start a "No, you take it", back and forth like a fucking tennis match. It doesn't end until Lou grabs their ball.
"Rock paper scissors, you Nancys."
They shake them three times and come up with both rocks.
"No shit." Lou turns back to me and the desk clerk.

We check in for three nights. When they ask us for a credit card, I pull out my wad of cash and lay out a deposit that satisfies the card requirement. It is funny how cold hard cash seems to solve those little inconveniences. While I am at the front desk I inquire about renting a deposit box at the cashier cage. I don't feel like having the small fortune I am carrying with me removed by some talented pick-pocket. I figure I will have enough of it taken legally by the casino, don't need to lose any of it to the local talent. She makes a quick call and gives me the cager manager's name.
"Mr. Rogers will be happy to take care of that for you, sir."
"Mr. Rogers?"
"Yes sir."
"How do I recognize him, will he be wearing a Cardigan?"
"Sir?"
I look at this girl. She is maybe twenty years old and probably never heard of Mr. Rogers.
"Okay, Rogers... got it."

The lobby of this place is covered in a glass sculpture, like a big colored glass bouquet. Keep walking by the lobby and you end up in the gardens. There is a bride and groom being photographed on big set of steps.
"Hey, she looks like a nice fuck." Lou jabs me in the ribs.
"Still a gentleman, I see."
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm just kiddin'."
"We have to see Mr. Rogers at the cashier cage. How much money do you have on you?"
"Hell, I don't know, seventy thousand?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, I think I started with close to seventy five, but we just haven't had anything to spend it on."
"Well, I have maybe fifty."
"You only have fifty dollars."
"You're an idiot, Lou... fifty thousand." I go to slap the back of his head but the move is countered and he manages to slap my head instead.
"Hey, you mother..."
"That was to teach, not to hurt."
"Look, sensei, stop touching me."

We walk to the cashier cage and ask for Mr. Rogers. A young man, I think, looks at us like we should be asking for his trash cans to empty.
"Who?"
"Mr. Rogers?"
"And what might this be referring to?"
Lou heats up to a mild boil within seconds. "It is referring to you turning around and going to get Rogers before I snap that attitude off and cram it up that sissy ass next to the hamster you have stuffed in there."
He managed to get all of that out in one hiss, low enough to not attract attention, but stern enough to move Sissy over to the small office to get the manager.

A balding man in a shirt and tie, late thirties, pokes his head out of the office to see what Sissy is talking about. He ducks back inside and reappears fastening the button of his suit coat.
"Can I... help you?"
Lou's presence keeps Sissy from returning to his post until we take care of business. Rogers tries to talk us into putting our money on account, but we refuse.
"Just a safe place, that is all we are looking for. We don't need the comps and all the bullshit."

We each keep ten grand on us, and the rest goes in the box. There is only one key, and Rogers or his counterpart will have the other. Lou puts the key in the pouch around his neck.

"Shit, I forgot about he diamonds. We should put them in there, don't you think?
Lou clutches the little pouch through his shirt.
"After all we have been through with these stones, I am not letting them leave my sight."
"Fair enough."

It occurs to me that we have already lost Andy and Mike. They are not with us at the cashier cage. We walk back toward the lobby and find them snapping pictures with a disposable camera that Mike had just bought from the gift shop.
"Smile there, Andy... and point up at the ceiling at those pretty flower things."
Andy tisks, apparently already posing for several minutes before we found them.
"Just take the damn picture, Theo."
A flash and it is over, he thinks.
"Oh hey, there come the fellas. We'll have them take a shot of the two of us here in the lobby, and then one in those gardens back there." Mike steps over and hands Lou the camera. I snatch it away from him, knowing it is important to Mike.
"I'll take it for you, Mike. If you let Lou do it you will probably get some girl's ass instead of the lobby."
"Wouldn't that be a crime." Lou says under his breath.

We don't even go up to the rooms. With just sandwiches since lunch we are all ready to chow down on a nice thick steak. It takes us most of an hour to walk around in this place. It is pretty upscale. Almost too upscale. It doesn't have that neon, change dropping, nasty bar girl, ninety-nine cent shrimp cocktail feel that Vegas had in the old days. Now you can't even find a shrimp cocktail unless you order one in the restaurant. At least not in here.

We move in a loose group, dragging the trailing ends up as we move forward. We check out each of the restaurants and the menus they have posted. Not a lot of steak choices. There is a lot of Picasso, a lot of fusion cuisine, and a whole lot of weird shit that just doesn't fill the void that a huge Porterhouse might fill. We end up in the valet area waiting in the cab line.

"Hey pal," Lou palms the valet a twenty, "where is the best place get a nice piece of meat?" The valet waits a beat before he pockets the twenty, wondering what the fuck this guy is looking for. Hooker? Male Hooker? You can see his mind working. Nope. Meat... steak. "Yes sir," he leans in as though it is a secret "if you aren't satisfied with what the Bellagio has to offer, might I suggest Wynn's new S W Steak House."

It's just down the street, but because traffic is bumper to bumper, we spend thirty five bucks on the cab ride and it takes twenty minutes. But we got to yell a limousine full of pretty young things on a bachelorette party. We probably could have had a little fun with them but Lou is Lou and I'm sure there would be a police report on our cab before the night is through.

Wynn's new casino is pretty fancy. Haven't shot any movies here, but the cab driver said they dropped some money building the place... the most expensive casino ever. It is pretty much lost on the four of us because the only thing we want to see is a menu.

Me and Lou get the once over by the man at the podium, but he seems to have no problem seating Andy and Mike... so we just follow. We are seated at a table near the back of the room with a nice view of the pool and what we find out later is the light show. The wait staff descends on us and we are watered, buttered, beveraged, and menued.

"Oh hell yes." Lou's eyes light up at the sight of the steaks you can order. Lou orders the Porterhouse for two... forty ounces of top grade beef. He wants it quick broiled on one side until it is burned, but only on the surface. The other side is cooked rare... just broiled enough to brown the outside. That and asparagas. I get the twelve ounce filet and Maine Lobster tail, along with au gratin potatoes. Both Andy and Mike order the New York Strip with lobster and black truffle cassoulet. Oh... we all order a shrimp cocktail to start off.

Our drinks come along with our shrimp cocktail. Three of us ordered some pretty fine whiskey. One of us ordered an umbrella drink with three types of exotic juices and two kinds of rum. "Oh, that there is a strong one." Mike winces as he stirs the umbrella speared through pineapple, mango, and passion fruit. Andy tisks and shoots his whiskey.

"Three lousy fucking shrimp?" Lou says a little too loud for our comfort. He yanks one off of his plate and bites it in half. You can hear it crunch in his mouth. "Holy shit that's good. That is the best damn shrimp I have ever eaten."

"You couldn't have bit it first... before you had every head turned in our direction?"

"Fuck 'em."

We finish with our shrimp cocktails and then gnaw on the bread basket rolls until our food comes. It is torture, the smells from the kitchen. If they were smart they would come out and raise the price on you just before they brought it out. As they bring out our dishes the light show starts outside. We don't say a word, each of us to taken with our meals to bother talking. I watch Lou make a non-stop run on forty ounces of Porterhouse. Half way through he lets out a belch that turns everyone's head away from the light show. They all look at Mike who sheepishly points at Lou... who in turn points both fingers at himself in recognition. More drinks, even less talk, and finally we all lean back in our chairs and let out a collective sigh.

"That was excellant."

"No shit. Pisses me off that I'll have to take a shit later." More looks are drawn away from Vegas' premiere light show to look at Lou.

"I don't suppose you can keep that Turretts Syndrome under wraps until we aren't in a crowded room full of people eating?"

He belches again, this time into the linen napkin... just as the third round of Johnny Walker Blue is delivered. That and another Tahitian something or other that Mike is drinking. He has stuck one of his little umbrellas behind his ear... not good.

The bill finally comes, but I think it is quicker than they might have usually pushed us through. If it weren't for the fact that our tally was almost five hundred dollars with the liquor... six hundred with a tip and round of drinks to go, I think they would have asked us to leave before we ordered. We are all pretty shitfaced. Mike manages to get an umbrella tucked into the back of Andy's Airforce ballcap without him knowning. But because he can't managed to keep a straight face, the gig is up and Andy wipes the thing from it's place and then gives him a punch to the arm.

"Fucking Viking lover."

"Why Andy... I don't think I have ever heard you swear." Mike says in all seriousness.

"The night is young." He tosses back the shot we got on the way out and sets his glass down on a planter as we pass. "HELL YA."
I look at Lou, "We've created a monster."
Lou brushes me aside at the sight of the craps tables, a wild game going on at two of them. "Come on, let's play some dice, boys."
He marches on and muscles his way onto the rail.

Mike watches Andy as he walks toward the tables. "Andy... you don't know nothin' about craps." He keeps going, and I think I hear him tisk.
"I think I will stick to the old slot machines, Jake. How bout you?"
"I might try a few things. Where are you going to be?"
"Oh, I think I might give my luck a try on those motorbikes over there. Always fancied a motorbike... just never got one, you know. The wife, she is dead set against buying one... but winning one, that hasn't come up."
"You're married, Mike?"
"Oh ya, for quite some time now... kids and the whole shabang. How bout you, Jake. You married?"
"Nope. Hey, is Andy married?"
"Oh ya, he is goin on twenty four years now with the same gal."
"Go figure."

I leave Mike near the carousel that has a pair of classic looking Harleys perched on top of it. A two for one deal for five quarters a play. I can already hear Lou shouting at the dice table on his initial toss of the dice. Andy is nowhere in sight for the moment, but I keep an eye out. The guy can hold his liquor.

"Six is the point." The croupier calls as he dances the dice on his croupier stick, eventually pushing them toward Lou. There is a flurry of bets as he gathers them up, then all bets are held as the dice roll out.
"SIX."
A cheer goes up, a cocktail sweetie brings drinks to Lou, who has order me another whiskey. He whispers something in her ear and she giggles appropriately, the picks up the fifty he dropped on her tray for a tip. The dice are back in front of him.
He picks them up and rolls them in his hand for a moment, then shoots them down the table.
"Ten, hard way."
More cheers, payouts roll out in a flurry of moves from the dealers, the box man watching with an eagle eye, the pit boss watching the box man, the pit manager watching him, and the eye in the sky rolling tape for posterity.
The layout is full of chips for his next toss. I lay down a few bets myself and back up my pass line as well. I even throw a grand on his six. I make a couple of other bets, big money just for show... not that anybody gives a fuck.
"SIX."
Another cheer, and I am part of it. I lay big money down on Snake Eyes, a Our cocktail girl is back with two doubles of Johnny Walker Blue. More bets are made, a few for the dealers as well. The roll...
"TWO, Snake Eyes" The croupier shouts over the crowd. Its a fucking melee of hands and chips, paying out and raking in. The chip rails are filling, drinks are coming at Lou from every direction. I try to help.
I have pulled up some of my winnings, and have adjusted some of my bets on the layout. These dealers are so quick, so precise. Chips and a requests come from all through the crowd, right and left, and they still get them right. The dice are pulled up in front of Lou and he goes again.

I don't think I have met anyone who has had thirteen straight passes at a dice table... ever. But tonight the gods are with him. Lou has made everyone who has had the guts a rich man at that table. The smart ones have pulled back some of their winnings, and work the layout to their advantage. Others try to ride his luck for all its worth, pushing most of their bets... hoping for the long ride they are getting.

Two things happen to make me pick up and leave. First, a man walks up and lays a bet against him... totally ruins the mood, and the luck. That starts an arguement with not only Lou, but more than half the players at the table. I pick up my chips immediately, stuffing them where they will fit. There is a shitload. I don't color up because I don't want to draw attention to myself with Lou. But he is quite pre-occupied with this guy. He manages to get beside him and whisper something in his ear. The guy looks at him incrediously, then with a shakey hand moves his bet to a more appropriate spot on the layout.
I'm sure Lou threatened to carve his nuts like you would make a rose from a radish.
During the arguement they manage to call out a dice change. The new dice are measured and delivered to the table. By the time they are in front of him, he is still whispering in the guy's ear so he doesn't even know. Not that the dice were loaded or anything, but it is a shameless attempt to shut the luck down at the table. I wouldn't be suprised if that guy was a shill.

While he is still arguing I find Mike sitting at the carousel. There are three more of the tall glasses that once held the two rum killer he had been drinking at dinner. We have all had enough booze to light WC Fields nose two shades of crimson.
"Where's Andy? Have you seen him?" I ask looking for and finding a bucket for my chips.
"He's over there." He points to a high limit black jack table. I can see a fairly large stack of chips in front of him.
"Looks like he's winning."
"At least someone is."
"Yeah, what the fuck. I haven't heard any bells going off over here. Not even a coin falling."
"They don't have coins in these things. Oh, don't get me wrong. If you really want to you can do it the old way. But they prefer you put your cash in this little slit here and then it gives you credit. Never even see any money. Just these points here."
He taps the glass where it shows he has just over five thousand "points".
"Those are quarters, Mike. You have over twelve hundred bucks in there."

Just then fists fly at the craps game I just left. I can see Lou being held back by five or so of his biggest fans, and the box man off his seat, straightening his jacket.
"Uh oh."
Then we hear the call for security to some pit number or other.
"Oh Christ."
I watch as security closes in on the dice pit.
I feel for the wad of cash in my pocket and pour thru it. Nothing but hundreds.
"Mike, lend me a couple of bucks."
He pulls two bucks out of his pocket and hands it to me. "Sorry, that is all I have left."
I take the bills and let the machine suck them up. There isn't even a handle to pull. I look at the buttons on the front, "Hey, how do you make this thing work?"
Mike reaches over and gives the center button a quick slap and then is back on his.
First time the reels go around, they stop... one at a time, on a small likeness of the motorcycles on top of the carousel. Nothing happens, but my light blinks red.
"Change me seats... quick."
"What?" Mike doesn't even see it.
"Just change me seats." I get up and pull him over. "I'll trade you."
"But I have twelve hundred dollars on that there machine. You just said so."
Just then a key-man steps up and starts congratulating him. He looks at the reals as the guy explains, then follows his finger up to the bikes. Mike's mouth drops.

Over at the dice pit security has helped Lou gather his things and now they are escorting him to the cashier's cage. I am sure the move after that is to show him the sidewalk. Andy must have been monitoring the situation because he has his chips in a tray and is not far behind them.

"I... I can't believe this. We won those motorbikes, Jake... we won those bikes." He stands with his hands on his hips as they snap a picture of him.
"Sir, we have to wait for the Gaming Commission to come and verify the chip in the machine, then check the camera footage. After we are finished we can make arrangements to have the bikes delivered to you."
"No foolin'?"
"Yes sir."

The process moves along quite nicely. I go out and check on Lou, who was unceremoniously ejected after his picture was snapped in the security office. He and Andy are all the way down on the sidewalk in front of the casino.
"Mother FUCKERS." Lou shouts at the reflective glass of the towering casino. "They change the fucking dice on me... and put that prick in there." He looks both ways down the street, "As soon as we find a pawn shop, I'll cut those motherfuckers."
"Easy, wildman, nobody is going to cut anyone."
"Yeah, Lou, we have a little more drinking to do... and maybe look at some tits."
This comes out of Andy's mouth.
Lou just looks at him. "You scare the shit out of me."

Inside, I arrive to see Mike just a little flustered.
"They say I didn't win the bikes, Jake."
"What?" I see the apprehension on the slot manager's face, who is flanked by the key-man that had congratulated Mike so many times in search of a tip that I thought they might have to get married.
"Sir, you were sitting at this machine and you placed the bet. The tape doesn't lie."
"Well, if the tape doesn't lie then why didn't it show me putting his money in this machine and him pushing the button?"
The manager looks at the key-man, who looks back. "We only went back to when the machine hits. Are you saying that you didn't activate the reels?"
"Yep."
They dismiss themselves to go look at the tape once more.
Mike still looks like someone shot and field dressed the Easter Bunny right in front of his eyes.
"Hey, relax Mike, you won the bikes."
"Ya think so?"
"Oh ya."

Sure enough, they come down five minutes later and have Mike fill out a couple of forms. I don't think you could have wiped that smile off his face with a road grater.

Outside, Mike shows Andy the picture of him and the two bikes above him on the carousel.
"You won both of those bikes?"
"Oh ya."
"No shit... we are some lucky motherfuckers."
Mike just looks at Andy for a second. "I think you're drunk, Andy."
"The FUCK you say."
Lou looks at the picture, "Nice ride, man. Good on ya."
"Thanks. But I can't keep 'em both. Wouldn't be right. It might have been my money and all, and I even pushed the button. But if Jake hadn't have sat down at that machine I wouldn't have ever put a dime in there. Not that you could."
I look at the guy and he puts his hand out for shake. I grab it a pump it a few times.
"No kiddin', you're giving me one of those beautiful bikes, man?"
"Oh sure. But I want the green one, if that's okay."
"Are you kidding?"
"Nope."
"Done. We have to come back tomorrow to pick them up."

A Friendly Face

Part of the Las Vegas Strip

A dozen RVs motor by, not even slowing enough to give the impression they are going to pick us up. But this highway isn't exactly made for stopping. Most of it is built above the desert, a long ribbon of burm to even out the ruts and arroyos and to keep it safe from flash floods. All topped off with six inches of asphalt that could bake a ham in the heat of day.

It might just be timing. It seems as though every time we passed by an actual pull off there was no traffic what so ever. Traffic is thick when we are on the two feet of earth to the side of the road before it drops off to the desert floor with no pull-off in sight.
We take the small rise ahead of us and something becomes clear. There, laid out before us, is the town of Ajo.

"That didn't take long." Lou picks up his pace a little.
"Maybe that is why no one offered us a ride... because we were so close."
"Fuckers."

Now the highway opens up, plenty of room to pull several motorhomes off the road, but we are so close to town that it looks like we are just out for a walk. To our left is an open pit copper mine according to the signs. To the right is some type of rail head and more mine.
We walk another ten minutes and are at what looks like the center of town... or what used to be the center of town. There is an old church at one end of a long oval drive loop, an old train station at the other end, and then what looks like a strip mall on either side. There is a market, and what we really had hoped to see... a restaurant, an open restaurant.
"I could eat, how about you?" I point out the coffee shop.
"I could eat the roast beef curtains off of your grandmother."
I begin to wonder if that wrestler knocked something loose.

There are a few people in here. Must be more around the corner near the back. There is a waitress running plates and coffee back and forth. Pretty soon a man in an apron comes out with a couple of ingredients on a plate... not cooked, but part of a recipe. The waitress sees us and brings a couple of menus our way.
"Coffee?"
We both nod and she hurries back to the kitchen.
I look down at my hands. "I'm going to wash up."
"Me too."
We walk toward the back and see the sign for the restroom. We pass the man in the apron, who is talking to someone in the booth.
I splash some of the water on my face and don't stop until my arms and neck are washed off as well.
"I think I have half of the desert on me."
Lou is in one of the stalls.
"I think I have the other half in my pants." He actually has a small pile of sand and dirt that he is dumping out of his clothing.
"I definitely need a shower."
We come out of the restroom and hear a familiar voice.
"What kind of glands you got there, fella? I have never heard of that before."
"It's called chorizo... it is a Mexican sausage. There are all kinds of things in here that you probably would be better off not knowing about."
Mike picks up a pinch of fresh sage. "That is some sweet smelling sage. Fresh, is it?"
"Picked it myself."
Andy tisks and scrapes up a forkful of hashbrowns, then talks through it as he chews.
"Is it possible to eat a meal without you getting every last ingredient?"He flicks the last piece of sausage away from his eggs and what is left of his hashbrowns.
"I'll never eat sausage again thanks to you. And I really enjoyed it... that's the thing."

"HEY."
Andy looks up at me and nods, like he knew we were here or would be coming.
"I told you that was them."
Mike looks up and smiles widely, "Hey, gents, good to see ya."
He turns to Andy, "You was right, Andy, that was them."
"What are you guys doing here?" Lou asks them.
"After we dropped you guys off we headed back to camp. But we'd been fishin' for a while now and we gotta get goin' back to work in another week. So Andy decided we might head up to Vegas for a bit. They got some pretty fine restaurants up there I wouldn't mind trying."
"No shit... Vegas?"
Andy nods, knowing what is coming next. "You boys need a lift I suppose."
"Yep."
“Now won’t that be fun.” Mike says, never letting the smile leave his face.
He scoots over in the booth to make room, so we join them. Lou pulls up a chair on the other side of the table next to Andy.
"That was you boys on the motorbike?"
"Hell, if you knew it was us, why didn't you stop?"
Andy gives Lou a look, "We didn't know for sure. I just thought it looked like the two of you.”
He sips his coffee, “If you want to be recognized you shouldn't be going twice the speed limit. I saw you for a split second as you went by.”
Another sip, “Told Mike here that we would see those two dead if they kept it up. That was before we knew it was you."
"Sorry to disappoint you." Lou takes the cup of coffee that our waitress had transferred from our table.
"Hey, I'm glad you're okay, but don't get pissy because we didn't help you. You were off the road before we realized, and even if we knew for sure it was you we couldn't have stopped in time." He scoops another forkful in his mouth, making sure not to allow the chorizo to touch his precious breakfast.

We have steak and eggs. The steak is a little strip steak that was soaked in a marinade of some kind. Not what I thought we were going to get, but it was mighty tasty. Even though we sat down when the boys were half way through their breakfast, we finish with them... to the forkful.
Lou lets out a long belch and embarrasses the three of us.
"Nice," I tell him.
"Hey, that was a compliment."
We hear the chef say thank you from the back of the kitchen. He wasn't talking to us, but it was timely and pretty damn funny.
We buy them breakfast and we all walk outside. Blue sky as far as the eye can see, seventy something and it is just after eight o'clock. We follow the boys around the back of the mall to where the motorhome is parked with several others.
Andy reaches into his pocket and pushes a button on his keys that has the door opening and the steps extending as we walk up. We all file inside and Andy plops down in the driver’s seat.
“You boys aren’t going to sit on this furniture until you clean up a bit.” I look at Lou, who is already on his way to the mid-cabin bathroom. It has a full shower. “You don’t mind?”
“Do I have a choice?” Andy starts the rig and flips a few switches.

We head out of town, the road fairly straight… speed slow and steady. Lou is out of the shower and in borrowed clothing. The shirt he is wearing reads “Air Force Test Pilot… Grab my stick.”
I hop in and spend the next five minutes in the refreshing and warm shower. I think I would have paid a thousand dollars to get clean right now. I end up in Viking fan wear. We spend the next several miles thanking our hosts.

“Oh, hey, you fellas are always welcome.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Andy says to the windshield.
“Come on, Andy…” Mike leans over to the both of us, “the real reason we headed north is because, well we had to go this way to head home eventually, but Andy there was worried about you two… you’re safety and all.”
“Theo…” Andy calls from the pilot’s seat.

The ride to Vegas is an all day affair. We head northwest as best we can, catching Hwy 10 and eventually end up on Hwy 93. Andy refuses relief at the wheel… pulling off to the side of the road to walk back to the restroom, then getting right back at it. All he wants is coffee and a sandwich when he calls for it. Apparently he doesn’t let Mike drive the land yacht. That is their arrangement on these trips… he drives and Mike does all the cooking.
By the time we see the vast spread of Las Vegas, we have been on the road for about nine hours. We have played cards, watched several movies, eaten some pretty good sandwiches from Mike’s kitchen, and drank most of the beer they have in the fridge.


Vegas is under a bit of a haze today. It’s in the high nineties today with no breeze to sweep the smog away. We decide to try the Bellagio for a suite after remembering it from the Ocean's Eleven movie. Lou and I are more than happy to pay for a room for a couple of nights in appreciation. Andy protests, doubting the luxury suite would offer anything better than he has right here in the motorhome. But Mike convinces him to try it out… to get the full Vegas experience.
“You fellas been here before, have you?”
“Yeah, about twenty years ago,” I tell him. Mike looks out the window at the strip as we drive down it.
“Has it changed much?”
“All of it.”

We drive the length of the strip, and only when we get toward the north end and see Caesars Palace and Circus Circus do I remember anything.
"What the fuck... they have really changed this place."
After turning around near the Stratosphere Tower, we head back down toward the Bellagio, across from the mock up of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino. Traffic moves at a snail's pace and we have plenty of time to watch pirate battles, scope out the casino store-fronts, and do a little people watching. Andy doesn't flinch as he manuevers the behemoth into the far lane to get into Bellagio's long entry drive. As he said when we got into town... we're big, they will get out of our way.
All in all it takes about half an hour to drive back down in this traffic from the top of the strip to the Bellagio. There must be a dozen streets the locals use to get around on, but those are meant for locals and not these rubbernecking tourists.

We pull up the drive to the hotel/casino and the fountains are going off to the enjoyment of the thousand or so people that are lining the rail that runs the length of the drive and down Las Vegas Boulevard.
"Hey there, Andy... look at this would ya." Mike watches as the fountains, computer controlled to background music, as they do their thing.
"It's water, Theo. We'll have it in our room. I'll see it then."
"Don't be that way, Andy. This is beautiful."

We turn away from the fountains and pull into the large drive for hotel check-in. One of the valets sees us and waves us into another lane.
Andy hits the button and the window slips down.

"Sir, would you mind following the signs around the hotel and park your rig with the tour buses?"
Andy straightens up in his seat. "Will it be safe there?"
"Yes sir, our security office will be right in front of your rig. There will be a hotel entrance there and an elevator that will take you to the lobby."

Andy throws him a thumbs up and we slowly move out of the entry and down the drive that takes us around toward the back of the property.
"Nice fella." Mike reports.


We finally get out of the rig. Even in the lap of luxury a nine hour drive sucks. Kind of a rolling cabin fever. We aren't dressed for the part, but we have a shit load of money and are in the mood to spend some. A suite, a two inch thick steak, some choice booze and a little gambling. That is what we're here for.

On the Road Again

Sunrise in the Arizona desert is a beautiful thing. The Seguaro cactus stand in random formations among the scrub, pointing this way and that. It takes eighty years to grow one of those arms, I am told. That is why they are protected. Lou must not have known that, mowing down several of the sentinals as we make our way back to the highway.

"Man, I think that one just splashed me." Lou tells me, feeling for the windshield wiper switch with his left hand. He finds it and the sunrise blurs on the windshield. "Awe... fucking wiper bullshit." He fiddles with the switch and now a weak stream of washer fluid pumps onto the window with every pass of the wiper. Eventually we have a semi-clean window again.
"We don't have much gas." He taps the gauge... it is below "E".
"Those guys wouldn't be tooling around in the desert without a tank full of gas, Lou. It's probably broken."
I take a draw off the Camelback hose, the both of them now laying between us on the seat. Lou's was damaged when Haystack Calhoun tossed him in the early hour. Mine is the only water we have left.

A black ribbon of asphalt cuts across the slash of a road cut through the desert and we turn left onto it. It seems as smooth as silk after bouncing over every scrub and rock. The old Fairlane chokes and sputters as Lou throws the coals to it.
"Jesus, what did they use for fuel in this thing."
"I don't know, but just in case why don't you try to conserve what we have on the outside chance that the fuel guage is fucked up."
He lets off the gas a little and then settles in to a sixty five mile an hour cruising speed. Ahead of us is a line of recreational vehicles. We come up on them fast and now slow to forty five. With the single lanes in each direction, the rolling hills of this part of the desert... we have our own blood alley.
Marvin Gaye comes on the radio... "What's goin' on"... what a trip. It is about seventy degrees out here and it can't even be five in the morning.

"Where in the hell can these people be going?" Lou weaves out around a fifth wheel to look into oncoming traffic... only to jerk the wheel back as an eighteen wheeler blows by.
"Home I suspect." He starts to weave back out again. "Can you please not do that?"
"What?"
"Almost get us killed."
"Me... you have almost killed us more times that me."
"Well, let's just consider ourselves lucky and call it even, okay? So stop and just stay behind this trailer."
"It's like following a fucking drive-in theater."
The car chokes... lurching as we lose a little ground to the drive-in.
"Motherfucker."
"Gas?"
"I guess."

With the drive-in blocking everything ahead of us, the highway sign blows by so fast that Lou can't see what it says.
"What did that say?"
"Why."
"Why? Because we are almost out of gas and in the middle of the fucking desert... that's why."
"No, it said Why."
"Why would the sign say why?"
"I suppose because that is Why." I point to the Chevron gas station and the small cluster of buildings.
Lou pulls hard to the right and tries to make the corner between Hwy 85 and Hwy 86, but we miss the road entirely and careen off into the desert in a cloud of dust and sand. We end up in a small wash, two wheels up in the air on the passenger side.
"Nice. I take it stunt driver isn't on your resume."
"Shutting up would be a good thing right about now."

He climbs out of his side and onto the dry arroyo. The glove box had popped open in the commotion. There is an old .38 pistol... a police special, I suspect, and some paperwork. I pull the items onto the seat.
"Hey, Lou... come look at this."
He is bent down looking at the side of the car where it scraped some of the paint off like he borrowed it from his old man or something. Why would he give a fuck.
"Here's a pistol." I hold the gun up with one finger through the trigger guard. I let it dangle there, like it isn't worthy. At least not after the firepower we have had in our hands over the last several weeks.
Lou takes it and drops the cylinder, gives a spin and slaps it back in place. "Loaded... that's a good thing." He tucks it away in the small of his back.
One of the pieces of paper catches my eye, "Hey... a pink slip."
"That's not pink."
"What the fuck, man, it is a title... a pink slip. Where the hell are from, anyway."
"Pennsylvania, asswipe."
"I've heard of Pennsylvania Dutch before, but not Pennsylvania Asswipe." I see him shake his head, "You shouldn't be embarrassed, though. Embrace your heritage."
Lou pulls the gun out of the back of his pants shakes it over his head, as though he as at an impass as to whether or not to end this now.
"Put that fucking thing away."
He tucks it back away in hiding and takes the pink slip in his hands.
"This is signed."
"How about that."
"Should we?"
"Hey, that guy tried to kill you. Why not?"

It isn't like we don't have money. It is just the principle of the thing. Two things you don't do, toss Lou in the middle of the desert, and leave a signed pink slip in the glove compartment of your car.

We walk across the street to a Chevorn/restaurant/hotel/fruit stand/used car lot/video store and walk over to the the three vehicles with painted sale amounts in the window. They all looked like they should come with their own tow truck.
"These look like shit."
A man in a sport coat and short pants comes out of the office... like the sport coat is his badge of honor at owning this place. He is not Mexican. He is an old guy with a penchant for red hair dye and a nose to match. Looks like someone tacked a red cauliflower to his upper lip. The plaid sport coat is a good match to the cheap cigar he is smoking.

"Oh yes, this it the car for you. It looks like it was made for you, sir." He opens the door to the old Buick Electra. Lou stops him and pushes the door closed again.
"I just ran a car out of gas that beats this all to hell. You see it over there? In that wash?"
The man squints and then shields his eyes from non-existant glare for the effect. He doesn't sense a sale coming.
"Yes... nice. A classic."
"What is it worth to you?" Lou holds the pink out for his examination. He takes it in hand for a moment, reading he particulars, then hands it back.
"Too rich for my blood, boys. I am just trying to get rid of the ones I have on hand."
Lou claps him on the shoulder, "Look here... "
"Raymond."
"Look here, Raymond, I am not trying to get something for nothing. I need to get to Phoenix and I don't trust that old thing. Gas gauge doesn't even work. I just want to trade her for something that will get me up north, Comprende?"
"All the way to Phoenix, huh?"

I pull Lou to the side. "Hey, man, why are we dicking around with this shit. We can go and buy a hundred brand new vehicles with the cash we have on us." I do a quick pat down as I speak to make sure the wad of cash is still with me. With all that happened last night on our little excursion I might have left it in the desert. It is there, right where I had put it.
"Hey, I want those pricks to see their car on this guys lot when they make it this far. It is just another "fuck you" that we can toss their way."

Ahhh... revenge. Hey, it wasn't me that got his ass kicked by that wrestler. I guess I can't blame him.

Cauliflower Joe leads us back around the building as he sends one of his boys over with a gas can to retrieve the Fairlane.
"I can let you boys have this beauty right here. Newest vehicle on the lot. This will make it to friggen Canada if your ass lasts that long."

It is an older... probably mid eighties Honda Goldwing. Seat is a little sunbeaten... cracked in a few spots. But aside from that it looks pretty decent. Color sucks... a plumb color. Probably used in the Phoenix Gay Pride Parade.
But it apparently hit us both at the same time, the fact that this might just be fun.
"We'll take it."
"Well, there is the matter of tax and license... "
Lou snatches the Fairlane title out of Cauliflowers thick fingers. "Look, Mac, this Fairlane is worth ten times what this bike is. You'll have it sold and a nice tidey profit in your wallet before any of this other shit you have out here. So either you trade us for that bike, out the door, or the deal is off."

One of the lot helpers had to jump start the bike to get it started. Told us that it hadn't been driven enough but started to often. So we fall for it and get ready to go.
Lou gets on and gives the throttle a rap or two. "Get on, Sally."
"What makes you think you are driving?"
"Because I am here and you are there, now get the fuck on."
"Hey, we do this fair and square and I will get on the back. Rock Paper Scissors?"
"Get on."
"Come on, man, Rock Paper Scissors, loser climbs on the back."
He rolls his eyes and holds out a fist.
"First you get off the bike."
"Jesus Christ you are such a pussy." He climbs off the bike, leaving it idling.
We do the motions, one... two... three. I have rock, he has scissors. Before he can protest I am on the bike and kicking it into gear.
"Get on, Nancy. You're riding bitch. And keep your fucking hands off me."
"Can you ride this thing if I accidently snap your neck?"

We pull onto the highway, having spent a little more than an hour in Why... I don't know, he's on third, and I don't give a damn.

For an old bike, it still has somethings to prove. Smooth shifting, shaft drive, radio doesn't work, but the gas gauge does. After I feel comfortable with the performance and handling, I start passing recreational vehicles. There are so many of them that I can't tell where one ends and the next begins as we scream down the opposite lane of the highway, ducking in just in time to miss out being some semi's hood ornament.
"YEEEAAAH." Lou screams in my ear. "Come on, take that next group."
He reaches around my head, pointing at the next string of RVs and fifth wheel trailers. I motor out around and catch two of them before the oncoming traffic forces me back in behind an old converted school bus.
I sneak a peek after the last of the traffic passes and then pull out and romp on the throttle. We go by the rigs so fast they look like a jumbled freight train on the highway, nose to tail. I look down as we go to take the front of the line and we are doing well over a hundred.
As I pull in ahead of the lead RV and put him well behind us I can tell something is wrong. I am losing control. It is subtle at first, but then as I slow to investigate it gets worse. Then the rear tire blows altogether and the ass end goes crazy beneath us as I kick it down in gear, trying desparately to slow us. Lou crowds me, pushing me up toward the gas tank as he moves his weight forward. But that is exactly what needs to be down to keep control.
I slow it down and see a spot on the side of the road to pull off. Someone is looking out for us.

"Geez." I put the kick stand down and climb off the bike. I am shaking just a bit.
"Scared?"
"Could have shit myself if I hadn't thrown up all that food eating peyote."
"Me too."
We both squat down to look at the damage. The tire is nothing but torn sidewall and a few bits of tread.
"Geez... "

The line of motorhomes we had passed blows on by without any offer of help or anything. It isn't like we are in the middle of town or anything.
"The last sign I saw said there is a town... Ajo, probably five miles ahead." Lou takes the one working Camelback out of the trunk on the bike and takes a swig, then offers me the hose.
"What do you mean probably?"
"Well, it said ten miles about five miles ago, I would imagine."

At least it isn't high noon. We have water, and the will. The bike was nice for the ten minutes we were on it. Under normal circumstances we would have headed back and had it fixed. But it didn't look like Why would have parts to begin with. And we have to keep going North. Some things will not wait.