Tag Archives: Vegas

Vegas Dreams In High Def

Street noise permeated his skull and he slowly peeled back his eyelids to reveal a ceiling he recognized. The waters stains and the Pall-Mall potpourri of his cheap Vegas motel were unmistakable.

He cranked up the shower and his shorts hit the bathroom floor before the water had a chance to heat up. Noticing himself in the dingy mirror, he noticed a sea of pink free of black and blue.
He took stock and decided for a middle-aged pink punching bag he didn’t look half bad. He didn’t worry about which half was good.

The perfect, aged adjusted, condition of his body made no sense though after his evening in the pawn shop. He stepped into the shower to let the hot water work its magic on him.

It must have been a dream, he thought. The pawn shop mafia would not be coming for him.

The stress he felt melted away with the steam. What the hell is it with Vegas and dreams. Most dreams got crushed in this town. His seemed to be in high def.

He donned his gambling clothes and checked himself in the mirror before he made for the front door.

It may have been a stretch to call them “gambling” clothes.

His ensemble consisted of just jeans and a black short sleeve shirt but the Panama hat complete with palm trees added a certain Vegas Strip panache to the outfit.

He needed two hundred bucks to break even on this trip and his mindset was a key ingredient for a  successful night at the tables. He wasn’t about to leave anything to chance. Chance was for suckers.

“Lady Luck come my way,” he uttered as he did a little soft shoe and closed the door behind him.

It’s a shame he was feeling too good to notice the steel briefcase under the bed.

Beatdown In Vegas

This is part of a story started here->

After further inspection, he decided the back of his eyelids had not changed since the last time he visited them.

He came to in what he assumed was the back room of his last known location, a Vegas pawn shop. If not, it should be. The essence of nicotine was strong here. So was the pain.

“I told you your lifespan had a limit and there is no aftermarket warranty,” said Ivan.

He didn’t know his name, “Ivan” just fit.

He also had no idea what this man was saying. Oh, he understood the man’s English, it had no problem cutting through the fog that currently enveloped his mind.
He just didn’t know the reason for the beatdown.

“May I trouble you with a question oh kind sir?”

Immediate pain to the back of his head rudely suggested that sarcasm was not the proper tact to take with this individual.”

“I told you to knock it off with the noir crap.”

His original opinion on the man’s English changed. He wanted to give him a dictionary with the word “noir” hi-lighted but two other thoughts convinced him it was not a good idea; 1) He was plumb out of dictionaries, 2) He was averse to continual pain.

“I apologize, I may have misunderstood your use of the word but how did I get here?”

“You walked in here you fool.”

“Yes, but why am I duct-taped to this chair?”

“Really? Is that your only question?”

“Is asking “Who is your decorator?” out of the question?”
Again, pain danced on the back of the head.

“Ok you want to keep the style to yourself I get it.”

“I told you that you had one week to pick up the package and two weeks to turn that into the two hundred big ones for me.”

His first reaction was to come back with a remark about keeping his private life private but decided the ensuing beatdown was not worth it.

“Who am I, David Copperfield?”

Head meet your new friend pain.

“I apologize, I should have gone with someone less dated. Chris Angel perhaps?
Cue the lights….

 

Vegas, Most Dreams Die Here.

Vegas, most dreams died here. His came alive.

Vegas, he anticipated his return. His last visit tantalized the possibilities. It wasn’t so much what had consciously happened, it was what he couldn’t control.

Gravity boots supported by the broken nose union.                             Blood rushing to his head, vivid dreams indeed.

He awoke to a nightstand holding a pawn ticket for something he never owned. He began to revisit the concept of vivid.

A few years passed. He still had the pawn ticket and he found himself back in Vegas. He checked out the address of the pawnshop. It was not far from the hotel. What harm could it do? Well, to be honest, a few broken bones and multiple contusions but that was an afterthought.

It was dark, it was seedy, it was a pawnshop. It met his expectations for what a pawnshop could and would ever be. From a writers perspective it was perfect.

The moment he entered the establishment he knew he made a grave mistake.

The man behind the counter was the proprietor he assumed because in his limited experiences pawnshop proprietors always looked like they could do with an ironing and extra starch.

He also did not look happy to see him.

“Do you have the ticket,” asked the man in a thick accent. He had seen enough bad television shows to recognize an eastern European accent when he heard one.

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.”

“Enough with your noir bullshit,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then there was pain and darkness.

More Tales from Vegas ( read ‘Tales from Vegas’ for the first installment)

#Vegas

After a few drinks with my friend we plan to meet for breakfast and we head back to our respective hotels. We  were doing this on the cheap, although his hotel was more respectable than mine the quality of his room made up for it . Mine had no inkling of respectability and it didn’t seem to apologize for it.

When I  had checked into my room earlier I noticed the clientele seemed to be a little more grittier than  the last time I was in Vegas. That was a different hotel and evidently had higher standards.

This hotel claimed it was owned by Bugsy back in the day. I though , well it had something going for it , back in the day.  How do I know it’s the same Bugsy that started this whole thing. How did they know it was the same Bugsy.

I walk to my hotel, enter the room and get ready for bed. I notice the marbled tile in the bathroom contained a pattern of brownish red swirls . Perfect for hiding blood stains across the ages. Convenient for covering up the past transgressions of a guy named  Bugsy, I thought.

I take one last glimpse of Vegas from my room before hitting the sack. Gazing out my window I noticed a check cashing business across the street.  It was not immediately recognizable as such. It took me a few moments to make out the business sign. It had been installed upside down.  I wonder what the story behind that is, I thought.

I go to bed excited for tomorrow. Dawn does not come until all of my thoughts have escaped my brain and have been reinterpreted into dreams.

I awake outside my window and interestingly enough I am able to read the check cashing sign with no difficulty.  I am clueless however as to what the signs on the surrounding businesses spell out. The need for me to grab my glasses before they fall off my face is a big clue as to my predicament.

Two men of New York persuasion wearing fedoras are holding on to my ankles as I dangle outside my hotel room. They are either performing an experiment with gravity or they need something from me. I am concluding the latter. They don’t seem to be the scientist type.

“Bugsy, we know yous got the dough. Your joint seems to be quite, um, what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Prosperous, “ I offer. Definitely not scientists.

“Yea , that’s it prosperous.”

“Dough, what dough? “I managed to croak out as the blood rushes to my head.

“Don’t kid us. The dough you borrowed from Mr Lansky.  He is starting to believe that perhaps your not paying your entire tribute towards your debt.”

Mr. Lansky? Tribute? what in the name of J Edgar Hoover were they talking about?

“Listen, um,  Gentlemen. I have no idea what you are talking about?  Are you sure you have the right guy?

“Is you Bugsy and do you own a casino?”

“Well yea but the whole Bugsy thing is fairly new. I thought it would be a swell nickname . You know something the dames would like.”

“Cute story but Mr Lansky wants his money.  You seem to share two important ,um , qualities, yea thats it, with the man who owes it to him.  Your name is Bugsy and you own a Casino. That’s good enough for us.”

“Yea , I can see where you’re going with this. How much does this Bugsy character owe?,” I ask with the hope it is not too much cash to scrounge up in a minutes notice.

“A cool twenty grand would get you on the right side of Mr. Lansky for a while.”

Twenty grand, what a coincidence, I thought. I had a cheque for just that amount  that was destined for the bank . It covered the receipts for the week.

“ I don’t suppose you would take a cheque for that amount would you?”

The fit of laughter the two mooks had just about caused them to drop me. I made a mental note not to bring it up again.

With the blood pooling in my head it was really tough to see let alone concentrate but I managed to remember the check cashing joint across the street. The one with the sign easy to read by persons in my particular predicament. Convenient, I thought.

I convince the mooks I have the dough but need to cash a cheque across the street. The location gives them a warm and fuzzy, however fuzzy a mook can get, that I won’t be able to get away with anything.

At the cheque cashing joint I give the dough to the mooks. One of them smacks me on the back , smiles, and apologizes for interrupting my sleep. They both exit to the street and  leave me at the counter to collect my wits and allow my blood to resume it’s normal route.

“I gather those gentlemen just collected on debt you owe?” asked the proprietor.

“Yes I say, I guess the color of my blood filled face gave me away.”

“Yea, that and I have seen a lot of that kind of thing running this place. “

“Yes, well I owe my life to your flawed sign hanging skills”

“Flawed? I did that on purpose. That sign can be read my many a man  in the same situation you found yourself in.  It has directed a lot of business my way. I am glad  I could help but I can’t say that I will miss it. “

“Miss it?”

“Yes I am retiring”.

I woke up in a cold sweat in fear of mooks from New York. It took me a few moments to calm down and realize it was just a dream.  Before meeting my friend for breakfast my curiosity caused a detour in my route and I stopped by the cheque cashing  business.

An old man at the counter greeted me and introduced himself as Lawrence, “but you can call me Larry.” I asked him about a guy name Bugsy that used to own the casino across the street.

“Well I have heard things,” he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.  “I heard that he almost met a tragic ending due to a nickname mix up. He gave up the business and the nickname .”

“You don’t say,” I replied. “What was the man’s real name?”

“I believe it was Lawrence,” he replied.

I smiled, “You don’t say.”