Tag Archives: Vegas

Humor, Noir

Fleeting Vision (Spilotro P2)

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Pinpoints of light began to flow across his vision as he struggled to wrap up the summary of how he found himself here. The “here” being dangled outside a window of a predatory loan business in Las Vegas, Nevada. Not to be confused with Las Vegas New Mexico. He thought he should be specific in his summary since there were predatory loan places everywhere and not just Las Vegas Nevada.

He took the pinpoints of light as an indication that his vision would soon be lost to unconsciousness and he should wrap things up quickly before he passed out but the lights came into focus and he recognized the shiny faces of Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington flying out of his pockets. Oh well, it’s not like he had a couch to lose them in. He made a mental note to find a couch for his concrete man cave. He needed a place to store loose change.

The name predatory loan office was the ever imaginative Acme Loans. Not surprisingly they don’t advertise themselves as a predatory loan service and the more accurate Loan Shark term is a no-no,

It’s as if it the name sprang from the imagination of a crook who had grown up on Looney Tunes but then Frank reminded himself that he used to be a crook who had been raised on Looney Tunes and put a halt to the judging. He’d best get a move on with this story before consciousness left him.

The good news was that he had found Arnie Spilatro. The bad news was that he had found Arnie Spilatro. Along the way he discovered he had some detective skills. It also helped that Nick The Peep knew of the type of places where Spilatro could be found hanging out. Asking around at some of the bars and casinos that fit his profile, Frank was able to identify Acme Loans as belonging to one Arnie Spilatro.

One other thing he learned about his skills was that his ability to keep things on the down low needed work. Arnie was waiting for him with two friends. They were the two very large friends who were now emptying Franks loose change all over the streets of Vegas.

Nick was afraid that even though he was offering Arnie a job he would not believe the offer coming from someone claiming to be Nick over the phone. This is why he hired Frank to make the offer in person in an attempt to avoid the very situation Frank was in now. It had worked, for Nick. He was not in Frank’s predicament. It was time to plead his case before he lost consciousness and/or was dropped.

“Mr. Spilatro, there is no way I could cause you any harm. These two gueril-uh large gentleman are quite capable of preventing that. Especially since any weapons I could have but did not have on my person would be on the streets of Vegas below.”

The blur that was Arnie Spilatro appeared to shrug his shoulders and muttered “You have a point. Let him up.”

A few minutes later his vision returned and Frank was sitting on a beat-up old couch that had a look that said, “I fell off a truck at 70 miles an hour and I still look better than you.” Frank felt like he’d been thrown off a truck so the couch was getting no argument from him. Coming into focus was Guerrilla #2 offering him a cappuccino. A name totally made up without much imagination but he did look smaller than Guerrilla #1. Frank had a smart remark about the cappuccino and stereotypes but thought better of it.

“Mr Spilatro thanks for listening to me and for not killing me, mostly for the not killing me part. I just came to on behalf of Nick The Peep to offer you employment. I do not know the nature of the job but I have a number to call and he will tell you all about it. Frank pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed him a card. Thankfully, his fat George Castanza-like wallet had not succumbed to the gravity inversion he had been subjected to.

Spilatro told him he was making a call and that he should make himself at home. The kind of home where guests are routinely hung outside the window, thought Frank.

Ten minutes and a cappuccino refill later, Spilatro returned looking happy or a happy as a Vegas mobster could look without having just beat a murder rap.

“Well it looks like your boss and I have come to an agreement so you are free to go.” Frank had a few questions but decided that “thank you” was the safe response and headed back to the airport.

Nick had been happy with the job that Frank had done and wired him his money before he left for airport. Deciding he had earned himself a treat he upgraded his seat to avoid the middle aisle and included a drink voucher.

Upon draining his Scotch he reclined his seat, closed his eyes and put the upside down vision of the Vegas Streets to rest.

Humor, Noir

Spilotro, The Mafia Boss?

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Frank Bronski found himself looking at Las Vegas from a unique perspective.

Despite the blood rushing to his head he was able to read the sign of a predatory loan business all while trying to keep his hat on and imploring the gorillas holding his ankles not to drop him. His storied past had provided plenty of opportunity for him to practice his upside down reading skills. Before he passed out, he thought it might be a good time to summarize how he got here.

No sooner than he accepted the missing person case from Nick the peep, he had had found himself on a late night flight to Vegas.

He had a middle seat assignment but it was a red eye so he had no worries about being able to change seats. He began to worry as the line of people boarding became a meandering stream. It was moving slowly and he thought the end can’t be too far behind. He was wrong. He felt like he was in need of a bathroom and waiting at a train crossing for the caboose on the 5:15 to Chicago. The tension was mounting. He really hated middle seats. He wasn’t claustrophobic but he always felt he could become one in this situation.

A half hour later he was wedged between a very large couple. He thought surely a couple would want to sit next to each other. He observed them exchanging glances that seemed to be less than cordial and perhaps even homicidal and he decided he could handle the center seat just fine.

Before nodding off, he pondered his current situation. It was pretty damn good he thought. Well, maybe just good. Nick the peep, who he thought wanted him dead, was actually going to pay him to find one Arnie Spilotro. Upon hearing the name, Frank freaked out. “Spilotro?” Is he related to the late Tony Spilotro, the mob guy who used to run Vegas before he became the late Tony Spilotro?

“No of course not. At least, not directly, I think.”

“Not directly, you think?”

“I’ve heard he may be a second cousin or something.”

“Or something? I am not feeling too solid about your second cousin assessment.”

“Don’t worry. He didn’t inherit anything from his cousin, or whatever he may be.”

“What do you mean by “anything”?

“I mean business enterprises and such.”

“ I was more worried about temperament. Does he have the Spilatro temper.”

“Well, that seems to be a prejudicial question.”

“ I wasn’t attacking his national origin. I was just pointing out that his “cousin” had been known to have a bad temper.”

“Well, given his situation visa vi the life that he led, some negative emotions were bound to surface.”

Frank couldn’t help but think that Nick sounded like an attorney defending his client in a court of law. It was a decent argument but not enough to create reasonable doubt. The money Nick was paying him got him past that though and he accepted the job. Saving some cash was becoming a higher priority for him. He didn’t plan to keep on living in his concrete man cave forever. The fumes from whatever chemicals that were or may still be stored somewhere in there can’t be healthy but the lack of rent helped him to ignore the fumes for now. Saving some cash would be good. The thought comforted him as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a jolt as the plane touched down in Vegas. Clearing the cobwebs from his mind he looked down to discover the his shirt damp from drool. He knew no-one on the plane so he was not embarrassed in the least and maybe it served to keep his two angry bookends from disturbing him. He waited for both to leave together before departing his seat and kept his distance as he exited the plane. Any injuries could hamper his investigation and prevent any potential getaways. He was still worried about the Spilatro name.

Miss the Previous Installment?

Humor, Noir

Meet Nick The Peep

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Frank went to bed that night but never fell into a deep sleep. It wasn’t the chemical fumes of his bunker that kept him up. He was pretty sure that should have the opposite effect.

The constant worry of his past catching up with him was wearing him down to the point that he had to do something about it. He was going to have to return to Ricks place and have a parlay. He had pulled the one name from his memory that would have a high probability of wanting to see him…. You can end that with a variety of endings, “see him hang”, “see him fitted for concrete shoes”, “see him sleep with the fishes”. At first glance the last two seem the same but there is one big difference. With the shoes there is no swimming and the swimming is really a misnomer as to what dead bodies are capable of unencumbered by the weight of construction materials.

The guy he thought of was Nick The Peep. No-one knew his last name but he was pretty sure it wasn’t “The Peep”. There didn’t appear to anyone who knew how he got that moniker. If there were they may not be in a condition that would allow them to speak. There were rumors of course but all of them involved a certain level of sleaziness. Since the author is addicted to breathing without a straw, he will decline to discuss any of the rumors.

The last time Frank went to Ricks Place, lackeys of Nick the Peep paid him a visit not too long after. The bartender must have a connection. Frank figured that’s where he would go again to set up a meeting. Hopefully the outcome would leave him still being of this earth. He rolled around that last bit a little more. Maybe he should bring some artillery, a small bean shooter. He rolled it around some more and decided that a hardboiled detective would carry a cannon and he did not possess a .45, a .38 or come to think of it anything that delivered lead. There was also a high probability that anything deterred by a gun he carried would be his own life.

Frank turned off the lights of his Saab as he coasted into the lot behind Rick’s Place. He didn’t like being seen driving a Saab. It was a beater and not the kind of car a detective of any variety should be driving but until he could afford something more appropriate it would have to do. The coasting aspect of his driving had more to do with gas conservation than stealth. The Saab and his wallet were both running on fumes.

A Muddy Waters tune was playing on the jukebox when he walked into Nicks. Frank would discover later that Muddy Waters tunes were the only ones on the jukebox. This was fine. Muddy was ok with him.

As soon as the bartender spotted him, he made a phone call. The phone on the wall may be the only coin operated phone in the state thought Frank.

Frank sat at the bar and ordered the only drink he could afford, a bad beer. In a city that served as the home to the American Homebrewers Association, finding such a beer must have taken some work.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before Nick The Peep showed up and saved Frank from having more than a few sips of the swill.

Nick was small in stature, or so everyone had been trained to identify him as such. It had been a while since Frank got a really good look at Nick face. Most of the time his eyes were temporarily blinded by fists. From what he could recall, he was just as ugly as ever. A face made for radio and crafted throughout the years by countless street fights as he worked his way up through the organization.

Nick didn’t not look happy but then again Frank never saw Nick with anything resembling a happy look on his face. He thought Nick could improve his looks by just smiling once in a while.

“How ya doin Frank?”

“I’m above ground so I got that going for me.”

“Yes, about that. Would you like that condition to continue?”

“Is this a trick question? I would be a big fan of that.”

“Well, all you have to do is a little favor for me”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well I hear you are a detective these days. I got word somebody I am looking for is in Vegas and I need them located.”

“Grateful to live at least a few more days Frank replied. “I’m only too glad to help.

Previous Installment “https://thesoundoflaughter.com/huff-puff-pant/

Noir, Humor

Vegas: Something Familiar

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Him:
He left the motel feeling a little lighter if only for the fact that his luggage was being held at the front desk. He checked out a bit early for a 5 pm flight but he was going to call the airlines to see if he could bump up his flight time.

Last nights dream showed him some mercy but he wasn’t going to risk it.

Walking down Fremont he let the sights and sounds soak into him. The falling of chips, the spinning of one-armed bandits, the barely occasional ring of the payoff. It became an orchestra and was on it’s way to being a soundtrack. Yet, something else had become familiar to him and he couldn’t quite place it.

He now found himself standing before the entrance of The Beat, his favorite record store/coffee shop. To be honest, the only record store/coffee shop he had ever known. It was here that he had an epiphany as to why familiarity had crept into his walk along Fremont.

He entered and parked his butt at his favorite table and along with his order he submitted a question to the waitress.
“Tell me, what was here before the coffee shop?

“Good question, I’ll ask Maggie the owner and get you some coffee.

“Ok, Thank you,” he replied.

Her:

She rose with the sun, some habits are hard to break and decided to walk the distance to breakfast. She had worked up quite an appetite by the time she had arrived at The Beat. Walking in the front door something grabbed her attention.

A familiar voice talking to the waitress perhaps?  She sat down at her preferred table and tuned in the direction of that voice.

“Oh my,” she thought.

The waitress had brought him his coffee and an answer.
‘Maggie says before The Beat it was a pawn shop.”

“You don’t say. That’s interesting,” he said and thanked her for the coffee.

He took a sip of his java and was about to read one of the free Vegas rags laying around when an attractive woman stepped up to his table and in a melodious voice said, “I’m sorry to interrupt but I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

He looked up into a pair of the prettiest eyes he had seen in, well, forever, and thought that perhaps he was being a little too hasty in his decision to leave Vegas.

Noir, Humor

Vegas: Beat the Day.

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Him:
The gambler left the tables when he hit break-even point.
Sounds simple enough but that had taken most of the day.
He was in a fairly deep hole. When he finally could stand on level -ground he and the day were both exhausted. He had beaten the day. Or, he wondered. Had the day beat him?

He avoided all delays to dream time that night, hitting the mattress after only removing his shoes. He didn’t take off his pants. He didn’t take off his flowered shirt. He didn’t even check under the bed to see the briefcase he knew nothing about.

He had no trouble falling asleep. It wasn’t long before he was visiting his less-than-favorite pawn shop.

He found himself sitting in his usual chair tucked in safely by a copious amount of duct tape. This time something was missing, Gone was the feeling of impending doom but the gentle reminder of the duct tape was an indicator that he was not here by choice.

The curtains to his right soon parted and the pawn shop owner appeared. Gone was his five o’clock shadow. Oh gee, he thought. He shaved for the occasion.

“I am very happy,” said the proprietor. “Can you guess why?” he asked.

“You discovered disposable razors,” said the gambler while waiting for the beating that did not occur.

“Very funny, I won’t even beat you because you finally started to play ball,” replied the clean-shaven man.

“Is this about the company softball team because I already told you I have a trick knee .”

”Ha-ha funny man. No, of course not, it’s about you turning that briefcase into cold hard cash.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Was it cold? I tried to keep it warm,” replied the gambler.

He had no idea what clean-shaven man was babbling about but it was his dream so a little babbling was part of the package.

“Haha. Yes, it took you some time but you did well.”

“Oh, great, I’m happy you’re happy but why the duct tape,” he asked.

“Sorry, forgive me, old habits,” said the clean-shaven man as he cut him out of the chair.

The gambler awoke not much longer afterward. If there was anything more to the dream he could not recall. He only knew he felt great and decided to hit his favorite coffee shop/used record store for breakfast. Taking stock of himself he decided he should take a shower first.

Her:
Her day was like the previous work days. This time, however, she returned a “lost” item, relocating it to under the bed where she found it.

At the end of her day, she was beat.

She barely changed for bed that night before remembering the next day was Saturday. She set her alarm clock for her Saturday wake up time so she could have breakfast at her favorite place.”

Note: The words are coming fast and furious so you may have missed the previous installment. Catch it here.

Noir

Vegas: Waking from a Vision

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The rays of 2018 fell down upon the Vegas desert without much fanfare and with a few less souls around to witness the event. Fortunately for the purpose of this story, we don’t know those souls. The ones we are familiar with are still following their dreams.

Him:
After playing “what can I see in the clouds” with the water stained ceiling for twenty minutes,  he concluded this session of “lets put off my day”.  He also thought that losing himself in the cards would take his mind off of his troubles.

He thought about that for a moment.

What have I got to worry about? My troubles aren’t anchored to reality. They are attached to something fleeting and nebulous. They’re just dreams. They’re very vivid and painful dreams but they’re just dreams. Maybe “vision” is a more appropriate word.

With that one thought his malaise melted away and he let the hot shower wash any remnants down the drain.

Her:
The light crept into her window and announced its presence by alighting on Nadine’s forehead. She became vertical like a shot. She had no time to waste today.  A man’s life may be at stake. It was just a dream but this one, as well as the man,  stood out from any other in her life. She was worried it may be an actual vision, one that she needed to prevent from becoming reality.

She looked under the bed. Unfortunately, the briefcase was still there. She was hoping it had been swallowed up by her dream. No such luck but she knew what to do.
The hotel’s lost and found was destined to have a new briefcase.

“Nadine putting that in the lost and found will not salve you conscious,” counseled Gladys.

Nadine had not told Gladys about her vision. She didn’t need her boss questioning her sanity. She just told her that the story she shared scared her. She figured that much was true. Whether she had a dream or a vision, there was one thing she knew for sure. The story was certainly the cause of it and it scared the hell out of her.

“You know what you have to do.”

“Yes Gladys, I need to give it back to the owner. Can I just put it back where I found it?”

“Yes, I think that should do it.”

Noir, Humor

All Your Dreams, In One Tidy Briefcase.

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Her:

Nadine suddenly had the urge for a cigarette. This would be understandable if she had just quit smoking. But it had been 5 years since she quit cold turkey. She looked around at the strange surroundings. Oh great, my dreams now come with nicotine fits. She noticed the dingy smoke stained room she found herself in had a cheesy curtain for a door. The kind that separates the first class passengers from the riffraff in movie-set airplanes.

The sounds from the other side of the curtain were a far cry from those of pampered passengers using lemon soaked facial towels.

Venturing a peek behind the curtain revealed an attractive man duct-taped to a chair and being questioned by a stocky man, who Nadine had noticed hadn’t shaved in a while. She also noticed the sweat pouring from the unshaven man. Beating a confession out of someone tends to do that. Through the yelling, she managed to catch the words, “My steel briefcase.”

“My god, that poor man is going to die because of me,” she thought.

Him:

He recognized where he was immediately upon entering dreamland. The Eau de Pall-Mall was unmistakable. They didn’t even send a car to pick him up. He just showed up here like a good little victim. Why did he make it so easy for these guys?

He had a lot of material to cover with his therapist when he got back from Vegas.

“I’m asking you nicely,” stated the unshaven pawn shop owner.
What is it with these pawn shop guys and their five o’clock shadows, he thought.  Is it part of the union dress code?

Thwack! A smack upside his head broke him out of his musing.

“Where is my briefcase? More importantly, where is it’s contents?”

“What briefcase? Maybe you could describe it to me. They all look alike to me,” he replied with a slight grin.
Thwack!

Wow, I’ve never heard a thwack before, he thought before surrendering to the pain.

“Stop joking funnyman.”

“Ok, yes that was stupid but in all honesty, I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“This is your final warning,’ uttered sweaty man as he cut the duct-tape to let him go.

“I would kill you right now but I would be out my money and product and then I would be on a very painful hook. You have 24 hours to come up with my briefcase and the product or the briefcase and the profit from the product. While I like the briefcase, returning it by itself will get you killed. You capisce?

“Yes.”  Why in the hell do I even know what that means? Have I been consuming that much terrible pop culture? Wait, is that redundant? Thwack!

A smack upside the head interrupted his thoughts.

“You were inner dialoguing again weren’t you?”

“Uh, yea sorry”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be if I don’t get my money .”

“Or the product?”

“Yes, you’re starting to get it smart guy.”

And like that the dream had ended.
He awoke with a feeling that there was more to it but try as he might he could not fall asleep again.

Just for the heck of it, he looked under the bed.  Nothing.
No briefcase here, he thought.
The next dream could kill me.

Noir, Holidays

Vegas: Next Stop Dreamland

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The lights of the Vegas strip made for a lovely Christmas backdrop. He had been putting off dreamland since midnight and sunrise  was due to arrive on the strip in less than 5 hours.

He hadn’t been this afraid to sleep since he was a kid and that was for an entirely different reason.

He had been a bed wetter as a child. Back then, he was really more afraid of what he would find upon waking up. Now he wasn’t so much afraid of the destination as he was of the journey along the way.

His idea of dreamland did not consist of a visit to the neighborhood pawnshop. His eyes and head had been doing the two-step nod for the last twenty minutes and he could no longer put off the departure of the Sandman special. Falling asleep in the chair would cause real physical pain.

The pawn shop had only consisted of psychological pain up to this point.. He moved to the bed and surrendered to the inevitable.

Across town, another nighttime drama was beginning to unfold. Nadine had gotten home and rather than open up the briefcase, she stashed it under her bed. She had told herself she was too tired to deal with the consequences involved.

The real truth was that the story Gladys had spun had gotten to her.

Nadine decided that any decision made at this point would be better made in the light of day and with a clear head. The suitcase would still be there when she woke and Christmas morning was the traditional time for opening presents. She lay down and waited for the dreamland express with visions of money signs dancing in her head.

Noir

Vegas Dreams: The Briefcase.

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Gladys Johnson was a prisoner of her own accord. At the moment she was doing her time as cleaning service manager at the Painted Dunes Motor Lodge.

It had taken her 30 years to work her way into management but still, her take-home pay barely paid her bills let alone have any left over for her retirement fund. Fortunately and most convenient for her retirement fund, Gladys had a flexible code of morals.

Gladys was presently holding court in the corner of a dark dingy basement that was her office.

It was the end of shift for the day crew and her charges were filing in for the assessing of the shwag.

Gladys’s definition of shwag was anything valuable left behind by a guest that could be turned into cash. She had a few “no questions asked” arrangements with some of the local pawn shops. They didn’t ask any questions about the items she took in for cash and they received a small percentage of the take. Her nest egg was currently growing at a rate that would ensure she would not have to work into her 80’s. She may even retire before her 70th.

The day’s take was fairly modest and all but one of her employees had checked in. She wasn’t worried. The last to arrive was always Nadine but she more than made up for it in thoroughness in both the cleaning up and cleaning out departments. Gladys was not sure why Nadine’s swag was always the best.

Nadine had assured her that she never stole anything and that for some reason her rooms were always occupied by absent-minded guests. That was enough for Gladys.

At precisely 4:15 the sounds of a woman humming the tune to Chuck Berry’s Nadine strolled around the corner and into Gladys’s office.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence Nadine,” pronounced Gladys.

“Oh, hush, you know I’m your best worker. Besides I’ve got something special today.” With a flourish, Nadine pulled out a metal briefcase from under her cart and presented it to Gladys. Gladys took one look at it and like the sands of an hourglass the color drained out of her face and settled in her shoes.

“You take that back where you found it Nadine,”

“If you don’t want it then I’ll keep it,” replied Nadine.

In a tone so low that Nadine could barely hear her Gladys whispered, “I have only seen one case like that Nadine. Long ago, one of the other girls, Thelma, found it and decided to keep it to herself.  The next day she didn’t show up to work. People searched for her for over a year. One day some hikers came out of the desert saying that they had found some remains. Along with the remains was a necklace. I had never seen a necklace like that except on Thelma.”

“Nice campfire story Gladys but I’m going to have to call shenanigans on that one.”

“Suit yourself Nadine. Don’t expect me to come looking for you in the desert.”

“Ha, don’t you worry you won’t need to. These are the kind of briefcases that have a ton of money in them so you can come looking for me on a beach somewhere. I just need to crack the lock on this and I’ll show you.”

“You take that home and open it. I want nothin to do with it.”

“Fine with me. If I’m not here tomorrow, I’ll be on a beach somewhere,” replied Nadine.

“If that briefcase is what I think it is you’ll be under the sand not on it.”

Nadine laughed, shook her head and left with the briefcase.

Noir, Humor

Vegas Dreams In High Def

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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.