“So, your dad would never have married your mother in Las Vegas?”
“Not if you paid him.”
“Well, this should be interesting then.”
Almost an hour later, we drove into Las Vegas. The sun hadn’t come up yet. As we came in on the freeway, I could see the backsides of famous casinos: Caesars Palace, the Dunes, Mirage, Sahara. We got off the 15 at Sahara Boulevard and drove two blocks to the main strip. To my right, I could just make out the sign for the Sahara where Rich Little was headlining.
We stopped at a light and I saw Lucky Days across the street on the opposite side. Their sign took up most of that corner, LUCKY DAYS sprawled across the top in what could only be described as leprechaun green neon. Below that: Wilma Wanderly in the Fortune Forum. Her name was surrounded by golden four-leaf clovers. Further down, Gary Glenn’s Les Femmes were in the Kismet Room. And at the bottom, Breakfast Buffet for $3.95. My stomach almost gurgled.
Behind the sign was the hotel itself: a twenty-story, rectangular building, which would have been very boring if the windows hadn’t been Kelly green glass. The top floor was set back so that each room had a private balcony.
Next to the hotel was a two-story building that looked like an IKEA—the casino, as I’d find out later. And beyond that a three-story garage. In front of it all, a fanning awning lined in flashing gold lights covered the entrance. Even this early in the morning, valets hung around waiting for guests to arrive.
“I think we should do the valet-thing and the bellhop-thing,” Louis said, as he pulled through the intersection and drove up under the sparkling awning.
“Oh, Louis,” Marc said. “We’ll have to tip.”
“The room is free.”
“I know but...”
The valet was almost there, reaching out to open the driver’s side door.
“Darling, just look at him,” Leon said, sleep in his voice. “Young, attractive, dressed in green. How could you not give him money?”
And he was right, the valet was attractive and young. In his late teens, he wore a green and gold jacket and was already holding the car door open. He would have done very well on any of the covers in the Pinx Video porn section.
Then the valet came around and opened the passenger door. I climbed out, smiling at him feebly. He opened the back door. Marc, Tina and Leon roused themselves and crept out of the car. Leon made an elaborate show of tipping the valet.
A bellhop came over and stood behind the car. He could easily have joined the valet on a video box cover. Possibly one called Hot Vegas Nights. I tried not to think about that as Louis came around and opened the trunk. It was full to the brim with luggage. The trunk wasn’t much bigger than my Sentra’s, which was why we’d been under strict instructions not to bring more than one bag. I was the only one to follow that rule; Leon and Tina each brought two bags. It was only a four-day trip. Somehow seven bags had been wedged into the Infiniti’s tiny trunk and then come out again.
The bellhop piled the bags onto a luggage cart, and we followed him into the hotel. His uniform was similar to the valet’s, except that his jacket was cut short, above his waist. The boy’s ass looked very good in his tight pants.
“Mmmmm, papa like,” Leon said.
“Please tell me you’re going to behave,” I said.
“Behave? In Las Vegas? I don’t even know what language you’re speaking.”
2
“I could eat you up with a spoon,” an older woman nearby practically screamed. It seemed like she was looking directly at me, but she couldn’t be since I had no idea who she was. I looked over my shoulder at the rest of the short check-in line to see who she could have said that to. When I didn’t see any possibilities, I turned back and stared at her.
“Don’t you remember, Noah? I used to say that to you all the time.”
“Um…” I looked at her more closely. She was about my mother’s age with gray hair piled dramatically on top of her head. Around her shoulders she wore a crudely made shawl pinned shut with a giant turquoise broach. Beneath that she wore plaid petal pushers and a pair of well-worn moccasins. “Aunt Katie?”
“Oh, you do remember me! Didn’t your mother tell you I was coming? I’m standing up for her. Again!”
Katie Bell—Aunt Katie—was not a relative. She was my mother’s best friend from high school. There had been a couple of photos of her around the house until around the time I was eight. Then they were put away. No one ever said exactly why, and before I was nine I’d forgotten all about her. Well, mostly.
“How did you recognize me? It’s been so long.”
“You look just like your father.”
I didn’t agree. Other than my father’s unruly, difficult hair I didn’t think I looked anything like him. Well, we were both on the small side—though he’d eventually developed a paunch—with brown eyes and even features. But other than that, we were really nothing alike. Really, I looked more like my mother.
“Oh, um, these are my friends.”
Several minutes were taken up introducing everyone. Tina looked up from the script she was reading and said, “Two more scripts and I can take the rest of the weekend off. Well, three.”
“She works at a talent agency,” I explained. “She’s a reader.”
“No, I’m not. I got a promotion. I’m an assistant creative director.”
“That sounds glamorous,” Aunt Katie said, though it certainly didn’t look it.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Assistant creative director?”
“It’s basically the same job. It’s just that my opinion counts more.”
“Oh, well that’s nice,” I said, wondering if it really was. I mean, she was still working on vacation.
During introductions we had moved closer to the registration desk which was at least thirty feet of green marble with nine or ten computer stations—though only two of them had agents. From what I’d seen of Lucky Days so far, I’d say it was looking a little shabby and needed a good rehab. Something a little less green, maybe.
“We’re going to the breakfast buffet as soon as we check in,” Louis said to Aunt Katie. “You should join us.”
“I’d love to! That’s where I was heading anyway. I’m on mountain time so I’ve been up for an hour.” That still made her a very early riser. It was still before five.
“How long have you been here?” Marc asked.
“I drove up from Scottsdale yesterday. They put me in a penthouse suite. I mean, I’m sharing with Angie until the wedding, but still—” She leaned in close to me, asking, “So, how much do you know about Angie’s man?”
Since I didn’t think it was the right place to blurt out, ‘Mob lawyer!’ I said, “I don’t know very much about him, at all,” which was also true. “What about you?”
“Oh, I barely remember him.”
Marc and Louis walked over to the registration desk and as soon as they gave their names, the agent held up an index finger and made a call. Louis looked back at us and shrugged.
“So, you knew Cotton when you lived in Michigan?” I asked.
“No, not at all. I mean, we were all young together, but I didn’t know him. Not really.”
“Did my mom know him? Back then?” I’d gotten the definite impression they’d met recently.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, she didn’t know him in a biblical sense. I’m certain of that much. Or at least, mostly certain.” She giggled as though she’d made a joke. I wanted to ask her more questions, but I couldn’t because Leon said, “Noah, go.” I looked over and the agent was no longer on the phone and was waving the rest of us over.
She was a pretty woman in her late thirties. She smiled brightly at us, too brightly for so early in the morning. I nearly squinted.
“The night manager, Mr. James, will be out in a moment to show you to your suites. In the meantime, let me give you your keys. She put out several small envelopes that had been labeled with room numbers. “Let’s see, Mr. Fife and Mr. V
alentine.”
“What? No,” I said. I had absolutely no desire to share a room with Leon. “We’re not sharing.”
“It’s a two-bedroom luxury suite. There’s plenty of privacy.”
Reluctantly, I took the keys. Leon eyed me and said, “You didn’t have to make such a stink. It won’t kill you to share a penthouse suite with me.”
I pursed my lips at him.
While the agent handed out keys to Marc and Louis, and Tina—who’d also be sharing a suite—I opened the small envelope and took out my room key. It hung from a green, plastic four leaf clover key chain with the Lucky Days logo embossed in gold.
“I’m surprised they don’t have key cards,” Louis said.
“What are those?” I asked. I was not exactly a world traveler.
“It’s a system where you use a card, like a credit card, to open the door.”
“You mean you have to break into the room?” I asked, sure there was a way to jimmy a lock with a Visa card. In fact, that was probably one of the safer uses for a credit card.
“No, you slide the card into a slot, like an ATM. The magnetic strip opens the door.”
“Oh.”
And then Mr. James appeared. He was very tall, very thin and somewhere between twenty-five and forty-five; it was impossible to tell. He swayed a bit, as though he had his own personal weather pattern.
“Welcome to Lucky Days. I’m the manager, Teo James. I wanted to come out and take you personally to your luxurious penthouse suites on our twentieth floor.” He glanced at the bellhop waiting next to what I thought was a gigantic pile of our luggage.
Teo didn’t agree, saying, “I see you’re traveling light. If you need anything, anything at all, you’ll find it at Lady Luck for the ladies or Talisman for the gents. Just charge it to your room.”
“So, our rooms include incidentals?” Leon asked suspiciously. “Minibar? Room service?”
“Everything’s included. You’re guests of Lackerby, Leone and Cooke. Everything’s on the house. Everything.”
We all looked at one another. Lackerby, Leone and Cooke had to be a law firm. Obviously. Was Cotton’s son-in-law—Sonny Leone—a partner in the firm? His name was right there. Is that what happened when you were a mob lawyer, you moved up quickly? I once again had the feeling this was all a very bad idea.
We followed Teo to the bank of elevators right before the casino proper. He pressed the up arrow and we patiently waited.
“Wait until you see the view,” Aunt Katie said. “Stunning, especially at night.”
Once the eight of us had squeezed onto the elevator, Louis played dumb by asking, “So, what is Lackerby, Leone and Cooke?”
“Law firm,” Teo said. “Sonny Leone is in your party. His father is one of the partners. They handle all the casino’s legal work.”
I was again tempted to yell out, “Mob lawyer!” as though I had a strange form of Tourette syndrome.
As the elevator rose, Leon began asking the bellhop what was good at the breakfast buffet and what was his favorite thing to do in Las Vegas. Meanwhile, Aunt Katie asked some questions about the hotel’s day spa. I stood in the back staring at our luggage in the cart. Tina had two pieces of Louis Vuitton, Marc and Louis had matching Samsonite (blue and brown), Leon had two elegant leather pieces from the 1950s.
My bag was the saddest: a flimsy, cloth duffle that said The Accidental Tourist on the side, a promotional item from the video release. I’d had a nice set of luggage when I was with Jeffer, but it had drifted off somewhere when he died. As so much of my life did.
When we got to the twentieth floor we gushed out of the elevator. Then, Teo led us around the corner to one end of the floor. There were six doors on each side and a set of double doors at the far end. We stopped at the second door on our left, 20103. The doors on either side were marked as 20103a and 20103b. Louis took his key out of its envelope and opened the door.
Inside we found a large comfortable living room decorated in beige and gold with only the occasional green highlight. Between two couches was a coffee table holding an enormous fruit basket complete with two bottles of champagne. On each side of the room, a door stood open revealing identical bedrooms.
Teo was saying, “Every room on the penthouse floor has a balcony and a panoramic view of the Las Vegas strip. The view here is to the south. In the distance you can see the new MGM Grand and Luxor. Both are still under construction but scheduled to open soon. Perhaps before your next trip. Not that I recommend staying at either—overpriced, you know. But you’ll want to go down and take peek. I’m sure they’ll have their charms.”
There was some shuffling around as the bellhop tried to figure out which luggage went where. Tina quickly identified hers and pointed to the bedroom on our left (away from the elevator). Then the bellhop asked which bags went with hers, assuming that either Marc or Louis would be sleeping with her.
“No, no. My partner and I will be together in the other bedroom,” Marc said pointedly, making the bellhop blush. Once he’d put the luggage in the right room, Louis reached into his pocket for a tip.
“Oh, no,” Teo said. “Gratuities are always included for VIPs. Shall we go to the next suite?”
We were VIPs? I thought as Leon, Aunt Katie and I followed Teo back out into the hallway. How did we become VIPs? Sonny must be very high up in this crime organization. Did that mean Cotton was—
Teo led us a bit further down the hallway to the next suite: 20101. I took out my key and opened the door. The suite was virtually identical to 20103: same couches, same giant fruit basket.
“Is that the Honeymoon Suite next door?” Leon asked.
“No, that’s the Presidential Suite. The Honeymoon Suite is at the far end of the floor.”
Now there was a bit more shuffling around with the bellhop as he put all of our bags into the same room.
“Oh God, no!” Leon and I screamed at once.
“We’re not together,” Leon said, then added an unnecessary, “Thank goodness. And the nice luggage is mine.”
The bellhop shuffled things around and Teo said, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask at the front desk.”
As soon as he was out of the room, Aunt Katie said, “Your mother and I are right across the hall in 20102. I’m going to go powder my nose, and then I’ll meet you all downstairs at The Wishbone Inn. Say, ten minutes?”
We agreed and then, almost before she’d left the suite, Leon went over and threw open the sliding doors to the balcony. “Look at this view! Noah, come out here.” He was outside leaning over the railing looking down. “I can see the swimming pool!”
“I’m going to stay here, thanks.”
He turned around, draping himself across the railing, as he stared at me. “You’re not really afraid of heights, are you?”
“How about I hang you off a balcony by your hair and see how you feel about heights afterward,” I said, referring to actual real-life events.
“Oh, that… that was ages ago.”
“Not even a year.”
“Fine, you don’t have to come out. But do take in the view from where you are.”
I inched a bit closer, but not much. The way the hotel was situated, we faced slightly northeast. The sun would be rising soon. There was a glow on the horizon that was competing with the lights of downtown. It reminded me of Cinderella, after her coach had crumbled and her ballgown had shredded back to servant’s rags.
Leon stepped back into the suite. “And this fruit basket! How will we eat this much fruit in five days? Can we send it to Ethiopia or someplace?”
“I’m sure it would spoil by the time it got there.”
He shrugged and said, “Well, at least I was trying to do good. Out of character, I know. I’m going to throw some water on my face and then we can go downstairs,” he said, as he walked toward his room.
Both bedrooms had a bathroom attached and a door to the hallway. I assumed that was so the door between
the living room and the bedroom could be locked and the rooms rented individually.
A king-sized bed was on the inside wall of the room. On the outside wall was a very large, mahogany wardrobe divided into three sections. A closet housed an iron and ironing board—which I would not be using, I’d rather be wrinkled—and a small room safe on a shelf. The center portion was where the TV was kept. It was a gigantic Sony Trinitron, about 27 inches. Below the TV was a minibar and a few shelves for storing whatever. The final section had a four-drawer dresser with a shelf and built-in mirror above it.
On the bed was a large gift bag. Inside, I found a Wilma Wanderly backpack. A backpack? Her face—or rather a younger, airbrushed version of her face—was printed on one side and surrounded by a handful of carefully placed sequins. The backpack was full. I unzipped it and found a Lucky Days coffee cup, a Les Femmes makeup bag with an eye shadow palette inside, a dyed-green rabbit’s foot key chain, a deck of cards, a Wilma Wanderly baseball cap, a plastic horseshoe and five black one-hundred-dollar casino chips.
Hmmm. This was turning out to be quite the trip. I picked up my duffle bag, unzipped it, and dumped the contents into the top drawer of the dresser. I was officially unpacked. Then I heard Leon squeal from the other side of the suite. A moment later he was in my room.
“Did you get chips in your gift bag?”
“I did,” I said, showing him the small stack of five black chips.
“Five hundred dollars,” he said.
“In chips. It’s not real.”
“Of course, it’s real. All you have to do is hand it to a cashier and they’ll hand you back cash.”
“Really? But they expect us to lose it, right?”
“Yes, they expect us to lose it, but we don’t have to.”
“Then, isn’t it rude not to lose it?”
“You are too naïve for words. Fine,” Leon said. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
Cash Out Page 2
