After surviving on the streets by fighting for money, he was discovered by a local, small-time boxing manager. He literally fought his way up the ranks, eventually rising to become the undisputed US Heavyweight Champion.
Gallo entered the ring in his royal blue robe trimmed in gold with matching boxing gloves and shoes.
If the sellout crowd had sounded like thunder when Gallo entered the arena, now the collective sound grew into an explosion as current World Heavyweight Champion Jose Jamal “Jay-Jay” Moss arrived.
The resonating, steady, synthetic beats of the Eminem song “Lose Yourself” were blaring as the “Mexican Fury” sauntered in.
Moss danced down the aisle draped in a black, red-trimmed satin boxing robe, his white teeth flashing in his brown face for the cameras, his black boxing gloves jabbing into the air to the music for effect. He entered the ring, an assistant taking his robe, and held his tattooed, muscled arms above his head, beaming as the crowd roared.
Then a hush fell as an announcer’s bass voice boomed out, “A new king shall be crowned tonight … one will rise and one will fall. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the greatest boxing match of all time, “The Fall,” live from the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada!”
Cheers erupted as the announcer proclaimed, “In this corner, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds, we have the challenger from Chicago, the new Italian Stallion, US Heavyweight Champion Carmen Gallo!”
Although he was the underdog, the audience applauded with gusto.
“And in this corner, defending his title as the World Heavyweight Champion, weighing in at two hundred and fourteen pounds of action-packed muscle, here is the Mexican Fury, Jose Jamal “Jay-Jay” Moss!”
Everyone stood and cheered amid a deafening roar.
The bell sounded the first round, and Moss entered the middle of the ring fast and furious, throwing and landing the majority of punches.
Toward the end of the fifth round, sweat and blood flew as Moss threw a roundhouse jab that hit just above Gallo’s eye, cutting a gash in his forehead.
Rory felt a strange mix of excitement and uneasiness. The exhilaration of the crowd was contagious, but Rory also felt contempt for himself that he was cheering for two men beating each other senseless.
“Is this great or what?” An ecstatic Carlos poked Rory in the ribs good-naturedly.
“Yeah, great,” Rory said, trying to force some enthusiasm into his tone.
“I bet on the champ, so he better win,” Carlos whispered behind his hand.
“Moss?”
“Who else?”
“How’d you do it? I mean, I thought there was no online betting on this fight.”
“I placed a side bet. So far, so good.”
The bell rang to start the sixth round. A determined Gallo came out swinging this time and delivered a few quick and hard body hits that knocked Moss into the ropes, where he hung for a few seconds before dazedly turning and regaining focus, his gloves protecting his face.
Gallo rained blows one after another, and Moss barely lasted until the end of the round, which decidedly went to the Italian Stallion.
The seventh through ninth rounds were a different story. Just as his name indicated, the Mexican’s rage refueled him. In the ninth round, he delivered a punch to a reeling Gallo that cut open the gash in the Chicago fighter’s eye, sending him to the corner so his cutman could make the bleeding stop with Vaseline and a cold ENSWELL tool.
Gallo came back out to the center of the ring looking shaky, his eye a thin line in a baseball-sized swelling around his eye.
“Moss is going to knock him out cold,” Carlos said gleefully. Rory didn’t bother answering his partner. In fact, he had become a little disgusted at the bloodlust of his coworker, the thousands of others gathered in the arena, and the millions of viewers watching on satellite TV at home, and he was perturbed at himself for feeling the thrill.
Rory suddenly felt queasy and didn’t want to watch anymore. Just as he was about to tell Carlos he needed to use the restroom, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
Simultaneously, he and Carlos pulled out their phones and stared at the same text message: We found it. Rory and Carlos looked at each other, their eyes locked in a surprised stare.
Then they received a second text. The message simply said: meet at the Bellagio lobby ASAP.
They exited the arena, hustling down two flights of steps and through the exit doors into the sultry night air.
Rory thought they should hail a cab, but Carlos told him they could run faster than ride the mile distance to the Bellagio because the streets were far too packed with heavy traffic surrounding the MGM Grand.
“Come on, follow me, I know a shortcut.” Carlos, already sprinting ahead, called over his shoulder to Rory.
I need to get in better shape. Rory forced his legs to pump, but as the famous fountains of Bellagio loomed ahead, he slowed to a walk, gulping air into his burning lungs, his legs too heavy to run any farther.
Carlos had long outdistanced him and was nowhere in sight.
They found the bomb but it hasn’t gone off yet. That thought sent new adrenaline coursing through his veins, and once again, Rory was running, past the fountains and into the glamorous lobby with its arched marble entrances, eighteen-foot-high multi-colored ceiling, and piano music.
Heaving, sweating, and momentarily bewildered, Rory stopped to breathe and finally noticed Carlos huddled off to the side of the lobby with a tall clean-cut man wearing a dark suit, apparently an FBI agent. The two looked up and motioned him over.
“Last two in the building,” the agent said into a two-way radio device, obviously speaking to someone distant, as Rory approached.
Without saying anything further, the agent quickly led them through the lobby into a hallway where they took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor, the top of the resort hotel, and entered a large conference room surrounded by windows overlooking the twinkling Vegas night skyline. Inside were two dozen top FBI agents and Condo team members, all men.
Rory immediately felt Susan’s absence, his heart lurching then sinking like a ship in a storm being buffeted by a huge wave. He had futilely hoped she would at least show up tonight for the “grand finale” of the investigation.
If the bomb went off now, Rory realized he would be devastated not to share his final moments with her. They found the bomb but it hasn’t gone off yet. And here I am alone without the woman I love.
“Gentlemen, thanks for getting here so fast; let’s all have a seat so we can brief you on what we found.” Chief Steele spoke in his deep gravelly voice, commanding authority and respect. Everyone took a seat around the massive conference table in the middle of the room, all excitedly talking at once.
Rory’s fingers gripped the leather arms of his chair. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with anxiety and anticipation. They found the bomb but it hasn’t gone off yet, and we’re all sitting here wasting time.
Not inclined to verbosity and realizing the tension in the room was thick, the chief got right to the point. “Quiet, please. So … we did find the bomb.” Suddenly silence pervaded the room. “However, it was already diffused, thank God.”
A collective gasp and murmuring ensued, but Chief Steele interrupted. “Please, I still have a lot to go over, so let’s try to maintain quiet for now. I realize that’s a little hard to believe, but it’s true. When our team of experts arrived here in this very hotel, they found the bomb planted underground had been set to detonate at 9 p.m. Yet, the timer had somehow stopped at eight fifty-nine. With only a minute to go, someone or something stopped it from going off and blowing Las Vegas into shreds. If you were there, you would have said it was a miracle.”
Many of the men shook their heads in disbelief and wonder, one actually wept with relief, and a few cheered. It was a good thing he was sitting because Rory felt his whole body go limp. He hadn’t realized he had been clenching every muscle while he held his breath, hanging o
n every word.
Rory suddenly felt an unanticipated slow anger boil up inside. He felt like he had been duped somehow, like he had been a pawn in a master chess game, and now the game was over and nobody had won. It had all been played for naught. He felt disappointed, let down, and angry for allowing himself to invest so much time and energy into this craziness … for what?
Everyone was talking at once, and Chief Steele and Agent Glover had to bang their hands on the big conference table to get their attention.
“The good news, besides the bomb being miraculously diffused, is that our FBI and SWAT team members caught five leading Islamic Mafia members as they were about to board various international flights out of McCarran International Airport—including their leader, known as the Master. They were arrested and are being interrogated at the Federal Detention Facility here in Las Vegas while awaiting their arraignment. But I can assure you that they will not be going anywhere for a long time. The most important news is that we believe we now have in custody the ringleaders of this whole Mafia organization.”
There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief in the room.
But Rory felt a sense of letdown rather than relief, and he couldn’t figure out why, like a performer on the last night of a really big show who knew it was his last time on stage and had no idea where he’d go from there.
“So, where do we go from here?” Chief Steele asked, as if reading Rory’s mind. “This means that for some of you gentlemen, your work on the operation has been successfully completed. Mission accomplished. Congratulations and thank you.” With his one arm, the chief couldn’t clap so he nodded as if on cue to Agent Glover, who started to applaud. The men around the table did likewise, shaking each other’s hands and slapping one another good-naturedly on the back.
When the room quieted once more, Chief Steele continued. “Some of you will be needed to wrap up the investigation. But for tonight, you are officially free to enjoy your victory. You worked hard, so dinner and drinks for the rest of the night are on us. Keep your receipts, gentlemen.”
Rory remained in his chair stunned as the guys all jumped out of their chairs, whooping and cheering. Most gathered to make plans to celebrate together, deciding to do a bar crawl from one end of the strip to the other or until sunrise, whichever came first.
John and Carlos, who had sat on either side of Rory, both offered him a ride to the Hotel at Mandalay Bay casino resort at the south end of the Strip where everyone was headed, but he declined, saying he’d meet them there later.
He alone remained after everyone left—except for Rodney Steele and Mark Glover, who stood at the head of the table talking to one another.
Finally, the two men realized Rory was still sitting at the table.
“Rory, why aren’t you out celebrating?” Agent Glover asked.
“I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all of it,” Rory said. He didn’t feel like celebrating, but he didn’t want to tell them that. He was afraid to ask the next question but blurted it out anyway. He wasn’t sure which answer he wanted.
“Will I stay on to help with the rest of the investigation, or am I among those who are finished?”
“Uh, well, yes, you can actually pack your things and head out whenever you’re ready,” the chief said awkwardly. “I’m sure that’s a relief, since you didn’t seem to like Las Vegas anyway. I’m with you on that by the way. I don’t like it either, but it’s where I’m stationed, at least for now. Anyway, Rory, thank you, because we couldn’t have accomplished any of this without you.” Chief Steele shook Rory’s hand.
Yeah, right, he thought. You found a bomb already diffused. What a big joke. Rory felt ashamed, and his voice caught in his throat. He realized he had been secretly hoping to stay on to feel useful—and to have an excuse to see Susan one more time. He realized they were all self-serving reasons, but he couldn’t help how he felt.
And now you’re going home.
Home. It had such a hollow sound. I really don’t have much of a life back home anymore. Did I ever?
He felt caught in a state of limbo, which is why he stayed sitting in his chair.
“Rory, you okay? You really should go out with the guys and celebrate. Mark and I have to head back to the Condo to start a post-op strategy. Do you need a ride somewhere?”
Rory felt like he was in a dense fog; his thoughts were cloudy and distracted, and he really didn’t hear what the chief had said.
He shook his head in an effort to clear it.
“What? Oh, sorry, I’m fine. I’m just thinking about all of the plans I have to make to get home, my flight, et cetera.” Rory suddenly felt like he wanted to run from the room before they could see through his lie. “You’re right, maybe I will go celebrate, at least for a little while.”
“You deserve it.” Mark Glover approached him and shook his hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
“Likewise.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay and take a job with us in the FBI?” Steele cracked a small smile.
“Nah, not my cup of tea. See you guys.”
He left the two FBI agents behind to discuss important wrap-up strategies and headed down to the Bellagio lobby to hail a cab to Mandalay Bay.
As he waited, the nightly fountain show had just begun as it did every half hour. Rory glanced sideways as twelve hundred plus spritzers shot water up to four hundred and sixty feet in the air, illuminated by dazzling white lights, the water dancing in rhythm to the strains of Bach’s 1812 Overture.
Most people would describe it as beautiful, but Rory’s vision blurred in his anger and disgust. Everything beautiful comes at a cost. Rory realized subconsciously he was thinking about Susan.
Like the strip clubs, drinking, gambling and now, added to the list, boxing and women had done, the luxurious fountain show now also drew out Rory’s feelings of animosity toward everything Vegas.
Rory had seen the show on his last trip to Sin City. Now, just like then, he believed the whole thing was just a colossal waste of water.
Here’s an eight-and-a-half-acre lake in the middle of the desert using water merely for the pleasure of tourists and passersby when there are people in Africa dying of thirst, where five- and six-year-olds climb muddy mountains for hours just to fight to fill a dirty bucket with a half-gallon of water, fight to keep it, and fight to get it down the mountain so their families don’t die of thirst.
And worse still, Rory had learned that the poor people of Vegas who lived in the desert just miles away could barely afford to provide clean water and food to their families, could not afford to keep even the smallest of lawns or grow vegetables due to the water shortage—while millions of dollars were poured into this monstrosity.
Rory felt that gnawing sensation of disdain festering inside him once again.
Mercifully, the cab finally arrived, although Rory didn’t really care where he was going.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rory had to search through four of the eight bars at Mandalay before he finally found the guys.
First he donned a parka and mittens to enter Minus 5, the cocktail lounge almost entirely made of cool blue ice—the bar, the furniture, the glasses—and kept to a temperature of minus five degrees. I thought I had seen it all, he said to himself wryly.
Then he wandered past the headless Lenin statue into Red Square, the Russian-themed vodka bar, but didn’t see anyone he knew.
A trip through Mix Lounge with its amazing view of the strip resulted in the same.
At least I’m seeing the sights, a weary Rory told himself, although he decided to draw the line at touring Shark Reef, the resort’s one million gallon indoor aquarium where real sharks, stingrays, and crocodiles resided.
Giving up, he went outside to get some fresh air and to see the famous Mandalay Bay beach and pool. He walked past the huge, crowded beach with its simulated ocean waves and, not wanting to bother looking among the crowd, he slipped away to the slightly quieter po
olside Verandah Lounge where he saw John, Carlos, and eight others from the Condo group sipping drinks and eating gourmet pizza.
“Hey, there’s my main man,” a visibly tipsy Carlos shouted as Rory walked up to the group. “Get my friend Rory a drink, somebody.”
A waiter appeared out of nowhere, and Carlos ordered him some type of cocktail called a Goombay Smash. Rory was too tired to argue and gulped the fruity drink down because he was so thirsty by that point.
“We almost gave up on you,” John said. His beefy face was a shiny pink from drinking and carrying on. “We just came from doing shots in the Mix Lounge and wanted to get some food in our stomachs—and maybe meet some girls to take up to the Eye Candy Sound Lounge to go dancing.” John jerked his thumb toward the window of the Verandah. About a dozen girls in bikinis lounged by the pool. “Looks like it’s one of those bachelorette parties.”
“John, I thought you were married.” Rory was dumbstruck and felt disappointed and alone all over again.
“I am. I’m not saying I’m going to hook up with anybody. I’m just going to keep Carlos here out of trouble.”
“Speaking of that, this has been lame so far—let’s go have some fun,” Carlos said, wobbling on slightly unstable feet.
Rory meekly followed them to Eye Candy lounge, but when they saw that there weren’t too many single women there yet, they decided to head to the Hard Rock Café.
They piled in three taxicabs and arrived at the huge, loud, and very rambunctious circular bar in the Hard Rock, ordering rounds of shots and beers and making fun of Rory when he sipped his.
“Drink, drink, drink,” they chanted until Rory downed his shot of tequila and chased it with a few gulps of beer. He hated being the center of attention and caved in just to make them stop shouting his name.
Their confidence bolstered by large volumes of alcohol, the men decided to try their luck at the casino.
Rory hated the thought of sitting at a slot machine for hours, but wasn’t sure of himself enough to sit and play Texas hold ’em and lose all of his money. He only had about a hundred bucks in his pocket and figured that wouldn’t last very long.
The Runaway Prophet Page 18
