by Craig Birk
Chapter Nineteen
Viva Las Vegas
9:15 p.m.
“Take me down to the Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.”
– Paradise City, Guns N’ Roses
Thirty-eight miles from the state line, the Mandalay Bay Hotel, for all practical purposes, marks the beginning of the Las Vegas strip. The black BMW approached stealthily, now only four miles from the Mandalay. The Ruler’s Back by Jay-Z was playing on the iPod, and Gary turned the volume up a few notches. Due to the light from the strip, the sky was visibly transitioning from black to whitish-grey, like some kind of alien sunrise. Alex checked the clock on the dashboard of the car and was pleased to see it was still well before ten o’clock despite the In-N-Out stop, Mike’s poo problems, and the little business with the police.
Alex never ceased to be amazed by Vegas. His relationship with the city was that of a man who falls in love with a prostitute. Vegas had given him some of his best memories. It had also beaten the shit out of him a few times. But no matter what, he always maintained passion and respect for the city. It made him feel alive. He knew Vegas was far from monogamous, but in his heart he felt the city reciprocated his amorous feelings.
The tidal wave of new construction and the success of the city fascinated him. When he first started coming to Vegas during freshman year in college, the strip looked nothing like it did now. There was no Luxor, Mandalay Bay, New York New York, Treasure Island, Venetian, Monte Carlo, Bellagio, and on and on. Probably more important, the Hard Rock was still under construction and Palms had not even been conceptualized.
Also, back in those days, restaurants were entirely focused on quantity over quality and there was essentially nothing to do except gamble, drink by the pool, or go to strip clubs. The only nightclub he could recall from the college days was The Beach and it was off the strip. It was decent enough, but really just as well could have been in some shitty Mexican beach resort rather than Vegas. Now the restaurants were among the best in the world and the clubs were like cathedrals. At least in his mind, they were better than what Los Angeles, New York or Miami had to offer.
To Alex, Vegas demonstrated proof that the human spirit could accomplish nearly anything if given the proper incentive. It was also proof that civilization was getting better despite all the negativity still thriving in the world. If in most of the world progress happened slowly so you couldn’t feel it, here the change occurred with a vengeance you couldn’t avoid. It not only touched you but grabbed you and threw you like a pair of dice. Alex maintained nostalgia for the old classics like the The Freemont, The Sands and The Riviera, but the new stuff was undoubtedly better, whatever the old-timers would tell you. Whether you loved it or hated it, he felt the city truly was a wonder of the world. Alex did not dwell much on the underside of Vegas, with all its worms and maggots, and pimps, junkies and other assorted lowlifes, because he never had to face it.
For those who see the positive in Vegas, one of the highlights is arriving, whether by car or plane. Each of the passengers in Alex’s car felt increasingly awake as the strip grew larger through the front windshield. Roger seemed to have a physical as well as mental reaction, and he subconsciously began to rub his hands together like an excited little kid told he is getting a new toy.
Mike expressed admiration for the city in his own way. First he ripped a loud fart and then said, “Just think about how many hot chicks in that city right now want to get fucked.”
Gary: “Maybe if you can get control of your bodily functions for ten minutes you might have a chance with one of them.”
Alex: “Basically, I am just pumped to be here with you guys, regardless of what chicks are here or not.”
Mike: “So what, you are not going to try to hook up?”
Alex: “I am just saying that isn’t the first priority.”
Roger: “My first priority is winning some cash-money.”
Alex: “Just try not to lose all your football winnings in the first hour.”
Roger: “Don’t worry, I will be under control.”
Gary: “Sure, that would be consistent.”
Mike: “You guys make me laugh. Of course it will be great to drink and gamble, but if Vegas was a dudes-only down, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”
Gary: “This isn’t Riyadh, dude. America doesn’t have dudes-only towns.”
Mike: “Have you ever been to San Jose? Anyway, we will have them for real if those crazy fundamentalist rag-headed fucks have their way.”
Gary: “Whatever. I am married and I am still pumped up to be here.”
Mike: “Seriously, though, think about it. If there were no chicks, would we still be coming here? Basically, if you really think about it, everything we do is because of bitches. Think about where we usually go to dinner. Not where the best food is or who has the best price. We go where we are most likely to see the hottest chicks. I mean sure, N9NE has good steaks, but is that really why we go there? How do we choose where we drink on weekends in San Diego?”
At this point it was clear to everyone there was no point participating in the conversation so they let him elaborate.
Mike: “Like Alex said, why, even, do we work? Okay, we need to eat, so you would still have some job, but if there were no chicks would you really care if you made fifty grand or five hundred? The only point of making five hundred is to attract hotter chicks. Why do you need a great house with a view of the ocean if you can’t have a chick over to see it and then play your skin flute? All I would need is a one bedroom with a microwave and enough money for PlayStation and beers.”
Alex: “So you agree the Smurfs are a propaganda tool?”
Mike: “Will you let it go with the damned Smurfs? No, this isn’t a political point. I am only noting that we think men dominate society. But the truth is that all we are is slaves to our swords. Basically everything we do is on some level because we want to get laid, even if we don’t realize it. Really, we are controlled by women.”
Gary: “So, when we played golf together last weekend, was that so one of us could get laid?”
Mike: “Okay, so it isn’t literally everything, but the point is the same. If there were no chicks, we would not be driving into Vegas right now. We would be at one of our places playing cards and drinking beers.”
Roger: “He kind of has a point. If there were no girls, all I would do would be drink and gamble.”
Alex: “That’s pretty much all you do anyway, Rodge.”
Roger: “Hmmm. Maybe. But I am still the only one who had sex last night.”
Mike: “I don’t know why it is so hard for you all to accept the truth and admit your dicks control you. The more I think about it, the more I think we would be better off if there were no hoes corrupting everything.”
Alex (sarcastically): “Mike is right. Maybe we would be better off without our dicks.”
Gary: “This is a retarded conversation. We are in Vegas, gentlemen. So try to get over your bitterness and have some fun. Anyway, if there were no women, none of us would exist in the first place, so of course we would not be here.”
Gary’s logic was indisputable, so the four drove on in silence. The back side of the heart of the Vegas strip was now passing by on the right, dousing the car in white light. Between the Monte Carlo and the Bellagio was a vast span of relative darkness occupied only by several huge semi-lit cranes. A large sign explained that this was the future site of Project City Center. Alex knew from research at work that this was an MGM Mirage endeavor funded largely by Dubai World. It was estimated to have a cost of $8 billion, which was to be recouped in large part by selling luxury condominiums. With several other luxury condo buildings sprouting up all around the perimeter of the strip like weeds, Alex wondered where the demand was going to come from. Still, he appreciated the grandeur of the effort and was jealous that the people behind the project were operating on such a larger scale than he was.
Alex began maneuvering the
car into the right-hand lane of the freeway in order to exit onto West Flamingo Road. From this exit, the Bellagio and Caesars Palace were immediately available one minute to the right, and the Rio and Palms were about two minutes to the left.
Although its location was awful, the rooms were small and expensive, and the service average, for the last few years Alex usually chose to stay at the Palms when in Vegas. When questioned about this choice, Alex could point out that he loved the restaurant there, had a good relationship with the VIP host, liked Ghostbar, and had decent luck at the tables. While all this was true, the fact was that the Palms tended to have the hottest chicks around.
The BMW slowly lost speed as it climbed the long off-ramp. It settled to a stop, first in line at the left-hand turn lane waiting for the red light to change. A woman with ratty clothes and a crumpled-up, stained face stood about five feet away on the dirt area just above the curb. The wind had picked up and Mike noticed the woman struggling to keep her cardboard sign properly aligned. A thin layer of dust and dirt blew by her ankles in the same direction traffic was moving on the freeway below. Her sign read:
Hungry.
Anything Helps.
Good Luck and
God Bless!
The woman was trying to make eye contact with Alex in the driver’s seat, but only Mike read the sign. “Bummer,” he said with no emotion and to no one in particular.
To his right, Roger had reached over the front seat and was shaking Gary’s shoulders with both hands, trying to generate additional enthusiasm for the weekend. In front, Gary was evading Roger’s annoying grasp while leaning forward to organize his Bag O’ Tricks. He neatly stacked the remaining beers, tobacco products, and the Slim Jims on top of the porn magazine, whose cover was now significantly creased. This vexed Gary and he tried unsuccessfully to iron it out with his hand. Meanwhile, Alex was impatiently fidgeting with the wheel of the iPod, hoping to play Wanna B a Baller by Lil’ Troy as the last song of the journey, but he scrolled too fast and ended up pushing play on Jennifer Lopez’s Jenny from the Block instead. The light changed before he had time to fix it, and the BMW sped off eagerly toward the Palms.
