“Peoria, come on.” Fiona’s hand shook my shoulder. “We have to go get our bags. If we miss the shuttle, we’ll be stuck here for another hour.”
“I just need a nap. Give me a few minutes.” I put my hand on the hard surface of the bench and started to stretch out.
“Oh my god.” Fiona put her hand under my arm and tried to drag me back to my feet. “You took a Valium, not a sleeping pill.”
“I took two.” I yawned and stretched out my arms, trying to pull away from her.
“Two? One was for the plane ride home. Ugh!” Fiona pulled on my arm. “Stand up, you need to move around some so you’ll wake up.”
“I’m moving around—can’t you see? I’m walking in a straight line.” My feet shifted against the floor.
“You’re not walking. Stand up, Peoria!” Fiona’s tone got angry and it brought me back to my senses a little bit.
“Okay, I’m up.” I stood and yawned again.
“Get your bag.” She put my hand on my carry-on and we were walking again.
Each step seemed to help ease the Valium induced fog I had been in since our plane left Atlanta. The airport in Las Vegas looked to be more modernized with large screens adorning each terminal. The flash initially made my head hurt, but I quickly adjusted to it. My eyes focused on various things like tours and casino advertisements. Seeing a picture of the famous Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign on one of the screens made me perk up even more and it really started to set in that I was actually across the country in the city we always talked about visiting as kids. We always dreamed of seeing the shows, hearing some of the singers we grew up listening to that were playing every night, and trying our luck in the casinos until we hit it big or went home broke. I hurried my pace and caught up with Fiona, still feeling fairly tired but more alert than I was when I sat down on the bench. Fiona pointed us towards a train that would take us to the baggage claim and we boarded it with all the other travelers from our flight.
“We’re really here.” I looked over at Fiona and smiled. “We’re actually in Las Vegas!”
“Yes.” She nodded and a smile spread across her face as well. “You’re also old enough to drink now, so I think our first stop should be a bar.”
“I just want to get to the hotel and unload all our stuff.” I rubbed some of the sleep out of my eyes.
“The hotel has a bar.” She grinned even wider, her lips spreading to reveal her teeth.
“Okay, that sounds like a plan.” I nodded enthusiastically.
I certainly didn’t plan to get drunk, but a drink would be nice. I had only drank once in my life, which happened shortly after Fiona turned twenty-one and brought over a bottle of wine while my parents were out of town. The buzz had been amazing and I felt like I needed something to give me a bit of a lift, although my mind started to worry about mixing alcohol with the Valium as the train came to a stop. We hurried towards the baggage claim once we were at the top of the escalator and I could see the shuttles lined up outside the airport. One of them was likely going to carry us to the hotel and begin our Vegas adventure. We got to the baggage claim and lined up next to some folks I remembered from the airport in Atlanta, although that memory was a little hazy. My bag was easy to recognize with my University of Georgia tag proudly displayed on the front. I wasn’t a student there, but my parents were huge fans of the football team, so almost everything in our house had their mascot on it.
“We’re ahead of schedule.” I looked at my watch. “My nap didn’t slow us down at all.”
“If I wasn’t with you, I’m sure you would be still sleeping on that bench right now.” Fiona shot me an angry glare. “There’s my bag!”
“I don’t see mine yet.” I tilted my head towards the top of the conveyor belt that was still spitting out suitcases.
Fiona took a step back and stood next to an older woman who seemed to be staring at each bag intently. There was a man in front of me that was taller than me and blocking my view, so I had to keep shifting my head around to see the bags as they slowly moved by. His bag seemed to appear, because he took a step forward, but as he was approaching the luggage, he started to fall. My eyes opened in shock as he tumbled forward, knocking the older lady off her feet, and lost his grip on a cup of coffee in his hand. The coffee flew to the side, opened in mid-air, and splashed across Fiona’s chest. Fiona squealed, as did the man next to her who had been caught with some of the splatter. I started to lean forward to help the older lady who was grimacing in pain, but then I saw my bag. Not only did I see my bag—I saw someone else grab it off the conveyor belt. For a second, I thought he would realize his error, but he simply grabbed the bag next to it and started walking away.
“Fiona—that guy took my bag!” I pointed at him, but Fiona was too busy wiping coffee off her shirt to look up.
“Go get it, then.” She leaned down and started helping the older lady stand as other passengers did the same.
“I’m so sorry. I’m just a klutz.” The man who had spilled his coffee stood and looked mortified as multiple people grumbled and glared at him.
“Shit—I’ll be right back!” I started walking towards the man who was headed to the exit with my bag.
He didn’t seem to hear anything I said, so I kept following him as he made it to the sea of people gathered around the shuttles. I lost him in the crowd for a second as I walked through the doors, but then I saw him walking towards the parking area. I called out several times and waved at him, but there was no response. His pace seemed to pick up and I tried to run, but my legs were still feeling the effects of the Valium. I saw him turn the corner and it was almost like he looked my way, but he ignored me. I started to get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I got to the parking area and didn’t see any sign of him. It was possible he didn’t take my bag by accident—he may have intentionally stolen it.
A truck drove by and I kept searching for the guy I saw, but then my eyes were drawn back to the truck. I was almost certain it was being driven by the guy who had my bag, but I couldn’t see his face. I weaved between a couple of cars and got a look at the back of it, but all I could see was the Ford logo and a bumper sticker for Dixon’s Bar. The license plate was covered in mud. My shoulders slumped and a sigh rushed from my lips as I watched the truck disappear.
“He stole my bag...” I felt tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. “He stole my damn bag.”
“W AIT, SO HE JUST TOOK off with it?” Fiona was covered in coffee that she had done her best to mop up with a napkin.
“I think he did it on purpose!” I pulled her away from the baggage area. “We need to report this.”
“I need to change my shirt. Let me run to the bathroom real quick, you go get in line over there.” She pointed to the line of people at the lost luggage counter.
My luggage wasn’t lost, but it seemed like the best place to start. I stood in line behind the people, waiting my turn as impatiently as I could without causing a scene. I wanted to running around the airport screaming at the top of my lungs about the thief that made off with my bag, but I was sure that would only lead to my own arrest—possibly even a courtesy tasering in the process.
Fiona joined me in line after she was able to change her shirt and my turn finally came to step up to the counter. I frantically explained my situation to the clerk who seemed fairly disinterested. He filed a report, promised they would alert the authorities, and keep a lookout for my bag. I didn’t believe there was any chance it was going to just magically show up again, but I gave them my information—just in case. We missed our shuttle, but the next one was fairly close to arriving since we had spent so much time at the counter. I walked outside with Fiona, feeling dejected and agonizing over the things I had lost.
“My camera was in there. My tablet was in there. Shit!” I rubbed away a tear that tried to run down my cheek.
“Why wasn’t that stuff in your carry-on?” Fiona pointed to the bag in my hand.
“I already have my laptop
and makeup in here. It was too heavy.” I shifted it from one hand to the other.
“Well crap...” Fiona sighed. “At least you have your debit card and your wallet—right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“This just means we get to go shopping.” She tried to smile, but I could see she was empathetic to my situation.
“Right now, I think I just want to go to the hotel and drink.” My words came out like I had been drinking for years.
“At least that part of the vacation isn’t ruined.” Fiona pointed to the shuttle as it parked in front of us. The driver got out and started loading her luggage into the back.
“I’ll just hang onto mine.” I clutched my carry-on bag tight against my chest.
Vegas wasn’t shaping up to be the grand adventure we planned. I hadn’t even made it out of the airport before I was drugged and robbed—although technically I drugged myself. I slid into the back seat of the shuttle and dug around in my carry-on until I found my hairbrush. I pulled one of the fabric covered rubber bands off the handle and tied it around my hair, pulling my brown curls back in a ponytail. Chasing after the guy with my luggage, combined with the anxiety of standing in line, had left the back of my neck sweaty underneath my mop. I rubbed it with a napkin until it was dry and leaned back against the seat. As much as I craved freedom when I was at home with my parents, the only place I wanted to be in that moment was back with them. My father would know what to do. He wouldn’t have let the guy get away. My mother would have worn her heels off chasing his truck down and hitched a ride on the tailgate if it meant getting her camera back. Fiona tried to make small talk and a few jokes, but my humor was as dried up as my desire for conversation, so we rode the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter 4: Vincent
“I can’t believe this worked.” I dropped the luggage bag on the table at Dixon’s Bar when Floyd walked into the back room where we normally played cards.
“I told you there wouldn’t be any risk.” He rubbed his hands together and reached for the zipper.
“You didn’t see the chick chasing me when I ran off with her bag.” I glared at Floyd. “All she had to do was alert one of the security guards and we would both be in handcuffs.”
“I wouldn’t be in handcuffs.” He chuckled and pulled the zipper open. “Just you.”
“Bastard.” I took a cigarette from his pack and lit it up.
“Come on, Vincent. You can’t be mad. We made loot.” Floyd pulled out a camera and a small tablet that looked similar to an iPad.
“I don’t like the risk, but this stuff should bring a little bit of money at least.” I picked up the camera. “This is a good model.”
“You still know that guy who buys cameras?” He looked over at me inquisitively.
“Yeah, I can unload this—probably worth a couple of bones.” I nodded and put the camera in my lap. “What is the tablet worth?”
“I don’t know.” He pushed a button on the front. “It’s locked, so that might be a problem.”
“Can’t they trace those things?” I raised my eyebrows in concern.
“Not this one.” He flipped it over in his hand. “I don’t think—I’ll turn it off just in case.”
“What do we do with the rest of this shit?” I pushed my hand into the luggage and flipped over a handful of clothes.
“I don’t know. The bag is worth something though, so we should hang onto it. I guess we can dump the clothes.” He shrugged.
“I’ll toss them in the Salvation Army box at least.” I sighed and shook my head. “I can’t believe we’ve resorted to stealing luggage. We probably ruined someone’s vacation.”
“Don’t be such a bitch. I’m sure she can afford more shit. We need the money.” Floyd started sorting the items, picking out a few smaller items that could possibly have value.
“Speaking of money, can you spot me a twenty until we sell some of this shit? You won all my money.” I held out my hand to Floyd.
“Shit man, I already paid your tab tonight. Fine, but I’m charging you interest.” Floyd dug into his pocket and dropped a twenty-dollar bill in my hand.
“Thanks...” I nodded and started stuffing everything back in the suitcase.
Floyd left with the tablet to take it to someone he knew, and I went back to my apartment with the suitcase and the camera. I thought about swinging by the Salvation Army donation box on the way to dump all the clothes, but it was already getting late and I was tired. Even with my head hurting from the stress of the day, I still stopped at the liquor store to pick up some cheap whiskey and a pack of smokes before heading home.
Luckily, I lived in an apartment on the shitty side of Sin City where nobody would bat an eye at me rolling a suitcase towards my apartment, despite the fact I had lived there for two years. I pushed the key into the lock and dropped everything in the living room before changing into a pair of shorts. There were times when I didn’t appreciate the piece of shit apartment I lived in, but after feeling the stress of possibly having my freedom yanked out from under me again, I was extremely happy just to be able to sit down on my worn-out couch. I lit a cigarette, sipped some whiskey, and picked up the camera.
I guess I should delete all the pictures on this thing before I sell it.
I turned on the camera and started moving through the pictures. The most recent ones were from a birthday party and the girl with the stupid looking hat on appeared to be the same one that was chasing me. I didn’t get a good look at her when I was at the airport, but she was hot as hell. She had brown curls that hung around her shoulders and eyes that reminded me of the ocean. There was so much happiness etched on her face.
I remembered being that happy once when I was a little boy and my family was still together—before my father lost his job and turned to the bottle for relief. He was a mean drunk and when he wasn’t slapping my mother around, he was turning his anger on my brothers and me. When I got old enough to stand up to him, he left and didn’t come back. Being the only one that could support my family was hard, and that pushed me towards crime. Things were going well until I got pinched for holding up a liquor store and spent most of my twenties behind bars. My mother passed away while I was locked up and by the time I got out, my brothers had moved on with their lives. I was a part of the memories they wanted to leave behind.
Maybe things would have been better if I had a family like this.
I scrolled through the camera, smiling as I saw pictures of the woman with her family. She had a University of Georgia tag on her suitcase and a lot of memorabilia from the college in her photographs, but I also saw references to Peoria. I couldn’t tell if she was from Illinois and living in Georgia or vice versa. When I scrolled back a little further, I pictures of her next to a swimming pool, wearing a swimsuit that showed a lot more skin than it covered. She was so damn gorgeous that I couldn’t help but pay attention to each image as I moved past them.
Her breasts were more than a handful, even if I couldn’t see them in all their glory behind the pink bikini. There were images of her running along the beach, and her ass was a perfect upside-down heart. She was the exact flavor of curvy deliciousness that I loved having in my bed. It had been a long time since I brought a woman home and just looking at her was enough to make my balls tingle, even if there was better porn on television. My hand moved down to the waistband of my shorts and I stroked my cock through the fabric.
“I would tear that ass up.” I felt my dick getting harder as I rubbed the tender spot below the glans.
I continued rubbing my cock through the fabric until it was fully engorged and then pushed my shorts down slightly. My dick pulsated as I wrapped my hand around the shaft and started to slowly move my hand up and down my length. I left the camera focused on a picture of the beautiful brunette leaning back on her elbows with her breasts pressed against her bikini top and her legs slightly open. She was so fucking hot that I didn’t need to see any more skin than I had in front of me in the photograph. T
he imagination was better anyway. I visualized myself there on the beach beside her, moving my hand across her tanned skin and squeezing her breasts while she got nice and wet for me. My finger traced her body on the camera screen while I imagined doing it for real. My cock throbbed and my pace got faster when I thought about my hand moving inside of her bikini and rubbing against her hard nipples. It was almost enough to send me over the edge of excitement without even imagining how good her pussy would when my cock was buried inside of it.
I bet you’ve never been fucked by a real man.
I closed my eyes as the pleasure intensified, but the image of her was burned on my memory even when I wasn’t looking at the screen. I imagined her legs opening for me as I slid between her thighs and pulled at the bikini. With my sight stripped away and my imagination running wild, I could smell the faint scent of the salty sea mixing with her lust when her pussy was exposed. My throbbing cock was ready to be inside of her and I squeezed it tighter when I visualized myself going inside her. The smile on her ruby lips was replaced with a look of surprise when she felt my girth. Her head fell back on the beach towel and I started driving my cock into her wet pussy, chasing my desire with every thrust of my hips.
I let the camera fall to the couch and grabbed a napkin when I felt the tingle in my balls. I wasn’t going to last very long with the vision of loveliness dancing in my head and begging for my dick. I stroked faster and held the napkin against my glans until the pressure raged out of control. My head fell back, and I let out a grunt when my seed started to surge through my shaft and erupt on the napkin.
“Your pussy is so good...” I let out a gasp and grunted while I ejaculated into the napkin.
My cock started to return to normal size once my lust was spent. I tossed the napkin in the garbage can and pulled my shorts up before lighting a cigarette and picking up the bottle of whiskey. I flipped through the channels on the television aimlessly as I smoked and drank. I couldn’t help feeling bad about stealing from the girl I saw in the photographs. I put the camera on the table without deleting the photographs when a twinge of guilt shot through me. I had no idea if she saved the photographs, but it was clear that years of her life was laid out in vivid detail on the camera. Destroying it felt wrong, but that could have been the whiskey and the afterglow setting fire to my exhaustion.
Vegas Virgin Page 2
