“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Susan said.
“No, let me in now,” Jim said. “I wanna talk to you.”
“It’s too late,” Susan said.
“Why, you got someone here?”
“Nobody’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“No one.”
“Stop it...Jim!”
Jim pushed his way into the apartment. He stormed into the bedroom area and saw me sitting there on Susan’s bed without a shirt on. He was wearing a business suit, his tie partially unwound. His hair was a mess and he looked drunk.
For a few seconds, he just stood there, shocked, then he said, “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Just go home,” Susan said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You fuckin’ son of a bitch,” Jim said to me.
He stood there for another second or two, then he charged me. I stood up and pushed him away, which wasn’t very hard. The guy was about five-six and probably weighed eighty pounds less than me.
Susan was screaming for Jim to go home and I said, “Just take it easy—take it easy, all right? I don’t wanna hurt you, just take it easy.”
“Fuck you,” Jim said, spraying spit. “Just fuck you.”
He tried to punch me in the face and missed by about a foot. Then he came at me again and grabbed my chain with the little gold barbell. The chain snapped and the barbell fell onto the floor.
“Look what you did,” I said. “Look what you did.”
“Fuck you,” Jim said.
I went after him, punching him in the face again and again. His nose started gushing blood, then he fell onto the floor, curled up into a ball, yelling, “Help me, Susan! Help me!”
Finally, Susan pulled me away. She kneeled next to Jim and said to me, “What’s wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you stop?”
I picked up my barbell chain, happy to see that only the clasp was broken.
“Just get the hell out of here,” Susan said to me. “Leave!”
I put on my shirt and coat and left the apartment. Walking home down Third Avenue, I finally started to calm down.
When I arrived at my place, I went right into the bathroom and washed up. I didn’t even have a scratch on my face, but my knuckles were sore. I felt bad for hitting Jim as hard as I did and I hoped he wasn’t seriously hurt.
I put the barbell and the busted chain away in my dresser drawer, then I sat at the table and counted the money I had left over from the robbery. The total came to about $1,700 and tomorrow was my day off. Maybe what I needed was to get away for a day or two—clear my head.
Then, just like that, I drove out to La Guardia Airport and hopped the next flight to Vegas.
It was last-minute notice so they charged me through the eyeballs for a ticket. I paid eight hundred bucks for the round-trip flight, when it probably would have cost me half that much if I bought the ticket in advance or took one of those gambling junkets. Now I only had about four hundred bucks on me—I’d left five hundred at home—so if I didn’t hit something right away it was going to be a short trip.
The plane took off at around 6:30 in the morning. I switched planes in Detroit and arrived in Vegas at eleven o’clock, ready to rock and roll. I didn’t sleep a wink the whole flight, but I was wide awake anyway.
I took a cab to the strip, shocked how big the place was. For years people had been telling me, “You gotta see Vegas to believe it,” and now I knew what they meant.
I didn’t know where to go first so I had the cab driver drop me off at Bally’s. Sticking to the plan I’d made on the plane, I went to the first roulette wheel I saw and let three hundred bucks ride on black. The ball spun around, bounced out of a red slot, and landed in black. I let the six hundred ride and black came in again. I’d just won a free trip to Vegas.
At a blackjack table my hot streak continued. After about ten minutes I was up over a grand. I could do no wrong—splitting nines and pulling aces, hitting on fifteen and sixteen and pulling fives and sixes, sticking with single digits and watching the dealer bust. I tipped the dealer fifty bucks for his trouble and headed over to the racebook.
I bet on a couple of simulcast races from New York and Florida. I lost at Calder, but I hit an exacta and win bet at Aqueduct that put me up another G. I played slots for a while, breaking even, then I hit the blackjack tables again, winning another five hundred bucks. I had been in the casino for about an hour and a half and I was up about three grand. I was going to head over to another casino, maybe pick up a bite to eat, when I saw this blonde smiling at me.
I knew right away she was a pro, sizing me up as a john. Her lips were painted with bright pink fluorescent lipstick and she was fluttering her long eyelashes. She had a big curvy shape in a silver sequined dress. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—some nice, uncomplicated sex. I went over to her and asked her what she charged. She said two hundred an hour. I told her I’d meet her in the lobby outside the casino in ten minutes.
I cashed in my chips and rented a room. The hooker was waiting where she said she’d be and she was looking better and better.
In the elevator she asked me if I’d been to Vegas before and I said, “No, it’s my first time,” and she said, “So how do you like it so far?” I said, “Not too bad.” We didn’t say anything else to each other until we got to the room. Then, as soon as the door closed, she said, “So where do you want me?”
We did it once, fast, then I took my time. When we were through, I gave her that two hundred bucks, plus a fifty-dollar tip.
“Thanks,” she said. “That’s so sweet of you.”
She invited me to watch her “perform” later at some strip bar at the other end of town, but I told her I doubted I’d be able to make it.
A few minutes after she left the room, I went back down to the casino.
I wolfed down a couple of burgers at one of the hotel’s restaurants using a comp card, then I was ready for more action. I was planning to leave for New York early tomorrow morning and go to work tomorrow night. I probably could’ve used some rest, but there was no way I was going to miss out on any gambling time in Vegas—especially since I had about $2,600 burning a hole in my pocket.
I wanted to check out as many casinos as I could so I went across the street to The Flamingo. I bought two thousand bucks in chips and went right to a craps table, blowing a grand in fifteen minutes. Before things got really out of control, I got up and started playing blackjack again. I didn’t like the dealer at the table I was sitting at—he was smiling and joking around too much—so I walked around and found a table with an empty seat in the anchor slot. My chip pile was shrinking, but I guess my jet lag was starting to catch up with me because I was too tired to walk around anymore. So I stayed at the table and eventually I started to win again. After about two hours, I won back the grand I’d lost at craps, plus another seven hundred. I cashed in my chips and took my comp card and headed toward the restaurant, ready to pig out on a steak-and-potatoes dinner.
“Looking for a date, honey?”
I’d just left the casino when I looked over and saw the best-looking hooker I’d ever seen. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a tight black dress.
“How much?” I asked.
“Five for an hour you won’t forget.”
I guess I could’ve brought her to my room at Bally’s, but I was so tired I didn’t want to waste the energy crossing the street. Besides, I was rolling in dough so I just rented a two-hundred-dollar room at the Flamingo and took the hooker upstairs with me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get in two goes this time, but I got my money’s worth anyway.
Later on, I could barely get out of bed and I had to pace around my room for about fifteen minutes before I could make it downstairs. Two rare steaks and a side order of shrimp pumped me up enough to make it into a cab and head crosstown to Caesar’s Palace for some poker action. Forty-five minutes later I was broke.