“Who did you work for?”
“No one in particular. Odd jobs. Did one for the Families once, but they like to use their own.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re a close bunch, the Families.”
“Yeah.”
“How ’bout you, Snake? Who’d you work for?”
“Um, nobody, really. I guess I’ve been a free agent, like you.”
“Ever do a job like this before?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Come on! Tell, tell!”
“No, I don’t like to talk about it.”
“You ever been inside?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think I was workin’ with somebody whose bad luck went beyond a bad roll.”
“No, I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.”
“’Cept for that snake eyes!”
“Yeah.”
“How much you lose on that snake eyes?”
“Uh, twenty.”
“Wow! On one lousy roll? Wow!”
“Yeah, but Mr. Rios bailed me out.”
“That how you hooked up with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Gee, Snake, I just realized. You and me been workin’ for the same guy-what?-two years now, and this is the first time he’s put us together on a job. I usually work with Face.”
“Yeah.”
“You ever work with Face?”
“No. He’s-he’s an odd one.”
“Tell me! Imagine havin’ a face like that.”
“What was it, a fire?”
“Acid. His former employers.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t do to get on their wrong side.”
“Uh, no, I guess not. You should, um, you should think about that, Artie.”
“Think about what? What?! Come on, Snake, what’re you talkin’ about? You know something you ain’t tellin’ me? What?!”
“I’m just saying-”
“Oh, boy, what the hell is that? Cops! Just what we need, I swear! What the hell’re they doin’? Turn around and look, Snake. What’re they up to?”
“I don’t know, Artie. Looks like they’re just driving, you know, patrolling, or whatever. Doesn’t look like they’re particularly interested in us.”
“They’re followin’ us.”
“No, I don’t think so, Artie. They’re just driving.”
“They’re up to somethin’. I can feel it! Those guys are always up to somethin’.
“I don’t-”
“You’re packin’, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, get ready. You might need it. They’re gettin’ closer. God, I hate cops, I really do! I’m gonna slow down a little, we’ll see what they-”
“No, they’re pulling out into the other lane, Artie. They’re not-”
“Oh, boy! Get your piece out, Snake. Get ready to-”
“They’re passing us, Artie, see? They’re going right past us. They’re not even looking over here. Look!”
“Oh. Oh, yeah. There they go. Whaddaya know? Boy-oh-boy, that was a close one!”
“Not really, Artie. Close would be if they pulled us over, asked to see your driver’s license and registration. Asked us what’s in the trunk. That would’ve been close. ‘What have you got in the trunk, guys?’ That would have been something to get all worked up about. They didn’t even-”
“Snake?”
“Yeah, Artie?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.”
“It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”
“What’s nice, Artie?”
“That. Look. The desert at five o‘clock in the morning. The sky still dark but just gettin’ light, and the sand and the hills all blue. Deep blue, like the ocean. I knew a girl with eyes that color, once. Asked her to marry me.”
“Did she marry you?”
“Nah. I ain’t never been married. No family, no friends, no ties of any kind. That’s the way I like it, Snake. Free as a bird on the ocean. Or the desert. Yeah, it’s practically the same color as the ocean out there…”
“No family? What happened to them, Artie?”
“Never had one. I was ‘found,’ that’s what Sister Mary Margaret always used to say. She ran the place where they found me. On the freakin’ doorstep, in a basket. They said I was just a coupla days old. A note pinned to the blanket. ‘His name is Arturo. Please take care of him becuz I can’t. God bless you.’ Whoever she was, she spelled because wrong. She spelled it B-E-C-U-Z. Ain’t that a bitch?”
“I guess so.”
“The freakin’ doorstep!”
“Yeah.”
“I kept that note. It’s in my wallet. Kinda like a picture, ’cept I don’t got a picture of her. Whoever she was.”
“Where was that, Artie?”
“Where was what?”
“The orphanage.”
“New York. The Sisters of Mercy on the Lower East Side. Bowery, just south of Houston. You know New York?”
“Yeah. I was there for a while, about ten years ago, just after I got out of college.”
“College? You went to college?”
“Yeah. Nassau Community on Long Island.”
“Wow. Me, I never finished high school. I got in some troublein New York, juvey, never finished high school. So, you’re from Long Island. Your family there?”
“They were.”
“Where are they now?”
“My parents are in Florida, a little retirement community near Fort Lauderdale. My sister is in Philly. She’s got a family. Two boys and a girl.”
“Wow, Snake, you’re an uncle?!”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Two nephews and a niece. Must be nice.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them. Sally’s husband doesn’t like me coming around.”
“Oh. Well, at least you know where they are.”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, college! What did you major in?”
“Business management.”
“So, why ain’t you managin’ a business?”
“I found other work that paid better.”
“Yeah, just like me! How long you been in Vegas?”
“A little over two years. I came out to do some work, and then I got stuck at that table.”
“Yeah, the snake eyes. Right. So, you plannin’ on stayin’ here?”
“Probably. A while, anyway.”
“Yeah. Vegas is where the money is, Snake. That’s why I’m stickin’ around. For a while, anyway. Lots of job opportunities, ya know? Lots of people like Mr. Rios. And lots of idiots like Mr. Big Spender in the trunk! Heh-heh. God, that was dumb! Tryin’ to cheat Mr. Rios like that…”
“Yeah. You shouldn’t try to cheat Mr. Rios.”
“That’s for sure! I hear he’s handled quite a few guys like Mr. Big Spender. Took out a coupla them myself. Face says he thinks it’s more than a dozen now. This desert must be fulla bodies. Yessiree Bob! Here, wanna cigarette?”
“No, thank you, Artie. I don’t smoke.”
“Yeah, yeah, bad for your health. Lung cancer, emphysema, second-hand whatever, the ozone layer, higher taxes, the end ‘a the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I love ’em. Mmmm, that’s good. Nothin’ like a Winston. ‘Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.’ Remember that, Snake?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmmm. Let’s see, the turnoff’s up here somewhere. Then it’s a kinda long drive on the dirt road, straight out into the desert. I’ll know the place when I see it. What time is it now, Snake?”
“Um, let me see…”
“Oh, boy, here we go again.”
“It’s five-ten. Five-eleven. Yeah, five-eleven.”
“Five-eleven. ’Nother half hour or so, and our business will be over.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, here’s the turnoff.”
“You sure, Artie?”
“Yeah, this is it for sure. I know where I’m goin’.”
“Okay…”
“What, you don’t trust me?”