He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the first twinges of a painful migraine coming on. “Fucking business. You know where it all went wrong? We got the government involved. Gaming commission, regulatory committee, treasury department… it’s too much. It’s strangling us.”
Milton stood up and slipped on his shoes. “Strangled or not, we need to go to the Feds first. We’ve lost control of this thing, Bill. It’s time to fold.”
As Milton left, James turned back to the city. He used to look at the lights, the naked women, and the glittering casino floors and see his city. It was an extension of himself. As he lived and breathed, so did the casinos. If the lights were to go out and the glitter to turn to dust, he felt as if his heart would stop, and he would turn to dust as well.
He knew he couldn’t be a rat, no matter what the prize was. Loyalty was ingrained in him. Back on the streets, when he was a kid, making one dollar here and five dollars there, the performers all knew there was a bond holding them together. If one street kid got busted, the others could count on him to never tell the cops anything. They were starving, broke, and hustling just to eat one candy bar a day, but they had their code.
James finished his drink and placed the glass down on a side table. He took off his watch and placed it down softly next to the glass. He walked to the railing, climbed over it, and looked down at the people below. He thought about the headlines the next day-“Casino Mogul Takes Out Six People on Sidewalk”-and it made him laugh. He felt warm tears on his cheeks, and he looked up at the stars, which were hardly visible. The lights from the city drowned them.
He took a deep breath and climbed back to his balcony before going inside to make another drink. There were times he felt absolutely drained, like a spent battery. Many people-including Hemingway, whom James had known for a time in the’50s-believed nature was where a man renewed himself. That had never worked for James. He thought of nature as a necessary evil. Where other men saw a mountain, he saw mining operations. Where they saw forests and fresh air, he saw condominiums and strip malls. There was one place he could go and feel the electricity of youth pump through him. He finished his drink then headed down to the casino floor.
37
It was nearly midnight, and Stanton was lying on his side, staring out the windows at the strip. The rumbling of the volcano display started every so often, and the deep bass of the drums pounded in his head. He sat up, knowing sleep was impossible for the night, and fumbled in a few of the drawers on the dresser before finding a packet of Advil liquid gels. He took two with a few swigs of orange juice and dressed before heading out the door.
The hallway was empty, and the colors swirled before him. The multitude of designs, shapes, and hues of reds, oranges, and blues disoriented him, and he stared at the floor as he made his way to the elevator. A man in a bathrobe stood in front of the vending machines, holding a full bucket of ice. He was swearing and pushing the machine.
“Excuse me,” he said, “you don’t have change for a twenty, do you? The machine ate my last dollar.”
“Let me check.” Stanton pulled out his wallet. He had three dollar bills, which he gave to the man.
“Well, just owe me the rest, I guess.”
“No, it’s fine,” Stanton said, refusing to take the twenty.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
Stanton went to the elevators and pushed the down button.
The man yelled, “Damn it!”
He looked over and saw that the man’s next choice, a Twix bar, was stuck.
“My luck this trip,” the man said. “Lost six grand at the tables and five bucks in this machine.” He tried rocking it back and forth then began pounding on the glass.
Stanton walked over. “Let me try.” He reached under the flap where the items were dispensed and quickly withdrew his hand, letting the flap snap shut. The Twix bar tipped. He did it again, and it fell.
“Hey, how’d you do that?”
“It’s a closed system, so the air created from that motion shoots up the machine and then back down.”
“Wow. I’ll have to remember that. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Stanton went toward the elevators again.
“Wait a second. What’s your name?”
“Jon.”
“Jon, I’m Jason. Nice to meet you.”
“You, as well.”
“Hey, what’re you doing tonight?”
“I was… well, nothing really.”
“Why don’t you come back to my room? I got a suite, biggest one on the floor.”
“It’s all right, thank you.”
“Now, don’t be hasty. This isn’t an invitation I make that often. But I got my wife back there, and I think it’d be a blast if you fucked her. I’ve been hitting it all night, but she just can’t get enough. Why don’t you come join us? She just got her fake tits, and she’s looking pretty smoking.”
Stanton didn’t respond. The elevator dinged and opened, and he stepped on.
As the doors closed, the man said, “Your loss.”
He leaned back against the mirrors lining the elevator and closed his eyes. One of the passages in Genesis had always resonated with him, even as a child:
Then the Lord rained down upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of Heaven. And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.
The last phrase was what had stuck with him. As a child, he’d imagined God sitting on a cloud, overcome with anger at the evil he saw in these cities, casting down fire and brimstone and causing earthquakes and floods. Filled with so much rage that his creation would disobey him, he destroyed everything that lived, even the grass and the trees. It had filled Stanton with terror. As he grew older, he no longer feared that image. Instead, he feared what had occurred in Sodom and Gomorrah. Good men, he knew, were only one decision away from becoming evil men. And no one was immune to the darkness.
The elevator came to a stop at the lobby, and he stepped out and went to the casino floor, which was crowded with drunken gamblers. Some were in evening wear, rolling dice, and others were chain-smoking at the three-card poker tables. The slot machines rang and rang, drowning out the sound of the Doors’ “L.A. Woman” that was playing over the speakers. Cocktail waitresses were moving at a feverish pace, getting as many drinks as possible into the crowd. They were rewarded with dollar chips.
Stanton left and walked the strip for what seemed like a long time. He came to the Havana and stood outside, staring up at the lights shooting into space. He made his way inside and went to the casino. It looked no different than the one he was just in.
Stanton walked around the edge of the floor, one hand in his pocket and the other running lightly along the smooth walls. The display of shining steel running along the ceiling in that area was made to look like a river flowing upside down. Stanton stopped and watched it for a long time before moving on. He eventually made his way to a lounge that had funky furniture from the ’60s. The Beatles’ “Revolution” was playing. The area was as crowded as the rest of the casino, and small groups of people were relaxing and enjoying fruity cocktails as they flirted and laughed. Stanton noticed a tall figure leaning against the wall, slowly sucking on a cigarette. He was about to walk past him when he heard one of the pit bosses walk by and say, “Evening, Mr. James.”
Stanton stopped. He was sufficiently far away, and there were enough people around that Stanton thought Bill James wouldn’t notice him. He watched the other man. His simple movements were elegant. The way he lifted his arm and placed the cigarette between his lips, the softness of his exhalations as the smoke left his nostrils, and the way he crossed one foot over the other gave Stanton the impression of a 1930s leading man. He seemed to be from a different generation, one that was nearly gone.