Vegas Moon - John Locke

Eddie leans over and puts his ear to Surrey’s mouth, and then nods.

“What did she say?” Lucky says, shamelessly.

“She wants me to show you our pictures.”

“What pictures?” Gwen says.

“We just got back from Costa Rica.”

“No shit!” Lucky says.

“We had a great time, even though Surrey’s parents refused to join us.”

Gwen and I exchange a look, but Lucky keeps plowing ahead.

“Why not? Too busy? Passport problems?”

“They object to us living together out of wedlock. They’re very strict.”

Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a stack of five by seven prints. Hands them to me and says, “Pass ’em ’round.”

There, depicted in full color, are photos of him and Surrey in Costa Rica. The first one shows Eddie and Surrey standing in front of a cab after arriving there. The second shows Eddie winking at the camera. I notice one of his hands is stuffed inside Surrey’s shirt. Class act, this guy. In the background, the clearly-rattled Costa Rican cab driver and Tom can be seen arguing. The third photo shows Eddie and Surrey trying to check into the hotel. The fourth shows Eddie attempting to bribe the police at the hotel. The fifth shows Surrey in a bikini, laying out by the pool. In the background, people are pointing and laughing. The sixth shows a crowd gathered around Surrey, and Tom working hard to keep them at bay. I skip through the stack, but have to stop when I come upon the shots of Eddie and Surrey at the zip line course. Surrey, in a crash helmet, being strapped into a harness. Her, flying through the air. Her, landing at the second platform, being “caught” by men with serious looks of concern on their faces. So severe are their facial expressions I can only assume Fast Eddie failed to let them know a life-sized doll was heading their way. They probably thought she’d suffered a heart attack.

I pass the photos to Lucky. He glances at them and makes what under normal circumstances would be appropriate comments, such as “Oh, I like this one!” and, “Wow, nice outfit, Surrey!”

When he gets to the end, he passes them to Gwen, who bites her lip to keep from laughing. I dare not look at her for fear we’ll both lose it.

Eddie leans over to Surrey again. Then speaks to me.

“Surrey thinks you’re cute.”

Gwen looks up from her stack of photos and smiles.

Lucky says, “The great thing about Vegas Moon is it’s entirely sports oriented. People can go there and bet the odds on any game being played that day, anywhere in the world. We’ll have a hundred and fifty screens, all live action. Two thousand state-of-the-art reclining chairs, with betting machines built into the arms and a tray on the left for food and drinks. And a button they press to see a high-def virtual screen right in the middle of the air in front of them!”

While Lucky drones on, I feel Gwen’s foot in my crotch. She’s removed her boot somehow, and is rubbing me with her toes. I smile at her across the table. She smiles back. I put my hand on the top of her foot and lightly caress it with my fingertips. Her foot is cool to the touch.

Too cool.

I suddenly realize I’m playing with Surrey’s foot.

I lift the tablecloth and see that Eddie has his left foot under Surrey’s leg and is lifting and moving her foot against me. He sees me watching this take place, and suddenly jumps to his feet and yells, “What the fuck are you doing?”

He’s yelling at Surrey, not me.

Gwen and Lucky look at me, as if I’ve done something wrong.

I shrug.

“You tramp!” Eddie yells. “You fucking whore!”

He slaps her hard across the face.

“Please,” Lucky says. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. It was just a misunderstanding, right Surrey?”

Gwen looks at her husband and says, “Are you really this desperate?”

“That’s it!” Eddie says. “I’m outta here!” He looks at Surrey. “Find your own way home, bitch!”

He stomps off, leaving Surrey with us at the table.

We’re speechless.

As if proving Lucky right about the shitty service, a waiter appears for the first time since we were seated.

“Go fuck yourself!” Lucky says.

“Yes sir!” the waiter says with enthusiasm. He spins around and fairly sprints to the kitchen.

“You think he’s going to?” Gwen says.

Lucky looks at me and says, “Well, I hope you’re happy. Ten million dollars just walked out the door.”

“You don’t want to do business with that guy.”

“Why not?

“Guys and Dolls? The media would have a field day.”

Gwen laughs. “Pickles and Peters in business together. You get it? Pickled Peters?”

“Shut up, Gwen,” Lucky says.

We all shut up. But our heads turn toward Surrey, as if caught in the pull of a tractor beam.

Moments later, Tom scurries over to the table. He appears to have tears in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” he says, with great sincerity.

“Quite all right,” Lucky says.

“I was talking to Surrey.”

Gwen arches her eyebrow and says, “This gets weirder and weirder.”

“I’ll just escort her out of here,” Tom says.

Gwen says, “He struck her!”

“He’s upset,” Tom says.

“I don’t care! He can’t just go around hitting her like that. It’s still abuse.”

Tom lowers his head and sighs.

“He’s done worse.”

He bites his bottom lip a moment, then positions himself behind Surrey, places his palms below her elbows, and carefully begins hoisting her to a standing position.

“This is the worst part,” he says.

“Lifting her?” I say.

Tom shakes his head. “The constant fighting,” he says. “They’re always at each other’s throats.”

“Tom,” I say.

“Sir?”

“What does he pay you?”

“Sir?”

“Eddie. How much does he pay you for this bullshit?”

“He doesn’t pay me anything.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surrey pays me.”

Gwen laughs.

I say, “Of course she does.”

20.

“It’s not going to work, you know,” I say to Lucky.

“What’s not?”

“Your Vegas Moon scam.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t a real deal. And if it was, it wouldn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

“You’re the draw. The rest is just another sports book.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you set the line at Vegas Moon, the casinos would simply adjust theirs. You’d be betting against yourself.”

“You know anything about Vegas?”

“I know there’s plenty of bank financing for legitimate deals.”

We’re in Phyllis’s actual office. Gwen’s walking through the other rooms with a penlight, keeping it below the windows the way I instructed her.

“You know much about sports betting?” Lucky says.

“Nope. But I understand people.”

Gwen’s light appears before she does.

“Where you been?” Lucky says.

“I wanted to see the lipstick message Phyllis left under the toilet seat.”

“And?”

“It’s not there.”

“Cops must’ve took it as evidence.”

She watches us work. Lucky’s going through drawers. I’m pulling up part of the rubber baseboard.

“What were you boys talking about? I could hear you halfway across the office.”

“Creed was telling me why he thinks Vegas Moon isn’t going to work.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Says he understands people. Doesn’t know anything about Vegas or gambling, but he knows people.”

“You probably get to know a lot about people when you watch them die,” she says.

“You think I don’t know people?” Lucky says. “I’m a professional gambler, for Chrissakes! Did you happen to hear the way I talked to Eddie a few minutes ago? How I changed my style and pattern of speech? I sell people what they want to buy, the way they want to buy it. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” she says. “You’re a bullshit artist.”

I’m smiling. Lucky can’t see it, because the lights are aimed at our feet, but it’s all over my face.

“I’m a pro, is what I am,” Lucky says.

“You’re a con artist,” I say. “And desperation is coming off you like stink off a floater.”

A half hour passes as we continue looking for the device. Gwen’s getting antsy, and I wonder if it’s because she knows the device isn’t here. I’ve studied her face since the moment we met, and I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion Phyllis lied about giving her the device. What would be her motive? Lucky’s wife was her rival. Maybe she wanted me to torture, maim, or kill Gwen.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she says.

Lucky says, “Creed. You think the police found it?”

“No.”

“Me either. Let’s see if we can break into her house.”

“You got an address?”

“I can show you how to get there.”

“You’ve been to her house?” Gwen says.

“I had to take papers there once,” Lucky says.

“Lucky’s quite the ladies’ man,” Gwen says.

“Used to be,” he says. “Now I got you.”

We sneak out the back of the office. As we make our way around the building, Lucky takes the lead. Gwen reaches behind her without looking and grabs my crotch. I reach around and grab her boob. Neither of us acknowledges the other, but she can tell I’m awake. As absurd as it is, we walk this way, hand-to-boob, hand-to-crotch, for a good twenty feet. Finally, I let go of her. She’s still holding me tight, so I reach under her dress and slip my hand between her legs as she walks. She’s surprised, and her voice catches in her throat. Comes out as a little squeal. We both remove our hands as Lucky says, “You okay?”

“Just caught my heel for a second,” she says.

“Are you okay Mr. Creed?” she says, without turning around.

“Wait here,” I say. “I’ll get the car.”

I’m in high school again. But having more fun this time around.

21.

“What are you doing?” Lucky says.

“Pulling over.”

“Something wrong?”

“You tell me.”

I’d been heading toward Phyllis’s house, but now I slow down to turn into the entrance of a Wendy’s. I find an empty space and claim it. The sign light casts a yellow glow across part of the back seat where Gwen is sitting, and crosses her diagonally, illuminating her face, right arm and shoulder, leaving the rest of her in shadow. Lucky, in the front passenger seat, is directly in front of her. When he stares straight ahead like he’s doing now, his face is backlit, and has an aura around it, that reminds me of a lunar eclipse. If the moon was wearing a cowboy hat.

Lucky’s nervous, but acting cool. Gwen hasn’t spoken since we entered the car. I see her giving me a quizzical look in the mirror. No one speaks for a minute.

Finally Gwen says, “Would you like to try a combo?”

“Shut up, Gwen,” Lucky says. To me he says, “You know how late it is? I’ve been up twenty hours, nonstop. Not to mention my ass feels like the doctor left his scalpel in my upper intestine.”

I say, “Lucky, look at me.”

“Fine. I’m looking. What do you want?”

“I know what we’re looking for. But I want to know what you plan to do with it.”

He shrugs. “Phyllis had a device. A work product. I need it.”

“Start at the beginning. But before you say anything, I’m going to allow you one lie.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about the device, and how you first learned about it, and I’ll let you lie up to one time. If I believe you’re lying twice, I’ll kill you without giving it a second thought. Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know. You could be bluffing.”

“Spoken like a gambler.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

I glance in the mirror and see the sudden flash of Gwen’s smile as she realizes I just made a reference to what she said earlier in the day: that I was great looking, but it wasn’t a compliment. I give her a wink.

“Spill it,” I say to Lucky. “I won’t use this information against you. You have my word.”

He pauses a few seconds, then says, “How much do you know?”

“I know a lot about the device. Things I haven’t told you. But I need to know what you know, or we could be at a disadvantage with Connor Payne.”

“What do you know about Ropic Industries?”

“I know you put twenty million bucks into a technology company that had a surplus of sixty million at the time. You bought your way onto the board, and worked a deal with your accountant to get your hands on twelve million of their investment capital. I think you took that money and bet it on college hoops, or pro football, or whatever the hell you like to bet on. And I think you lost your ass. So you went back to the trough for more money, and you lost that, too. I think you maxed out what you could get from the accountant, so you came up with this whole Vegas Moon bullshit. You can’t get bank financing, so you’re scamming your degenerate gambling friends, a million here, a half-million there. You’re supposed to be using it to replace the money you stole from Ropic Industries, but you figure if you put it on the Lakers to beat Boston, you’ll be able to repay twice as much. Only you’re in a slump, and nothing’s going your way. You know you’ll dig out eventually, but you need some cash to get you through this slump. Meanwhile, you’ve got this device that Ropic manufactured, and somehow you’re planning to cash in on it. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Which part?”

“I don’t want to do this in front of Gwen.”

“She deserves to know what you’ve been up to.”

“It’s okay, Lucky,” Gwen says. “You can tell the truth. I’ll love you no matter what.”

“You think?”

“I know. ’Cause you’re a winner, Lucky. Everyone knows that.”

He nods.

“Everything you said is true,” Lucky says, “except the part about Vegas Moon, and the device.”

“You’ve just told the first lie,” I said. “Next lie kills you.”

“It’s not a lie! Not exactly.”

Something in his voice makes me believe him. A little.

“Go on.”

“Vegas Moon was my dream,” he says. “I always planned to build it. I put two million of my own money into it, and bought an option on the land. Then the bank crisis hit, and the regulators went ape shit and forced the banks and insurance companies out of the project. So I tried to raise the money myself. But the economy is so fucked up, only a few people invested. It wasn’t enough to start the project. So I used Ropic’s money as a nest egg for my bets. I figured if I could win enough, I could pay Ropic back, with interest, and break ground on Vegas Moon. Here in Vegas, once you break ground, the money starts pouring in.”

I think about what he says, and decide it could have gone down that way.