EPISODE 24

Les was ecstatic about the upcoming trip.  He loved traveling for business.  When we went to New Orleans, Les took some vacation time he had coming to him so that he could drive down.  He’d rented a car and taken the most roundabout route you could imagine, via the Florida panhandle.  He’d gotten into town a full day before everyone else, spent a night eating at Antoine’s and then listening to blues at one of the clubs on Bourbon Street – so he was properly hung-over on the morning that the rest of us flew in.   Of course, since things hadn’t really gotten ramped up until the early afternoon, he’d had plenty time to nurse his wounds with a couple Bloody Marys and some shrimp gumbo by the time he had to interact with anyone.  I still don’t know how he did it.  I’m not referring to the pre-conference self-abuse.  I was often guilty of the same behavior.  However, SlipNot kept us all on such a short leash when it came to expenses that I had to wonder what kind of bottomless trust fund Les had discovered to finance his road lifestyle.  The house out in the Hamptons should have been a clue.

“Mikey!” he said with a big smile, “I’m definitely flying in early.  I figure I can drop in on a couple clients, get a little business done and still have the evenings to do fuck-all.  You wanna come along?”

It was funny.  I had also planned on heading out to Vegas early, but not to do any business.

And so it was that I found myself slugging down yet another bottle of Budweiser at the bar at one of the city’s lesser-known hotels.  It is one of the oddest places I’ve ever spent time, but given that it’s located well off the Strip in Las Vegas, what the hell did I expect?  My younger brother though had been very excited when I told him where I’d booked, mistaking it for another establishment with a similar name but his tone changed rapidly, once I told him how little I had paid in advance for my room.

“Are you sure about that?” he’d asked. 

“Pretty sure.”

“Wow!  That’s one of the best places off the Strip.  You scored, man!”

“Scoring” is all in the eye of the beholder, apparently.  It turned out that where I was and where my brother thought I might be were far from one and the same.  When I’d stepped into the cab at the airport and announced to the driver of my destination, he’d made a sour face.

“It’s a toilet!” he declared emphatically.  He was probably correct I thought ruefully, but at $39.95 a night, it was going to be home.  The poor man was so concerned for my welfare that he offered to make a few calls on his cell phone to find me a room someplace else.  I told him that I’d prepaid for my room and that I was only going to be there for one night before changing quarters to the Monte Carlo on Sunday afternoon.  Although clearly unhappy with my thought process, the driver relented and he drove me to the hotel without uttering another word.

When we pulled up, I wondered how far away from the Strip this place could be and still be considered part of Las Vegas proper.  I had planned on walking a good deal while I was in town as this has always been my favorite way of exploring a city.  The problem is that everything in Las Vegas is a hell of a lot further away than it looks.  But my most immediate concern was the condition of my room in what outwardly appeared to be a moderately rundown hotel.  This consternation on my part wasn’t without warrant.  As I closed the door to my room after me and reached to switch on the lights, a piece of the wall, wallpaper, sheetrock and all fell to the floor.  The dust from the shattered sheetrock rose in a plume and I was soon sneezing and coughing.  I dropped my bag, quickly exited the room, and began my hike over to the Strip.

One feature that the Las Vegas mega-hotel casino lacks is the presence of windows except at the entrance.  In this way, the tourist or business traveler is kept blissfully unaware of the time of day outside.  It is therefore very easy for someone to kill an inordinate amount of time inside said gambling establishment without having even a clue that there is a world outside and that somewhere a clock may be ticking.  I’d spent quite a while playing blackjack at the $10 tables and had admirably beaten back the house to the point where I was only down about 200 bucks.  This, of course, was when all hell broke loose.  A very large gentleman sat down to my right and snagged two open places at the table.  He set his chips in the two circles near him and smiled at everyone around the table.  Dutifully, everyone smiled back.

“How’s everybody doing?” he boomed.  His voice was louder than anything else in the casino and that’s really quite an achievement.  With the cacophony of slot machines ringing and the constant rumble, punctuated by lusty cheering at the craps table, it would seem impossible for any other sound to break through.  But this man’s voice did.  The other problem was that he never stopped talking.

“Look!  Dealer’s got a 3!  This is gonna be tough, huh?  I don’t think so!  Look at that Jack you got!  And you got a 9!  Ah man, we’re gonna make money tonight!  I’m doubling down twice on this puppy!  Let’s have those cards, baby!  No way I’m losing this one!”

He offered advice.  He provided a running play-by-play, with color commentary.  He called out to passing waitresses for drinks, for himself and for the rest of us – so I guess he wasn’t completely useless.  But the constant patter at such high volume was unmerciful.  It got so bad that I had to sit out a few hands so I could concentrate on my beer.  At least drinking was something I could still focus on.  I ordered another beer from a passing waitress and slid a $10 chip into the betting circle in front of me.

“Jeez!  Glad you came back!” the big guy shouted.  “You’ve completely screwed up the deal.”

“I what?”

“Aw, man!” the guy complained.  “You should have eaten some of these shit cards I’ve been getting while you were nursing that old beer of yours.  Now, if you’re in – stay in, okay?”

I was beginning to lose it.  I opened my mouth to answer the asshole when I noticed the dealer slowly shaking his head.  I looked up into the dealer’s face, but he was now carefully following the cards as he dealt them out.  I looked down at the one exposed card in front of me.

It was a five.

The next installment of SlipNot will be published here on February 17.

If you’d like to read the whole book today, go to amazon.com.