by John Riley
‘All through the night shall an inner voice seek life when laid out seeking slumber. In still moments when dark and yearning, I shall come from shadows to taunt thee.’ The Demon (Samuel Flyte)
In a Las Vegas gambling den that is heaven for silver retirees now glued to the slots and sitting in their own urine – Sam entered the fray.
A quarter or so back in time, he’d seen the carpet joint from a Greyhound bus window nearing the journey’s end from San Diego.
God damn, ain’t that something to behold. Bright neon city, lights flashing, and pretty ladies structuring boardwalks, hell on earth, my kind of town. It’s enough to light up the soul. A fellah can feel lucky when the moon comes alongside Jupiter on the other side of midnight. Viva Las Vegas!
With a wedge of borrowed money and chips that don’t come wrapped in newsprint, he reckoned he had this stranger’s system worked out.
Sam cut in at the table. Man gets a bit of luck. The dames are flocking, a win here, a win there. Sam develops a feel for things, and when thinking day follows night and real men don’t suck from straws, Sam’s luck pissed down the drain.
It all went wrong. Sam couldn’t understand it and hit the bar, necking what he had left until the stranger came alongside.
“Friend, don’t be too nailed about me fleecing you.”
He stood back, gesturing with open palms.
Sam stuck to the bourbon.
“C’mon, you know I thought at one point you guessed… know what I mean?”
He gestured again.
“Maybe you don’t recognise the new outfit?”
“What?” Sam, turning weary from the drink.
“Fellah, you’ve goddam ruined me, ain’t that enough?”
Sam took a second.
“Come to think of it, you, do remind me of someone,” raising the glass to make his point.
The stranger came in close, whispering low and something smokey around the breath.
“We had a clause in that deal way back, the one where I saved your life. Remember? You work for me if we meet again in Zanzibar.”
Sam thought, a vague memory – snake eyes?
“This ain’t Zanzibar. We’re in Las Vegas!”
The stranger reflected with a grin, a devilish grin.
“Check out the name of this hotel!”
Sam looked up at the sign over the bar.
Zanzibar.
The stranger bent down to offer something.
“Here’s the suitcase… you know what you’ve to do.”
