EYEHEARTZOMBIES

After I had been in Vegas for another month or so, I finally had time to meet up for dinner with Max. He had called me the first week I was in town, but with learning a new job and making sure my face was known around the casino, I hadn’t had time to do much outside of work.

We met at a diner a few blocks from our casinos. It was a quiet little place, stuck in the backside of the Strip. It had dark booths tucked away in the back and that’s where we sat. Max had things on his mind that he wanted cleared away.

After placing our orders and getting our drinks, we started talking. The pleasantries came through first, of course, then it started to get more serious. Dinner broke that up, though, as our orders arrive about the time Max really wanted to get down to brass tacks. When we had finished eating, he was anxious as ever to get back to what he wanted.

“So, tell me. What have they sent you here for?” Max stared at me across the table.

“I’m just here to work muscle at the Flamingo, Max. Didn’t you know that?”

“No no. I don’t want the cover story. What are you really here for? Why did they send you? You’re more than just muscle. You’re a made man.” Max was practically on the edge of his seat.

“I tell ya, Max. I’m just here for muscle. I’m a grunt. I fucked up in Chicago, didn’t watch what was going on around me, and I ended up throwing out drunks in Vegas. It happens.” I shrugged. It made sense to me, even if it wasn’t completely true. I hadn’t fucked up in Chi-town, but it was a good reason for me to be here. Get taught a lesson by being sent into the desert. Wasn’t that what happened to Moses?

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Max was angry. “I know what kind of connections you have, what kind of worker you are. I did the books for years, remember? You are not muscle to them.”

I chuckled. “I’m glad you feel that way, Max. Really. It’s a compliment. But I’m nobody special. I’m just a grunt, a soldier, a peon. Trust me, Max. They sent me out here in a fucking car. If I was important, wouldn’t they have flown me out on a plane?”

Max seemed to buy this. He looked at me over the top of his wine glass and seemed to consider just dropping it there. I guess whatever part of his head said to drop it lost out, ’cause he started up again.

“You mean to tell me that they didn’t send you to take over one of the casinos? The one I run or the Flamingo? They didn’t send you out here to muscle your way and take some of it back over, take some of it back from these fucking spics that’re trying to run the place? They didn’t send you here to do that?”

So that was it. He thought I was going to take over his casino. And where would he be then? Probably dead in the desert, he thought. That or stashed away somewhere in a smoke-filled room reading through account logs and the day’s table takings. It was a scary thought, I’ll admit. But he should have known better. I wasn’t the type to run a casino. I didn’t know a damn thing about ‘em except that I knew better than to leave my money in one. I was a very unlucky gambler, always had been, always will be. I stopped gambling after a three-thousand dollar loss in Atlantic City when I turned 21. When I arrived in Vegas was the first time I had set foot in a casino since then.

“Yeah, Max. That’s what I’m telling you. I’m not the casino type, you know that. I suck at gambling, I don’t see when people cheat. I can’t count cards for the life of me, so I wouldn’t be able to catch people that can. And, besides that, I’m not a business type. I didn’t go to college like you. I don’t know anything about running a business. Trust me, Max. The casino is all yours. I’m just here to earn some money, win back my respect, and then I’m gone. I got plans on going to L.A. or San Francisco. Retire and live by the ocean. Or maybe I’ll go back to New York. But, yeah, Max. I’m not here to take over your casino.”

He seemed to believe me. We got up and left shortly after that. Max paid for the meal, he insisted, said he’d been an ass and had to pay me back somehow. I let him, even though I didn’t really agree.

We were standing outside the cafe, about to part ways. Max looked at me and asked, “So, whatever happened with that dead DA?”

The question stopped me, of course. What the hell did Max know about the dead DA? How the hell did Max know about the dead DA? Unless he was part of it, that was. Ray had said that the hit had come from Vegas. He’s also said it came from a boss in Vegas, so that ruled Max out. He wasn’t a boss, wasn’t even close. He was just a peon, like me. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He oversaw most of the work that went on in the casino he worked at, but he didn’t run it.

Then I started thinking about it. Max had called New York not too long after that whole Chicago mess had happened. Maybe Ray had told him about it. Yeah, that made a lot of sense. Ray would have wanted to know if Max knew of anything suspicious. He probably would have called Manny, too, to see if he had heard anything. With Manny, it’d probably be more of to see if he hadn’t heard anything, as Manny was one that always knew what was going on.

“Yeah, actually Ray says the found out how it happened. I don’t think they caught the guy or anything, but it’s going alright. Nothing coming my way.” I watched him, wanting to know if my first impression was right, but he didn’t give anything away. He just smiled at me and nodded. We said a few more pleasantries, then went our separate ways.