All At Stake - A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (Lights Out in Vegas Book 1)

by Sean Patten

  “Happy to help,” the girl said. “Names?”

  “Steve and Justin Powell. And both rooms are on my card.”

  I bristled at this reminder of how Steve had insisted on taking care of all of the expenses for the funeral trip. His reasoning was that he wanted to give me one less thing to worry about, but part of me couldn’t help but wonder if this was his way of flexing the fact that he was making far more money than me at his new job.

  “Sure,” she said. “Can I see the card while I look it up?”

  “Of course you can, darling.”

  A tinge of red formed on the girl’s fair skin. I could imagine some other guy getting a scowl, or even a slap, for calling her “darling” like that, but not Steve. He’d always had an easy way with women, able to get a phone number or a date with nothing more than a smile and a wink.

  He took out his card and handed it over, the girl’s eyes lighting up for a brief moment as she took in the sight of the exclusive, no-limit credit card.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  She swiped it through the reader before handing it back over.

  “Okay,” she said, taking her eyes off Steve for long enough to glance down at her computer. “We’ve got you both in the player’s suites on the fourteenth floor. Key cards will get you in, and feel free to call us down here at the desk if you need anything.”

  “Awesome,” he said. “And…what was your name? Little unfair that you know mine and I don’t know yours, right?”

  Another smile from the girl, this one with a little more teeth.

  “Carly,” she said.

  “Carly,” he said, letting the name play on his lips. “You know, it looks like you’ve got quite a staff here—a pretty big one. And I don’t know about you, but when I’m visiting a new place I like to have a personal touch, someone specific that I go to for anything.”

  “That right?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” he said. “And I’m wondering if I could enlist you to be that special someone. I want you to be the one I call if I find myself in need of anything. My go-to girl.”

  “Sounds like quite the responsibility,” she said.

  He flashed another smile.

  “I think you’re up to the task,” he said.

  She chuckled softly to herself, as if keenly aware of what was really happening.

  “Sure,” she said. “Your go-to girl.”

  “Awesome,” he said. “And I’m thinking that if you’re going to be my sidekick here, I might need a direct line, something other than the number to the front desk.”

  Another smile that suggested she was down for playing his game. Moving quickly, Carly took a piece of paper and scribbled down something on it.

  “My number,” she said, handing the paper over. “I mean, my direct line.”

  Steve took the paper, his eyes still fixed on hers.

  “But,” she said. “I should let you know that I’m off work in a couple of hours.”

  “That right?” he asked. “In that case I might need to hire you on as a freelancer. Fair warning, though—I pay in drinks.”

  “I think we can work out an arrangement,” she said.

  “Happy to hear it.”

  Steve gave her one more wink before turning around and heading off towards the elevators. I glanced back at Carly as I followed him, noting the dreamy look on her face as she watched him leave.

  “Damn,” he said taking a look at the number on the piece of paper before folding it and tucking it into the inner pocket of his sports coat. “That never gets old.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that,” I said as we stepped up to the elevators. “Would’ve thought a decade and a half of being a bachelor would be wearing thin by now.”

  Seemingly unmoved by my slight insult, Steve pressed the button for “up.”

  “You kidding?” he asked. “Ever since I landed this executive job the girl scene’s gotten totally out of control.”

  The doors opened and we stepped inside.

  “I’m telling you,” he said as the elevator began moving upward. “You put a little money into your clothes and you’ll be swatting the girls off you like gnats at a summer picnic. They’ve got this sixth sense; like they know how to sniff out guys on their way up to the top.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Just saying, bro,” he said. “You’re going to have to start playing the field again before too long, and I—”

  “I said I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, my tone making it clear that I didn’t want to continue the subject.

  “Fine, fine,” he said.

  We continued up, the doors opening and revealing a long, well-decorated hallway. Truly, though, I didn’t care about how nice the décor was. I was just happy to be away from the noise and crowds.

  “Okay,” said Steve, looking down at the keycards his hand then back up at a sign on the wall. “Rooms are this way. Come on.”

  I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hall. We reached the end where two large doors, each reading “Player’s Suite,” were situated across from one another.

  “I’m liking this so far,” Steve said. “Let’s check out yours.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, he swiped his card in front of the door reader, the lock opening with a soft click. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “Daaamn,” said Steve as he followed me into the room. “This is nice!”

  Not going to lie—it was easily the fanciest hotel room I’d ever seen in person.

  It was a large room, done up in a clean, minimalist style with black and white dominating the color scheme. The back wall was an enormous window, floor to ceiling, that looked out over the bright lights of the Strip, the view high enough to see the peaks of the mountains beyond the city.

  “This is nice,” I said.

  “More than ‘nice’,” said Steve. “These are the best rooms we can get in the place without renting out the penthouse.” He slapped me warmly on the back. “What do you think, bro? Did I do good or what?”

  “We don’t need all this for a night or two in town,” I said stepping further into the vast room. “I’d be happy at a motel near the airport.”

  “You kidding?” he asked. “One of those shithole two-story places where the door opens up to the parking lot? No way, not for me and my brother.”

  I didn’t give a damn about luxury. All I could think about were two things: How much this room cost, and how it was right in the middle of the city, right in the middle of the crowds.

  “Okay,” Steve said. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  It really did. After the flight and everything else, being alone was exactly what I wanted. I plopped down on the edge of the bed and began searching for the remote for the massive wall-mounted TV.

  Steve took a slow breath, as if getting ready to say something that wasn’t easy for him to get out.

  “And…I’m happy you’re here, Justin. Happy you’re in town. I know the circumstances suck, but it’s been too long. I want to make the most of this time before we go back to our normal lives, you know?”

  I glanced up at Steve. Despite everything, I could sense that he meant what he was saying.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You too, Steve.”

  With a smile and a nod he was off, the door lock clicking behind him.

  Relief took hold as soon as he was gone. I grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, the picture so crisp and clear I could make out the blackheads on the nose of the male reporter and the precise line where makeup ended and bare skin began on the woman.

  “…still uncertain regarding the extent of the effects of the solar flare,” she was saying.

  “Coronal mass ejection!” I said to the TV, shaking my head.

  I watched the news for a time, hoping to find out something new about the event. But despite the procession of different talking heads, it was all the same crap, just the words were different. />
  No one knew anything. Evidently, the brightest scientific minds in the world were on the case and the best they could all come up with was “something might happen. Or nothing might happen.”

  I stepped over to the window that looked out over the city, imaging the glowing grids of the city blinking out, one by one, until there was nothing but darkness. Above, the night sky would twinkle with stars previously blocked out by light pollution, the moon casting a silvery sheen over it all.

  My stomach grumbled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since before the flight. I snatched up the room service menu from the coffee table in the center of the room and flipped through it. My eyes settled on a bacon double cheeseburger.

  God, it sounded good. A burger, a big stack of greasy onion rings, maybe even a tall glass of some fancy, dark beer to wash it all down. My stomach let out a grumble in anticipation, and I could already taste the savory bacon on my tongue and feel its crispy give between my teeth.

  Then, after that, a good night’s sleep for the day ahead. The room was definitely a little too much for my tastes, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t liking the idea of being wrapped up in these soft sheets, a little beer buzz in my head and helping me drift off to sleep.

  Perfect.

  Phone in hand, I prepared to dial up room service.

  But before I could even press down on a single number, a booming knock sounded out from the front door. I set down the phone, stepped over, and opened it up.

  There was Steve, a beaming smile on his face.

  “You ready for a hell of a night?”

  Chapter 5

  My stomach sank to my shoes.

  “A what?” I asked.

  “Come on, dude,” said Steve, letting himself into the room. “Let’s get down there and check this place out!”

  “You serious?” I asked. “Don’t you have a date or something?”

  “Huh?”

  “That girl down at the front desk. Carly?”

  Confusion flashed on his face for a brief moment before he let out a loud laugh.

  “Oh I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. I was just shooting the shit.”

  “What if she’s, I don’t know, expecting you to call or something?”

  He shrugged.

  “You kidding? Girl like her will have a dozen high-rollers begging her to let them by her a drink by the end of the night. Doubt she’s going to be too heartbroken if I don’t give her a call.”

  “If you say so,” I said.

  “Besides, tonight’s all about me and you, brother.”

  My stomach tensed again at the idea of leaving the room and going back into the zoo on the main floors.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Flight kind of took it out of me. I was thinking I might order some room service, maybe watch a movie.”

  Steve’s jaw all but hit the floor. When he recovered, he stepped over to the window overlooking the city and turned back to me, the lights of the Strip outlining his body in a glow.

  “Are you serious right now?” he asked. “Justin, we’re in Vegas, in the best casino in the city, and you want to chill out with a pizza and some superhero movie?”

  “I was thinking a burger, actually.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “No way. No chance I’m going to let you hunker down up here. You want to be a homebody back in New Mexico, that’s your call. But not when I’m footing the bill.”

  “Oh, so there are terms to your generosity now?”

  He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just…I never get to see you. And I was thinking that we could hang out tonight, have a few beers and catch up. Listen, I know you’re not really the Vegas type, so I’m not going to make you go down there and shoot dice. But at least eat your food downstairs at a table with me.”

  I realized there was no way of getting out of it. Besides, he was right; we were due for a catch-up.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll grab some dinner.”

  Steve clasped his hands together in excitement, a big smile on his face.

  “I knew you’d be down,” he said.

  “But one catch: you’re letting me pay.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but I beat him to it.

  “That’s final,” I said. ‘You paid for the flight, the taxi, and the hotel. I’m paying for dinner.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “Whatever gets you to have a beer with me, bro. I’ll let you get changed and meet you down there. Sound good?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m fine now.”

  Steve gave me a look up and down, his brow furrowing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just the jeans, the tennis shoes, the flannel… It’s not exactly screaming ‘high-roller’.”

  “Got no interest in screaming that, or anything else,” I told him.

  “Just saying,” he said, stepping back into the hall. “You’re not exactly going to be having the girls throw themselves at you when you’re dressed like you’re getting ready to clean your garage.”

  I followed him out into the hallway and we made our way towards the elevators.

  “How many times I got to tell you I’m not interested in that?” I asked. “Now drop it.”

  He raised his palms, conceding the point.

  A quick elevator trip down and we were back on the main floor, the chiming and ringing and chatter hitting me with full force.

  “Jeez,” I moaned as we stepped off the elevator. “How does anyone tolerate this?”

  “Easy,” said Steve as he smoothly took one of the free drinks off the tray of a passing waitress, giving her a wink for good measure as he did. “You get drunk and cut loose. When’s the last time you did that?”

  “Had a beer last night before bed,” I said.

  “Not that,” said Steve as we made our way towards one of the restaurants. “Cut loose. You know, had a good time.”

  “I have a good time in my own way,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, tossing back his drink and placing the now-empty glass on the tray of another passing waitress.

  “Damn,” I said, noticing how quickly he’d finished his drink. “Might want to pace yourself, bro.”

  He laughed.

  “Those are the free drinks, man,” he said. “I’d be surprised if there was more than a thimble-full of booze in them. Now, quit dodging the question—and keep in mind posting on your prepper sites doesn’t count as a hobby.”

  “I…I like to work on my projects,” I said, being purposefully vague. “Go to the shooting range.”

  We stepped into the restaurant and we soon seated in an open table, one with a sweeping view of the bustling casino floor.

  “You still stockpiling guns?” he asked.

  “I prefer ‘collecting’,” I said. “And what about you?”

  He shook his head.

  “I live in LA, bro. In my scene owning a gun is as gauche as it gets. People find out you’re packing and they start looking at you like you’re some Midwestern hayseed thinking about overthrowing the government.”

  I shook my head, breaking eye contact.

  “What?” asked Steve.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “I know you’ve got something on your mind. Let’s hear it.”

  “Just…I still don’t get it. We both wanted to go into the service, and only one of us did.”

  He screwed up his face in confusion.

  “What?” he asked. “Why are you bringing that up?”

  “Just bear with me.”

  “Fine. Anyway,” he said, his tone suggesting he was curious as to where I was going with this. “You couldn’t go. Shit was out of your control with that heart problem.”

  “Heart murmur,” I said. “Minor enough to not be a problem in normal life, but major enough to keep me out of the service.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That.”

  “You got in, just like Dad
wanted,” I went on. “And you got training and opportunities and all that shit. I’d kill to have what you did. And now you’re just…letting that all rot.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Steve asked.

  “Not even owning a damn gun,” I said. “Two years of your life in the service and you’re treating it like I never happened.”

  “So what if I am?” he asked. “I only enlisted because Dad all but made me. I didn’t care about the military.”

  “You don’t need to convince me of that,” I said.

  Steve opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to realize what was going on—that I was goading him into a fight. It wasn’t my intention, exactly. The words sort of tumbled out on their own.

  “It’s done,” he said. “It’s in the past. I was a slacker in the service, sure. But I finished my enlistment.”

  “And got out as fast as you possibly could.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “But so what? The military wasn’t for me. You think I should’ve stuck it out for another eight years just because…what—to put in the time that you weren’t able?”

  He had a point. He always did on the subject. But that didn’t mean I still wasn’t raw about how it had all played out.

  “You got the best military training in human history and you’re just letting it all go to waste, like some kid who learned a few chords on the guitar to impress girls and forgot how to play.”

  Steve smirked.

  “I did do that, remember?” he asked. “Begged Dad for that acoustic, learned the first few chords of ‘Wild Thing,’ and never touched it again.”

  I shook my head.

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “I get the point,” he said, not missing a beat. “You’re mad that I got the opportunity that you never had. And you’re mad that I took some white-collar job instead of risking getting a limb blown off in infantry. And you’re mad that I jumped out the day my contract ended. That about cover it?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, forcing the words back. I didn’t want to get into this, so I made the decision to swallow back what I wanted to say.

  And what I wanted to say was this: “Yeah, I’m pissed off about that. And now, a decade and a half later, you’ve gone LA-soft, destined to turn into one of those fat, rich idiots who can barely fit into his expensive suits.”