Cindy pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. Sex had been the objective for the night. Usually there was more of a game to play. When it came to sex she moved quickly when she saw someone she liked, but this was fast even for her; a bit unnerving in fact. There was a sense of déjà vu with him, but the good kind. A half teased memory of something memorable which was lost.
“Alright.” Cindy got off the barstool.
Ice hastily downed his drink and left the glass on the bar. He nodded at the bartender who had been watching and the bartender winked. Ice put his arm around her waist and they walked out of the bar.
“You didn’t pay for your drink,” Cindy said looking back. The bartender was not perturbed at Ice leaving.
“He put it on my tab.” Ice replied. “They know me here.”
Cindy frequented the bar but had never seen him before. Or had she?
They caught a cab at the front of the casino. She gave the cabby her address and the car started moving. Cindy stroked his smooth cheeks and ran her fingers through his hair as they kissed. She could see the cabby was spending half of his time watching the action in the backseat. Her hands explored his hard body and she liked what she was discovering. His hands roamed over her and he seemed to intuitively know what she liked. It was uncanny.
At her placed they quickly made it inside, she paraded up to the door slightly undressed and looking flushed. Inside clothes were hastily removed and they kissed furiously. He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He was strong and his skin was chilly against her hot flesh. They rolled and moved and spun in the throes of passion. When she was peaking she felt teeth pierce her throat. He bit her! She moaned as her heart pounded in her chest. He took sustenance from her as his hunger needed to be satisfied.
Cindy lay exhausted from their passion and his feeding. Ice repaired the punctures on her neck and cleared the memory of him from her mind. Again. He didn't need much blood. This was more about sex. Cindy was fun and it was cleaner to have fun and make her forget.
Ice gathered his clothes and dressed quickly. He pulled the sheet over her sleeping nude body. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “See you soon, Cindy.” Dream-like, he left her apartment.
Cindy woke in the morning. She was a bit befuddled. How had she gotten home? Had she been alone? There was a vague memory of a handsome face with a mane of dark hair. Had it been a dream? A recurring dream?
Chapter 5
That Old Time Religion
John arrived at Armando’s at seven o’clock. He was dressed in the same suit he had worn when he met Maggie at the station earlier in the day. He only had three suits which might be considered civilian clothes. He brought two of them to Las Vegas. Priests had no real reason to keep up with the styles of the times since what they wore was dictated by the church. It wasn’t necessary for John to wear street clothes because he was at the parish most of the time and in an official capacity. His closet was filled with black shirts with white collars and black pants. It made dressing in the morning simple.
Armando’s was furnished to create a romantic atmosphere for the patrons. Lighting fixtures on the walls washed the room in a pale red light as though the room was being viewed through rose colored glasses. Small candles on the tables flickered, warming the faces of the customers. It was a fixture in Vegas, well known for food and discretion. It was also known for keeping Las Vegas outside the doors. There were no slot machines in the waiting area, no Keno board endlessly flashing numbers. It was an oasis from Las Vegas in Las Vegas. The Rat Pack famously frequented it back in the day, holding court in the red leather booths.
John walked up to the maître d, an impeccably dressed Italian looking man with thinning hair. “May I help you?” the man asked a trace of an accent in his speech.
“I’m meeting someone. Maggie Collins. Is there a reservation?”
“She arrived a few minutes ago. She’s at the bar. If you will follow me,” He grabbed a couple of menus and led him to the bar. Maggie was looking around the room with practiced eye. She saw John trailing the maître d and smiled. The efficient man spoke before they could greet each other. “Your table is ready, if you will follow me, please.”
John gestured for Maggie to lead the way as they followed the maître d. A clumsy moment of meeting postponed as they were shown to their table. As John walked behind Maggie he could see what she looked like for the first time. A police uniform was not flattering but the pale lavender dress she now wore accentuated her well-proportioned body. The hair she had worn up at work was now loose. It was auburn, straight, and hung down past her shoulders. He imagined it smelled like lilacs. John silently reminded himself who and what he was. It was irregular for a priest not to be known as a priest, and very, very irregular to be going out on a date.
They were shown to a table at the back of the restaurant. John pulled out the chair for Maggie and she sat down; John took the chair opposite. They were handed menus. “Charlie will be your server. I’ll have him come over and take your drink order,” the maître d said. “Enjoy your meal.”
John met Maggie's gaze. He smiled and shrugged. “Hi. You look very nice tonight.”
“Thank you.” She replied. “You look nice yourself.”
“No, not really.” John said. “It’s the suit I had on today when we met. I didn’t bring a whole lot of wardrobe with me. The suit has seen better days and so have I.”
“It’s not too out of fashion. No super wide disco lapels. The shoulder pads aren’t embarrassingly big like Miami Vice styles. It’s not pastel. It’s a respectable suit.” Maggie said. “You don’t seem out of fashion, either.”
“That's nice of you to say, but I look around this place and I feel like I don’t belong.” John glanced around at the other patrons. The couples dining in the rosy room were all very intent upon each other. This was where couples came at the start of relationships. It was like love was pumped in with the AC.
“I don’t know why you feel that way. But we only just met today.”
The waiter arrived and took their drink order. It was enough of an interruption to break the conversation. They looked over the menus. Their drinks arrived and they ordered with some helpful advice from their waiter.
Maggie sipped her red wine then spoke. “Did you look at the data I gave you this afternoon? Did you find anything bizarre and shocking?”
“I looked through it briefly and I found a great deal shocking.” John sighed. He remembered the role he was playing and spoke accordingly. “There are a lot of sick people out there. Most of the murders were not what I expected or was looking for. There were a few which might be useful. But I need to think about the type of person who would do something like that. I have to create the character and reasons.”
“I’m glad there's something you can use. I have the rest of the pages in my car.” Maggie was surprised by his reaction, “I hope you don’t lose faith in mankind. These were a few warped people. Most people aren’t this way. When I was in the field I used to get depressed by what I saw every day. It hardened me, made me cynical. Everyone was either a perp or a victim. “
John's eyes grew wide. You were on patrol?” His voice betrayed his surprise.
“I was on patrol for about three years.” Maggie's voice trailed off.
John could sense there was a story. One she seemed reluctant to tell. “If you don't want to talk about it that’s alright.”
“No, it’s okay,” Maggie smiled, “Really.”
"What made you give up patrol duty?"
She looked at him for a moment while trying to decide whether or not to start the story of how she ended up in the records department. She inhaled sharply and spoke, “Getting shot.” Maggie enjoyed his shocked expression. “I answered a dispatch call for a liquor store robbery in an area off Strip. It was about eleven at night. I was the closest unit to the store and got to the scene first. I parked at the side of the building and got out of the car. Back up was about minute away. While I was waitin
g this nineteen year old kid comes barreling around the corner of the building, gun in one hand, a bag of money in the other. I drew my gun, yelled for him to freeze and drop the weapon. He was surprised by me but raised the gun and fired three shots randomly. A bullet hit me in the abdomen. I got two shots off before hitting the pavement. I wounded him in the leg and the side. He was limping away as the other unit pulled up. They arrested him. We both got a trip to the hospital. He eventually went to jail. I got a .38 slug pulled out of me and put on desk duty while the shooting was investigated.”
“Are you alright now?”
Maggie smiled. She was comforted by the concern in his voice. “I’m fine. I shy away from bikinis now. Getting the bullet out left a scar. It looks like I had my appendix removed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve a great deal of respect for police officers. I know I wouldn't be able to do that job.” John said. “Are you working in records until you are able to get back on patrol?”
Maggie stared at the flame of the candle for a moment before answering. “Not quite. Physically I’m fine, but I lost my nerve. A bit. The job is a lot of pressure. It’s like 58 minutes of boredom with two minutes of terror, every hour. You don’t know who has a gun when you pull over a car for speeding. I was lucky, I lived. When you read about a cop being shot in the papers, often it’s fatal. I’m more relaxed working where I am. I never intended to be in records, but it's not bad. I don’t plan to stay there forever.”
The waiter arrived with dinner and conversation moved to other subjects, but the image of Maggie being shot stayed with John. The meal was excellent, and conversation became easier and more personal as more wine was consumed. After a point John stopped drinking. He’d never been a big drinker but he also knew his limits. Being a drunk priest was not a career ender, but it was a problem for the church. Also his tastes were more slanted to scotch. Wine didn't have the smoky flavor he liked. Maggie noticed he stopped drinking but didn’t say anything. She stopped shortly after he did.
The waiter walked up to the table with the check and set it before John. He reached into his coat to retrieve his wallet. Maggie reached over and took the check from him.
“This was my invitation, I’ll pay for dinner.” She said.
“That's not necessary. I’ll get it,” John protested. “I’m happy to pay.”
“Put the wallet away.” She pulled a small wallet from her purse and handed the waiter a credit card. “I’m helping the arts by feeding a struggling writer.” John looked a bit ashamed as the waiter walked away.
“I really wish you’d let me pay. Forget about the arts.” He didn’t like that he was getting entangled in the writer lie.
“Nope, I won’t hear of it.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“Deal.”
Once outside they decided to take a walk. It was too early to call it a night and they were enjoying each other's company. After a minute of deliberation they headed down Las Vegas Boulevard. The night air was brisk as they walked the neon lit streets of the Strip. There were people out going from one casino or bar to another in search of a good time. They walked close to each other because of the crowds and so they could talk, but not too close. Maggie was attracted to John, and she felt he was attracted to her, but something made him keep his distance.
They walked down the street chatting. John’s eyes were scanning the people they passed. Crowds of revelers, gamblers, and the down on their luck wasn’t something he was used to back at his safe, insulated parish. He generally didn’t see the kind of naked desperation Las Vegas evoked. It was so obvious in the so-called Sin City he was taken aback. Not everyone was in bad straits, most were not, but there were some on the fringes of society showcased in their bad choices.
Maggie noticed his distraction. “Hey, are you with me?” She smiled and tapped him in the ribs. He looked at her, his eyes showing more than he knew.
“I’m not used to this. It all looks like a good time. All the people going from casino to bar, but I’m noticing the people visibly drunk, some panhandling. Are they looking for money to gamble or to drink?” John asked.
“I’ve lived here a long time. I used to see worse on the job. I’ve seen what gambling can do. Mix that with alcohol or drugs, it’s a bad situation.” Maggie said. “Many of these people think they can get out of the hole, score a big win and walk away. But that’s a fallacy. Any money they win, they will probably lose five minutes later. It’s addictive, chasing the feeling of a win.”
A shabbily dressed man walked toward them on the street. His steps were unsteady, he was sick or intoxicated. He asked each person passing by him for a dollar. John heard his patter as he got closer. “Dollar so I can get something to eat? Dollar so I can get something to eat?” His voice was rough and slurred. People ignored him, either not answering, or lying that they had nothing on them. In Las Vegas without money? Not likely.
When he reached John and Maggie he said the phrase he repeated a thousand times already. “Dollar so I can get something to eat?” He was so close to them they could smell the alcohol and sourness of an unkempt life.
Maggie looked through him and said, “No.” It was a firm answer, said with authority and not to be questioned.
John stopped and looked at her, saddened by her callous attitude. “What’s your name, friend?” He asked the homeless man. Maggie stopped and her mouth open slightly. She thought about admonishing him. The disheveled man stopped. He was used to one of three reactions. Being asked a question or engaged as a person wasn’t the usual scenario.
He stared at John with rheumy eyes. “Sam. My name is Sam,” he said suspiciously. The only people who asked his name were the cops hassling him or the missionaries at the shelter trying to save him. They forced him to listen to their sermon before giving him food and a bed.
“Hi Sam. I'm John.” John held out his hand for a handshake. Sam looked at it but didn't shake his hand. John dropped it to his side slowly. “When was the last time you ate, Sam?”
“Yesterday.”
“When was the last time you drank?” John’s priestly instincts took over his actions, more from reflex than a conscious decision.
“Coupla hours ago.” Sam shrugged. Why was he telling the truth? He wouldn't get any money if the man thought he was going to buy scotch.
“Ok. I tell you what I’m going to do.” John reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll give you twenty dollars if you promise me something.”
“Promise you what?” Normally he would have walked away by this point. This man seemed different from others who had tried to ‘save’ him.
“This twenty is yours if you promise to get yourself a meal. Don’t spend it on alcohol or go gamble with it.” John held the bill out. “Okay?”
“Why should you care what I do with the money?”
“It’s impossible to explain, Sam, but I care.”
“I can promise you anything you want, take the money, and buy booze. You’d never know.” Sam was wondering what the game was.
“You’re right. You can do that. But you’d defeat yourself.” John said. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry.” Sam thought for a moment. “Okay. I’ll get a meal.” He took the money and crinkled it to assure himself it was real. He quickly put it in the pocket of his pants. “Are you going to follow me?”
John smiled and laughed. “No. I’m not going to follow you. I’m going to trust you to keep your promise to me.”
Sam regarded him, nodded his head slightly. “Thanks mister.”
“Have a good night, Sam.” John said. Sam smiled. He nodded and then walked up the street. John listened, the patter didn’t start again while they were within earshot.
Maggie stared at John. “That was a foolish thing to do. What made you do that? He’s going to buy alcohol and get shitfaced somewhere.”
“Maybe. That’s a possibility. But I don’t know that for certain.” John countered. “Maybe he w
ill go sit in a diner and get a decent meal. Maybe he will think of another way to live his life. Maybe one little investment and he will change his course.”
“Maybe he’ll buy cheap generic scotch and pass out at a shelter.” Maggie replied. Her cynicism was over riding her humanity.
“Maybe.” John was disappointed by her reaction. “Maybe not. I’m just trying to make a small change in the world. Sam promised. When do you think someone asked him to promise anything?”
“No idea.” Maggie understood his inclination, but found it hard to be generous herself when her job showed the bad decisions people make every day.
They started walking again. “You are a good man, John Bryant; naive and a wastrel with money, but a good man.” Maggie said.
“Wastrel! Ha! Good word. What say we take a side street and get away from the crowd?”
“All right.”
He grabbed her hand and led her down Sahara Avenue. Maggie was guiding the way. They walked a slow circuitous route back towards the restaurant where they had left their cars. The neighborhoods were less noisy as they left the neon and music of the Strip. John noticed marriage chapels. Small gaudy buildings resembling churches; big enough for quick weddings where the friends and family would hear about the impulsive decision later.
“Looks like there are more chapels than fast food joints.” John commented.
“This is Vegas. Everyone likes to do things fast. Fast courtships, fast weddings, fast divorces. Time is fleeting.” Maggie responded.
“Sometimes all three in the same day. I wonder if these places come with a limited warranty for the marriage? Like buy one and get the next one half price?”
“Buy one get the next marriage of equal or lesser value for free.” Maggie said. “Ninety day return policy.”
“A marriage, regular fries, and a regular soft drink all for one low price!” John laughed.
“If the marriage isn’t cooked right we'll replace the spouse for free. Fast food weddings. It’s a brilliant business model.” Maggie was now laughing too.
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