by Bryan Fields
“Bullshit!” The angry one jumped to her feet and started toward me. “We’re not leaving empty-handed.”
The other three girls stood up and pulled their friend back. “Circe, chill out. You’re going to get the cops called. We got stiffed, that’s all. Anything we put on that card, boss man here is going to dispute. Besides, we got rooms, tickets, costumes, and a hundred thousand horny nerds to party with. Even you can sell dances to this crowd. Now get your skinny little twenty-dollar ass moving.”
Circe grabbed her gym bag off the floor. “Screw you, Chelli, and screw all y’all, too.” She stormed out into the hall, nearly running over a skinny guy in an “I Love Elf Chicks” T-shirt. She muttered, “’Scuse me,” and stepped past him.
“Miss!” He waved until she turned around. “Are you, um, a, ah, hook… Um, a prost…Umm, I mean, a lady of the…?” He flushed a bright red and backed toward his room door.
Circe went from diva to temptress in an instant and pounced like a hawk on a baby rabbit. “Prostitution’s illegal in Clark County, honey.” She traced her finger across her lips and down the middle of her chest. “But, if you buy me something to drink and some chocolate-covered strawberries, we can go to your room and you can tell me all about those elf girls you like so much.”
He pulled out his key card and fumbled with the lock. “I have a spare set of ear tips…”
Circe took the card away and opened the door for him. “That’s an extra fifty, baby.” She waved at her friends and closed the room door behind her.
With the drama resolved, I got Mitch into his room and collected his credentials. I called the front desk and paid his room rental for the convention, as I’d agreed. I talked to the manager and made sure they replaced the company card with one of Mitch’s.
After I hung up, I collected his computer and cell phone. “Enjoy your life, Mitch. You might want to start updating your resume.” Mitch just sat there, staring at the floor.
As I opened the door, Mitch muttered, “This isn’t over, asshole. Someday, when you least expect it, I’m gonna get you.”
“And my little dog, too, I suppose.” I closed the door so no one could hear us. “You still have your pathetic little life. Take it and go while you can. I want you to live out your life in peace and happiness, as long as you never cross me again. Do anything stupid, mess with me in any way, and your parents will live out their lives wondering what happened to you.”
He sneered. “Empty threats don’t scare me. You don’t have the balls.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t kill you. I’ll drop you off in the middle of a lifeless nuclear wasteland on a dying world. No water. No weapons. No way home. You’ll die alone and afraid, and your bones will bleach in the sun.” I locked eyes with him again. “You can’t tell anyone I said that, either. Goodbye, Mitch.”
Back in the hospitality suite, I took a moment to compose myself before opening the door. “I’m sorry, folks. I wanted to fire Mitch a year ago, but he had a separation clause that would have bankrupted the company. I had to wait until I could fire him for cause. I take responsibility for what he did, because it’s my fault he had a chance to do it.”
“Don’t say that,” Nadia interjected.
“I appreciate the support,” I said. “But I’m trying to be honest and open—”
“Stop. Talking.” Nadia pulled at her hair in frustration. “David, you just admitted to negligent retention, possibly even other stuff. It’s noble of you to try to take the heat, but you don’t want to be bent over a barrel for him.”
“I’m not… It’s just…arrgh.” I shook my head, trying to find the right words. “It comes down to the captain being responsible for the actions of the crew.”
“Yeah, we get that,” Nadia replied. “Now stop. You’re not the one who made the ‘mouths shut, tits out’ statement. In fact, you fixed the issue. Now, can we go out and have some fun? My parents have dragged me to this city a couple times a year since I was eight. This time, I’m old enough to take it all in. Let’s hit a nightclub.”
The group whistled and clapped. I said, “Isn’t there supposed to be a club in one of the towers?”
Frisco laughed. “Yeah, Epic. It opened on Monday. The grand opening is tomorrow, but there’s no way we’re getting in. Well, Rose might. The rest of us will just be standing in line until it closes.”
Nadia asked, “What time does it open?”
Frisco said, “Eight. Why does it matter?”
“I might be able to get us in.” Nadia got her cell phone out. “Be ready to go in ten minutes.” She walked into her room and closed the door behind her.
“No way she pulls this off,” Frisco said.
Rose got up. “Dibs on the master bathroom,” she called. The rest of the ladies looked at each other and the scramble for mirror space commenced.
I looked at my shirt and decided to change. “Inspection in ten, guys. The ladies are counting on us not to embarrass them.” Only Vex got up and headed for the door. I looked at the others and said, “Guys, the ladies are getting ready for hot dates at a fancy nightclub. This is not a drill!” They saw the light and left with Vex. I ran to our room and found all our suitcases still on the bed. I found a usable shirt, brushed my hair, and snagged the box with Rose’s favorite jewelry in it.
Back in the suite, almost everyone was ready. Rose handed me the pearl strand to put in the room safe and donned her gold and ruby jewelry. I realized I’d forgotten to exhale somewhere in there and grabbed a quick breath. Nadia might be able to get us into the club, but Rose looked like she belonged there.
Nadia poked her head of the bathroom and asked, “Could Shae borrow the pearls for tonight? I’ll stand the price if anything happens. She needs something, and I think that would do it.”
“Sure. I take it you convinced them to let us in?” I handed her the necklace.
She nodded and lowered her voice. “Oh, yeah. VIP level and a thousand dollar credit at the bar. Also, I got you and Rose on the list for the grand opening of the Warchief’s Hall tomorrow at midnight. I want to introduce you to my parents and that’s the one spot I know they’ll be.”
“The Warchief’s Hall? Never heard of it.”
“It’s a private topless club with high-stakes tables. Supposedly it’s all barbarian chic. I guess that means Genghis Khan with throw pillows.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can’t wait to see it.”
It took a few minutes longer to get everyone together, but by eight twenty, we were walking past the line for the elevator to Epic, accompanied by a collection of jeers and cat-calls. They stopped when the Sun Elf woman holding the clipboard opened the rope and allowed us into the elevator. By the time the doors closed behind us, all we heard was begging.
The doors opened onto a schizophrenic scene. The club was circular, heavy on the crimson and gold decorations, with floor to ceiling windows. Two doors led to a walkway running around the outside of the club, set with small tables and padded benches. Tables and a platform for the band bordered the central dance floor. Sun Elf waitresses in tight miniskirts saw to the patrons, while a pair of Succubi tended bar. Behind the elevator, two bouncers in muscle shirts and another Sun Elf woman guarded the stairs up to the VIP area.
As we walked through the club, an all-too-familiar face emerged from the crowd, surrounded by a handful of faces I knew only by picture and reputation. Neil Orrin, president of Marathon games. I saw his smile and gave him a nod, but kept walking.
He moved in front of me, grinning fit to burst. “David, good to see you again. Guys, David Fraser. We had a little bidding war over Curious Diversions a couple years ago. I cut my losses, but Dave went all in. Dave, meet Carl Tanner with Apex Designs, and the one and only Tim Lawson, head honcho and design guru at Spartan. So, Dave, got a product yet?”
I put on a cheerful grin. “Nope! We just decided to come down here and pass out soap and deodorant to the fanboys. We’re doing a public service to help your players get laid.”
That
got a few chuckles. Neil seized on the line and tried again. “Speaking of getting laid, how much is your date running you? You just decide to ah, blow the last of your capital?”
I fought off the urge to punch Neil. Instead, I kissed Rose’s fingers. “Between eighty and a hundred K per year. Rose is my CFO. Absolute hardcore financial genius. She’s also my fiancée. Why all the interest? Did you decide to give up humping little boys?”
Neil’s face darkened. “Yeah, very funny. So tell me, David. How does it feel to be a complete loser?”
I shot back with, “Why don’t you ask your wife how it feels to be rid of one?”
A collective “Oh, boy…” went up from the guys standing behind him. Neil jumped toward me, trying to throw a punch. Several hands grabbed his arms and I saw two bouncers looking our way.
Industry gossip had it his wife had just left him for his largest backer. Supposedly, Neil still had to kiss the guy’s ass at every board meeting, too. From his reaction, I’d say there was a good bit of truth to the reports. Neil shook himself loose and stepped away.
I ignored him and clasped hands with his buddies. “A pleasure to meet both of you. I’ve enjoyed your work for several years. I’d love to chat, but we’re expected up on two. Have a good show.” I gave Neil a farewell wave as we headed upstairs.
This was where the big names were. Managers and senior designers for most of the top ten subscription-based games in the world. Marketing managers from all the biggest distributers. A handful of celebrities who had done acting and voice over work in some of the big titles. Tim Lawson could have been up here as well; I gave him points for sticking with his friends.
Right in the middle of the mob, holding court and surveying his realm, was Gordon Norris. President, CEO, and majority owner of Avalanche Games. Lorena, the Damazi from last night, walked next to him, enjoying the spotlight. Good for her.
We found an open spot and ordered drinks. Our first toast was to enjoying the moment. Whatever else happened this week, we were here now, and that was enough.
* * * *
While we were partying, darker events were taking place a few miles away. In the grand scheme of things, this was little more than one brief skirmish in a vast and ancient war, but it made a great impression on those involved. I think of it as the moment in a chess game when both queens take position on the field.
Even in Las Vegas, few people heard, or cared to know, about this incident. It earned a brief mention on the news, but only after a piece on the desperate shortage of bagpipers available for a new Irish stepdancing production. I’m including this narrative to give later events some context, hopefully without spoilers. Bear with me; it’ll make sense in time.
There is an official police report on file, but it’s dry, repeats a lot, and the officers clearly didn’t want to hear anything that wasn’t consistent with a drive-by shooting. This narrative pulls from that report, as well as some after-action discussions with witnesses. As Nadia said, “It may have happened, it may not have happened, but this is the truth.”
Just before nine that Wednesday night, “Bob”, a middle-twenties Caucasian male, got off a bus on Las Vegas Boulevard, several blocks north of Charleston. He was walking east to his apartment when he noticed a group of older-model cars circling the area. He decided to go a few blocks out of his way to a well-trafficked convenience store, feeling he would be safer in a more populated area.
Bob worked as a waiter for an Italian restaurant on the Strip, and he was carrying a large amount of cash from the night’s tips. The convenience store had a working ATM, so he deposited the cash into his account, just to be prudent. The ATM receipt shows the time as nine thirty-two p.m.
Eight members of a street gang known variously as the North Vegas 40s or the Rolling 40s entered the shop to purchase cigarettes and beverages. They took no adverse action against Bob or the store staff and left without incident.
Outside, a Hispanic boy and girl, both nine to ten years of age, asked the gang members for food or money. One gang member brought the children inside the store and told them to pick out several sandwiches and bottles of milk or orange juice. Another called the police from an outside pay phone and reported the children as possibly being lost or in distress. He requested an officer be sent to pick the children up for their safety.
Bob selected some items he needed as well, and then the group of vehicles he had seen earlier pulled in and parked in front of the store.
A large number of Hispanic, Caucasian, and African-American individuals emerged from the cars. All had gaunt features and emaciated bodies. Their clothing was decrepit, torn, and stained beyond recovery. The newcomers began issuing demands, though Bob couldn’t make out what they were.
The Rolling 40s refused. One entered the store and shouted, “They want the kids!” One store clerk and the two gang members now inside the store attempted to sneak the children out the back. Bob decided to go with them and tried to call the police from his cell phone. They heard gunshots coming from the parking lot, and ran south through the alley toward Charleston.
Security camera footage showed the Rolling 40s pulling out handguns and firing them. The rounds blew out several car windows and hit multiple vehicles, but did not appear to even strike the newcomers. Crime scene investigation later determined fifty-one rounds were fired. Eleven rounds were recovered from the vehicles or other objects in the area. Thirty-seven bullets were scattered on the ground, but none showed any trace of impact deformation—as though they stopped in mid-air and fell to the ground.
Four of the Rolling 40s died in the parking lot, all from sudden and overwhelming levels of cocaine, heroin, and PCP in their systems. No evidence of these drugs could be found at the scene. In each case, death occurred in minutes. The poor bastards didn’t take more than two steps after whatever it was hit them.
The fifth of the Rolling 40s turned up three blocks away, alive but badly injured. His face had numerous claw marks on it and his eyes were missing. His memories and statements were not coherent. He ran away from the gunfire but remembers nothing else after that point.
While looking for help, the two Rolling 40s, the store clerk, the two children, and Bob passed a fenced-off culvert for the storm drain system. The children stated they would be safe hiding in the culvert, so the four adults breached the fence.
At this time, the other gang found them, but didn’t cross the fence. A woman with blood-tangled stringy hair, bloody hands, and gore-streaked empty eye sockets approached, calling the children’s names.
As she closed on the group, a bright blue radiance filled the area. A glowing woman with blue hair and a dark blue robe appeared in front of the children. All the opposing gang members collapsed to the ground. Bob indicated he saw the woman in blue pull “blood-covered faces”, which he believed to be the souls of the slain, out of the bleeding woman’s body. He stated the blue woman’s touch transformed them into orbs of light, which floated away into the sky.
The bloody woman vanished. The blue woman told the children not to be afraid, to go back to the shelter and pray for their fallen friends as well as for those who attacked them. At that point a police car saw the blue glow coming from the culvert and investigated. The blue woman vanished before the police officers saw her.
The children had run away that afternoon from the Meadows homeless shelter in the old downtown area. No missing child alert ever went out. At any given time, Las Vegas had thousands of homeless people, living in and moving between cars, shanty towns, tents, living with friends or family, and squatting in repossessed houses.
With so much movement in the population, tracking a single family could be near impossible. When other children raised the alarm, all authorities involved assumed the family had moved on or been given bus tickets to another state—a favorite way of addressing the homeless situation, despite being officially disapproved of.
The two children were reunited with their parents early Thursday morning. Counselors noticed a few abnormal
statements, but didn’t think any of them significant. One incident stood out during their assessment: both became terrified to the point of hysteria by a portrait of the Virgin Mary on the wall of the exam room. Their behaviors escalated to the point of physical violence against the staff until the portrait was identified and removed. The children refused to discuss the matter, because “she sees us and she knows our names.” Quote obtained from an eyewitness to the session.
Another individual missing from the Meadows shelter, Toni Aguilar—seventeen, Hispanic female—turned up fifty feet inside the storm drain culvert during a cursory sweep for additional evidence. She was hospitalized for exposure. Her record showed eight foster homes in six years, before she ran away from the last one and wound up at the Meadows shelter. Child services elected not to try to place her again. Previous foster parents indicated she had a history of reality dissociation and reports of delusions.
On waking, she stated she had been chasing after the younger children and had tripped while in the culvert, striking her head. She exhibited no awareness of the above events and had to be reassured the younger children were safe. Child services refused to take her in, so the hospital released her Thursday afternoon.
Bob had multiple bullet holes in his garments, but no wounds. Fragments of metal, all partial remains of expended bullets, were found in the folds of his clothes. He had no explanation, and medical needles had no issue puncturing his skin. He was released Thursday morning. He would not answer any additional questions and referred all inquiries back to his police statement.
The last surviving Rolling 40s’ member was arrested on an outstanding traffic warrant and released after a court appearance Friday morning. He was last reported trying to make arrangements to enter theology school. His account of the incident was put up for sale on his church’s web site, with all proceeds to go to his college fund.
The store clerk returned to work the next day and declined to make any further statement.