Con Trails/200 Sky Obscured

by Salvatore A. Joseph

  After a brief ride on the escaladers down to the lower level, Calvin leads the way to the all day and all night buffet. As soon as Sal pays, Calvin heads into the restaurant. He, Mr. Calvin, knows the routine. He simply grabs a plate and starts right in on the buffet line, saving time by going directly to the food. Salvatore follows suit before they sit down. A pleasant waitress greets them and takes their beverage request. In a flash, she scurries off to fill their drink order.

  Mr. Calvin takes a bite and fires right up, “OK young man what can I do for you?”

  Sal says, “Look, I understand a modest bit about gambling, uh, well . . . poker with the boys back home, been out here to Las Vegas a couple of times on vacation, lost my ass each time . . . I’m sure you understand all this too well.”

  “Yep, same ol’ same ol’ every day. Pick ’em up all smiles at the airport and sad as they can be on the way back. So what do you want to find out?” Calvin is an awfully direct person.

  Sal continues, “Actually, I’ve been tracking some bank robbers for over a year now. You may be aware of the two crooks with the fake bombs hitting all over the country.”

  He answers with, “I drive a cab. Chit chat, newspapers, and bullshit all go hand in hand. Every time they jack-up a new bank everyone . . . and I mean everyone wants to talk about them for a day or so. Young man . . . uh, you still didn’t answer my question of what I can do for you.”

  The answer in actual fact did not surprise Calvin at all. “I’m pretty damn sure these guys are using the money to gamble. So if you’re a gambler you go to Las Vegas, right? I mean if someone had picked up an extra 50,000 or 100,000 of play money, I’d go to Vegas.”

  Calvin taking a sip of water, returns to his plate, continues on. “Tell me more. How old, white, black?

  Sal, takes off on a bit of a side track for a moment. “Well, first off, I worked as a Detective for almost 18 years in Houston; a cop for a total of 25. Like you . . . you get a sense, a gut feeling on people; you realize rather they are good or bad. Uh, white, probably 58 . . . 63 or so, in all probability are some ex-military officers.”

  In between bites, Mr. Calvin, offers up a simple, “Yep.”

  Sal continues, “So, you give it some thought and most people who rob or steal do so for some reason, usually to support a drug habit. Whereas others do the deed for gambling and so on.”

  Still chewing away, “Makes sense to me,” came the response from Calvin.

  Sal keeps talking. “I’ve studied these hijackers and I’m sure why they’re doing the robberies—merely for the fun of it.”

  Calvin stops for a second with a bit of a stare and asks, “Huh?” The short previous statement made him think.

  “You get my drift, replies Sal. “These guys are neat as a pin, clean cut, polite, and most important . . . never hurt anyone. They are sort of like thrill seekers, you get it friggin’ . . . adrenaline junkies, like sky-divers or bungee jumpers.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Calvin, “I am well aware of those fuckin’ types. My youngest son is a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division over at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. Scares the shit out of me every time I think of it . . . that crazy fool jumping out of an airplane . . . daytime, nighttime, he don’t care none. He tells me he’s having fun. I think he is out of his mind. Bullshit, that’s what I say, bullshit!”

  Coming back to the subject at hand, Sal continues. “So, if you take away them being dope junkies, they should be gamblers. Now, here is the kicker, they both hold good paying jobs; they are airline pilots who fly here probably once or twice a month, gamble for a few days and go back to work. However, should they lose, they jack a bank or two, but if they win, the guys don’t exist for months.

  Taking a sip, Sal adds, “So tell me about gamblers, who they are, what do they look like? Where do they go?”

  “Hang on, I’ll be right back,” says Calvin as he heads out for more food. Coming back with a plate full of deserts, he slides back into the booth. “OK, where were we?”

  “You were gonna’ tell me about gamblers.”

  “I got ya. Let me stuff this cherry pie down my face and we can get on out of here. I understand, fancy dressers, big spenders, lots and lots of money . . . you come with me,” getting up, he motioned with his left hand and said, “I’ll give you an education, young man.”

  It wasn’t a long wait out front, and waiting on the valet to bring the cab up, Sal ponders over the last few days and weeks. Pulling out of the Luxor Hotel, the Grand Pyramid they start off driving north bound on the famous Las Vegas Strip.

  Calvin is chewing on a toothpick as he slides the faded yellow cab into the steady stream of traffic. He then starts to speak out. “Should you want to learn about Las Vegas, you have to start off in downtown at the Binion’s Horseshoe and Casino. This is what Vegas, the real Las Vegas is all about. Or what Las Vegas used to be . . . not what Vegas is now. Vegas today is too, too much like fucking Disneyland. Anybody who’s a real gambler knows about the Binion’s Gambling Hall, downtown. Mr. Binion, Benny Binion is his name. He bought an old casino, remodeled it and opened up the Horseshoe Casino way back in the early 50s, I think about 1951.”

  Pulling into downtown, all the old casinos come into view, along with all their glitter and lights. The Golden Nugget, The Four Queens, the Binion’s Horseshoe, Fitzgerald’s, almost like going back in a time machine. The cab next pulls up to the east side of Binion’s casino and parks this time in the self park, parking lot. At Binion’s, you self park; no valet parking here, just drinking and gambling. Once settled into a parking space, the two men walk down the east side then a bit down Freemont Street before they enter the casino up front by the dice tables and the big spinning wheel of fortune.

  The sounds of Las Vegas are all around, the crowds, the slots, the ding-ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding, of the slot machines. The people, the voices of the dealers, the stickmen running the dice tables, calling out loudly:

  “No more bets, seven out, line away.”

  “Yes! yes, another front line winner, pay the pass line and take the don’ts.”

  The mass of people passing by fill one’s senses with the unique scent and sounds of Vegas.

  Following along behind Calvin, Salvatore offers, “Yeah, I may of been here once”

  Calvin starts the lesson. “If they shoot craps, this could be the place day or night. Binion’s will take any bet, large or small . . . from fifty cents to fifty grand. If you got the balls, they’ll take the bet. Hell the story is that Benny Binion got into more than one gun fight right here inside the casino. He had a few according to legend, over some sort of bet gone wrong. He wore a six-shooter and didn’t take crap off of anyone. Folk lore is that he did some time in the Big House and that he never lost a gunfight. I think he was from the Dallas, Texas area . . . a real six-shooter carrying cowboy.”

  The two both stop for a moment and scrutinize the numerous craps tables and all the people inside the casino having fun. A brief stop by a row of slots, Sal plays a few dollar slots and wins a few bucks. They walk pass the poker pit, the Sports Book area and the penny slot machines. Sal grins and plays a few more. After twenty minutes or so, Calvin walks up and says “Seen enough . . . Let’s go.”

  Following Calvin, Sal walks back to the waiting cab.

  After a turn right and left, the cab heads back down towards the strip. On the right side of the street is the, 1,149 foot tall Stratosphere.

  “Talk about a friggin’ wild place,” says Calvin. “My friend, up top is even a fucking roller coaster way . . . way up on top: not for me.”

  A bit further down on the right is the world famous Circus Circus Casino, the Sahara Casino and Hotel on the left, as he gives his fare a guided tour of the Strip. A short time later, the lone cab pulls into the long circular driveway passing by the fountains and statues leading
up to the magnificent Caesar’s Palace.

  Calvin subsequently decides to pull around some of the slower traffic and says, “She . . . this place here on our right is big . . . somewhere around 3,350 rooms. The gardens are immaculately manicured, the fountains are flowing, the statues are grand, and the valet service is the absolute best in town. Tell ya’ what. Anyone who wants the royal treatment, this place tops the list.

  After a quick five spot for the valet, Calvin and Sal enter the casino to stroll around. Sal finds it especially hard not to become aware of the cocktail waitress outfits; all the pretty girls with their skimpy outfits. “Wow,” he takes in a brief sigh.

  As the men walk into the front entrance, he is greeted by Caesar himself in the grand foyer. A few steps further and there is a step down which opens into the pit—the gambling pit full of any kind of gambling one might want to do. On hand is Blackjack, Roulette, and of course three fantastic Dice tables on the right side as you step down the two marble steps. The dealers here are the best, the most professional ones, the best dressed ones in the city. To further dress up their uniforms, each dealer wears a 24 carat gold medallion hanging around his/her neck. On the face of the medallion is of course Caesar himself. These dealers are the standard, the barometer that everyone in town tries to emulate.

  The Las Vegas lesson continues as Mr. Calvin starts to speak again. “Depending on how much money they possess, this might be one of the places they would go to for a night of high stakes gambling; craps, blackjack, or Baccarat at night. This is one of the real high-end casinos that attract the high-rollers, the big-fish of gambling. Also, this place still survived with all of the new mega resorts being built all around. This old girl has withstood all of the new fancy competition and is still doing just fine.”

  A glimpse around, Sal takes the view all in, “OK, this is good, real fine.”

  Mr. Calvin resumes and he offers up, “I’ll show you the Tropicana, The Luxor, and some of the other prevailing hotels, like the RIO, and the Bellagio. I’d say if these guys are in their mid to late fifties, Officer types, they probably would like the old style Vegas casinos and hotels best.

  A quizzed expression comes over Sal as he asks, “old Vegas?”

  “Yep, old Vegas . . . my bet is if they play craps, they go to Binion’s during the day and either Caesars, The Luxor, or The Trop(Tropicana) at night. Let’s take a drive and scout around some more,” Calvin suggests.

  Back in the south bound traffic on the Las Vegas Boulevard, they are safe, alone in the cab, driving down the strip. Calvin drives here and around as the cab goes through some of the circle drives looking over the lay outs, the people. The cab a few miles later ends back up at the Tropicana Casino literally right next to the airport.

  Calvin subsequently continues on with his lesson.

  “. . . if these two like night time Dice or blackjack, it’s Caesar’s Palace, The Luxor or the Tropicana. Now if they want a game like Baccarat I’d check out something like Caesar’s Palace or maybe one of the big new places . . . the Bellagio or the new place, uh, uh, the one where the Desert Inn used to be . . . damn, Mr. Robert Wynn’s place, I’ll think of the name in a minute.” He laughs out loud. “The Wynn . . . that’s the name of the resort—The Wynn and its sister Hotel, the Encore.”

  Sal, trying to get back in the conversation, jumps in. “OK, this is good.”

  Calvin, thinking hard, adds, “. . . Trop is close.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry . . . what was that?”

  He continues, “I was sort of thinking . . . the Tropicana Hotel and Casino is the close to the airport, uh you know, when they only got a . . . some thirty minutes or so between flights.”

  Sal gives a shrug and answers with, “Huh?”

  “Well, ya see . . . Oh, yeah, here we get a lot of people who have time to kill between their flights so they hop in a cab and gamble for an hour or so. Hell some of the hard core gamblers will even have you wait while they run in and make one or two big bets then it is back to the airport.”

  “That’s wild. Let’s go take a look.”

  The old cab rocks back and forth as it coasts to a stop at the Tropicana Casino. Once again, Calvin valet parks his cab at 3801 Las Vegas Boulevard South. The men walk on the white marble steps into the casino. Sal is amazed by the overhead chandlers and the large stained glass ceilings. They are so massive and beautiful. The men enter into the depths of the gambling establishment. Both men gaze at the beauty of all the crystal overhead as it comes into view. They drift around and scrutinize—this place is hopping. People are yelling and screaming as their winning numbers come up. The two stop and observe a hot dice game for a while. Next the two men drift about to play some slots off to one side or a video poker game to kill some time.

  Calvin, pointing to one of the craps tables, continues his lesson. “Those black and yellow chips are 100 dollar ones. Some folks call them bumble bees. Those pink ones are 500 dollars, green 25 dollars, and so on; some casinos have different colors for the bigger denominations, but I trust you get my drift. We’ve got us a game here; look at all the damn money!”

  Off to the left side is a little old rich lady playing 500 dollars per hand Blackjack which Sal takes in after a quick glance around the casino area—especially when she plays two or three hands at a time. Sal taps Calvin to show him all the black and pink chips she has on the table, just as she doubles down on two hands . . . and hits!

  Sal asks, “Is she for real?”

  “Yes, my friend that is for real . . . probably only her spending money . . . her pocket money.”

  “I’d say, wow, truly fucking wild.”

  They drift to the other side of the game and gaze for a time, a bit of time more, ever so slowly start towards the exit doors.

  Standing in the valet line, Calvin asks, “Where you staying? Got a room yet?”

  His reply is, “no I sort of decided to come here on a hunch.”

  “Well, if you are going to be checking all these places out, you may as well stay at the Luxor which is right in the middle of all the action and it’s a safe bet they may play there . . . and I can get you a good rate on a nice room.”

  He laughs a bit. “Got a fine little lady friend over there. She takes care of me and I take care of her by bringing her in some business . . . now and then.” He said with a bit of a sheepish grin.

  The four door slightly faded yellow cab is pulling into the front circle drive of the Luxor Resort and Casino, the giant thirty story 365 foot tall pyramid rising up out of the desert sands. Directly outside in front of the pyramid are the Great Sphinx of Giza and the 140 foot tall obelisk. These are copies, but grand first class copies all in all. On the actual top is the famous Luxor Sky laser beam set right on top of the pyramid; some 42 billion candle power strong. Calvin pulls up, parks off to one side, and starts speaking, “This place is known for its high rollers people with lots of money who want to keep a low profile. All throughout the day, things often a bit slow, but late at night, the people who stay here like to get dressed up and play for big money.”

  Sal answered right back, “I like that and all this sounds good to me.”

  They both sort of amble into the casino, past the lions who are on guard and glance about for a moment. A gaze upward way up into the underside of the pyramid, Sal is amazed at the engineering feat it must have taken to design and construct such a unique hotel. Today, deep inside the gambling casino it’s rather slow. Sal moves to his right following Calvin to a pleasant looking mid-fiftyish female clerk.

  A walk up to the massive front desk on the east wall Salvatore checks to see if he can get a room. With a nod from Calvin, the polite female clerk offers Sal a mid-size suite at a rather good price. This is an excellent deal for Sal, and he takes it. Digging in his wallet, he pays with his credit card and then says so long to Mr. Calvin. “Well, I appreciate your help.”
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  Calvin answers back, as the two men shake hands in the lobby of the hotel, “No problem, glad to help out. Here’s my card; if you need anything else, call the main number on the card and tell them to page cab number 45 and I’ll get right back to you.”

  A walk north through the lobby, right past the Starbucks, Sal makes his way toward the East Tower elevators. During the brief ride up inside the large glass elevators, Sal peers out onto the famous Las Vegas Strip past the Tropicana and out towards the airport. Down below, the strip is abuzz with people, cars, and lots of traffic. The strip is full of all kinds of people going this way and that. The ride up is smooth and quick. The time spent going up in the elevators of the Luxor allows Salto peer out: Somewhat amazed at the strip and all the people as he rides up to the 21st floor. His 782 square foot mini-suite is almost as big as his condo. He chuckles to himself as he sets out to make this room, this rather large hotel room, his residence. This place will be home sweet home for the next few days.

  Settled into his new home . . . in his hotel room, he is quickly on the phone trying to reach Agent Bob back in Houston. After a few rings, the voice on the other ends answers, “Hello.”

  Sal asks, “What have you found out?”

  The voice on the other end again is Special Agent Bob.

  “Actually, nothing much, I understand some 40 or so pilots with military backgrounds are working for SouthEast Airlines. I’m trying to get you some more, but I’m having to be careful . . . uh . . . call back after ten, I gotta’ go, bye.”

  “Damn! Wait.

  Hey, ahhhhhh,” barks Salvatore out loud as he reluctantly hangs up the corded telephone on the small work desk in the south corner of the room. A bit tired and aggravated Sal decides to order some room service so he might relax for a while before heading out. An hour later along with several beers, Sal is kicked back on the large sofa watching some TV trying to force himself to get up and go check out the casino action. No way, he is out for the night.