Sunday, March 9, 2014

Surviving the Bright Lights


When my body finally stuttered from sleep I was numb. I could see a black ceiling with a large air conditioning vent directly above me. It kicked on, a gentle breath of cool, comforting air escaped. Made its way to me. Kissed my skin, licked my wounds but also made me realize just how badly I hurt.

My body had been pushed to the brink. Bruises, now yellow, soon purple were already present on my skin. I had no idea how I had gotten them.

Wait no! There was a fight in the midst of everything last night. That place had turned into a battlefield.

What had happened last night that a fight broke out?

I remember it being hot. We were behind enemy lines. Club Trivial’s doorman had let us in at half off the normal cover. Only $50 apiece! A cut-rate bribe. These drones were always easily bought and sold, so predictable. Our squad of four strode past that velvet rope like we had been snorting confidence.

No one in the place could touch us, we were highly trained and fully equipped. I led the way, the most seasoned of the group, field commander. I would get us in so that we were in striking distance, and get us back to safety. All of us. It was my job.

My second was Sal, he was the great thinker. The guy you could count on to keep his head up, and his chin down when the shit really got out of hand.

Gustavo was the hot head of the group, our muscle, our big man. At six seven he towered over everyone. Intimidation by sight alone. His sheer presence was deterrent enough for any enemies that we might encounter along the way.

Then there was Benjamin. I glanced at him bringing up the rear, clutching his I.D. in his right hand like it was a set of dog tags. He was the youngest, and when it came down to it, the reason we were all here. I mean it was young men like Ben whose only desire was to fight the good fight in cities like this. Ben, and kids like him were the life blood of the American Dream.

That dream would come true tonight.

Once we breached the door it was chaos inside. There was nothing but darkness, smoke and the stale scent of decisions about to go bad.

Getting in, it seemed was the calm before the storm. We had been briefed on the horrors we would see, but nothing could’ve prepared us for the stark debauchery that was not only around us, but had seemingly nested and thrived there. The enemy was on all sides, fatigues of fancy suits, and uniforms of tailored dresses that cost more than my car. Their way of life made me sick. I knew that if we even showed the slightest sign of weakness they would envelope us.

We had to keep moving.

To get a read, I tried to glance back at Ben, struggled to make out his face. It had already been embraced by the darkness. What fear, what sacred thoughts must be thundering through his head. His pulse would’ve no doubt been racing, fueled by the sheer anticipation, the mystery of it all.

I signaled for Gustavo to hold position with Ben. The two of them would maintain a perimeter as well as keep an eye on the choke points that served as a dual entry/exit. A forward nod and look was all Sal needed. The two of us detached and began to flank the bar. We would push forward, get the goods and rendezvous on the north east bank of the dance floor.

Already the raucous was getting worse. The cacophony of their war drums seemed to intensify as more foot soldiers poured into the club. We were in the thick of it now. Wall to wall bodies everywhere. The stench of humanity, and knock off cologne was palpable. No one knew what we were there for, this was designed to be a quick mission. Stealth was our companion. There wasn’t a soul in that progressively decorated, trendy hellhole that knew our backstory.

Tactically, Sal and I split off, each hitting our predetermined spots on the bar. I controlled my heart rate, attempted to act natural. Surely, they saw me as one of them. With the patience of a true sniper, I blended in with the scene. I watched, waiting on my perch.

I dialed in to Sal who was about a tenth of a klick east of me. He had belly crawled and already made it to the bar. Being an experienced linguist, I had no doubt Sal was capable of dealing with the locals in their own vernacular. Getting what we needed to complete this mission was not even a question.

My situation was not as enviable, due to my complacency to hang back for a better lay of the land, the line had increased exponentially. A crowd four to five deep in spots had sprang forward. Not to mention, a line of hangers-on chatting and taking up space behind those who were waiting to be served. An elementary distraction, one that I would not be held up by.

Urgency was paramount and I could not wade through these bodies, there wasn’t time. I hustled, dug down deep and drove forward. Before I knew it I had collided shoulder to shoulder with a plain clothes merc. He must’ve also been trying his best to blend in as we were. His scowl, the heavily muscled neck, tensed body language gave him away.

I apologized trying my best to utilize their native tongue. “Sorry bro.” the words came out quickly, but sounded sincere. He nodded, the scowl melted.

When I whirled around I was greeted by a woman dressed in all black. Her hair matched, it was as dark as a raven. She struck me as a mix of cunning, pretty, and expensive. Though the only feature I could be certain of in the dim light were her luminous bleached teeth.

Rather than asking me what I wanted to drink, she only offered an expectant stare. I panicked at first and if it weren’t for the blaring music (so loud you felt like the beat was in your bloodstream) the awkward silence would’ve given me away. “2 Jack and Cokes.” I yelled, my voice cracked then was nonexistent as though I was coming down the first hill on a large roller coaster. Trying to scream but failing.

She turned for a moment, whirled back around with what appeared to be an eye dropper. Deftly, she dribbled what might’ve been three or four drops of a smoky brown liquid into each short glass filled with chipped ice. She then drowned both glasses in cola as though she was putting out a fire.

“Thirty dollars.” She demanded.

“American?” I shouted. Maybe they had clued into the fact that we weren’t like them. It seemed the gouging had begun. The locals were getting suspicious, on the verge of restlessness perhaps.

When she nodded. I scanned the glasses to see if she had placed any heretofore unseen contraband within. They seemed clean.

Handing her my card, I smiled. She didn’t. I watched as a man next to me left a five dollar tip. When she handed back my card, I did the same. I did not pause for a thank you, as it wasn’t customary.

The next part of the mission would be sketchy. Escorting these full drinks through the mobs of dancers, drunkards and those simply taking up space (in the wrong place) would prove difficult.

My group was already surveying the dance floor. I began to close the distance, battling past every goon in a cheap suit, and every tramp in a tight dress. The sweat had begun to flow, already I was parched. Tempted, I nearly threw back both drinks before Ben ever got to see them. Luckily, I was able to think about my duty, my obligation. I resisted.

When I was close enough, my boys made a move towards me to pull me into the group. Sal and Gustavo were holding two Bud Lights and smiling. With pride, I handed Ben his drink.

I offered a toast, “Mission accomplished!” My men and I clanged glasses, and each of us drank heartily.

Ben smiled, his eyes already bleary. I’d never seen him happier.

“What next?” Gustavo asked when we had polished off our drinks.

Sal spoke up, his lips formed a sly smile. “Repeat mission sir?”

And we did. We repeatedly repeated that mission until we were…

My train of thought broke off.

I blinked at the AC. As I tried to gather my sparse recollections, they scattered like butterflies.

There was moaning coming from the room I was in. I staggered, but then stood. Both In spite of the fact that this city had beaten me bloody. “Hello?” I moaned to no one in particular. The room was not one I had been in before. Though the destruction within was no surprise. Couches were overturned, paintings had been torn from walls and smashed. Bar stools had become ash trays (none of us even smoked?). Lamps were shattered and there was something might’ve been chocolate smeared across the length of the wall behind the television. God I hoped it was chocolate.

A faint rasp called out again, “Abe?”

Adrenaline surged, “I hear you bud, I’m coming! Keep callin’ out to me.”

I leapt on the back of the displaced couch. Beneath pillows, sections of a busted inn table and enough cards featuring scantily clad women framed by giant neon numbers to play Spider Solitaire, laid Ben.

I wrested him from the rubble, and hefted him gently on the couch. He looked frail and dehydrated.

“Ben my God? What happened?”

He wheezed, his breathing labored. Tugging gently on my collar with one hand he whispered. “It was…it was Vegas. She knew we were coming. The whole thing was a trap, a set up.”

Ben, the youngster of the group looked at me through tear filled eyes. “Gustavo? Sal?”

I shook my head, shrugged.

“And me Abe? Did I get ‘em Abe?”

“Ya Ben you got ‘em buddy.”

He went still. I carried my friend to the bedroom. It too was a warzone. When I was sure it was clear, I laid him down. He didn’t move, but his snoring was like the din of a buzz saw testing facility.

I was going to turn away, regroup. That was until…through the window of the hotel room I saw it. Lit up, full of mockery as if it ran directly off the power of defeated souls.

WELCOME to Fabulous Las Vegas

I vowed then and there that I would not stand for this, could not. I would avenge my young friend Ben, track down Sal and Gus. This was war after all, and Vegas shall not win.