Preface:
A man must be better today than he was of yesterday if he takes seriously the business of living. When stressed, our true character shows. My "psychedelic" story is a subtle tongue-in-cheek meditation on self-regard and where such self-perception may collide with harsh realities. We don't always get in touch with our private demons. We prefer to hang around with our better angels.
Writing stories and poems in a foreign language is first and foremost a means of self-therapy for me. Sharing them with others is acknowledging the all-too-human need to be understood.
You are not perfect. Nobody is. But your conducting as a reasonable, self-suppressing--- instead of self-gratifying, ego-driven---gentleman in public settings inspires me.
By the way, of all Mitchongs who have expressed themselves in English, you and NQL have kept me on my toes.
Peace.
It was a dark, stormy night
Did I say it was a dark, stormy night? Only it was not. Not yet anyway. It was early in the day, on a cold, dreary, overcast Thanksgiving Day, with strong winds coming down from Canada, blasting through the treeless plains unimpeded, gusting up to 40 miles an hour, and threatening to bring with them sleet and wet snow in any minute now. And I was lying in bed, debating with myself whether I should get up and go out to hustle for a few extra bucks to keep my body and soul together.
A man is nothing but a despicable bum if he cannot support himself, no matter how much he knows from spending time reading serious matters in a public library and how he can converse in at least four languages. In the end, he must eat and have a place to take a bath and sleep. For that he needs money. As simple as that. It is what it is. There is no use to run away from Reality. Just like there is no hope in looking for Love in the wrong places, wishing to find traces of a love long gone. As I said before, people don't love you because either they don't know your worth or think your worth is not worth much. Either way, you are fucked if you are dreaming of an impossible dream. Earlier, just before I woke up, I had had a terrifying dream. I dreamed that I somehow urinated in a lecture hall while a distinguished guest speaker was giving a speech about the necessity of dealing with Reality. I got caught in the middle of the flagrant act, with the stream of my body waste as evidence. My photo was broadcast all over the country and there was a warrant for my arrest, with a warning that I was considered unarmed but offensive. I woke up with a startle, drenched with perspiration, and relieved that I was merely dreaming.
As I dragged myself to the bathroom, I pondered on the Freudian implications of my dream, especially about private sins and public posturing. I would think that I stumbled upon some truth when I postulated that public adoration was nothing if a man would not feel comfortable with himself and respect himself. A man must respect himself, first and foremost. If others respect him also, so much the better; if not, he has two choices: he can reciprocate by showing his own contempt either by words or deeds or he can take a high road and stay silent. A man cannot respect himself if he cannot support himself and is ugly and fat and mendacious and dishonest and sophistical and selfish and unpatriotic. A man cannot respect himself when he conducts himself like a jackass instead of like a gentleman.
First things first, I went to the bathroom, answering the calls of nature, and taking a long leisurely bath while contemplating what I should do with my time on this miserable, cold, lonely Thanksgiving Day. As I dreamily drifted in and out of consciousness in the sinfully warm bath water, a voice kept echoing in the back of my head: "Get up, lazy bum, where's your pride? Go make some money. Don't be lazy. Don't fall for misery."
I am now driving towards my favorite destination, the Bellagio, which is Italian for beautiful lake. And the casino does have a beautiful man-made lake where every night there is a water show of the fountain engineered to emit strong jets of water high in the air in sync with music. The dancing fountain, as it is billed and advertised, is a popular draw with tourists.
I always love Las Vegas (Spanish for The Meadows), an ironic name for a mostly barren, pebbles strewn desert valley ringed around by mountains. The Mormons used to live here for a while and before that, Native Americans. There is nothing physically alluring in the valley, but on the western edge, there is a spring and some vegetation where humans could eke a living if they care to. But we all know, since the 1930's, thanks to the big bright ideas of Bugsy, a mobster, who had a vision to turn this desert valley into a Mecca for gamblers, the town has lived off gambling and tourism and prostitution. Tourists come to town for drinks and sins. They come to gamble, have sex with prostitutes, see some shows, eat at fine restaurants, and go back home after blowing a few thousand dollars. Some blew more than a few thousands and couldn't go back home and were forced to stay, taking up odd jobs to survive. A few end up as homeless and live in a network of underground flood-controlled tunnels and culverts.
As I said, I love Vegas. It's more than a feeling of "I love going there". It's a sensation of excitement and adventure and flirtation with danger, with financial ruin. It's like a relief and joy of playing with Russian roulette and come out alive and breathing.
I am going to spend 5 hours on the road to get there. I will listen to tapes of music and to radio. I will do a lot of daydreaming and thinking. I will come out of this Thanksgiving weekend a few hundred bucks, maybe a thousand, ahead. That was what I was telling myself. But as we all know, dreams don't always come true.
First, I had a flat tire in Kingman, Arizona. That mishap delayed me for two hours and set me back for $110 since the old tire was pretty old anyway and I was not comfortable with the idea of driving on patched tires. I considered myself very lucky that a tire store was open for business on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe the owner was a Buddhist or a Muslim. He could be a Jain or a Jehovah Witness or a plain Jew. Anyway, last year, I had a bad experience of having a repaired tire got a slow leak and ended up in the middle of nowhere for almost three hours before a tow truck towed my car to the nearest tire dealer. I had to spend a lot of money for the motel, towing services, and a brand new tire, not to mention I almost died of thirst, worry, and exhaustion from waiting for the tow truck. You probably wonder why I didn't have a spare tire with me. I did, but I didn't know how to get that measly little tire out of its under the floor board storage space of my Sienna. There are many things in life for which I am inadequate.
So, the day didn't start out well. I began questioning myself, wondering if I would be better off staying in the comforts of my apartment, reading a book instead of being on the road in this miserable weather.
I got to Vegas around three in the afternoon. During the drive, the winds were still brisk, but thankfully there was no precipitation although the sky was of an uniform gray color. I checked into a motel near downtown. It was not a fleabag, but neither of a deluxe accommodation like Bellagio. I refused to pay $200 a night just for a place to sleep and take a shower. I would rather spend $50 a night at some motel and give $150 to some needy homeless guy. That way my money would be better used and I feel better about myself. Why should I make some wealthy corporation more wealthy by patronizing their facilities? The problem with this world is that most humans love status and symbols and pampering. If I need pampering, I would rather be pampered by a beautiful, caring, honest, and sexy woman. But I digress. I got to my room which was on the ground floor, washed my face with warm water and then spread a bath towel on the floor and proceeded to do some Yoga stretching exercises and meditation. I meant to say I closed my eyes while doing the exercises while visualizing my blood coursing through the veins of the affected muscles, carrying with them all the toxic, noxious by-products of my cardiovascular system and deposit them in my urine and solid waste to be expelled out. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Soon I experienced a serenity and peacefulness and went into a deep nap for about 30 minutes. When I opened my eyes, it was already 4pm and I was ready to do combat.
I walked into the casino and headed straight to the poker room. I never play any house games where the casino has an edge in terms of probability of winning. The moment I walk into any casino, I shut out from my mind the glamor, the excitement, the noise, the color, the beautiful decor, and the beautiful cocktail waitresses and lady guests, in short, everything that dulls my judgment that the casino is a dangerous place designed to take money from me by appealing to the human attraction to beauty and greed. Those who get hooked to gambling are those who want to win some more when they are ahead and can't quit when they are behind because they want to desperately get their money back. In addition, the casinos hook them by offering free drinks and sometimes free rooms and meals. But we all know those free offers are not free because very often the guests end up paying hundreds of times over by gambling losses. Poker, in contrast to all other house games, is a game of skills played not against the house (casino) but with other guests. Although luck plays a factor in poker and in the short term, the game is essentially a game of skills over the long term because over the long term good and bad lucks neutralize each other. But exactly what constitutes a short term or long term is very subjective and subject to random statistical distribution of cards. One can get very lucky for hours, even days. And one can get unlucky for weeks and months on end. What matters is the ability to keep one's wits together when the cards are running bad. Well, that Thanksgiving Day was exactly what happened to me. I got very unlucky hand and after hand. My opponents got lucky on me and outdrew me. Whatever they needed to beat me, they got it, even if I held superior cards to begin with. I soon found myself in the red for $900. That left exactly one grand left in my pocket for the weekend. And I just got in town and didn't pass the night yet. Dejected and depressed and deflated, I staggered across the overpass walkway to Caesar's Palace to try my luck there.
I was directed to a table where there was a strikingly beautiful Asian woman player in early 30's. She sat across from me. At first I didn't pay much attention to her. I was concentrating in getting my money back. And I did. My cards held up and I steadily built up a mountain of chips. I got back my $900 and was ahead for about $1,200 when she asked for a seat change and moved next to me when the gentleman who was sitting there, got up and left. She began talking to me and praised my poker skills. I was flattered by her attention. Remember, she was beautiful and Asian (I learned she was Thai) and had white teeth and dressed tastefully. I was a gentleman but not a saint. I was pleased to catch a whiff of pleasant perfume when she leaned over and whispered into my ears some nice words of compliments. She was not a bad player. She held her own. She played conservatively and cautiously and built up a modest win. She asked me about my marital status (I lied) and where I lived (I told her the truth) and what I did for a living (I fibbed again). She told me that she lived in Los Angeles and was in town for a medical equipment sales conference.
As the evening dragged on, it became crystal clear to me that the lady had an interest in me. And to be honest, I had more than a mild interest in her, but I wanted to be candid with her. I told her that I was not an usual guy like those she had met in the past. "How unusual, tell me", she challenged me. To start, I tend to say it as it is. I talk about myself a lot, in fact, all the time. I can't help myself. I'm afflicted with narcissism. I don't buy gifts and presents and I don't expect any. I am not that interested in sex either. I am a boring guy. I don't party. I don't drink nor smoke. I just talk, eat, sleep, try to make some money, read, and talk some more. She protested, "I don't get it. Why do you devalue yourself? I think you are funny and highly interesting. I want to get to know you. Incredulously, I inquired,"You do? " Instantly came an incredible answer (in looking back, I now realized it was a clever, well-rehearsed line) "Yes, I do. I want to smash through the wall you erected around yourself; I want to be a bridge to connect your abyss and mine."
Wow! her short but intense speech did it. I bought it because she seemed so damn sensitive and intelligent. Although we just met, she seemed to understand me a great deal. I was flattered because I was vain and egotistical. I thought all women, if given time and some intelligence and sensitivity, would find me charming and attractive. By this time, I was ahead by almost two grand and I wanted to quit, not only for the night but the whole weekend. I won more than I set out to do. I wanted to go back my humble motel, spend the night, and drive back to Phoenix the following morning. That was when she dropped a bombshell as I was gathering my chips and about to leave. She asked me if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her in her room in the Augustus Tower! When I seemed to be hesitating, she threw me a seductive smile and a hook: "Are you afraid of me? I'm not going to eat you or tear you apart." I said "Fine. Why not."
I cashed my chips and thus had almost $4000 in my pocket. She cashed her chips and together we walked to the elevator. A bunch of questions were swirling inside my head. She didn't come across as a prostitute. She was beautiful and attractive and could easily go out with any man, so why me? Although I was far from being ugly, but I was not what you called well-dressed and I already made it clear to her that I was tight with my money. Was I being lucky or was the lady just being really friendly? Either way, I would soon find out.
Her room was way up on the 25th floor. She made small talks during the ride. I didn't say much because I was nervous. Things like this had never happened to me before. I had a sheltered life. I was only a reader and a talker and nothing more. Her room number was 2502, a very lucky number if you played baccarat. I took it as a good omen. She opened the door and I followed her. The lights were already on. She asked me what I wanted to have with my coffee. "Plain, with two sugars, please", said I. As she was preparing the coffee, I nervously glanced around the room. I noticed that there was no sign of luggage anywhere and the room didn't look like it was lived in. Then I heard the door opened. I turned around and saw an Asian dude with a menacing expression barging into the room, holding a gun. My heart sank and knew then I had been had. She stepped right behind me while her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was, was barking orders that I surrendered my wallet, my watch, and keys to my car. I was speechless and dumbfounded and tried to think fast to survive. I finally said I would be happy to comply with his commands. He ordered me to raise my hands while she went through my pockets and took my possessions. She even frisked me to make sure that I didn't carry weapons. I was glad she was cocksure and confident and not really a professional for she didn't look into my boots. I had with me a switchblade in my right boot. I was hyper-ventilating although I was trying really hard to stay calm. My knees were shaking. She was going through my wallet, extracting the money, and a bank card. She asked for the password. When I was hesitating, the thug said: "The password or your life. Also, tell her where you parked your car. If she couldn't withdraw the money or find your car, you'll be a dead man." I gave her the information and she dashed out of the room.
After she left the room, I said in a plaintive, pleading voice, "May I get my hands down, please, I am very tired and scared. You have the gun, please take whatever you want, and please don't hurt me."
"Okay, you can put your hands down. Now tell me, you really thought that she would go to bed with you? You stupid or what?" He sneered and smiled contemptuously.
"Sir, you got it all wrong. She invited me up here for a cup of coffee. That was all." I tried to explain to him.
"A cup of coffee! How funny! Just shut up!" He barked orders at me once more.
He then sat down in a chair, with the gun, a Glock, resting on his lap, and looked at me in full contempt. I continued standing and felt dizzy and was sweating and debating what I should do because I was getting very angry with the bastard for calling me stupid and ordering me to shut up. All my life I have a deep hatred for bosses and for those who acted in a bossy manner to me. I hate those who abuse power and dare to call me stupid. I hate cops, too. I hate all figures of authority. In some ways I am a hater. I am only a lover of women, books, and flattery. And now what I was getting myself into? I am not really intelligent but I am far from being stupid, and I do have an ego and a fiery temper coupled with a death wish. And the asshole crossed the line when he ordered to me shut up and acted really contemptuously towards me. I looked at his eyes and I shuddered because I saw that he really wanted to kill me after his woman called him about the car. I was glad I gave her the wrong floor of the garage. Actually I just blurted about Floor Number 3 out of habit because that was where I usually parked, but today was being a holiday and all and the garage was packed. I had to park on Floor 4, on the roof. I just remember that. I was going to give him the correct floor but I changed my mind when I saw his eyes. About five minutes had elapsed. That meant I had about ten to fifteen minutes to act before she called him with the bad news that she couldn't find the white Sienna Toyata anywhere on Floor 3. I no longer shuddered for real because I was no longer vacillating between fighting back or giving in. So I summoned all my acting skills and I tried to shudder and look really scared and sick. I acted as if I was about to throw up and I did try to wet my pants. I pointed out to him about my wet condition and in an embarrassing voice asked for permission to use the bathroom. He nodded his head in disgust and I rushed to the bathroom, closed the door, promptly stuck a finger in my throat and tried to retch. I succeeded. Then I retrieved the switchblade from my right boot and put it in the right pocket of my jacket. I came out of the bathroom, stinking of vomit and looking sick. He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and contempt and boredom. I was mad but strangely calm. I had watched many action movies and read many thriller novels. I lurched towards him and opened my mouth, saying " Sir, sir..." but acting like I was about to throw up on him. He got out of the seat and momentarily took his eyes off me. Like lightning, I kicked his hand, the gun flew off into a corner. I pulled out my switchblade, pushed the button, and made a sweeping motion around his neck (I had practiced this move many times under the guidance of a Mexican friend of mine who was an expert in knife fighting). The blade found the target. The crimson jet of blood erupted from his neck. He held his left hand to his neck and staggered towards the gun, but I slashed him again right under the chin, very hard. He opened his mouth and blood rushed out. He looked really pale and very scared and he was swaying, barely able to stand up, both his hands were holding onto the wounds, his hands and arms and shirt were drenched with blood. I closed in, stabbed in the eyes, one-two motion. He tried to speak but all he could do was to make some inaudible gurgling sounds. I kicked at his knees. He collapsed weakly on the floor, his legs twitching. I bent down and finished him by plunging the knife into his heart. When I pulled the knife out, he was gone. I went to the corner, picked up the gun and went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was blood on my jacket. I took it off and dumped it on the floor, went back to the lifeless body, searched for the cellphone, found it and also took his wallet. And I rushed out of the room.
I told myself to stay calm. I was aware that there were surveillance cameras in the casino floor and maybe in the hallways of the hotel, too. I was holding his cellphone in my hand. It rang when I reached the third floor of the garage. I let it ring. I scanned the floor and spotted her walking in the east side of the floor, her phone pressed to her ear, her back against me, and still stupidly looking for the white Sienna Toyota, her right arm extended with my remote car key control in her hand, while her handbag was dangling in her arm. I swiftly ran towards her. My left arm draped around her, pulling her close to me, and I calmly but sternly said while pressing my body hard against her and steered her to the corner: "Sorry, your boyfriend is sick. He's still in the bathroom. Be quiet and you will live." We walked as if we were a couple deeply in love. I took a quick glance behind me. Nobody was in sight. I pushed her behind a big pickup truck, pressed my left hand on her mouth, my right hand on her hair and with one quick, strong, rotary motion, I broke her neck. I then recovered my wallet and cellphone from her handbag and walked briskly up the staircase to the garage roof. I got into my car and drove off slowly away.
I got back to the motel, picked up my suitcase, and drove back to Phoenix. By the time I got near Boulder, snow came down in earnest and strong gusty winds caused my Sienna to sway. The time was around midnight. The visibility was bad and I was debating if I should check into a motel for the night. As I was deliberating, I heard some loud peeps and saw flashing lights behind me I sighed and wondered how the cops responded so quickly. And how in the world they knew it was I who was the perp. I stopped my car and I was at peace with myself. I was not nervous. I was willing to bear the consequences for my actions. I did what I what to do, given the circumstances. If the same situation arises, I would do exactly the same thing. The only difference is that I would no longer fancy that I am irresistible to women. No sir, not anymore. I've learned my lesson. The knock on the glass on the driver side brought me back to the hard reality. I rolled down the window. A middle-aged black cop asked for my insurance papers and driver ID. Then he told me he stopped me because the tail lights of my car went out. I profusely apologized and said that I didn't know of the malfunction and I would have them fixed the first thing tomorrow morning. He said:
First things first, I went to the bathroom, answering the calls of nature, and taking a long leisurely bath while contemplating what I should do with my time on this miserable, cold, lonely Thanksgiving Day. As I dreamily drifted in and out of consciousness in the sinfully warm bath water, a voice kept echoing in the back of my head: "Get up, lazy bum, where's your pride? Go make some money. Don't be lazy. Don't fall for misery."
I am now driving towards my favorite destination, the Bellagio, which is Italian for beautiful lake. And the casino does have a beautiful man-made lake where every night there is a water show of the fountain engineered to emit strong jets of water high in the air in sync with music. The dancing fountain, as it is billed and advertised, is a popular draw with tourists.
I always love Las Vegas (Spanish for The Meadows), an ironic name for a mostly barren, pebbles strewn desert valley ringed around by mountains. The Mormons used to live here for a while and before that, Native Americans. There is nothing physically alluring in the valley, but on the western edge, there is a spring and some vegetation where humans could eke a living if they care to. But we all know, since the 1930's, thanks to the big bright ideas of Bugsy, a mobster, who had a vision to turn this desert valley into a Mecca for gamblers, the town has lived off gambling and tourism and prostitution. Tourists come to town for drinks and sins. They come to gamble, have sex with prostitutes, see some shows, eat at fine restaurants, and go back home after blowing a few thousand dollars. Some blew more than a few thousands and couldn't go back home and were forced to stay, taking up odd jobs to survive. A few end up as homeless and live in a network of underground flood-controlled tunnels and culverts.
As I said, I love Vegas. It's more than a feeling of "I love going there". It's a sensation of excitement and adventure and flirtation with danger, with financial ruin. It's like a relief and joy of playing with Russian roulette and come out alive and breathing.
I am going to spend 5 hours on the road to get there. I will listen to tapes of music and to radio. I will do a lot of daydreaming and thinking. I will come out of this Thanksgiving weekend a few hundred bucks, maybe a thousand, ahead. That was what I was telling myself. But as we all know, dreams don't always come true.
First, I had a flat tire in Kingman, Arizona. That mishap delayed me for two hours and set me back for $110 since the old tire was pretty old anyway and I was not comfortable with the idea of driving on patched tires. I considered myself very lucky that a tire store was open for business on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe the owner was a Buddhist or a Muslim. He could be a Jain or a Jehovah Witness or a plain Jew. Anyway, last year, I had a bad experience of having a repaired tire got a slow leak and ended up in the middle of nowhere for almost three hours before a tow truck towed my car to the nearest tire dealer. I had to spend a lot of money for the motel, towing services, and a brand new tire, not to mention I almost died of thirst, worry, and exhaustion from waiting for the tow truck. You probably wonder why I didn't have a spare tire with me. I did, but I didn't know how to get that measly little tire out of its under the floor board storage space of my Sienna. There are many things in life for which I am inadequate.
So, the day didn't start out well. I began questioning myself, wondering if I would be better off staying in the comforts of my apartment, reading a book instead of being on the road in this miserable weather.
I got to Vegas around three in the afternoon. During the drive, the winds were still brisk, but thankfully there was no precipitation although the sky was of an uniform gray color. I checked into a motel near downtown. It was not a fleabag, but neither of a deluxe accommodation like Bellagio. I refused to pay $200 a night just for a place to sleep and take a shower. I would rather spend $50 a night at some motel and give $150 to some needy homeless guy. That way my money would be better used and I feel better about myself. Why should I make some wealthy corporation more wealthy by patronizing their facilities? The problem with this world is that most humans love status and symbols and pampering. If I need pampering, I would rather be pampered by a beautiful, caring, honest, and sexy woman. But I digress. I got to my room which was on the ground floor, washed my face with warm water and then spread a bath towel on the floor and proceeded to do some Yoga stretching exercises and meditation. I meant to say I closed my eyes while doing the exercises while visualizing my blood coursing through the veins of the affected muscles, carrying with them all the toxic, noxious by-products of my cardiovascular system and deposit them in my urine and solid waste to be expelled out. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Soon I experienced a serenity and peacefulness and went into a deep nap for about 30 minutes. When I opened my eyes, it was already 4pm and I was ready to do combat.
I walked into the casino and headed straight to the poker room. I never play any house games where the casino has an edge in terms of probability of winning. The moment I walk into any casino, I shut out from my mind the glamor, the excitement, the noise, the color, the beautiful decor, and the beautiful cocktail waitresses and lady guests, in short, everything that dulls my judgment that the casino is a dangerous place designed to take money from me by appealing to the human attraction to beauty and greed. Those who get hooked to gambling are those who want to win some more when they are ahead and can't quit when they are behind because they want to desperately get their money back. In addition, the casinos hook them by offering free drinks and sometimes free rooms and meals. But we all know those free offers are not free because very often the guests end up paying hundreds of times over by gambling losses. Poker, in contrast to all other house games, is a game of skills played not against the house (casino) but with other guests. Although luck plays a factor in poker and in the short term, the game is essentially a game of skills over the long term because over the long term good and bad lucks neutralize each other. But exactly what constitutes a short term or long term is very subjective and subject to random statistical distribution of cards. One can get very lucky for hours, even days. And one can get unlucky for weeks and months on end. What matters is the ability to keep one's wits together when the cards are running bad. Well, that Thanksgiving Day was exactly what happened to me. I got very unlucky hand and after hand. My opponents got lucky on me and outdrew me. Whatever they needed to beat me, they got it, even if I held superior cards to begin with. I soon found myself in the red for $900. That left exactly one grand left in my pocket for the weekend. And I just got in town and didn't pass the night yet. Dejected and depressed and deflated, I staggered across the overpass walkway to Caesar's Palace to try my luck there.
I was directed to a table where there was a strikingly beautiful Asian woman player in early 30's. She sat across from me. At first I didn't pay much attention to her. I was concentrating in getting my money back. And I did. My cards held up and I steadily built up a mountain of chips. I got back my $900 and was ahead for about $1,200 when she asked for a seat change and moved next to me when the gentleman who was sitting there, got up and left. She began talking to me and praised my poker skills. I was flattered by her attention. Remember, she was beautiful and Asian (I learned she was Thai) and had white teeth and dressed tastefully. I was a gentleman but not a saint. I was pleased to catch a whiff of pleasant perfume when she leaned over and whispered into my ears some nice words of compliments. She was not a bad player. She held her own. She played conservatively and cautiously and built up a modest win. She asked me about my marital status (I lied) and where I lived (I told her the truth) and what I did for a living (I fibbed again). She told me that she lived in Los Angeles and was in town for a medical equipment sales conference.
As the evening dragged on, it became crystal clear to me that the lady had an interest in me. And to be honest, I had more than a mild interest in her, but I wanted to be candid with her. I told her that I was not an usual guy like those she had met in the past. "How unusual, tell me", she challenged me. To start, I tend to say it as it is. I talk about myself a lot, in fact, all the time. I can't help myself. I'm afflicted with narcissism. I don't buy gifts and presents and I don't expect any. I am not that interested in sex either. I am a boring guy. I don't party. I don't drink nor smoke. I just talk, eat, sleep, try to make some money, read, and talk some more. She protested, "I don't get it. Why do you devalue yourself? I think you are funny and highly interesting. I want to get to know you. Incredulously, I inquired,"You do? " Instantly came an incredible answer (in looking back, I now realized it was a clever, well-rehearsed line) "Yes, I do. I want to smash through the wall you erected around yourself; I want to be a bridge to connect your abyss and mine."
Wow! her short but intense speech did it. I bought it because she seemed so damn sensitive and intelligent. Although we just met, she seemed to understand me a great deal. I was flattered because I was vain and egotistical. I thought all women, if given time and some intelligence and sensitivity, would find me charming and attractive. By this time, I was ahead by almost two grand and I wanted to quit, not only for the night but the whole weekend. I won more than I set out to do. I wanted to go back my humble motel, spend the night, and drive back to Phoenix the following morning. That was when she dropped a bombshell as I was gathering my chips and about to leave. She asked me if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her in her room in the Augustus Tower! When I seemed to be hesitating, she threw me a seductive smile and a hook: "Are you afraid of me? I'm not going to eat you or tear you apart." I said "Fine. Why not."
I cashed my chips and thus had almost $4000 in my pocket. She cashed her chips and together we walked to the elevator. A bunch of questions were swirling inside my head. She didn't come across as a prostitute. She was beautiful and attractive and could easily go out with any man, so why me? Although I was far from being ugly, but I was not what you called well-dressed and I already made it clear to her that I was tight with my money. Was I being lucky or was the lady just being really friendly? Either way, I would soon find out.
Her room was way up on the 25th floor. She made small talks during the ride. I didn't say much because I was nervous. Things like this had never happened to me before. I had a sheltered life. I was only a reader and a talker and nothing more. Her room number was 2502, a very lucky number if you played baccarat. I took it as a good omen. She opened the door and I followed her. The lights were already on. She asked me what I wanted to have with my coffee. "Plain, with two sugars, please", said I. As she was preparing the coffee, I nervously glanced around the room. I noticed that there was no sign of luggage anywhere and the room didn't look like it was lived in. Then I heard the door opened. I turned around and saw an Asian dude with a menacing expression barging into the room, holding a gun. My heart sank and knew then I had been had. She stepped right behind me while her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was, was barking orders that I surrendered my wallet, my watch, and keys to my car. I was speechless and dumbfounded and tried to think fast to survive. I finally said I would be happy to comply with his commands. He ordered me to raise my hands while she went through my pockets and took my possessions. She even frisked me to make sure that I didn't carry weapons. I was glad she was cocksure and confident and not really a professional for she didn't look into my boots. I had with me a switchblade in my right boot. I was hyper-ventilating although I was trying really hard to stay calm. My knees were shaking. She was going through my wallet, extracting the money, and a bank card. She asked for the password. When I was hesitating, the thug said: "The password or your life. Also, tell her where you parked your car. If she couldn't withdraw the money or find your car, you'll be a dead man." I gave her the information and she dashed out of the room.
After she left the room, I said in a plaintive, pleading voice, "May I get my hands down, please, I am very tired and scared. You have the gun, please take whatever you want, and please don't hurt me."
"Okay, you can put your hands down. Now tell me, you really thought that she would go to bed with you? You stupid or what?" He sneered and smiled contemptuously.
"Sir, you got it all wrong. She invited me up here for a cup of coffee. That was all." I tried to explain to him.
"A cup of coffee! How funny! Just shut up!" He barked orders at me once more.
He then sat down in a chair, with the gun, a Glock, resting on his lap, and looked at me in full contempt. I continued standing and felt dizzy and was sweating and debating what I should do because I was getting very angry with the bastard for calling me stupid and ordering me to shut up. All my life I have a deep hatred for bosses and for those who acted in a bossy manner to me. I hate those who abuse power and dare to call me stupid. I hate cops, too. I hate all figures of authority. In some ways I am a hater. I am only a lover of women, books, and flattery. And now what I was getting myself into? I am not really intelligent but I am far from being stupid, and I do have an ego and a fiery temper coupled with a death wish. And the asshole crossed the line when he ordered to me shut up and acted really contemptuously towards me. I looked at his eyes and I shuddered because I saw that he really wanted to kill me after his woman called him about the car. I was glad I gave her the wrong floor of the garage. Actually I just blurted about Floor Number 3 out of habit because that was where I usually parked, but today was being a holiday and all and the garage was packed. I had to park on Floor 4, on the roof. I just remember that. I was going to give him the correct floor but I changed my mind when I saw his eyes. About five minutes had elapsed. That meant I had about ten to fifteen minutes to act before she called him with the bad news that she couldn't find the white Sienna Toyata anywhere on Floor 3. I no longer shuddered for real because I was no longer vacillating between fighting back or giving in. So I summoned all my acting skills and I tried to shudder and look really scared and sick. I acted as if I was about to throw up and I did try to wet my pants. I pointed out to him about my wet condition and in an embarrassing voice asked for permission to use the bathroom. He nodded his head in disgust and I rushed to the bathroom, closed the door, promptly stuck a finger in my throat and tried to retch. I succeeded. Then I retrieved the switchblade from my right boot and put it in the right pocket of my jacket. I came out of the bathroom, stinking of vomit and looking sick. He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and contempt and boredom. I was mad but strangely calm. I had watched many action movies and read many thriller novels. I lurched towards him and opened my mouth, saying " Sir, sir..." but acting like I was about to throw up on him. He got out of the seat and momentarily took his eyes off me. Like lightning, I kicked his hand, the gun flew off into a corner. I pulled out my switchblade, pushed the button, and made a sweeping motion around his neck (I had practiced this move many times under the guidance of a Mexican friend of mine who was an expert in knife fighting). The blade found the target. The crimson jet of blood erupted from his neck. He held his left hand to his neck and staggered towards the gun, but I slashed him again right under the chin, very hard. He opened his mouth and blood rushed out. He looked really pale and very scared and he was swaying, barely able to stand up, both his hands were holding onto the wounds, his hands and arms and shirt were drenched with blood. I closed in, stabbed in the eyes, one-two motion. He tried to speak but all he could do was to make some inaudible gurgling sounds. I kicked at his knees. He collapsed weakly on the floor, his legs twitching. I bent down and finished him by plunging the knife into his heart. When I pulled the knife out, he was gone. I went to the corner, picked up the gun and went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was blood on my jacket. I took it off and dumped it on the floor, went back to the lifeless body, searched for the cellphone, found it and also took his wallet. And I rushed out of the room.
I told myself to stay calm. I was aware that there were surveillance cameras in the casino floor and maybe in the hallways of the hotel, too. I was holding his cellphone in my hand. It rang when I reached the third floor of the garage. I let it ring. I scanned the floor and spotted her walking in the east side of the floor, her phone pressed to her ear, her back against me, and still stupidly looking for the white Sienna Toyota, her right arm extended with my remote car key control in her hand, while her handbag was dangling in her arm. I swiftly ran towards her. My left arm draped around her, pulling her close to me, and I calmly but sternly said while pressing my body hard against her and steered her to the corner: "Sorry, your boyfriend is sick. He's still in the bathroom. Be quiet and you will live." We walked as if we were a couple deeply in love. I took a quick glance behind me. Nobody was in sight. I pushed her behind a big pickup truck, pressed my left hand on her mouth, my right hand on her hair and with one quick, strong, rotary motion, I broke her neck. I then recovered my wallet and cellphone from her handbag and walked briskly up the staircase to the garage roof. I got into my car and drove off slowly away.
I got back to the motel, picked up my suitcase, and drove back to Phoenix. By the time I got near Boulder, snow came down in earnest and strong gusty winds caused my Sienna to sway. The time was around midnight. The visibility was bad and I was debating if I should check into a motel for the night. As I was deliberating, I heard some loud peeps and saw flashing lights behind me I sighed and wondered how the cops responded so quickly. And how in the world they knew it was I who was the perp. I stopped my car and I was at peace with myself. I was not nervous. I was willing to bear the consequences for my actions. I did what I what to do, given the circumstances. If the same situation arises, I would do exactly the same thing. The only difference is that I would no longer fancy that I am irresistible to women. No sir, not anymore. I've learned my lesson. The knock on the glass on the driver side brought me back to the hard reality. I rolled down the window. A middle-aged black cop asked for my insurance papers and driver ID. Then he told me he stopped me because the tail lights of my car went out. I profusely apologized and said that I didn't know of the malfunction and I would have them fixed the first thing tomorrow morning. He said:
"You'd better do that. Where are you heading anyway?"
"Phoenix, sir".
"Phoenix! In this weather? Without the tail lights. Are you crazy? If I were you, I would check into a motel."
Vastly relieved, I replied "Yes sir, I will."
He gave me back the insurance papers and the driver ID. He didn't give me any ticket. He said before turning back to his vehicle: "Fix the lights."
I nodded my head emphatically and thanked him and I drove slowly away, feeling like a million dollars and utterly ecstatic. I did check into a motel in Boulder. I couldn't sleep. I clicked on the TV. There was no news yet. Naturally I was worried about my fingerprints in the hotel room and on the bodies. But on the other hand, there was nothing I could do to undo the situation. I just had to move on. I tried to watch a late night movie, but couldn't concentrate. My ears were tuned to outside noise, preparing for a knock on the door. I was wonderful if anybody saw me with the woman in the garage. Naturally some playrers might recall that seeing me and her playing in the Caesar's, but her body was at Bellagio's garage. That helped the situation a bit. That was typically of me. I never thought many moves ahead. I tended to react to the situation on hand. The more I thought of the situatiaon, the more restless and nervous I got. Then impulsively I called a woman in Georgia who professed a deep love for me and was holding out and waiting for me for 15 years. I told her what had transpired. Her reaction was not what I had expected at all. She was sarcastic and gave me so many cheap shots over the phone that I wondered if she really loved me. I had a feeling that she was very angry that I had agreed to go up to the room of that Thai woman for "a cup of coffee". I hung up the phone and asked myself if I should pay her a visit really soon, like tomorrow. As I tossed and turned in bed, I no longer felt ecstatic. I felt lonely and annoyed and very much on guard. I felt I had made another big mistake in my calling her, in trusting her. Mayaybe the Asian dude was right. Maybe I was really stupid. Anyway, I felt strongly that I had overreached and overstretched my luck by placing that call to the bitch in Georgia. For the first time all day, I felt the voice in the back of my head early this morning was the voice of the Devil. The bastard tricked me and wanted to destroy me. I would prove him wrong, but my life now was going to be more complicated. What could I say? For years, I had bragged that I was a complicated guy. Now it would be a test if I could cope with the complication and the implication this dark, stormy night had brought to me.
Wissai
November 27, 2010
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