Limbo 56 by Mike Morris (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

reading gambling books and taking notes.

It seemed that the duration of the flight matched the expectations of the passengers. The party atmosphere had built to a climax just as the first fingers of light appeared in the desert below. A cabin full of passengers broke into spontaneous cheering as the plane swooped down past the green and purple lights of the Strip to land in the twenty-four/seven insomniac city in the desert. Arthur, covering a window, watched as New York and Paris, Italy, Rome, Egypt unrolled under the plane. Two full size wooden ships fought on the edge of the strip, a sign on a castle offered to marry him. Finally they landed.

Arthur allowed himself to be guided through the airport with its clanking, money eating gambling machines, onto a whooshing, driverless train that, amazingly only catered to airport passengers. They disgorged into a street, hot as a blast furnace where taxis came and went like bees on a honey pot. They boarded a cab, big as a boat and cooled to arctic temperature. From ten thousand feet the city had been impressive, at ground level it was overwhelming. He tried to describe his vision of the city to Gladys as the cab purred along the hot streets on the way to the hotel. “It’s like Disneyland,” she said, confusing him with the unfamiliar term, “Disneyland for grown-ups. Disneyland in the desert.” The cab circled a vast green castle of a hotel and stopped at a giant, flashing glass lobby. “Go on,” she said to him. “Go out and explore. Meet us in the hotel bar in two hours.”

He had taken one look at the suite of rooms overlooking a million lights, a hundred hotel cities housing a million transients, and various make-believe oceans, canals and pleasure palaces, and had taken Gladys’ advice. He spent the afternoon, mouth open, wandering among the lights of the city. Impossible buildings clashed along the strip. Men with cranes were busy destroying sparkling new buildings while others built new ones around them, consuming more steel than his foundry produced in a decade. Giants, built of flashing lights pranced in the sky, and fountains, in this desert city, soared a hundred feet in the air.

Finally, exhausted, he retired to the main bar, waiting for the other two. The bar was one of dozens in the Casino city, but, at least he could measure it in one sweeping glance. The noise from the slot machines and gamblers he could shut out as easily as he shut out the roar of the foundry, and he soon found that, contrary to his opinion, the inhabitants of this alien world were friendly. In fact they were extremely friendly, from the shy young beauty who rested her overflowing bosoms on his arm to the dapper and immaculate man with the unfortunate eye condition which caused him to flutter his long eyelashes continually in Arthur’s direction. For some reason they all seemed disappointed and wandered off after a few minutes. His latest friend, however, was more persistent.

She was a little older than most of the lacquered blondes around, quite tall, with a sexy contralto. He was beginning to suspect that he had acquired a certain charm during his stint as Governor. He had never dreamed that a whole stream of beautiful, rich, and sophisticated people would be irresistibly drawn to a lone man at a Vegas bar. He had bought a wallet (they called them billfolds here) to house his stock of American money, but all of the notes were the same size and color, and he had to keep asking his new friends to help him with the unfamiliar prices. Naturally, since they were all so helpful, he felt obliged to buy them drinks. “Cigarettes?” she was saying to him. “Yes, the one with the picture of Ben Franklin.” She noticed his puzzlement and snatched the note in question. “Look, let’s go up to your room and get comfortable, and I’ll get the cigarettes afterwards.”

Arthur was beginning to understand. He was not, he thought, as naïve as many people perceived him to be. This was a ‘woman of the night’ – Vegas style. She was definitely stunning, and seemed willing to bargain her body away for the price of a pack of cigarettes. He opened his mouth, and closed it again suddenly as Gladys appeared. “You’ve been here an hour, and you’re stooping to this,” she spat out, in an uncharacteristic display of prudishness. She snatched the bill and stuffed it down her bodice.

“Hey, bitch,” Contralto said, voice deepening.

“Ladies, ladies,” Arthur said amiably, borne along on a tide of Martinis.

“Oh, my Lord,” Gladys said, somewhere between laughter and fury. “I’m going to have to give you a long talk when we get upstairs.”

“Back off bitch,” Contralto snarled. She seemed to have lost some of her initial refinement, Arthur thought.

Gladys backed up a step, grabbed the hem of Contralto’s skirt and hauled it high in the air to the sound of cotton ripping. Contralto uttered a high-pitched scream and staggered away, clutching the tattered article of clothing. Arthur gaped in horror and two security guards hurried up. “He’s a bit, you know, slow,” Gladys said, glancing sideways at Arthur. “He slipped out while we were unpacking. Don’t worry, we won’t leave him alone again. You naughty boy,” she said to Arthur, “You took my money.” She peeled two notes from the thinning roll and gave them to the guards. “Come on, you,” she said, dragging Arthur away.

“But, she, he was a man,” Arthur was wailing in horror, while Jasper rolled on the bed delirious with laughter. “I mean, why was he dressed like a woman? I mean…” Jasper was gasping for air. “I mean, I mean, he said, groping for sanity, “why would another homosexual want anything to do with him if he looks like a woman?’

“Arthur, I don’t have time to explain all this to you,” Gladys said. “Believe me, it can get complicated, especially in Las Vegas.” She paused. “How much money did you take down to the Casino?”

“All of it,” Arthur said, and she screamed. When the dust settled, she had taken permanent possession of the finances, and Arthur and Jasper were left morosely watching game shows on the huge flat-panel wall TV. She was gone for most part of the evening, and when she returned they noticed that she had picked up a complete new outfit and some jewelry. “Come on,” she said. “There’s a great steak place in the casino, and I’m hungry.”


Chapter 23 - Interview with a Terrorist
At 1am, the steak place was relatively quiet. Impassive waitresses with strange accents served huge portions of food and liquor, white-coated bus-boys whisked away leftovers almost before they were left over, backing away from the table so that they could gaze longer into Gladys’ brown eyes. Beyond the barrier, the endless discreet click of gambling chips played soothing background music. After a few sulky remarks, Arthur relinquished his hurt feelings. He had spent, he realized, an enormous amount of money, more than he had earned in his entire life, on a few drinks. He had, he mentally corrected himself, been swindled out of their entire stash of money by a cross-dresser, a couple of hookers, and a half-literate bartender. He was indeed, he admitted to himself, in this brave new world of eternal light and open sexuality, a little slow. On the other hand, his anger at Jasper’s continuing jibes was not diminishing. He stored it up for later use against the little Devil.

“Osama Bin Laden is here somewhere,” Gladys said. “He was supposed to be in the Howard Hughes Penthouse at the Desert Inn, but we’re too late, the Desert Inn was imploded in 2000. I don’t understand it.”

“I was there when the Desert Inn was imploded,” Jasper said reminiscently. “It was quite a spectacle.”

They looked at him, surprised.

“Well, this is Sin City,” he explained. “I can still wangle special discounts from down there. I would have done so for this place, but she,” here he indicated Gladys,” insisted we pay cash.”

“The last thing we want,” Gladys said loudly, “is to get Hell involved.”

This of course was the cue for the waiter to arrive with a red telephone. He looked rather surprised, as if the phone had appeared from nowhere. “Phone call from a Mr. O’Grady,” he said to Arthur. Arthur stared at the phone and picked up the receiver. A hated voice from the past, smooth, sarcastic and utterly confident emerged from the machine.

“Gladys is right,” the Bastard from London said “You don’t want to get Hell involved.” Arthur snarled and spat a few choice epithets into the receiver. “Fine, let me talk to Gladys, then,” the Bastard from London said calmly. “Due to circumstances beyond my control, I’m here to help you.” Arthur breathed deeply, and looked at Gladys, who had been straining to hear the tinny voice.

“Arthur,” Gladys said sharply. “Give me the phone. Just because he murdered us,” she went on, “doesn’t mean that we have to turn down his help.” She took the phone from him. “Hello, Larry,” she said. “What are you up to then?” she asked while Arthur growled at her. She listened for a while. “I’ll bet you’re not very happy about that,” she said. She laughed. “He’s not as bad as he seems.” She looked at Arthur warningly. “He’s just a bit old-fashioned. Of course he’ll listen to you.” She laid the phone on the table where they all could hear. “Listen to him,” she hissed.

“You asked for it, you know,” O’Grady said to him. “You asked for a knife in the ribs. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. I know, as soon as I opened my mouth you hated me. I’ve changed a little since then, and I hope you have some sense. But really, you have no control.” He paused. “I would have thought that a century as Governor would have at least taught you some patience.”

“Arthur,” Gladys said gently. “He’s right. You went looking for trouble. You started the fight, and you died, and that’s why you ended up in Limbo. He killed me too, you know, but after I ran myself ragged trying to drive him mad, I let it go.” She looked at Arthur, and for the first time he saw pity in her eyes. “I let it go because I realized that I was at least as good as he is, or as bad, don’t matter which. After all this time, and all your efforts, you still feel inferior to a loud-mouthed flashy…” She stopped.

Arthur opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Anyway,” O’Grady said, I’m not just O’Grady, I’m a sort of composite ghost now, expiating my sins.” He laughed. “The ghost of Jacob Marley – and you must be Ebeneezer Scrooge.” He laughed again. “I bet you’re trying to crush that phone in your hands right now.” Arthur could hear a dull sighing on the line, almost like the not-quite audible conversation of a large crowd. “I don’t have much time,” O’Grady said. I can hold Osama for you for a while, but I need to know where he is. Have you found him yet?” he asked.

“The Desert Inn is gone!” Gladys said, anguished.

“There’s still a Frontier sign,” Jasper said, thoughtfully. “Osama has to be around there somewhere.” Gladys asked suspiciously how he could know this, and Jasper shrugged. “Demon’s instinct,” was all he would say. Then, “what about Wynn, Las Vegas. I’m sure that has a penthouse, and it’s close to where the old Desert