3 Sin City Hunter (3 page)

“I’d like a glass of Riesling, please,” I told him. He nodded and turned to get the wine. I didn’t ask to see a menu, but when he set the glass of wine in front of me, I asked, “Do you have Reuben sandwiches?”

I loved the sandwiches
and tried to make them at least once a week for me and Darby. I
always ordered a Reuben
in a new restaurant and was interested in how others made the sandwich – Russian dressing or thousand island, classic or marble rye, corned beef or pastrami, very sour sauerkraut or mild. Some people used provolone rather than Swiss cheese
,
which is profane if you ask me.

“We have Reuben’s on the lunch menu,” said the bartender, “but let me see if Chef will
prepare one
for you tonight. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile as he walked away.

I
turned to observe the diners in the restaurant
as well as
the players
in the casino. Two sides of the restaurant were open
giving
a view to the action on the casino floor. It was an interesting design concept and quite enjoyable.

A man
came
into the restaurant and sat down at the end of the bar to my left. He made eye contact with me and nodded his head. I smiled a small smile and looked away. I instinctively reached for the ring on my left hand and turned it to be sure the diamond was prominent in its position. I didn’t want any advances an
d hoped the ring would send the
message loud and clear.

I stole a second look at the man. He was sitting with his hands folded
in front of him
, and he was slumped forward a bit. I couldn’t help it, but a
small
giggle escaped. He
was wearing
a plain brown suit and a somewhat rum
pled dress shirt with a tie which
had been loosened. His hat, a
small,
brown bowler, had been placed on the bar beside him.

I wasn’t giggling about his tired attire, I was giggling at his face. He wasn’t unattractive, but he had a very prominent chin with a deep cleft. I had on
ly ever seen a cleft similar to this
one on one other man – Detective Bentley with the Carbide City Police Department. Where Detective Bentley had dark features, this man’s were much lighter, and I quickly thought of the cartoon character Dudley Do-Right. I giggled again.

The bartender returned and caught me smiling to myself. He gave the bar a light slap with the p
alm of his hand and said
, “Chef said ‘
no problem
,’ and your Reuben sandwich will be right up.” I thanked him as he moved on down the bar to take the man’s order
which
was
a shot of Jack Daniels. He must have had a long day.

The bartender returned to me and said, “You look familiar. Have you been in here recently?”

My first thought was
he didn’t have a very original line if he was trying to pick me up, but I simply said, “Nope. This is my first trip to Vegas, and I just arrived today.”

“Wow,” he said with a disappointed inflection. “I usually never forget a f
ace, and there’s something
familiar about you. Your look certainly isn’t common,” he said with a big smile, “and I should know where I’ve seen you before.”
I
shrugged my shoulders
.
There was no way he had ever seen me.

He left to run back to the kitchen again and returned a minu
te later with my sandwich. “This
looks fantastic,” I told him with my eyes wide
and s
hining. “Thank you.
”

The sandwich was amazing. It was made with pretzel bread. Who would have thought of that! Well, obviously, Wolfgang Puck, but it was such a creative choice. And it was sooo good. I ate the entire thing and topped it off with another glass of wine. It was an absolutely perfect dinner.

Dudley Do-Right left the bar just as I was finishing my meal. I was smiling to myself again. Th
e
poor man didn’t deserve to have my mind naming him after a cartoon character, but if I saw him again on this trip, he was forever Dudley to me now.

The bartender r
eturned to remove my plate,
stopped suddenly
,
and snapped his fingers. He not only had a big smile on his face, he started laughing and said, “I know where I’ve seen you before.” I didn’t like the sound of this. He was definitely laughi
ng at me. “You’re the chick who
was on the news tonight!”

“What?! What?!” I sputtered. My eyes were wide. This couldn’t be good. What was he was talking about, and why would I be on the news?

He was obviously enjoying my confusion. “Any time the Blue Ball Blades hockey team comes into town, the sports guys like to make fun of them. They’re on a losing streak right now,” he paused to laugh again and said, “and they really need a new name.”

Oh my gosh! My heart immediately began to sink. Blue Ball, Ohio was in the southern part of the state. Who knew the hockey guys on the airplane were from Blue Ball of all places, and why were they in Cleveland instead of flying out of Cincinnati? Just my luck.

“How bad was it?” I asked. I could feel the red creeping into my face.

He laughed harder and said, “It was bad. But you were cute. Let me grab my phone, and I’ll see if I can show you.”

I wanted to slide off the stool and sink into the floor. If he recognized me from the evening newscast, what if o
ther people did, too? I
suddenly
felt as though everyone w
as
staring at me.

“Here you go,” he said still smiling
as he
handed his phone to me. He had already cued up the report from the two sportscasters. I pushed the play button.

“Bob, the Blue Ball Blades hockey team arrived today and will be trying this weekend to break a six-game losing streak. These guys are surely frustrated, but you wouldn’t know it from the videos we received from onlookers at O’Hare airport this morning.”

“That’s right, Steve. Take a look at this. We received several cell phone videos of these guys running through the airport to catch their plane after an extended layover in Chicago. It seems the main focus of the video takers was on Dell Grady, the team’s star right wing player, and Scotty O’Brien, the center. Grady had a woman hanging on his back, and O’Brien was running with a purse slung over his shoulder and carrying a pink suitcase. Do you think these guys could give us any more fodder for jokes, Bob?”

Oh my gosh! The videos had been cobbled together to make one video of the guys running through the a
irport, and it was obvious
I was bobbing up and down on Dell’s back. As the video showed the guys running away from the cameras, I
wanted to die
. My sweat
er had ridden up and I was
centimeters away from showing a plumber’s crack.

“I’m telling you, Steve, it’s just too easy. Our very own Jessie Manchip caught up with Dell Grady a few hours ago and had this short exchange with him.”

“Dell. Dell. Who was the woman in the airport this morning, and why was she on your back?”

There was a close-up of Dell with a huge sm
ile on his face. He
proudly proclaimed,
“Oh, that was just Susan. I was giving her a lift to the gate, and let me tell you, it was great fun, and I’d like to do ‘er again.”
He nodded to the camera
as he
walked away from the reporter.

Jessie Manchip turned to the camera and said with a big grin,
“Well, folks, you heard it, too. It was just Susan, and Dell wants to do her again.”

Bob and Steve were laughing so hard neither of them could speak. Bob finally managed
to say
,
“The Blue Ball Blades need to get their act together and start winning some games. Once they do that and get rid of some of their frustration, they definitely need a name change.”

Both men started laughing again, and they cut to commercial. I looked at the bartender with miserable eyes and said, “Please tell me this was a local sportscast and not ESPN or some other major broadcast.”

The bartender could obviously see my
distress
, but he couldn’t help much. “It was local, but several of the videos are already on YouTube, and Dell Grady is pretty popular, so …” he let his words trail off, ending with one soft word under his breath
…
“viral.”

If Dudley hadn’t already left, I might have moved down to the end of the bar to join him. I
moaned to the bartender
, “Give me a shot of Jack.”

He smiled and poured the shot for me. “Don’t worry about it, Susan,” he said. Oh, sure, now the bartender knows my name thanks to Dell. “It was
funny, but
the focus was more on the team and their name. It’ll all be forgotten in a day or two, especially if they win.”

“Thanks,” I told him dryly and threw the shot back. I paid my bill and walked out into the casino.

Twenty minutes later I was up $2,125!

After leaving the restaurant, I sat down at a Wheel of Fortune slot machine. I was hitting more non-winning
spins than winners.
I was contempla
ting moving to another machine, when
I hit several winning spins in a row. I stuck with the machine and watched my win amount creep up over $100. I told myself I would cash out after two more spins. The second spin hit on $1,000 x 2. I squealed in delight, and several people came over to stand and watch as the machine racked up the credits on both lines. They could all laugh at me now. I didn’t care
.
I was a winner! I
grabbed the cash voucher ticket, slipped it
into my purse
,
and decided to move on.
A
small tussle
erupted
behind me as two women started arguing over who was next at the machine.

I walked past the poker room, but was still excited over the slots win and didn’t feel like sitting still with a poker face. A boisterous crowd at a craps table drew my attention, and I walked over to watch the action. A grandmotherly-type woman had been rolling and winning for the table. The crowd was elated until she rolled a seven
. They
then
offered up
a collective groan. Some people stayed at the table, others took their winnings and left.

I moved to the rail, placed a $100 bill on the table in front of me, and said, “Change, please.” The dealer gave me ten chips, and I placed one on the pass line. A grizzled old man was up to roll next, and he rolled a seven. Everyone cheered. Just like that
,
I was up $10.

I played fairly conservatively by playing the pass line with odds, occasionally placing a come bet, or betting 6’s and 8’s. My winnings grew little by little. The player to my right
left
the table, and a good-looking, distinguished, gray-haired gentleman
moved into the open space
. He was dressed stylishly in obviously expensive clothing and was sporting quite a bit of bling.

He nodded his head to me and smiled. I
checked
to be sure my ring was prominently positioned on the rail and gave him a little smile back. I kept my focus on the table. The current shooter, a cowboy from Texas
,
was on a roll and had made several points.
Everyone
at the table w
as
loud and having fun.

As the man
beside me
waited for the next come-out roll to be able to start playing, he leaned my way and said, “You’re playing well.
I’ve been watching, and I see
you play with caution, yet you win. Do you have
a
system?”

“Nope,” I sort of bandied his way. I didn’t want to start a conversation with the man.

He threw his head back, laughed, and said, “Well, then you must be one lucky lady.”

The cowboy’s run finally ended with a seven and another collective groan from the players. The dice were presented to the man beside me, but he declined and passed to me saying, “Go ahe
ad lucky l
ady. Rub some
luck off on all of us.”

I was up a couple of hundred dollars by now. It wasn’t a huge amount, but I had been at the table for
a while
, and it had been a lot of fun so far. I hoped this man wouldn’t spoil the experience.

I placed a $10 chip on the pass line, and then with a mischievous smile, placed a $10 chip on the table and told the stickman, “Prop bet number 11 please.”

The man beside me smirked and said, “You won’t stay lucky making sucker bets!”

I igno
red him and tossed the dice. They appeared to move
in slow motion. The elev
en was such a high-odds bet,
I was sure the man would say something even more derisive when I lost the chip. The dice bounced off the rubber pyramid at the end of the table and danced back along the green
felt. They
settled
,
and the crowd cheered again.
The red dice were showing
eleven. Not only had everyone who bet the pass line won, but I made a quick $150 by betting on the eleven.