The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series)
Read The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series) Online
Authors: Travis Luedke
The
NIGHTLIFE: LAS VEGAS
By Travis Luedke
The Nightlife: Las Vegas
Published by
Travis Luedke
Copyright 2012
by Travis Luedke
Book Cover Art
by Lisa Strong
http://www.freelanced.com/lisastrong
KINDLE EDITION
All rights reserved. No part of this
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or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of
both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked
status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of
fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these
trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark
owners.
Adult
Reading Material
Publication Release Schedule:
The
Nightlife Series
:
I The Nightlife: New York
II The Nightlife: Las Vegas
The Nightlife: BLOOD SLAVE
December 2012
III The Nightlife: Paris
February 2013
They say what happens in
Vegas stays in Vegas, but what the hell do
they
know? Twenty-two year
old Aaron Pilan could testify from experience that significant gambling losses––or
winnings––definitely follow you home.
After three weeks of hitting
the gaming tables, he was practiced at the fine art of gambling. He knew the
truth behind the veil of glamour. As P.T. Barnum said, “There's a fool born
every minute.” Many a fool arrived in Vegas with a wad of hard earned cash fantasizing
about winning big and coming home to boast of the thousands they reeled in during
their brief stint as a
high roller
.
He joined the foolish masses
in their desire to hit it big. He fully intended to beat the odds and walk
away from the gaming tables, winnings intact. It looked damn good for him at
the moment. Of course, being an exceptionally gifted telepath afforded him a
decidedly unfair advantage –– definitely contributed to his
good luck
.
Another caveat to the
Vegas
rule
would be murder. An untimely death by strangulation definitely puts a
kink in the
high roller
status. Aaron read his opponent Alexander
Demarco’s mind as the man contemplated this very thing. Poor Demarco had been
suffering the systematic and thorough fleecing of his poker chips. He was a
very unhappy man.
* * * *
Demarco envisioned a number
of ways to kill Aaron Pilan, starting with the quick and dirty double-tap bullet
to the back of the head. Upon further consideration, that seemed almost too
merciful, too quick and easy. He graduated to fantasies of Aaron begging and
pleading for his life out in the Vegas desert. He imagined Aaron hog-tied at
the bottom of a six-foot pit as the dirt hit his face while being buried
alive. Demarco had personal experience with both methods of murder.
He finally settled on a
slightly more violent alternative.
Strangulation would be the most
satisfying method of killing the punk
. He imagined the strength of his own
hands wrapped solidly around Aaron’s throat, squeezing out his life as he
flailed about feebly.
God I wish I could do it right now
. He had
always preferred the ‘hands on’ approach.
I know that son-of-a-bitch
is cheating somehow
. His gut
instincts were rarely wrong in these matters.
The punk always knows exactly
when to fold and when to call, he’s impossible to bluff.
He could smell a
con from the end of the room. No way could Aaron clean him out so consistently
by pure chance.
His intuition was sharply
honed from the years he spent hustling on the streets of west Humble Park
Chicago, between Grand and Arlington, smack dab in the center of Latin Kings
territory. He bore his gangland battlefield scars proudly, a soldier displaying
badges of merit. The dog-eat-dog survival-of-the-fittest lifestyle was second
nature. He couldn’t enter a building without staring down every person in sight
and watching all the exits.
This punk can’t weigh more
than a hundred sixty pounds.
I could
take him any day of the week. He sized up Aaron, measuring him against his own
two hundred ten pounds of lean muscle and six foot frame of a professional
athlete.
Why am I lettin this white devil bitch run the show? I wonder if
he’s a Fed? Maybe this is a setup.
He had an overwhelming feeling he was
being taken for a ride. He much preferred being the one doing the taking.
By sheer luck and opportunity
he’d been one of the select few who escaped the Federal Racketeering indictment
leveled against the Chicago Latin Kings when he moved to Vegas in 2004, a year
before the indictment was issued. Everything changed when he setup operations
in Vegas. He graduated from small time movements of heroin and cocaine by the
gram to major deliveries measured in kilos. His buddies back in Chicago became
the end consumer. Long gone were the days of pushing dime baggies out on the
street. Now he sold wholesale, fat transactions with sweet profit margins and far
less risk of being snitched out by a punk ass junky popped off for banging a
gram in a public bathroom.
And here he was a
high
roller
, a
shot caller
, a
badass
, punked-out for thousands of
dollars by a pinche gringo white devil with a smug smile. He scowled at the
pair of fives in his hand and continued fantasizing about murdering Aaron.
* * * *
Aaron was well aware of
Demarco's malicious intents. He read all the sordid details in his mind as he
raised the pot, smiling at Demarco all the while. He knew his pair of kings
would win the hand unless the last card pulled a surprise. Not having learned
his lesson yet, Demarco foolishly called his bet and slid another stack of
chips forward on the table.
When the dealer laid out a
queen, Demarco's losses tallied up to $26,000. More than enough to justify
murder. Demarco had once beaten a man to death over a thousand dollars' worth
of cocaine on the streets of Chicago. He now had twenty-six reasons to kill
Aaron.
When his hand won again, Aaron
knew it was time to leave the table. He bid everyone a good night, collected
his winnings, and winked at Demarco. It was the wink that finally did it.
Demarco literally saw red. The color of everything around him turned a violent
shade of pinkish red as his blood pressure skyrocketed, hitting his temples in
a pounding throb. The white devil had given him a migraine. He folded his
hand and sat there fuming.
Aaron walked away tens of
thousands richer. Worse, a drop dead gorgeous blond wrapped herself around the
white devil as if she would bang him right there.
“You left them with their
pants?”
“Yes love. Shirts. The
phrase is ‘lose your shirt’. I feel merciful tonight. They’re still fully
dressed.” Aaron caressed Michelle’s face as she cuddled with him, aligning her
curves to all his sharp angles.
Demarco’s mind broadcast
clearly as he watched Michelle holding Aaron intimately. Demarco seethed with
a rare combination of envy and hatred. In his opinion, a woman like that
deserved a real man, not some arrogant young prick. Back in the ghettos of
Chicago, Aaron was what they called
soft
.
He glanced over his shoulder
at Demarco with a look. It was not a
soft
look. In this one instance
Demarco's instincts were dead wrong. He was young, but not
soft
. Not
by anyone’s definition of the word.
He scanned Demarco's mind one
last time before walking away. Green-eyed jealousy consumed his every
thought.
They always want what they can’t have.
Aaron had become
accustomed to this reaction. He and Michelle were a strikingly attractive
pair. He knew onlookers considered his dark haired, dark eyed, five foot eleven
frame of model caliber, but Michelle was a whole different level of
attractive. If not for her petite five-foot two, she could have been a world
famous runway model. Her lazy golden curls framed flawless pale skin and vibrant
green eyes. Her shapely hourglass curves could win international beauty and
swimsuit contests.
All who crossed paths with
the couple felt the effect of the magnetic attraction they exuded. They had a
phenomenal stage presence drawing the eye of any observer. As several sets of
eyes tracked the couple, Aaron remembered his first night spent with Michelle.
Just five weeks ago, he awoke to her angelic face and adorably incomprehensible
French accent explaining, "This is the
magnétisme animal
of the vampires."
* * * *
Demarco's covetous eyes
followed Aaron and Michelle as they left the poker table, heading to the
elevators. They obviously had a room at Caesar's Palace. This convenient
little tidbit of information was all he needed to know. His partner in crime,
James Kramer, ran the security staff at Caesar's. Kramer would have the
complete rundown of who, what, where, and why on the smug little punk who walked
off with his money.
* * * *
Ascensión Celino Gutiérrez,
“Oso” to all who knew him, received a text message from his boss Demarco,
interrupting his concentration on video poker.
Demarco:
Time to go see Kramer
“Chingao!” He hurriedly
texted back.
Oso:
Done so soon? Que Paso
?
Awaiting an answer that never
came, he assumed the boss must not be doing so hot at his own poker game. He sent
another text as he walked away from the video screen at the bar, a couple
hundred lost to the merciless machine.
Dat shit ain’t random, I know it’s
rigged
.
Oso:
Ya me voy
He caught up with Demarco as
they headed towards the elevator, “Que Paso Jefe? Cuanto tu ganastes?”
How
much did you win?