CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

Freemont used to have so much free parking, I lamented before I pulled over to my usual metered spot. Whenever I headed to Freemont, I kept it simple and grabbed a metered spot on Sixth Street. I was usually only a couple of blocks from anywhere I wanted to go in the area. I fed $4 to the meter. That should buy us enough time.

Liz and I walked to the Freemont Street Experience, which housed the Golden Nugget Hotel & Casino, among many other colorful attractions. Sometimes it was best to avert your gaze! I totally understood making a living, but I didn’t really need to see a middle-aged man with a beer gut wearing an American flag bikini. Liz and I heard a thumping beat and saw a small crowd gathered around one of the street artists. Liz rolled her eyes when I pulled her closer.

“Really, Mia? How long have you lived in Vegas?”

“I like the dancing,” I confessed. We peeked around the edge of the crowd. “Dang.” No dancers. Just a guy doing a card trick. Probably a pretty good one, with the crowd he attracted, but still. I usually only stopped for the dancers. They reminded me of the movements of underwater creatures so close to my heart.

We continued past the card dealer. Past the man spray painted silver standing statue still. Past the woman sitting cross legged on the concrete playing a flute. Past the two women wearing showgirl outfits calling out to the men, “Take a picture with a showgirl!” I admired the elaborate red and blue headdresses of the women but carefully avoided eye contact. They usually tried for the guys, but making eye contact with any of the street artists increased the likelihood of engagement, and some of them could be pretty darn aggressive. And we had neither the time nor the interest in engaging. But I wished them lots of luck with the tourists.

Liz and I reached the Golden Nugget Hotel & Casino. We stared up at the entrance. It wasn’t quite as impressive during the day as it was all lit up at night, but the gold-lined rounded cover over the entrance and the faux-gold plating on the exterior walls were still pretty sparkly. I was thankful that I didn’t require breathing to survive when we entered the casino. It was midday so not quite as bad as it would be in the evening, but the smoke crawled over my skin. Liz coughed and grimaced.

“Ugh,” was all she said but I understood.

We stepped off to the side just inside the door to get our bearings. It was a casino; lots of flashing lights and random jingles coming off the various slot machines. Casinos made most of their money off the slot machines; something I’d never really understood. You had zero control over the outcome. It was 100% luck if you won. At least with the table games, if you had skill, you could tilt the odds a little bit. I internally shrugged. I didn’t gamble, so to each their own.

“Now we find a security guard,” I stated, searching the floor for one.

“There!” Liz pointed over toward the far end of the space, where a man stood impassively like an endcap on the row of slots. We approached him, side stepping the tourists in their shorts and flip flops, holding either cameras or alcoholic beverages, rarely both.

“What’s our story?” Liz asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But, I’m fairly certain this guy won’t be able to help us. We need his boss.”

“Good point. Let’s just ask for him.”

We’d reached the security guard. “How can I help you?” he asked, courteously, if clearly by rote.

Liz gave him her biggest smile. “We’d like to talk to the head of security, please.” The guard’s eyes narrowed and he looked closer at the two of us.

“Maybe I could help you…”

“We’d rather discuss it with him,” she demurred.

The guard stared down at us for a beat and then understanding dawned in his eyes. “I know you,” he said, almost but not quite accusatory.

“Well,” Liz responded, looking down and fluttering her lashes. I just barely managed not to laugh at her fake-coy routine. Oh brother.

Now the guard was excited. “You’re Elizabeth Addison! From that morning show.”

Liz held up her hands. “You got me.”

The guard lowered his voice. “Is this about a story?”

Leaning in to whisper, matching his tone, Liz answered, “I can’t confirm or deny that.” Then she winked.

“For you, Ms. Addison, I’ll get Mr. Maliton. But, I’ll be honest. He’s probably not going to want to help,” the guard warned us.

“That’s okay,” she assured him. “If you can get him, we’ll take it from there.”

We could definitely take it from there.