Vegas isn’t what it used to be, Tui thought as he burped up his cheeseburger, his gold Ford Taurus lumbering down the Strip. Used to be a city run by the mob, but now, it’s all nightclub promoters and celebrity chefs. The city used to have mobsters, brawls, and casinos that smelled of cheap perfume, body odor, and bad buffets. But today, it was cover charges, pool parties, and DJs. And kids. Particularly this weekend, it was flooded with video game–playing kids. Like a bar mitzvah on steroids.
Tui wheeled into the Mandalay Bay, and tossed his keys at the valet—who missed. The keys went sailing past.
“You know, you can leave them in the car.” The valet bent over to pick them up.
“Frank Sinatra is crying in his grave,” Tui said as he loosed a dollar from his billfold and handed it to the valet, who muttered, “Dick.”
Entering the Mandalay Bay was like walking into a world of pure weirdos, fans dressed as ghoulish, fantastical, gruesome characters. Lots of Asians in jerseys with Red Bull logos across their backs. For the life of him, he couldn’t quite figure this circus out—pro football announcers and pop concert fandom. Foam hats and rhinestone microphones. Fireworks and DJs on every corner. There better be some free drinks.
But a couple hours inside the casino, and Tui—though he didn’t want to admit it—was starting to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe it was all the oxygen they were pumping, but the atmosphere was electric. It was life or death. The kind of competition that harkened back to man’s first sparring. This was gladiator crap. The ever-present sense of suspense gripped everyone from schoolgirls to team owners who’d groomed the young athletes and wagered their cash on groups of misfits to compete in battle. Here, at a mega-gaming championship, different rules apply. Some of the biggest weenies Tui had ever seen in his life, thanks to a little hand dexterity, morphed into gods. Pot-bellied, pasty nerds wielded all-powerful digital avatars who towered above the crowd in shimmering LED.
Tui found a cozy spot to wait and keep a lookout for Jalen and Wyatt. Beside him, a zitty kid stood next to a gaming console, promoting a new release. Tui snorted in the guy’s direction, thinking about how the kid looked like someone he’d wanted to beat up in high school. He let himself stare as he sipped his Coke.
“Sir,” the kid said. “Like to try this? It’s a single-fighter game.”
Tui looked around. “You talking to me? Oh no. Please don’t take my eye contact to mean I wanna buy something, kid.”
“Come on. It’s totally free. You know you want to.”
Tui, were he in his typical mood, might have moseyed over and rammed the glasses down the kid’s throat, but since he was feeling generous and he had time, he thought he’d give it a shot.
“Not bad,” he said, popping on the glasses. He looked around the casino, seeing the virtual world in glowing 3D. “Lightweight.”
“Yeah. High-resolution liquid crystal display and they only weigh three ounces.”
Forty-five minutes later, the zitty kid was tapping him on the shoulder. “Sir, please. Other people are waiting.” He pointed over Tui’s gigantic shoulder, where a line had formed.
“Yeah, one more try, okay.” Tui looked up and saw a crowd gathering at the entrance. They pressed the barricades. In face paint and purple hair and wearing all manner of bizarre accessories, they hooted and chanted.
“Like a damn Gaga concert,” Tui said. “Kid, what’s goin’ on over there?”
“Looks like the players are here.”