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Las Vegas, Nevada
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“You dummies stay here,” Shannon said. “I’m going to Area 51.”
“You are not,” Ann laughed. She fell back against a mountain of pillows in the Las Vegas Traveler. “Nobody gets in there except the people who work there.”
“Watch me,” Shannon said. “I know the guy who runs the place.”
“Yeah, sure,” Betty scoffed. “Even I can’t find out who that is. What’s his name?”
“James Cagney,” Shannon said. “Like the actor. He looks like Gary Busey. You want to know how I know this shit? Too bad, I don’t give up my sources.”
“She gives up everything else,” Ann muttered. “Okay, psycho, try to fly in there. You can’t get anybody to violate their air space.”
“I don’t have to,” Shannon grinned. “You’ll see.”
“Don’t underestimate Miss Flynn’s charms or her connections,” Tyler sighed as he picked up his bag. “I am retiring to my room, for what it’s worth, despite the presence of whatever vermin may occupy this disgusting pest hole. Call me when we are ready to enter the forbidden zone, Miss Flynn.”
“He’s going with you?” Betty exclaimed. “Why him? Why not me?”
“You are not the world’s most famous actor,” Tyler smirked. “I have my privileges too.”
“What a waste of time,” Betty snapped. “I come all the way out here to sit in a motel? You are a bunch of bastards,” Betty declared. “Fuck all of you.”
“Take the plane back if you don’t like it,” Shannon said. “You’re over your head, and don’t forget it. Now sit the fuck down and shut up, or else. I’ve had it with your shit.”
“Great,” Betty said as she slumped into a chair. “My story, and I get shit second fiddle.”