Arctic Fire by Paul Byers Page B

fortune. What most tourists didn’t
know was that Lady Luck had had already left town last night on the
red-eye back to Pomona.
    It was a warm night and the strip was crowed as
usual. He watched as the crowds moved in packs between the blocks,
governed by the traffic signals, followed by the inevitable
stragglers who were heeding the Siren’s call and were in too much
of a hurry to lose their money to wait for the next light.
    It was a nice view, certainly better than a jail
cell, which was what he half expected after his little super-sonic
stunt in the desert earlier that day. He sighed as he watched the
lights of a Boeing 767 making its approach into McCarren and
wondered if he would ever fly again. Thankfully his brush with the
blues was cut short by a knock on the door.
    Pike opened the door to see the smiling face of
Tony Roberts. Tony was one of the interns who had been with Pike’s
engineering firm for about three months with one more year to go
before he graduated from the University of Washington. He was a
bright kid, tall with sandy blond hair and dimples that attracted
girls like bees to honey when he smiled, which was most of the
time. At 25, he was living the dream; he was single, in Las Vegas, and on a company expense account, a kid in a candy store
with a pocket full of quarters.
    “Howdy boss.” Tony beamed.
    “Hey Tony, come on in.” Tony walked in and saw
the laptop on the table. “What ya looking at there boss? Please
don’t tell me its porn, my whole image of you would be so
shattered. I’d be scarred for life,” he said with a mischievous
grin.
    “Very funny. I was just relaxing a little.”
    Tony walked over and started reading. “More
conspiracy stuff huh? Let me guess: it was Dr. Pepper on the grassy
knoll with a loaded widget, ...and he wasn’t working alone because
he was sponsored by a covert, black ops government agency, secretly
working out of area 51 using alien technology, right?”
    “Oh, you read the post too huh?” They both
laughed.
    “Come on boss, everyone is waiting downstairs
for you.”
    “Why? Are they giving me a going away wake
before they ship me out to the big house?”
    “You mean haven’t seen the news?”
    “No, I’ve been reading for the past couple of
hours; why?
    Tony shook his head and smiled as he led Pike
out of his hotel room. “You really are more cleaver or lucky than
you think you are.”
    As the elevator doors opened, Pike was
immediately assaulted by a shock wave of sight and sound. Bleeps,
chirps, buzzers and bells filled the cavernous main casino floor.
Slot machines lined the floor like soldiers awaiting orders. The
flashing lights and cheery sounds all helped to deaden the pain for
the gamblers as the money went in but very little came out.
    Though he wasn’t much of a gambler, there was
one thing he did miss. In the old days when the quarter was king,
when you hit the jackpot, you heard the joyous sound of the
quarters spewing out and clunking into the metal tray. With each
clunk, you could hear and feel yourself getting richer and richer.
The efficiency of modern business had taken over and now the
machines spit out a little pieces of paper stating your winnings.
No cascade of quarters to run your fingers through; just a slip of
paper shot out, like the machine was sticking its tongue at you,
being a sore loser.
    Tony was in the lead as they pushed through the
throngs of people toward the bar. Having lived in Las Vegas for a
few years, Pike always enjoyed watching the people in the casinos,
picking out the tourists from the locals. The tourists were usually
overdressed, thinking they were high rollers, or they had the
ever-present fanny pack and camera hanging around their neck.
    Parting through the last wall of people, they
entered the Mist Bar. Pike said a silent prayer of relief as they
walked in and looked around. He was thankful that George hadn’t
picked a noisy sports bar with a bunch of beer chugging guys
cheering at every point