Chapter 1

Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas

             

            The young lady at cashier counter is another employee Troy did not introduce me

to on our walk through the store after conversation with Chad at Mr. Vegas fashion boutique where I’m applying for sales position. She avoids eye contact listening to me talk in foreground of setting alive with sound of radio as background audio.   

            “He’s here,” she announces picking up telephone after listening to last word of my introduction.

            I’m lucky Earth Child is not doing the hiring. If she is less impressed with me only conscience stops her from showing it. On island of space next to cashier counter, I wait for job interview while she looks past me looking over--around--behind--and above me--committed to ignoring my presence.   

            “David?” Mr. V walks out from back office of store.

He extends hand in greeting--hand met by mine in reciprocal grip.       

            “Yes. I’m here for interview.”

            “I’m Rob. Come with me.

            “I’ve talked to Troy and Chad about you. So how long have you been in Las Vegas,” as he speaks I listen while sizing him up. Family resemblance suggests Rob and Chad Johnson are brothers from Caucasian mix of ethnicity as American male (same pride in maleness evident). Rob about 6-feet tall--younger brother Chad maybe two inches taller. Both are representative of 50’s age with Rob the oldest version of Johnson brothers.

            Mr. V is wearing open collar Polo dress shirt with slacks. A gold bracelet not watch and diamond nugget ring on left pinky are jewelry worn. Face is distinguished by eyeglasses in Wayfarer Polaroid frame. His head of hair is too curly brown for natural--most likely salon styled look. Mr. V is more studious in appearance and demeanor than casino culture stereotype of Las Vegas male.

            We talk mostly about Downtown--gambling in Las Vegas--his fondness for betting the horse--until sudden shift in conversation is signaled by inquisitive question. “Air Force guy?

            “What made you join?”

            “To get away from home.”

            “Good reason. It’s why I left New York.”

            “Talked to recruiter Career Day as Junior. Passed Air Force entrance examine that year.”

            “Why the Air Force?”

            “A friend of mine from street I grew-up on--three years older joined--both him and his best friend. Wanted to be like them. No one in my circle had a clue about the times.”

            “The war had nothing to do with it?”

            “It did and didn’t. Didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life other than be a man. Had always heard old folks say, join the Army--Army make a man out of you. And I didn’t want to get drafted--high school to the jungle--had seen it happen.”

            “How did that make you feel?”

            “With two years of R.O.T.C.--you’re watching yourself turn 18 to get drafted.”

            “Did joining the Air Force make you a man?” asked Mr. V, leaning back in chair raising feet to rest on desktop.

            “I’m still trying to be one. The Big Airman in the sky made me appreciate what it means to be American--not just a transplanted Southerner.”

            “I didn’t join the service--didn’t get drafted. Am I less American? Stand a chance of being a man?” he questions.

            “My father didn’t either. He’s a man in my eyes.”    

            “How did the Air Force workout for you?” Mr. V pushes chair back away from desk--

lower his legs from desktop to floor.

            “I was crew chief for F-4 Phantom as First Termer--Staff Sergeant Taylor--the pretty pig was my baby,” momentary pause overcomes me. “Military bearing--job competence--that’s the Airman. Soldier psyche is not instilled--patriotism is.”

            “Were you stationed at Nellis?”

            “No. My last duty station was Luke AFB Arizona.”

            I’m facing him seated on other side of desk--dressed for occasion in jeans, Eagles T-shirt with leather vest--bare feet in deck shoes--two hours into celebrating birthday drinking at the Horseshoe before following Troy back to work to apply for job.

“Why did you move to Las Vegas?” interview continues.

            “Air Force Homie left Phoenix to move here. He’s a crap dealer--told me he likes it. I came to check-it-out.” 

            Looking at my application on desk Mr. V chuckles at comment. “The spirit of youth,” he says with smile as if thinking out loud.

            “Where do you know Troy from?”

            “We met hanging-out Downtown.”

            “Here at Mr. Vegas you won’t be working with tools. What makes you think you can make a living selling clothes? Have to handle people.”

            “To stay in Las Vegas I need a job. I want to come in from the flightline--the mechanic. This is my chance to do something else. Troy does alright selling clothes. In high school I worked part-time at clothing store on Beale Street in downtown Memphis. ”

“Troy is Big Book here--has been for the last three years. Has a decent life with what he makes at Mr. Vegas. His own place--drives a nice car. Sharp dresser--money in his pocket. Crap dealers on The Strip can do $500 and up on weekends in tips. But you need juice to get out there.      “Yeah. Homie works Downtown at Union Plaza.”

“Plaza is step up from break-in house. To get there with year of experience--he must be sharp. Tips go $50 up week days. Weekend $100 plus.”

“Casino work doesn’t appeal to me. Too much like military. Being a dealer is not my gig.”

“Are you done moving around? What do you think of Las Vegas?”

            “Haven’t thought about leaving. More about making-it to stay. Get my own apartment.” I tell him holding eye contact with Mr. V from my side of desk

            “Enough of that. You’re a smart guy. You’ll make-it. We’ll talk more later,” he opens desk drawer--drops application inside--closes it. 

            “Are you a basketball fan, David?”

            “Big time. Jocks are celebrities to me--high school--college--pro--big sports fan.”

            “Chad and I are Rebel Boosters. Players came around a lot more when Sweet Pea was at