Las Vegas at Night? Who Cares? It's Been Done. With Cold, World-Weary Eyes, Hinesy Takes a Hard Look at "Vegas By Day"

The Smackdown's founder, Nathan Hines, has roused his burly, literate creation from its 18-day coma by injecting 300 CCs of pure Story Goodness into its IV drip. Daddy couldn't let anyone call his baby a "dead blog", now could he? So, with his bid for May Smackdown glory, and a deck of Monte Carlo playing cards, Hinesy submits to you, the Smackdown reader/contributor, a story of family, crime, and terminal diseases called "Vegas By Day". It's a good read, so I'll let all of you get right to it. Let's get into it, folks. Those turnbuckles aren't going to leap from themselves!

Vegas By Day
by
Nathan Hines

Sunlight has no love for Las Vegas. At night, it is hidden. Shrouded in flashing lights and glitter. But in the glare of early afternoon, you can’t hide the cracked, cheap plaster and grime. The backdrop of dead, brown hills remind you that you’re not in a place made for men. This is the land of coyotes and lizards; and even they don’t come out in the day. They say that the casinos have no windows so the marks won't have any feeling of time and will dole their dollars out to the slots for a while longer.

I think it's so people will forget where they are. Where they've spent their fleeting time and hard-earned money to travel to.

I didn't come to Vegas to catch the shows, hoping that Lady Luck might blow me a kiss. I came here to hide. A city that only lived at night seemed like the perfect place to quietly slip into the crowd and go float along for awhile, unseen. But here I was, standing in the parking lot of Circus Circus, with my father's man in front of me.

I was just unlocking my car door when he walked up. For months now, I’d wondered what it was going to be like when I was finally found. Words like “Shock", “Terror", and “Flee” came to mind. Dynamic words. The kind you often see followed by one or two “!". After all, you don’t get caught stealing from my father and expect the experience to be pleasant. No, not my father.

But, when the moment arrived, all that came to mind was, “Oh, well,”.

“Don’t worry, Junior. I’m not here to…you know. Your pop needs your help.” my father’s man said.

He has a name, and if I thought moderately hard I might be able to remember it, but it’s not worth the effort. He doesn’t deserve a name. He’s just my father’s man.

He quickly and bluntly explained the situation and then waited as I let it sink in.

After, I’m not sure how long, I said, “So, how long has he known where I was?”

“All along,” my father’s man said.

“And I’m just seeing you now?”

“He said to let you go. Not to lift a finger. But you’re cut-off. Disowned.”

“That’s pretty generous of him,” I said.

“Yes. He always had a soft spot for you.”

I snorted at this, even though I knew it was true. My father’s soft spots were still pretty hard.

I moved some gravel around with the tip of my shoe.

“Leukemia, huh?” I said.

“Yeah,” my father’s man said. His voice seemed sorry. His eyes did not.

“How long does he have?”

“Depends on you. With a bone marrow transplant, or a few, he could beat it. If not…a few months, maybe.”

The thought of a needle digging through my flesh, and then through my bone to get right to it’s center made me quiver. Sure, they would numb the area. Dope me up so I wouldn’t feel a thing, but ideas are worse than reality. And the idea that I would go through that for him made my stomach turn.

“And if I agree?” I said.

“Then you’re not cut off anymore. The bit about the money is forgotten and you’ll inherit when he finally goes,” he said, and then added, “But, you know, hopefully that will be a long time away.”

“There’s nobody else?”

“Nope. You’re the only family he’s got, kid. And his blood type ain’t so common.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then, I guess I would be here for…you know...after all.”

Oh well…ran through my mind again. It had been fun. I wouldn’t be able to make it out of this if I wanted to.

“Job,” I muttered.

“Whas that?” my father’s man said.

“I’m like Job. You know, cursed.”

“Why don’t ya keep your Bible to yourself, kid,” he said, “So, what’s it gonna be? You can’t hate him more than you’d hate a bullet in your head.”

“You know, even though I’m his kid, there’s still a chance that we’re not a match. I mean if our blood type is off, I can’t do it. So, then what?”

My father’s man shrugged as if he hadn’t thought of this, nor cared enough to do so now.

“Not my business,” he said.

A glimmer of hope ran through me. It was just a glimmer, but it was enough to make me wish I could grin.

“Ok, how about this. I’ll go back with you, and we draw up the will first thing. Then we go take a blood test to see if I can even do this at all. If so, then ok we’ll do it. But if not, then I stay with the old man and take care of him for the remainder. No matter how long it takes, I’ll take care of him and make him comfortable. Keep him company and all that.”

“I can’t make that deal,” he said.

“No shit. Why don’t you hop on the phone and talk to someone who can?” I said, more like I was his boss than his potential victim.

My father’s man pulled out his cell phone and was muttered into it for a minute. Then he snapped it shut and gave me a nod.

“You got it, kid. But it’s gonna be writ in the will that if, you know, you guys don’t match then you gotta stay until the end. Otherwise ya get nothin.”

This time I did grin. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I knew the chance of me being a donor match was next to none.

About a year before, as my mother lay dying in a gutter-slum apartment, with needle tracks in her arms and filth in her bed, she told me a secret. That when she was a show-girl beauty (before my father got tired of looking at the deepening wrinkles creeping outwards around her eyes, and kicked her to the curb) that she was “admired.” That was the word she used, and her eyes seemed to mist as she said it.

She was “admired” by a great many men and apparently there was one, in particular, who she “admired” back. In fact she admired this mystery man so much that I was born, looking quite a bit like him, nine months later. So, there was a very good chance that my father wasn’t so much my father after all. This had always suited me fine, but never as much as it did just then.

There would be no match, and I would get to watch the old man die. But with a bit of luck, first I would get to watch him whither.

"Oh don't worry," I said, "I'll be there until the very last second."