Murder in Vegas

KILLER HEELS KILL TWICE AS DEAD by T. P. Keating

The great thing about revenge is that, once decided upon, there’s not a great deal else to consider. Like a topless show, innovation isn’t necessary.

For stranding me in the Red Rock Mountains, for making memiss the TV audition in Los Angeles today, there’d be a huge price to pay. On the drive back to the city, I stopped my beat-up sedan to stretch my long legs and take the late morning desert air. A nearby burro regarded me, standing next to one of the evenly spaced creosote bushes that gave the valley floor a curiously gardenlike, arranged appearance. My pink spandex bikini, fishnet hose, and eight-inch heels no doubt drew its attention. For showgirl Lilah Starr, morning, even late morning, is a rarely sighted beast.

I’d determined to become Vegas personified. A place that feeds off the intoxicating rush of blood to the head, a red liquid that keeps the predator alive in the midst of arid desolation. That liquid now fueled the engine of my hate. I slipped into a less attention-grabbing outfit of gold hotpants and halter top before driving on. The donkeylike creature twitched its furry ears and maintained the cool stare at my departure. I decided to add the stubbornness of the burro to my approach.

My immediate quarry lived in a quiet street towards the southern city limits. Leaving my heels at the open back door, my dancing skills allowed me to skip nimbly over the white carpet and knock out the occupant. Georgia, a fellow showgirl from my revue, had been seeing huckster Jonn Brooks all spring. There are no easy rides when you sleep with the enemy.

I slipped on a pair of elbow-length pink cotton gloves and began my search. Then again, her collection of kitsch figurines could be considered as sufficient punishment, or simply a cry for help. I located her handbag and removed the address book. Sure enough, Jonn was listed in her childish scrawl. Hmmm, I could drive my vindictive heart to his house in three minutes.

Given the way he treated his employees, no wonder he kept his address private. Because today’s episode represented only part of a long list of his attacks on my dignity. The watertight contract that I’d signed when he got me drunk had been the start. Then came my enforced silicone implants. Didn’t the moron understand that skin is out and family-oriented offerings are in?

That’s when I began to organize my departure. Or escape, if you will. When I’d discussed the idea with Georgia, I didn’t realize I’d been talking directly to him. When he next visited my silicone valley, his head would literally be buried there.

Gee, that Jonn’s such a gentleman. Why, he’d thoughtfully abandoned me with my sedan. That more than compensated for being ambushed by his henchmen in my dressing room. A shame that the chloroform needed to wear off before I could slip behind the wheel. I’d cleared my head by putting on my false eyelashes one by one, while the time drifted by. Now my gun would make both Jonn and my contract null and void. The sight of the weapon in the glove compartment reassured me, along with the same phial of chloroform and ball of cotton wool that he’d used on me. A further deliberate sign of his swaggering arrogance. I winked a soft brown eye back at my luxurious lashes in the rear-view mirror, pausing briefly to consider the satisfying sight of applying several thick lashes to his own rear view.

The instant I saw his black SUV, spotless and gleaming, he swanked in and eased away from me. I let three cars overtake mine, and I stayed at that respectable distance. We turned left. Left again. The fourth left told me that, once more, I’d fallen short of respectable. He braked suddenly, clambered out and waddled his dumpy frame towards me. I stopped. If I shot him there and then, I’d have too many witnesses to an act of such selfless compassion. So I lowered the window, hoping that I could kidnap him if he stuck his ugly mug inside. No such luck, he kept to the sidewalk.

“Hi Lilah. Okay?”

“No-kay, you sewer rat”

“Surely, there’s no hard feelings over that little joke?” His chest strained against the dull cream-colored shirt, while a red and green check tie dangled over his beer belly. A light grey suit and ever-present cigar completed the ensemble.

“I want out, Jonn. Out of my contract and out of Nevada.”

“Honey, we’ve discussed it, remember? I’m very attached to my performers. Didn’t your trip to the mountains help clear your head?” I’d launched myself out of the car and pressed my gun into his gut in the flash of a downtown neon sign. “Hey, I’m meeting Senator Smythe later on. If I don’t show, questions will be asked.”

“What say you join me for a spin?” I roughly maneuvered him into the passenger seat and hit the gas. Unless his senator turned up right now with more firepower, he’d have to take his turn. That’s democracy.

“Lilah, be careful. Steering with one hand isn’t very sensible.” Funny, how he could be so confident when surrounded by his heavies at the venue.

“Yeah, and I’ve only got one eye on the road. Heck, wouldn’t want to be in the dead man’s seat right now.”

“Okay, I’ll revoke your contract. Only, I’ll need to speak with my lawyers first…” We screeched to a halt outside Georgia’s.

“No, Jonn. We go inside and you write out the change immediately. Capice?”

“Capicing you loud and clear.”

Carrying a handgun, Georgia let us in. When she saw my own gun trained on our Caesar’s back, she frowned deeply.

“Put the weapon down please, Georgia,” Jonn insisted. “She must’ve hit her head during a recent performance.” With a quizzical look my way she complied. As two tall, perfectly poised showgirls, we eyeballed each other at least a foot over Jonn’s balding head. I admired her surgeon. You’d need to be an expert to spot her nasal beautification and various other collagen injections. Though her bust was all natural, allegedly. I admired her front.

“Jonn wants a pen and some paper,” I explained. “He’s got a legal nicety to produce.” I shoved him onto a white settee, while I lounged against the white wall and kept my gun trained on him. The pen and paper duly arrived. He glanced my way, recoiled a bit at the lilac paper with the border of red hearts, took a deep breath and started to write.

Georgia, in her white catsuit and heels, leaned over his shoulder. “That’s all you’ve asked for, Lilah?” She looked genuinely astonished.

“Now now, honeybuns, it’s really no big deal,” Jonn soothed, too damn lightly for my tastes.

I pointed my loaded truth seeker straight at his head. “Care to elaborate on that pillow talk?”

“I’ve got a little bit stashed away in the desert for a rainy day, that’s all.”

“You’re telling me,” said Georgia. “Hey, Lilah, ever wondered why our glitzy venue took twice as long to build than the estimate? This here is the king of skimming. He probably owns the desert too.”

“You so-called ladies won’t be returning from your next visitto the mountains, and I’ll go to my grave before I show you where to find my money.” The petulant look came so naturally to him.

“Lilah, I’ll go with you. I’ve had enough of Vegas. Too much glamour can be fatal. This city ain’t what it used to be. For all the private security guards this guy maintains, I got attacked in my own home not half an hour ago. In this very room. I want out, and I made a duplicate of Jonn’s secret treasure map as insurance. See, Jonn, you’re not the only one with private security arrangements.” My, but his crest fell at that news like a wave hitting a stony beach.

We left him tied up and chloroformed in the brightly lit, whitewashed basement. By my estimate, we’d be in California with the booty when he surfaced, ready to appreciate the army of figurines that occupied the many display cases. I filled the tank with gas before leaving our twenty-four-hour neon city behind.

“Which way, Georgia?”

“Take the highway to the Red Rock Mountains.”

While jazz played on the radio and the air conditioning cranked it out at the max, I considered how I’d been wrong about my fellow showgirl. The Strip is packed full of hidden security cameras, which for legal reasons aren’t allowed to record audio. But that wouldn’t stop a feral gambler like Jonn. I shuddered at the intrusive nature of his surveillance. Best to consider the future, which lay thirty minutes or so in front of us.

The miles vanished under the wheels. Creosote bushes gave way to blackbush as we climbed, then Mojave yucca and Joshua trees. A shame I didn’t pursue botany in college. Instead of pursuing the boys in the clubs. Pretty soon I’d realized that I went for the clubs, not boys.

“We’re here,” Georgia announced.

“Here appears to be nowhere.”

“The next stage is on foot.” I changed into gold platform trainers (hers were white, of course) and we climbed a steep slope. More steep slope. Still with the slope. Ahead of me, she ducked behind a big boulder. I got a woozy feeling, and it wasn’t all because of the prickly heat. Had my plan for revenge, simple straight and true, been led astray by unnecessary, cluttered action?

The boulder hid the mouth of a cave. When I joined her, some ten yards inside, she was peering intently at a section of jagged wall. New doubts arose. I’d stranded myself with a less than stable showgirl and no means of defense. At least the air this far in was marginally cooler, and I appreciated the shade.

“Georgia?” My voice echoed slightly.

“I also brought along the key.” If she removed a key-shaped piece of rock from a pocket, I’d know she was insane and I’d have to act accordingly. My thoughts strayed to the chloroform in the glove compartment.

She removed a key-shaped piece of rock from a pocket and I slugged her out cold from behind. Again. Poor Georgia. For sure, Jonn must take responsibility for tipping her over the edge. Interesting key, though. I picked it up and wiped the dust off. On closer inspection, it was made of red metal, with a black button at the round end. The rock look was only a textured finish. What the heck. I pointed it at the wall and pressed. Then I wondered about my own sanity.

With a low reverberating rumble, a section of wall slowly rose to the ceiling, stirring a small cloud of debris as it did so. I closed my eyes, not solely to keep the debris out. If I opened them to see glitter balls and a casino, staffed by dwarves, I’d book myself into the nearest helpful medical institution. Hi Ho.

“What the…” asked an out-of-focus Georgia.

“A boulder fell from the ceiling. You’ll be okay.” She shook her short blonde curls. She accepted my hand and I helped to haul her back to her feet. Thankfully, her concussion concealed the total absence of boulders on the floor.

“Wow, thanks, Lilah. You’re the only true friend I ever made in Vegas. Is that the treasure?”

Glad for the distraction, I turned back to the breach in the rock wall. A whole bunch of silver and gold coins filled a dozen metal shelves, all in transparent plastic bags. Only in Vegas, my friend, only in Vegas. Once more, visionary human endeavor had created and sustained outrageous architecture in a harsh environment.

Together, each softly whistling her own tune, we carried the desert loot back to the car. After closing the rock door and sweeping our footprints, to leave no trace of our visit, we drove on through the mountains. For several minutes, the jazz and theair conditioning took the place of conversation. If detectives ever interviewed us separately, there’s no way that any cover story would stand the strain.

I slammed on the breaks and shouted, “It’s not enough!”

“Lilah, those coins will go a long way.”

“Not that. Jonn. This isn’t the revenge I wanted, damn it. He’s probably got secret hoards all the way between here and the Valley of Fire.” I curled a lock of my long blonde hair around my fingers and continued to fume.

Georgia drew her mouth into a thin line. “You have a plan?”

“Which means, he won’t be expecting us. And these coins should buy a way through his armor. What do you say?”

“A friend of mine is a coin dealer, no questions asked. Gary’s Numanistics on Sixth Street.”

“Don’t you mean Numismatics?”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

“Tell you what,” she suggested, “I could call in a favor with Senator Smythe, find out where he’s dining tonight.” It sounded like a plan to me. On our way back to Vegas, I added a few more illegal miles per hour to our speed. Truth be told, the thought of crossing the desert on a summer’s day didn’t exactly thrill me. What with the risk of the car overheating, the tires blowing out from the heat and getting stuck without water, even seeing Jonn again was more appealing. Well, marginally so. The image of Georgia using her recent wealth to buy yet more china and porcelain nightmares entered my head, and I shook it out immediately.

Back at Chateau Georgia, we found that Jonn had already escaped. No doubt his innate sliminess allowed him to slip through his bonds. She made the call, often dropping her voice low, probably to whisper sweet nothings.

ShowTime turned out to be in the Top of the World Restaurant, perched at the summit of the Stratosphere Tower. Stopping very briefly to retouch our makeup and fix a low-cal snack, we set off anew. With the curtain due to rise about ten minutes before we arrived, after dealing with the coins, it meant that we wouldn’t be cooling our high heels backstage for too long.

We turned off the Main Street and drove directly into a garage, where we parked. Three other cars were being workedon. Background electrodisco spilled into the foreground. A man in his early forties, no taller than Jonn but trim and fit, left a small office, wiping his hands on a clean towel. We stepped out to greet him.

“Hiya Lilah, hiya Georgia. I gotta say, you two don’t need any bodywork.”

“Gary, darling, this isn’t a social call,” Georgia trilled.

“Yeah, sorta figured you weren’t hankering to become car mechanics.”

“We’re here about your hobby.” At my comment his demeanor changed to full-on serious.

“You’ve got the spare change with you?” We nodded. “Hey boys, coffee break,” he shouted across the garage. Half a dozen employees trooped out in a well-rehearsed fashion and closed the garage door. I wondered if failed deals had led to their thralldom. “I love garage sales. What have you got for me?”

I opened the trunk. He picked up one of the bags, looked closely and gave an appreciative grunt. He delved deep and repeated the process. A third bag sealed the deal. “A check for each of you?”

“Gary, we love you,” I said.

“Say, did they take an interest in your topless War and Peace idea?” He didn’t smile, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him.

“Nope. They wouldn’t agree to my topless Crime and Punishment either,” I shot back.

“But they did say yes to my idea, a fully nude tribute to America’s cheerleaders,” Georgia enthused. We loved her too.

The Stratosphere drew closer. It marks the unofficial divide between Old Vegas and the new ritzy casinos of the strip. The town gets its bearings from the Stratosphere, so it made an ideal place for me to establish my bearings with Jonn, after way too long. The needle of my vengeance pointed due north.

“Georgia, you gotta tell me, what the hell is it with you and those figurines?” We’d stopped at a red light.

“Sweet, aren’t they?”

“Sickly you mean.”

“Well, perhaps my collection of commemorative plates will be more to your liking?” I eased us away from the junction.

“No, not commemorative plates. Anything but commemorativeplates. You’re going to waste your half of the bounty, aren’t you?”

“Lilah Starr, it ain’t none of your business what I spend Jonn’s money on.” She frowned, crossed her hands over her chest and found the cityscape engrossing to watch. “It’s not like your tiresome fixation on old show posters is worth a fig.”

“Actually, it’s worth quite a…”

“Shut up, Lilah.”

Shortly after 5 p.m., our ears popped as we rode the elevator from ground level. Sure, reservations are required to dine, but no one has reservations about showgirls on the Strip. When it comes to paying by plastic, 36FFs lead the way.

I slid mine into the space next to Jonn at their panoramic window seat. Georgia followed suit with hers next to Senator Smythe, a ruddy-faced, portly man in his sixties with a shock of suspiciously black hair. Suddenly, the panoramic view lost its appeal. A map of new territories to conquer occupied their greedy eyes.

“Evening boys,” I cooed, straightening Jonn’s boring tie.

“Evening ladies, care for some wine?” asked the senator, his bonhomie fully engaged. “If white’s not to your liking, just say.”

“Yes please, Senator, white’s fine,” Georgia replied. I nodded and he poured for us.

“Hey, you’re Georgia de la Rose, aren’t you?” The senator smiled at the happy memory who sat beside him.

“at shucks, Senator, it’s so nice for a girl to be recognized.” I saw his arm curl around her waist, and noticed that she didn’t object.

“Lilah, what’s this about?” Jonn asked. “I thought you two had left for the coast hours ago?”

“You wish, you mean,” I countered. “Senator, are you aware that Jonn is the only person ever caught cheating in the International Burro Biscuit Toss in Oatman?” The senator looked suitably disgusted. “Go on, Jonn, tell us about the steroid injections in your throwing arm.”

“Geez almighty, Jonn, is that true?” Smythe was grilling a slippery witness at a hearing on Capitol Hill. Georgia covered her mouth with her hand in mock horror.

Jonn put down the fork in his well-developed hand, the seafood no longer so appealing. “I’ll ask you again, Lilah, what’s the point of this visit?”

“Hey Jonn, no need for the hostility.” The senator didn’t want to antagonize the voters. “Lilah, Georgia, is it a matter that your ever-approachable representative could help with?”

Georgia held his gaze. “Can’t we go someplace quieter to discuss this? It’s a very personal issue, which needs a delicate touch.” Wow, Georgia, don’t be too subtle. But Senator Smythe had already melted over his seat. It suited me fine to be left alone with Jonn.

“We’d like that too,” Jonn piped up, rather nervously. So, he’d understood my train of thought. He’d become a worried man. Good. Even if a bodyguard could be called, they were obviously too far away to be of any use to him. For once, I felt grateful for his overbearing arrogance. He lit another foul cigar and inhaled deeply.

Four glasses of wine hastily finished, the senator ushered us to his suite of rooms in the hotel below. Whether he owned them or they came with the job didn’t matter to me. At that moment, they simply represented an ideal opportunity. On our way, he regaled us with his plans to extend the monorail, which didn’t exactly make for thrilling listening. The line, no, make that lines, would apparently stretch to infinity. Though I’m sure he mentioned the Hoover Dam. Or maybe I simply wished that’s where I could retreat to, not to hear his masterful voice projection.

“I’ve been considering collecting boring old movie posters,” Georgia trilled as we exited the elevator. “You’d be surprised how much money they can cost, and the dullest ones are the most expensive. In fact, it’s the dull ones I look out for.”

“Actually, I’ve just come to appreciate the value of figurines,” I airily confessed. “There’s no such expression as too mawkish for me, and no amount of money I’m not willing to pay. Heck, I’ll even take out a loan to get a particularly sickly looking specimen.”

“A loan, girlfriend? Why stop at a loan? Let’s be honest, if you want the item, why not sell your house?” She smiled.

“Girlfriend, no need to be all cautious. Sell your house and sell your soul in a contract with the devil too, that’s my motto.” I smiled harder.

Smythe and Brooks clearly struggled for a suitable reply to our outbursts, while we strode along the plushly carpeted corridor. I noted that my final comment had seriously turned the heat back up on Jonn’s discomfort, so well done, Georgia. My, didn’t he just run a finger inside his collar, to let out some steam? We came to a halt outside an unnumbered door. The senator tapped out a code on a keypad and we entered his inner sanctum.

The theme of Smythe’s many rooms was a Roman villa, with frescoes of topless Roman lovelies on every wall, mosaics of topless Roman lovelies on the floor, and topless Roman art all over the place. The large entrance contained a fountain, which depicted nymphs badly in need of a decent toga shop. Several shut doors to left and right whispered of secrets that lay beyond. A veritable Hideawayus Maximus, as the Ancients would’ve surely called it. Although I’d definitely call it a mock-Roman orgy of bad taste.

“We can party as loud as we want, these rooms are soundproof. Yeah, thought you’d enjoy the decor, Lilah. Care to see my bust?” Smythe asked Georgia, tugging her towards an inner door.

“Hey, that’s my line, Senator,” she giggled.

“You’ll find out why they call me a big shot.”

“I’m a bit of a collector myself,” Jonn announced, “can we see the bust too?”

The senator looked taken-aback. “Easy, pardner, this is strictly a private senatorial audience.” A consummate politician, he maintained his facade until the moment for action came. He produced a gun and made to aim at Jonn’s back.

“No!” I cried, managing to grab and deflect the arm before the blow could be struck. He shot into the air. I prized his chubby fingers from the handle, then pushed him away. He stumbled, whacked his head against a plinth and fell unconscious. Above him, a toga-clad statue of Senator Smythe struck a heroic pose. Though minus a nose, which he’d just blown away.

“But Lilah, didn’t you want revenge? Weren’t the coins supposed to find a way through to Jonn?”

“This is my revenge, my show, my choreography.”

“I knew you were up to no good.” Jonn’s eyes darted betweenGeorgia and me as he backed towards the door. He reached inside his light grey jacket. In front of me, Georgia fired a warning shot. The hand stopped.

“Stand over in the corner,” she insisted, carelessly pointing with the barrel in what I considered a rather dangerous, frankly unprofessional manner. He complied, enabling me to press the cotton wool, drenched in chloroform, over her mouth. Once more, I’d turned her lights out. Sorry babe. My own gun in hand, I faced Jonn.

“Now what, Lilah? You gonna waste me, that’s it? A little cheap psychiatric help from a bullet? What did I ever do to you?” Bad mistake. He made me remember all the stuff he’d done to me. Which in turn tensed my trigger finger and made me fire. That must’ve been his plan, as next second he hurled himself behind the plinth and through a door. King of skimming be damned, this here was the king of rats. I chased his tail.

In a faux forest clearing I had him pinned, crouching behind a marble discus thrower. Though I couldn’t recall reading of any female discus throwers in Ancient Rome, I strongly doubted that they’d go topless. Wouldn’t it hinder the throwing action? Panpipes softly played from hidden speakers, in amongst the plastic trees and shrubs.

“Look, Lilah, you don’t really want me dead, do you?”

“If you must plead for your pathetic life, get on with it.” My response surprised me. Could I be softening?

“The real loot is in Calico ghost town.”

“Keep going.”

“I’ve got the key right here. Just point it at the correct spot inside Maggie’s Mine and it’s all yours. The map is inside the key.”

“The key. Now.” Another metallic key tumbled through the air to land by my heels. “Step out from behind the statue.”

“A deal’s a deal, Lilah, okay? You leave and I promise not to follow you, okay? You trust me?” When he appeared, the gunshot I gave to his right knee meant that I trusted him. Wow, was I really going all caring and sharing in my dotage? Well, until he loosened off a round at my retreating back, grazing my left thigh and ruining my new gold hotpants, I was. I turned and fired as an automatic defense mode. He slumped, face down, in a growing pool of blood on the artificial turf. Pan, unfazed,played on regardless amongst the green foliage. This sacrifice hadn’t been in his honor.

Georgia and Smythe tottered in, their eyes glazed, leaning on each other for mutual support. At the sight of the body, Smythe let out a piercing scream and turned away, though he still remained propped up on Georgia’s shoulder.

“Is he…” Georgia began.

“Yep, show’s over. The fat lady sang, and she wasn’t even topless.”

“That’ll never do for the Strip.”

“What the hell are you two girls going on about?” He spoke with a tremor and stayed facing the door.

“With the soundproofing, no one heard the gunfire.” I began to stroll around the glade.

“But we can’t leave him here.”

“That thought had crossed my mind, Georgia. By the way, Senator, if you’re so squeamish, how come you were willing to shoot the late Chuckles?”

He looked sheepish. “Go on,” Georgia prompted, “no point trying to keep it a secret any longer.”

Shifty replaced sheepish. “I kinda owe my election victory to Jonn. And lately, well, he’d been asking me to do some, that is to cover up some, very, very bad things.”

“What, worse than vote rigging, you mean?” He let that remark go without a rebuttal. “Yeah, now you mention it, I did wonder about your late surge at the ballot box. You strike me as an early surger.” He swiveled to give me an annoyed look. Good, his grip was returning.

“I suggest that Jonn keeps watch on his mini-vault from the inside.” Georgia and Smythe concurred with my proposal. They would smuggle the body out of the hotel in a laundry basket. But not before Georgia had agreed to star in my next venture, a brand new show, and the senator had consented to support my planning application for a stunning new venue on the Strip. Naturally, I’d be the artistic director. I could almost hear the ecstatic applause of the audience, see the stacks of cash that rolled in at the box office. Lilah Starr proudly presents…

Damn, don’t henchmen announce their arrival by kicking down doors anymore? These two had probably disabled theelectrics, in order to creep with fox-like stealth into the faux forest clearing. So Jonn had managed to get a signal out after all. I suspected that his pockets would yield a hi-tech signaling contraption.

“Put your hands on your head,” one of them barked. As they were dressed from head to toe in black and brandished mean automatic rifles, we all sensibly complied. While one of them dropped down to one knee in the entrance, the other took a cautious route to Jonn past us startled deer. He glanced at the blood-soaked body then turned round to face us, peering intently at each of us in turn. In my opinion, he rather lingered over the exquisitely toned and shapely view of Lilah Starr that this posture afforded. All natural, unlike some.

“That’s Jonn Brooks. My employer, you know?” He spoke softly, with a faint Irish brogue. We all mumbled nothing in particular. “Hold on, you’re Senator Smythe, aren’t you?” he added.

“That’s right, son.”

“You, the one with the gun. You mentioned something about a new show?”

“Er, yeah.” Who says my mind freezes up in a crisis?

“I can sing. Very well too, though I say so myself. Name’s Craig Anthony.”

We all kinda mumbled hello.

“Over by the door, that’s James Quinn Marshall. He’s one killer dancer. You may have heard of him, he moonlights in several chorus lines. Goes by the name of El Gato.”

We turned about for further mumbled greetings and a serious case of the nodding heads. El Gato? A bell of recognition jangled slightly.

“We’re not sorry he’s dead,” James/El Gato declared, in an accent that could’ve hailed a New York taxi at half a mile. “In fact, if you hadn’t killed him, our own plan was well on the way to fruition. And I don’t believe that ours was the only plot.”

“I’m Lilah,” I announced. “This here is Georgia. Before we get roles in the new production assigned to each of you, Georgia and the senator could use a little help with disposing of the body.” They mucked in like true backstage troopers.

On my way to Calico, I vowed to never force the showgirls in my revue to get implants. With pecs like theirs, Craig and ElGato certainly didn’t need them. Hmmm, I considered stretching Georgia’s cheerleader idea to include a tribute to Jocks.

So, my gamble had paid off. In Vegas, the gamble always does, when you have the guts to make your own luck.