Preston Allen - Las Vegas Noir

My parents traded shifts so someone could always be with me when I was young. Mom doing cocktails days and Dad dealing nights. We were lucky. Dad and I spent a lot of time watching reruns and cleaning his guns, talking and making snacks. Once, when the July heat kept us from venturing too far, Dad had given up for the couch. I stuck outside to play with some neighborhood kids. I was ten or eleven. A teenaged boy I vaguely knew coaxed me behind the dumpsters.

“Show me your panties,” he said. He was wearing blue jeans and no shirt.

“No,” I said. I dug my bare toes into the powdery dirt.

“C’mon, just show me.” He pinched me hard on the arm.

“No. Leave me alone.” I turned to go.

“If you leave, I’ll chase after you and hit you in the face.”

“You’d have to catch me,” I sneered.

“I’d catch you easy. I’m bigger. Show me your panties and I’ll let you leave.”

I turned around and took off running as fast as I could. I heard my heart beating loud in my ears, but it didn’t cover up the stomping of his sneakers inches behind me. Get to the steps, I thought. I ran as fast as I could through the parking lot and the patch of desert between the dumpsters and our trailer. Inside, my stomach flipped with the idea that I had provoked this. I’d given the boy reason to think he could look at my panties. I wanted to stop and stand up for myself, but I was too scared. He was bigger than me. Then my stomach flipped again, thinking about Dad. I wouldn’t tell him if I could just make it home. I would be in trouble for going behind the dumpster with this boy who Dad had never liked and had specifically told me to stay away from. As soon as I hit the grass at the base of our slot, the boy’s slapping footsteps died away. I kept running, hopping over the tomato plants and hitting the aluminum door with all my weight. I’m sure I shook the entire trailer.

“What happened?” Dad asked. He was still lying on the couch, smoking a cigarette. His pink bowl was on the floor filled with potato chips and pretzels. M*A*S*H played on TV. I panted against the door. It didn’t matter what I said, I realized. There was no use lying. Dad could always read my mind.

“What happened?” he repeated. He sat up, already angry. I caught a sob in my throat thinking I was in trouble.

“You were playing with that boy, weren’t you?”

My face got hot. I gulped a nod.

“What did he do?”

“He, he...” I stammered and coughed. “He told me to show him my panties!”

Dad’s eyes clouded red. His fists clenched. He grew as big as the room. The walls rippled. I closed my eyes anticipating his roar. Even the TV laughter shrank away.

“But Daddy, I didn’t show him. I told him no, and he said he’d punch me!”

“ Motherfucker !” he growled. He was outside before I could control my sobs. I followed, squatting to watch from behind the slats of our picket fence.

Kids dotted the street. Dad moved so determinedly that summer seemed to freeze. He walked like a soldier into combat across the pavement, barefoot in his dusty jeans. The boy was sitting on the steps of his trailer. He turned to go inside when he saw Dad coming for him.

“You stay right there, you little cocksucker,” Dad said.

The boy froze. Dad stomped up to him and wrapped an enormous hand around his skinny shoulder. He dragged him off the steps. The boy moaned like a dying cat.

“You listen to me,” Dad snarled, inches from the boy’s pained face. I could barely hear him, but I knew what he said. “If you ever come near my daughter again, I will rip your fucking balls off and shove them down your throat.”

The boy’s mother ran down the steps, screaming, “Let him go! He didn’t do anything! Let him go!” She cried into her hands, unable to release her son from Dad’s grip. “Let him go!” she wailed.

“You understand me, you little prick?” Dad said, shaking the boy back and forth.

The boy groaned, but managed to nod his head. His face burned bright pink.

Dad let go. The boy stumbled back. His mother engulfed him. She cried into his shoulder. Dad walked back toward our trailer as quickly as he had left. I felt a mingled sensation of pity for the boy and personal triumph. Dad picked me up when he returned. He asked me if I was okay.

“Yes,” I mumbled, still in shock.

“You know, boys do stupid things,” he said carrying me into the living room. “You’re getting older now and you’ll have to watch out for them.” As quickly as he had gone into the rage, he was back, Dad again. Even his thick mane had settled down to his normal messy hair. He set me on the couch. “But the lucky thing is, you are too smart for them and you’ll never let someone tell you what to do. You’re tough.” He brushed some sticky hair away from my face. “I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself.”

I felt like crying all over again, but I wasn’t sure why. I often felt like that when Dad told me something important. I wanted his trust and his approval more than anything. I’d seen him angry, and I’d seen him rip guys apart. I loved that he was on my side, always.

I never respected a man so much until Casey came along, completely the opposite, but still a man in his own way. Casey was kind of a big deal in town, doing energy consultations with the casinos, helping the buildings to follow FCC guidelines and save money on energy at the same time. It was the kind of job that wasn’t around ten years earlier. The days of covering its troubles with lightbulbs and neon were over. Vegas had to grow up, and the town struggled just like I did to fit into mainstream society. Casey was helping us both.

The next morning, Casey pulled back into the driveway after dropping James off at school. He didn’t have any appointments until later that afternoon. I’d been pacing the kitchen, wanting to talk to him before I left for work. I was standing at the door when he opened it.

“Jesus!” he said, startled.

“We haven’t prepared James for the real world,” I said. “We’ve made everything too safe.”

“Honey. This is what boys do.” He set down his keys. He grabbed an apple from the fridge. He kissed me on the cheek, then stuck the fruit in his mouth.

I followed him. “Think about it. We live in this house with an alarm system. We have air bags in the car.” I folded my arms tight in front of me.

“You didn’t want the Lexus because of the airbags.” He smiled and winked at me. He walked toward his office.

I rolled my eyes. “We’re not prepared for anything,” I said. I was at his heels.

“We have every kind of insurance you can imagine.” He pulled up the blinds.

“But look at James. The shit has hit and he has no idea how to handle himself. He’s too insecure to stick up for himself. He’s terrified.” I sat on the edge of the couch.

“He should be terrified,” Casey replied, sitting behind his desk. “Have you seen that boy yet? He’s a moose.”

“James should feel invincible.” I paused. “He should be feeling out his...” I grappled with my hands, trying to pull the words out of the air. “... his machismo. I don’t know.” I threw my hands up.

“We didn’t raise him like that.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What do you want to do, Teresa?” He dropped his hands on the desk. “You can’t follow him to school. You can’t spank the other kid.” He picked up a stack of papers and straightened them. “The boy doesn’t like James for whatever reason. James can’t help that. He needs to stay out of the kid’s way.”

I crossed my legs and stared at Casey. “I want to take James shooting.”

“What? No way.”

“It will give him self-confidence. So he isn’t so scared.”