Michael Connelly - Murder in Vegas

An anthology of stories edited by Michael Connelly, 2005

There is a saying in Las Vegas that is as crude as it is accurate. What they say is that in this town there is a paddle for everybody’s ass. What they mean by that is that you can’t know everything about Las Vegas. Just when you are foolish enough to think you do, just when you are dumb enough to think you have it figured out, a new paddle comes along and you get knocked down again. There is no sure thing in Las Vegas. There is no sure bet.

Las Vegas is a destination city. Whether you come here to live or to just play, it is one of the few places on the planet where most people come from somewhere else. They come with their hopes and desires on their sleeves. Their greed, too. But the city carries a big paddle in return. The city pays out in the smallest margin of returns. Not just at the tables, but in everything. Everybody who comes here with his or her dreams of a new life and a new existence faces a limited return. And that’s what makes it attractive to writers of mystery fiction. This town represents the ultimate long shot. For everyone who makes it, who hits the jackpot in life or at the blue felt tables, there are ninety-nine who don’t. And the line between those that do and those that don’t is where the grist of high stakes character and drama arises.

That’s what this book is about. Those ninety-nine people who walk away empty-handed. Vegas is the unifying vision, of course, but beneath all the neon and glitz is the unifying desire to win, to start over, to begin again. That is the true character of this place. Each one of these stories is in some way the story of a dreamer and a schemer. Someone looking for a small redemption. These are stories of characters at the raw edge of humanity. Why not place them in the city that represents the raw edge of our society?

Las Vegas may be the most monitored city in the world. On the strip alone there are more than ten thousand eyes in the sky.Those are the cameras that track you from the moment you step into a casino to try to take away their money until the moment you leave-with or without it. And that ten thousand doesn’t even count the cameras in the garages and elevators and hallways. Over the intersections and above the people movers. In the restaurants and showrooms and focused on the pools. When you come to Las Vegas you are never alone for long. Yet here is the place that draws the schemers. Here is the place where people transform themselves, where they become alter egos and the kind of people they are assuredly not when they are back home. Despite the unblinking eye of the camera, there is a dark freedom afforded by the neon city. It is its greatest draw.

The characters in these stories have been drawn by that darkness. Ride with them to and through this place. You’ll be met at the Nevada border by a seventy-five-cent grifter and from there it is onward to the city of sin. You’ll learn what it’s like to play craps when you have to win. I mean have to win because you’re just one step ahead of the kind of debt collector who takes late payments in blood. You’ll meet schemers who are out-schemed by other schemers or even their own marks. You’ll meet a class of clientele to which violence is a given. (I mean, when the first line of a story is “Is he dead?” and is delivered by a character named Snake, then you know you are riding in dark territory.) And then, when perhaps you think there is no hope left for humanity, you’ll come across a woman who just wants to preserve something good and natural in the desert from which the mirage of Las Vegas rises. So press on and you will find moments of human grace in these stories as well.

I guess what I am trying to say is that there is a paddle for everybody’s ass in this collection. Don’t think you know anything about Las Vegas until you ride with this group. But be warned. Don’t think you know everything there is to know about Las Vegas. Not ever.

Michael Connelly

“Welcome to Nevada,” the convenience store manager said.

The manager’s name was Huey Dollop. He was fifty, and he had tobacco-stained teeth and a head shaped like a honeydew. His store was the first thing motorists driving from California to Las Vegas saw when they crossed the state border on 1-15. A concrete pillbox sitting off the highway with a neon Budweiser sign in the window.

The couple who came into Huey’s store looked beat. Two tired kids driving a Volvo they’d stopped making fifteen years ago. The girl had red hair, and eyes that said she’d seen a lot. The guy, maybe the same age, wore a Dodgers cap and was built like a stump. He made a bee-line for the cold beverages, leaving the girl at the counter.

“Good afternoon,” Huey said. “What can I do for you today?”

Huey said his lines with a smile on his face. It was the way he addressed every customer that came into his store. It always put them at ease.

“This is our first time visiting Las Vegas,” she said, nodding at her boyfriend in the back of the store. “Troy won a chunk of change on the lottery, and figured maybe it was time to give lady luck a spin.”

Huey nodded. He’d been running his store twenty years, and had heard a lot of stories. Most were hard luck. This one wasn’t, only the girl seemed afraid, like she sensed that they were about to get taken. A pair of virgins in Sin City.

“Ever gambled before?” Huey asked.

She nodded. Then said, “We taught ourselves on the Internet. It was fun. But…” Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her eyes and stared at the faded counter top.

Huey picked up an open can of Dr. Pepper, and took a sip.They made it with prune juice, gave it a unique flavor. He said, “But?”

“We weren’t playing with real money.” She lowered her voice. “Troy’s afraid of getting cheated in a real casino. You know, like once he starts to win.”

“Casinos don’t have to cheat,” Huey said.

“Hey, Amy, what you want to drink?”

“Yoo-Hoo,” the girl replied. To Huey she said, “What do you mean?”

“The house has an edge in every game. That’s how they pay their bills.”

“An edge? Like a percentage?”

“That’s right. Locals call it the sunshine tax.”

“But do people ever win?”

“Sure,” Huey said. “People win all the time.”

Amy leaned her thin frame against the counter. “People like Troy?”

“People just like Troy. Last week, a man came in who’d won a million dollars on a slot machine at the Bellagio, looked just like Troy.”

“The what?”

“The Bellagio. It’s a casino on the Strip. It’s got the fountains in the front.”

“Did he tell you which machine?”

Huey smiled, and took another sip of his soda. Troy came to the front. He placed two drinks and some food on the counter. He wore a faded tee shirt with the words I’M BLIND, I’M DEAF, I WANT TO BE A REF!

Amy said, “This man says the games aren’t rigged.”

“I told you that last night,” Troy said, taking his wallet out. Throwing a twenty down, he said, “We just need to know which casinos to play. They all don’t have the same rules. Guys at the shop told me that.”