So Vegas is still a boomtown? said Tyler. I figured it must have hit recession by now. Shows how much I know.
The builders are building as fast as they can. Retirees are moving into that town at a record rate. We’re going to have the biggest planned community in the world.
I thought you were from Missouri.
That’s beside the point. Las Vegas has been booming for forty years. Las Vegas is not overbuilt. Eighty-five percent of the people in the United States have not visited Las Vegas.
Including the Queen, I guess.
You spend a lot of time in the Tenderloin, don’t you?
Some.
Can’t you just imagine the way it used to be when it was the Barbary Coast? said Brady with a dreamy grin. All the casino dealers in black and white, and the cocktail ladies in pure white with gold-lined sleeves, showing titty, you know, with those old one-strap skirts so short they hardly cover their asses, yeah. I want to bring all that back. Have a single gold band just above the hem of the skirt, a silver belt, and make ’em all wear a long pigtail; if you tip ’em good maybe they can slap your face with it… Know what I’m saying?
I get it, said Tyler, not very interested.
And Feminine Circus will be like that, only new and different.
How can skin shows be different?
Oh, I’ll tell you something, Brady said. I’ve had a cunt that tastes like steak tartare. That’s easy. What I’m looking for is a cunt that tastes like roasted chicken. Now, that’d be different, wouldn’t it?
I don’t think in those terms.
Now, like I said, I want all this runaround to stop today. You hear what I had to do to that phony you sent me?
Yeah, I heard she wound up with some health problems.
Somehow, said Brady with a grin, I just had the impression that she was lying to me.
You remind me of my brother, Tyler said, narrowing his eyes as he gazed into Brady’s florid face. I’d like to introduce you sometime.
John Tyler? laughed his boss, lighting up a fat cigar. The one with the Chink wife? He’s already working for me. I’m paying him more than I’m paying you.
What had happened on that day when Tyler had led from that parking garage a slender and submissive little black woman who silently sat down in the passenger seat of Brady’s rental car as Tyler, following previous instructions, closed the door from the outside and walked off to his bus stop? Investigate the mouth of truth, and await his splendid roar which will answer every question. Tyler had ostensibly found truth’s mouth; Brady had hired him for that. Now Brady would hear that jangled, metallic roaring for himself, or else. He stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth. The prostitute cleared her throat. (Behind her, a woman with a white shopping bag leaned against the scuffed yellow-lit wall.) Brady turned the key in the ignition, listened to the radio for a moment, backed out of the parking space, and began heading west.
So you’re the Queen, huh? he said, gazing straight over the steering wheel.
Uh huh. What do you want with me?
Oh, I guess I wanted to pay you for your time.
I don’t come cheap, said the Queen.
I don’t care if you come at all, said Brady. Coming is the man’s job.
Are you a misogynist?
Some whore asked Mr. Tyler that just the other day. Domino, her name was. I’m trying to talk like him. Hey, Your Highness, I’ve been studying up on royalty. Did you know that the kings of France in the Middle Ages were born with a scarlet fleur-de-lys on the right shoulder? My slapper told me that.
A floor de what?
You know, a triple lily flower. I’m educated. The insiginia of France. I just wondered if you had any kind of mark on your body that proved you were the Queen.
Mister, are you calling me a liar?
Would I call a lady that? Klexter, klokan, kladd, kludd, kligrapp… Come on, Your Highness. That’s the kind of question I ask.
I feel like you’re mocking me.
I’m sorry, said Brady. I’ll try to be nicer to you.
And he was. Brady’s huge shoulders rose in a friendly fashion in the slate-colored business suit, and the faint smell of cologne thrilled her mercenary desires. He spent fifty dollars on her in an Italian restaurant (she ordered some little baguette-like thing shaped like a turd) and got her all mellow and fuddled with wine while he agreed with everything she said, saying: yes, ma’am, or I think you’re right, ma’am. He said to her: You are the Queen of the nicest little city around.
I don’t get much time to appreciate it right now, said the Queen. I’m awfully busy. Where are you from?
Wherever you’re from.
Uh huh, said the Queen.
And what about Henry Tyler?
Who?
I told you. That guy that brought you to me. Has he gotten emotionally compromised with any of your girls?
I never asked him, said the Queen.
Now who’s Sapphire?
A girl.
Yeah. Thanks a lot. I already figured she was split between her legs. What does she do for you?
That’s between us, Mr. Brady.
Does she exist?
She exists.
How many girls you got?
Enough.
I’m a businessman, you know. I just might be making you the big offer. But you’re going to have to put out.
Oh, cripes, said the Queen.
Do you believe I’ve got money?
Yes.
Do you believe I know that you believe it?
Cut the crap.
Do you believe I believe that you’re the Queen?
Not yet.
Do you believe I’m dangerous?
The Queen shot him a bitter glare.
Well?
I believe you’re not a nice man. I believe you’re volatile. I don’t really want to listen to your proposition.
Oh, so I pushed you over the edge, laughed Brady, pleased with himself. Okay, let me be nice to you again.
And he was. It didn’t take long — a little more money, and he had the bitch eating out of his hand! Everybody’s the same, he thought. Feed ’em or punch ’em. Then you’ll get whatever you need. But this one stinks. She’s not smart enough to be Queen. This is a setup. This is a flunkey switch. I should send her back happy, but you know what, God? You know fucking what? I won’t.
You get out much, ma’am? he said.
You know, said the tipsy woman, I used to go to Land’s End a lot. Just to kinda watch the fog. (I like this wine. This wine has a lot of class.) It was, well, I don’t know exactly — so lovely like the inside of those seashells you can find sometimes all silvery and shimmery — mother-of-pearl, that’s the word I was trying to remember. My memory’s not so good now. But all those trees, they just stood there, so tall and dark and kind of solid against that fog. If it started to rain, they’d protect me. But if it kept on raining, then after a while they let that rain through. I guess that’s how it is, huh? Nothing can protect you forever.
Well, by all means let’s go out to Land’s End, said Brady.
He ushered her back into his rental car and began to drive slowly down Geary Street, weaving. A cop waved them down.
Don’t I know you? the cop said to the Queen.
No, officer, you don’t know me.
It sounds like the Queen, Brady mumbled. It sounds like her. That’s the kicker. That’s just what the Queen would say.
Let’s see your license, the cop said to Brady.
Brady worked his wallet out from up against his fat buttock and handed it to the cop, money and all. — Help yourself, he said.
The cop fiddled with the wallet until he found the license. — Out of state, huh? And who’s the lady?
My Queen.
I oughta send you to jail for twenty days for driving under the influence, said the cop. I can smell it on your breath.
Sure it’s on my breath, said Brady. Doesn’t mean I’m drunk, though.
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