Chris Abani - The Secret History of Las Vegas

Eskia pulled out of the hospital parking lot, headed back to his hotel: New York, New York. Why was it that Vegas had to wring every last gag out of things? Everything here was a pun on a pun, so many times removed that it was not clear what the original joke had been, or if there had even been one in the first place. As he drove past the ziggurat of the MGM, black and polished, like an ancient Aztec temple cleaned up for a visitation by aliens, he thought of ways to hurt Sunil. He knew just the thing.

Smiling, he turned on his phone and used the voice-dialing function.

Call Asia, he said.

The phone rang.

Hello, Asia said on the second ring.

Sunil’s drive over to County was slow, and he played with the idea of taking the Strip. Natives always avoided that route, so taking it seemed like a good idea. Going up West Flamingo Drive, he made a right onto Las Vegas Boulevard. As he’d guessed, there was less traffic, although the sidewalks were packed with people.

The Halloween crowds poured up and down the Strip like a thick sludge. Fireworks, set off by the Bellagio, fired straight up and out of its fountains, filling the sky with mushrooms of dazzle. Sunil was reminded of the old bomb parties the casinos used to host back in the ’50s, when the U.S. government set off nukes in the nearby desert, sometimes as close as six miles from the city. The casinos sold package tours to see U.S. history in the making: the end of the Commies and the death of the Red Threat. People flocked by the thousands to the dawn parties to watch the mushroom clouds. Minutes after the display, they would return to gambling or turn in to catch some much-needed sleep. Seats on the terrace, where one could watch the explosions while sipping on a cocktail, were fought over. Those unable to afford the parties or terraces drove out to ground zero and hiked as close as possible. The Atomic Energy Commission never turned them away, even when there were families with children.

Sunil watched the light show across his windshield, fireworks ceding to electricity. The radiance gave the impression that the city was a mirage. At a stoplight, where the traffic was held up not so much by the red but by the endless stream of pedestrians in costume, Sunil saw a young woman, a girl really, eating fire. Slowly, with what seemed like reasonable trepidation, she dipped the long-stemmed tapers into a clear fluid and lit each one. Holding the flaming stem delicately, she tilted her head back and pushed the fiery tip into her mouth, where it died with an audible sigh. Something about that girl took Sunil back to a memory of Dorothy, lighting and blowing out votives set at the foot of a statue of Jesus in the corner of her hospital room. Flame. No flame. Flame. No flame.

The duty psychiatrist, a small mousy man, was waiting outside the ER. Sunil recognized him as he approached from the parking lot but couldn’t remember the man’s name. They’d probably met at a conference; Vegas was the city for that. The doctor snuffed out the cigarette he was smoking in the sand-filled ashtray by the automatic doors.

Dr. Singh, he said.

Hello, good to see you again, Sunil said, holding out his hand.

Dr. Alan, the duty psychiatrist said, taking Sunil’s hand limply. Sunil had never gotten used to the fact that American men didn’t shake hands as a matter of course.

Of course, Dr. Alan, Sunil said.

Look, I’m not happy with you doing this; I just wanted to express my position.

Noted, Dr. Alan, Sunil said, but you should tell that to the police.

I already did.

Good. Have you seen the twins?

Yes.

Can you tell me anything about them?

Their twinning is rare.

How so?

One twin has only a small torso and head growing out of the side of the other one. Quite disturbing, even from a medical point of view.

That is odd, I’ve never even heard of a modern case of undifferentiated twins. How old are they?

In their late thirties, I think, much older than you would think. They are also pretty unresponsive.

Well, thank you for letting me interview them. Is the policeman who brought them in still here?

Yes. Just over there, Dr. Alan said, pointing into the ER. I think his name is Salazar.

Thanks again, Sunil said, heading inside toward Salazar.

I’ll meet you in Exam Room 3. The twins are there, Dr. Alan said.

Sunil paused: That’s okay. I’d rather see them alone. You understand?

Fuck you, Dr. Alan said, turning away.

Sunil ignored him and walked down the hall, tracking Salazar to the snack shop around the corner. Pausing by the door, he took it all in — shelves of chocolate and candy, sugary treats and drinks, and nary a piece of fruit in sight. It was as if the hospital were trying to drum up repeat business. He recognized Salazar straightaway. He looked like every cop Sunil had ever seen, and he’d seen plenty.

Officer Salazar, Sunil said, offering his hand.

Dr. Singh. Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would remember me.

Of course I remember you, Sunil said. So tell me what happened exactly.

Well, earlier this evening I received a call to assist a park ranger out by Lake Mead. When I got there, it appeared as though two suspects were trying to commit suicide or murder.

Which is it, Sunil asked, thinking Salazar seemed more polite than he remembered. He must want something pretty bad, he thought.

I don’t know, Salazar said. The suspects were in the water. The tall one, whose name is also Water, was bent over. The smaller one, named Fire, on Water’s side, was submerged. The ranger says he had to ask Water to come out of the water — oh, fuck it; he had to ask the suspect to come out of the water several times.

Sounds like the park ranger could have handled it by himself.

Well, he called it in, so I came to his assistance.

All right, Sunil said. But why a psych evaluation, why not just arrest them?

There are no bodies, just drums of blood.

But you said the body dumps had started again, Sunil said.

I had to say something to get you here, Salazar said.

Sunil sighed with relief. So this is not really a straight-ahead psych eval, he said. You want me to help you hold them for seventy-two hours while you search for the body or bodies?

Yes. I’m also hoping you might find out for me where they might have dumped the bodies.

If there still are any, Sunil said.

How do you mean?

A quick memory flashed through Sunil’s mind. A hillside with stubby grass, a quickly dug shallow grave. A body. Male. Teeth extracted, ground to powder earlier. Overhead a hawk circling. Heat shimmering. Then powdered lime poured over the body. Then that horrible sizzling, soft almost, like effervescence.

Anyway, he said, to Salazar. If I recall from two years ago, the killer dumped the bodies out in the open. If the twins are the killers, shouldn’t there be bodies in plain sight?

Salazar shrugged. Fuck, nothing’s ever that easy, he said.

Is there anything else I should know, Sunil asked. Anything you tell me is bound to help, even the slightest thing.

Well, the small one is kind of feisty, but sounds college-educated, and the tall one looks normal but is kind of like Rain Man.

Rain Man?

You know, like the movie. He never says anything directly, only mumbles weird facts, like someone on Jeopardy!

Interesting, Sunil said. Anything else?

Just a feeling.

What kind of feeling?

I don’t know. They’re pretty odd-looking, but there’s something else off about them. Look in their eyes.

Sunil nodded as Salazar walked away, down the hallway.

Alone with the twins, Sunil drew the green cubicle curtain closed behind him. There was a dark stain on the fabric just below his left elbow that Fire seemed to be staring at.