Casino at Circus Circus (Las Vegas) - 2021 All You Need to

So, you wanna go to SHOT show? You think it's all fun and games? Get to play with guns? See Jesse James and R. Lee Ermey? SHOT show is the annual pilgrimage of the unwashed masses to Las Vegas to rub elbows with youtube celebrities, bloggers and overseas businessmen copying US made equipment and share infectious disease.
If you love guns, gambling and gonorrhea - SHOT show is for you! It is not my typical idea of a good time. I am not a big fan of Las Vegas.
However: I do attend for a few reasons. First, I do enjoy travel and I'm platinum on AA so I can usually score an upgrade. Second, industry people are in there that I do hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars with business with so it's nice to put a face with the name and see what deals are out there. SHOT for me has been a bust for the past few years. Being a value guy, I want to buy at $1000 and sell at $3000 and as of recently the gun business is more like buy for $1 and sell for $1.10 if you get what I mean.
We used to do business at SHOT and now it's just checking in on foursquare, instagram and rubbing elbows with bloggers and the like. I want to make money, not spend money so this is very annoying to me.
Anyways, onto the play by play.
Monday, January 16th. One day before SHOT show.
http://imgur.com/a/HoFUm
Every time I've been rejected by a woman, I move $1 from checking into savings and I take the bankroll down to the Wynn for some play. Lets do this.
The TSA line is a shitshow thanks to, well TSA.
I slog my way to the lounge, as shitty as it is to wait for my winged chariot to DFW. I have gone from being in an abusive relationship with Delta to being in an abusive relationship with AA. Although if you really want to experience the battered spouse feeling, UA is a few gates over. This trip's light reading is trying to finish "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell. Such a good book as well as "Outliers" if you want a good read.
I walk up to the podium to find out that my upgrades do not clear, even as an AA Plat thanks to the addition of a FOURTH elite tier. Goddamn fucking W. Doug Parker. Asshole. I gate check my bags to make life easier for me and the rest of the folks. The gate agent calls concierge key and executive platinum passengers. I look down and realize I'm wearing a suit and board with the executive platinum folks because I do not care and I look the part. If you walk with a purpose and are dressed reasonably well, you fit the profile. I settle into my window seat and try to finish outliers. I pass out before takeoff and I'm awoken by the dulcet tones of the flight attendants preparing for landing. We land at Dallas a few minutes early and I hightail it to the Centurion for a quick bite to eat. I grab a plate and help myself to some of the excellent brisket, pecan encrusted chicken and some roasted jumbo asparagus. Yes, my pee is going to smell funny. No, I do not care. The lounge is packed. The bar is full and I grab a quick single malt as I have my meal since American's not going to feed me. They begin boarding to Mccarran as I walk out of the lounge. No time for a stop in the spa on this trip. I make it to the gate just as the call group 2 boarding.
I bypass the main line and walk up through the priority line giving no heed to the people that have been waiting there before me as I hold up my paper boarding pass with PLATINUM to the gate agent. I board and take my usual seat - the exit row without the seat in front of it. I'm aghast to see this sight.
http://imgur.com/a/dygil
The savages. Literally. The savages.
I put my loathing away for a moment and look down at the exit row. I have the window. The aisle is a large middle aged man and in the middle is what I believe to be a formecurrent linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys wearing a 52 regular sports jacket. He's not a fat guy in a little coat, he's a big fucking hulk of a man stuffed in an exit row seat that is already an inch narrower due to the tray table. I grimace as I take my seat and give him the manly nod. He does not look happy about the fact that his knees are in the seat in front and I'm stretched out like a Cheshire cat in front of a fireplace on a cold January afternoon.
The boarding door closes for an on time departure and Stephanie the FA takes her seat. He leans over and asks if he can take the empty row across the aisle and she takes one look at the three of us and gives him the nod. I bail out to give him a path of egress and suddenly the trip to Las Vegas has just become way more comfortable. I finish The Tipping Point somewhere over west texas, so I pop a xanax and dr pepper and zone out for the rest of the ride. I awake to feel one of the FA's jostling me awake telling me to put my seat up. I do so and we have a ride so smooth that not even the Delta guy behind me can complain about light chop. We catch the TYSSN4 arrival and the next thing I know it the Messier Dowty landing gear of the A321 touch the paint at Mccarran for a smooth rollout down 25L.
My phone battery is approaching grim death since this seat has no power plugs and I find bartman383 has sent me a message. He has been enjoying LV with his wife and their due to bad weather they are in the city of sin for a few extra nights. He invites me to dinner. I'm still pretty full from DFW and I tell him I'll be over there once I get my bags and the car and I'll see him when I see him. He gives me the info for the hotel as we pull up to the gate.
First stop: Centurion lounge. AA's app tells me bags being unloaded. I grab a quick bite of fried chicken and brussels sprouts since they are good for you and a chocolate pudding. The brisket and pecan encrusted chicken from DFW still has me full but I'm well aware of the speed of a union baggage handlers nowadays and who doesn't like chocolate pudding? Terrorists. That's who. Want to know how to screen for terrorists TSA? Set up a table of free chocolate pudding at the airport. The people who don't take any are members of ISIS. It's just that simple.
I grab my bag and hoof it to Hertz. I'm an idiot and I am an hour late for my pickup. Oops. Will an Audi A3 suffice? I sigh and I accept my Teutonic quattro chariot. I do a burnout in the parking garage and hightail it to the exit. I flash my #1 card and my ID and the gatekeeper gives me the go ahead. I get onto the the strip and traffic is awful. I'm going to be late for dinner. I make a left onto Russell Road and hightail it up the 15. I manage to get the car up to 100 as I pass the Luxor. My phone is dead so I can't message Bart about being late. Fuck. The exit approaches quickly as I put the 4 wheel disk brakes to work and sling the car around and head south on Las Vegas Bl. I accidentally turn into the Bellagio and I'm now running even more late. Fuck. Eventually, I get the car into the garage at the Cosmopolitan and head upstairs. I cannot remember the name of the restaurant but I head up to the third floor where all the restaurants are and I see this sign that's reminiscent of my days in retail.
It says RESTAURANT - LOUNGE - PAWN SHOP.
I laugh. I walk in. It's literally a pawnshop. I look around puzzled.
FC: Is this a restaurant?
Bald Headed Guy: Yes, through that door.
He points towards a door. I walk in to find a bustling restaurant, lounge via the entrance of pawnshop. This is insane. I pass a mirror and check myself out. I adjust my tie, after all it is YSL and the ladies LOVE YSL. Remember that. I find the hostess and inform her I will be joining some friends for dinner. They probably do not have me on the reservation though but I turn on the charm and she smiles and says no problem at all. She asks if my tie is from Hermes. I say no, I'm a YSL guy. She looks impressed as I tell her I'll make a quick lap of the room to see if they're there and surprise them. She gives me a nod and tells me to go right ahead. Still got it.
I spot bart and his wife who I can only remember vaguely from gunnitlive after party video and I pull up a chair. Bart is surprised to see I made it and they are in the middle of dinner. They offer to ply me with food and beverage but I decline as I'm driving so no booze for me and no food since I am stuffed from Dallas. We chat about life and liberty over libations. Bart's wife thinks I am hysterical. She's had a few drinks and they are already into their main courses. The brussels sprouts are way too salty and we have to send it back. No bueno.
Bart invites me up to his suite on the top floor of the hotel where we are to meet Brogelicious later in the evening. I say, when in rome......we head to the top floor of the hotel tower where Bart shows me his view from the balcony and cracks open the mini bar for some more libations. He asks if I want a drink and I say I better not. I'm driving.
Not 30 seconds after arriving, brogel shows up. Bart's wife hugs brogel. She's infatuated with him. We start shooting the shit and bart opens up the minibar and tells us to take anything we want, it's on the hotel. I laugh and I look outside as bart opens his yeti 110 for some silver bullets. Apparently he is so baller the hotel will send up a yeti 110 filled with beer to make him happy. His wife is apparently such a baller. I ball on a budget. They just ball. Hahaha.
We shoot the shit some more about guns, gun stuff and people on the reddit for a while. I get a little thirsty and I crack open bart's cooler. I ask him how long the stuff in the cooler is supposed to last and he says until Wednesday.
I look down and I am agape at what I see.
We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.
I mentally prepared my butthole and I decided to help myself to a coors light against my wishes but Bart, Bart's wife and Brogel are all drinking so I let peer pressure take hold as I cracked open a beer with them. We head out to the balcony to smoke some cuban cigars together as bart's wife takes a photo of all of us. We all look like hell. Haha.
As bart downs his second beer, he asks me a question.
Bart: ever go hunting?
Me: Ducks a little bit but not much
Bart: ever want to hunt some deadly game?
Me: Like on african safari?
Bart: No, I mean like.........man.
Me: Hahahahhahaaha you're just fucking with me. Hahahahahhaa. That's really funny.
Bart: No really, the concierge here at this hotel will set it up for us. It's amazing. I remember my first hunt......
Brogel starts laughing and I realize they've been doing a bit. I've been had.
We bullshit about SHOT and Barrett's shotguns and other things and next thing I know, it's late but bart hands me a mixed drink. I sip it a bit and I was in the middle of a tirade complaining about my customers. Suddenly, there was a terrible roar all around us, and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the city, and a voice was screaming: Holy Jesus. What are these goddamn animals? Nobody seems to understand what I'm talking about. It's cold on the balcony. Our cigars are done. We head indoors. No point in mentioning these bats, I thought. Poor bastards will see them soon enough.
Back indoors I realize Brussels sprouts and coors light is a bad choice. Seriously no bueno. I excuse myself to the bathroom and drain the vein. The asparagus funny smelling pee and the side effects of beer and brussels sprouts is a noxious combination that a defense contractor should weaponize it. It's pretty bad and not even cuban tobbaco can mask the smell.
I sit back down and continue to talk about guns and stuff with bart and the gang and bart asks who ruined the bathroom. I apologize as he sprays a bunch of febreze around and opens the balcony. I apolgize to brogel. He is not accepting my apology. (sorry :( )
Nearly 11, it's about time to pull chocks and mosey on down the dusty trail. I don't want to prompt an evacuation of the hotel due to noxious odors so I decide to leave and bart seems to be kinda mad that I've ripped ass and polluted the sanctuary of his hotel. Half a coors light and brussels sprouts are no bueno in my book now. Bart decides to party hard with his wife and I offer brogel a ride home. He seems skeptical to share a confined space with me after I have just destroyed bart's hotel room. The car has 4 windows and the Uber will cost him a few bucks he can put towards ammo. He relents as we head down to the garage to find my car. Thankfully we find it quickly and I manage to contain the weapons of ass destruction for the 16 minute ride off strip to casa de brogel.
He says I'm not that bad a dude and I agree as I hightail it to my hotel. I cannot find my hotel reservations so I call my travel agent to see.
Apparently the Wynn was not in my travel budget this year. I have come to find out I have been booked at Circus Circus, much to my chagrin. How bad could it be? I've stayed at the Wynn. I've stayed at Encore. I've stayed at the hotel that Elisabeth Shue's character got raped in in Leaving Las Vegas - but Circus Circus? Did I mention that I HATE CLOWNS? I HATE CLOWNS. Fuck.
I pull into the parking garage and the check in line resembles something straight out of the TSA line at Mccarran. 45 minutes to check in. The clerk is friendly and says he's also from Louisiana which is neat. He asks if I've stayed there before and I, being a connoisseur of old vegas history I decide to make a joke and I tell him the last time I was there, Jay Sarno owned the place. He got a laugh. I head up to my room and unpack. The lobby is clean as an old vegas casino can be, the room is clean and there's no way to plug anything in since the hotel predates personal electronic devices. I plug my phone into my external battery and collapse on the bed. I message Bart and chugbleach instead of falling asleep about show tomorrow and I offer to pick bart up early since there is no shuttle from the cosmo.
Tuesday, November 16th SHOT Show Day One
I awoke several hours later in a daze......the clock said 10AM. The show opened at 8:30. Fuck me to tears. I hurry up and get dressed and down to the sands convention center. The parking lot is FULL. The entire complex is a mess. When my man Steve Wynn built his joint he didn't build enough parking. So people would park at the Venetian and now FUCKING NOBODY CAN GET A PARKING SPACE. Holy shit. I eventually say fuck it and park over at the Wynn and walk over to the Sands. I meet up with a few of my regular suppliers and I see nothing interesting at all. Bart went to bed at 6AM after spending all night partying with his wife over at the palazzo. I joke and say that he just should have stayed there. Bart is amazed at the size of the show and we have lunch at the most disgusting place in las vegas - the convention center bistro snack bar. Bart is a wise man as he grabs a powerade and a fruit cup. I decide to try an "italian beef" and a fruit cup instead of fries to stay semi health conscious. The "italian beef" is the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. It is flat out depressing. They give me fries with it and I demand a fruit cup. The sassy black woman working the stand asks me "DID YOU ASK FOR FRUIT? CAUSE RIGHT HERE SAYS FRIES" and I channel my inner Louis CK from the "this is how I talk" bit from SNL as I shoot back "WHY YOU FRONTIN ON ME I ASKED FOR FRUIT AND YOUR ASS BETTER BACK UP AND GET ME SOME FRUIT" so she goes back and gets me some fruit.
The "italian beef", my fruit cup, bart's fruit cup and powerade comes to $81. My platinum amex comes out and I treat bart to "lunch". We bullshit about guns and stuff in the Springfield booth as we wait at the world's worst concession stand. We eat and Bart is so hungover that he thinks he is in need of physical therapy and a wheelchair. There is no way he is going to party tonight before his trip home. Or so I think. Haha.
I meander around the show a bit more and I find this, the most USELESS PRODUCT OF 2017. It's made by a company called radetec.
http://imgur.com/a/GOiCB
It's a shot counter. For your gun.
A digital odometer, for your gun.
The only person that would buy this is the guy like my dad that kept a spiral bound notebook in his car where he documented how many miles he traveled per tank, gallons dispensed, PRICE, service station and whether they had a different price for cash/charge, oil consumption, tire rotations, alignments, all services - scheduled or otherwise, and a running odometer. Does anyone know the gun owner who asks for a round count when they are looking at a used gun? The question I always shoot back is "do you want to be lied at a little or do you want to be lied at a lot?" because that's what you're asking for when you ask for round count.
UNLESS YOU BUY THIS PRODUCT!
I roll my eyes so far back into my head that I nearly lose my balance. This is idiotic. I cannot fathom anyone willing to buy this. What a waste of perfectly good exhibition space.
Bart heads back to his hotel after visiting SHOT show for a few hours, not getting any swag and to get an IV of fluids since he looked like he was rapidly approaching grim death.
I wrap up visiting prime vendors and checking out the new products, or lack thereof because I have something on the schedule. At 4:30 there's a suicide prevention for retailers seminar hosted by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. As many of you know this is an issue that is important to me and perhaps we as retailers should be doing more. The keynote was from their chief medical director talking about the accessibility of firearms and the mindset of the "typical" suicide. Mostly men. If you are a veteran you are at a significantly larger risk. The information was presented very not surprisingly and one of the things discussed was that we only spend around 21M a year on suicide prevention.
A few take away facts from the keynote:
When suicide barriers are put up on a bridge, suicide rates for the entire area drop. The key to preventing suicide is getting people to talk about their problems. Once you can get someone out of that mindset, they are statistically less likely to do it and live productive lives afterwards. There are certain terms that they are trying to get away from - for instance, they are not saying "committed suicide" they are now saying "died by suicide" in order to bring awareness and tell it like it is.
One thing that really was interesting to me was my reading on the flight in from Dallas. In The Tipping Point, Gladwell discusses how things stay the same and suddenly they all change. One of the things that he discusses is in micronesia - where teen suicide was practically unheard of became an outright epidemic. One teenager did it, for reasons passing understanding to me as an outsider and then all the other kids realized that they too could escape their pain by hanging themselves as well and suddenly the suicide rates in micronesia became so high to where it became a public health issue. I wish I could show you all the article I wrote on TTAG about my friend's death but it has been lost in the cloud and I am unable to find the last draft I sent to print, but it echoes some of the problems we have with suicide and mental health in the firearm industry.
After the keynote, the good doctor opened the floor up for questions. Her keynote posed a lot of statistics but not a lot of answers. I am a detail oriented granular data guy and I did not get a solid grasp of the AFSP solutions posed, if any.
Several firearm dealers discussed the lack of a cohesive solution and the takeaway was they're trying to develop awareness for the suicide problem. Their goal is to lower suicide rates but how they get there is yet to be determined. I didn't like hearing that and the comments from the crowd reflected the lack of a "here's what you can do TODAY to help this problem" part of the initiative.
Going around the room, one dealer who used NICS said that if a customer was just flat out acting funny - he'd lie to the customer and say there was a delay with NICS even though there was an approval just to get them to not be able to have a gun for a few days. The crowd applauded this initiative, however I'm not sure lying to customers is the best way to run a business and treat them with respect. Another dealer brought up an interesting point. When someone comes in looking to buy a gun and they don't know what kind of gun they want, what caliber, and are generally clueless - they're either buying a gun to kill themselves with, OR perhaps they are a very uneducated prospective customer - and there is no clear way of finding out which is which.
The problems presented by the AFSP are real. The solutions aren't there though. Yet. Ideally I'd like to see some change to that. However, there's some problems.
I hung around and asked the good doctor and her staff some questions and I am in no way denigrating her life's work and her dedication to preventing suicide since she has dedicated her life's work to the issue, but the conversation went something like this.
Did you do any research on the accessibility of firearms from a retailer from the legal standpoint?
"No, we haven't"
Do you know how the NICS or state POC background systems work in regard to mental health holds, etc?
"No"
One of the problems that I foresee right off the bat is that you talked about how you are fighting time, and if you can get someone out of that suicide mindset - even for a few hours, you can get them into that higher survival bracket. If we apply a one size fits all solution to it like California and put a 10 day wait on everything with the goal of protecting someone from their own life, how do we balance that with the needs of the woman who has been hiding from her abusive spouse and needs a gun right away?
"That's a good question that I don't have an answer for."
Their initiative, I admire - the lack of solutions is a little off putting however. I tell the doc about how my friend's suicide has impacted me and she seems to be sympathetic to the situation as does her colleagues. I am given her cards and told to call the next time I'm in New York so we can get together and discuss things within the industry. I'll give them a buzz in a few weeks when I'm up there on business. On my way out of the hall, I run into Massad Ayoob. Nice guy. I've admired his work over the years. Bart invites myself and chugbleach to dinner, I can't reach Chug and even though I am beat I decide to hang out with Bart and Mrs Bart
Bart: What do you want to eat?
FC: Let's find a nice seafood restaurant and eat some red salmon, I feel a powerful lust for red salmon.
I begin vomiting.
God damn mescaline. Why the fuck can't they make it a little less pure?
We eventually head downstairs and order too much food. We are tired and not very hungry. Bart is still hungover and barely able to process food. His wife is grazing on all sorts of meat products. I am in awe of how they are both still upright after six nonstop nights of partying. I've only been here one day and I feel like I am about to die.
Dinner concludes with an awkward hug with bart's wife - I don't know how other men feel about wife hugs so I have just avoided the prospect entirely. Like flying through Denver on Frontier. Or flying on Frontier. Ever.
I drive over to the Wynn to set up my markers and the poker room is full. I draw a $2500 marker at the craps table and watch the game a bit. I have never played craps before in my life but the three people there seem to be having fun.
I look down at my phone and I realize a plane has landed. fluffy_butternut has landed in Las Vegas on business. I had lost a bet and offered to pick him up from the airport. I cash back in my chips against my casino credit and head back to my car. I cannot find my car. Fuck. I wander the wynn garage which is covered in construction debris. I eventually find it and haul ass to the airport. Now, I didn't know this but fluffy has the WORST SENSE OF DIRECTION AT ALL. Seriously. I have no idea how he even made it to the correct city. He lands and has to get his bag and stuff and I circle the airport. He lets me know he's at door 77 wherever the fuck that was. I drive into the pickup portion and I see no sign. He then says he's coming up a level, and I tell him that I'll be there shortly. I park the car and Metro PD starts yelling.
Metro: You can't park your car here.
FC: Why not? Is this not a reasonable place to park?
Metro: Reasonable? You're on a sidewalk! This is the sidewalk!
I give the man a $20 and tell him to keep it running as I wander Mccarran screaming FLUFFY! HERE FLUFFY! I message fluffy to let him know I am the car parked on the sidewalk. I instantly figure out who he is having never seen a photo of him and I throw his bags into the car as we head for his hotel. I haul ass out of the airport and get the A3 on the highway.
Now this was a superior machine. Thirty nine grand worth of gimmicks and high-priced special effects. The rear windows lit up with a touch like frogs in a dynamite pond. The dashboard was full of esoteric lights and dials and meters that I would never understand.
We check in at the Rio where the desk clerk is friendly and flirty. I express amazement there is no line. Fluffy checks in and we take his bags upstairs and he offers to buy me food for driving him to the airport. I decline. We head to the bar anyways. He orders two beers and we decide to call chug. He's staying out in Summerlin or something because his company is apparently run by cheapskates. He asks if we want to hang out and shoot the shit. I say sure and ask if he wants us to pick up food or anything from CVS or something since I have the car and I'm able to do anything I want. He asks for some toothpaste. No problem. I may be an asshole on the internet but I have a heart of gold. We get some toothpaste get to the hotel.
Arriving at the lobby, we have no idea where he is. It turns out he gave us the address for the hotel across the street. We laugh and go to that lobby and shoot the shit till 3AM much to the chagrin of the hotel clerk. Fluffy has some beers and we plan on dinner the next day. I drive fluffy back and arrive at the hotel at 4. Fuck me to tears.
Wednesday, January 18th. Day 2 of SHOT show.
Alarm goes off at 7:30 AM. I wash up, eat and get breakfast. In the garage by 8:15. Nice. I get some dillo dust and check out the new Sig 220 DA/SA and SAO legions. Daddy likey. I go to a competing firm and I piss of my state sales manager by telling him his newer designed triggers suck ass. He says the company tested them and they're the same in every way. I ask him why the triggers have two different part numbers in the catalog and how come they're not interchangeable and if that's really the case, how come there's X changes in the supposedly identical pistol parts that he's holding side by side. He gets mad at me and says I'm not an expert on their product and perhaps I should take his job since I'm so smart. I agree that I'm smart and I hold firm that if he didn't want me to complain about the shitty trigger, they should stop selling guns with shitty triggers. I am nearly kicked out of the booth.
I meet up with some of my wholesale reps and I'm mid convo when I see Itsgoodsoup and his friend walking around the show. I yell SOUP but he does not hear me. So I grab his friend and find him and I tell him we should get together at dinner with fluffy and chug. He agrees.
The show winds down, I get some business done and nothing much else. We break for a shitty gunnit live lite and I take a few questions from the crowd in fluffy's suite at the Rio. Dinner is at 8 and we arrive at the restaurant late to find soup and his friend sitting at one table and chug and his girlfriend sitting at another. Perhaps we should have gotten here a little earlier. Hahaha. So, fluffy said the place is really good and I order a few of the specialties of the house. Apparently according to yelp they do a kickass peking duck. Soon to be mrs chug is a vegan. But we can eat meat in front of her. I wonder how it's served and Soup's vancouver raised asian friend tells me that they normally carve it tableside. Our vegan says as long as there's no head she's cool. We're not sure if they can fulfill that request. So we order and food starts coming out and we tell tall tales of shot show BS and other stuff. Sure enough, the duck comes out with the head. No bueno. Haha. But I decide to treat us to vegan donuts at the vegan bakery across the street later. Seven courses later we are full. Vegan bakery closed. I am committed to getting her some vegan donuts though. We head to Fremont street to gamble. Fluffy wanders about and we try craps and we're not impressed. We hit some slots and eventually I hit the craps table where chug explains the game to me. We start betting on dice. And somehow we start winning. I find that the house allows you to take 10X behind the line. No idea what this means so I plop $5 on the pass line and the point hits 6. I drop $50 behind it and it hits. We go a few rounds and leave ahead. It's 2:30 AM. Fuck. I drive everyone back to their hotel. I get to sleep around 4.
Thursday, January 19th. Day 3 of SHOT show.
Wake up at 10AM feeling like crap. Debate whether to head straight to show and wander about. Fuck it. Went to halal guys for some halal. Delicious. Got vegan donuts. Dead drop them at the Palazzo lobby for chug and his girl. Show is a bust. Literally nothing exciting. Fluffy offers to buy me dinner. One of my customers who lives in Summerlin offers to take me to dinner. I pass on fluffy and he destroys the seafood buffet at the rio. I head to Sinatra at the Wynn for dinner with my customer. All good in the hood. Chug has been invited to the Glock dinneafter party and I'm not so we all go our separate ways. I call foghorn5950 and due to some weather, he's flying home early and our plans to hangout are fucked up unless I go tonight. I grab fluffy and we head to Whiskey Down. He orders a makers and I give him a funny look. I tell the waitress make it a bulleit. Everyone laughs. I talk shop with Jeremy also from TTAG and we shoot the shit over cigars and talk about useless products. Next thing we know, chug is out of the dinner and wandering the strip. We decide to meet up at the Linq. It takes us nearly 30 minutes to get out of Whiskey Down at MGM because the waitress was awful and messed up everyone's tab. It was a fucking disaster. To boot, MGM is now charging for parking.
FC: What a bunch of fucking jews
Fluff: You should just tailgate that lady in front of you out and screw them out of the $7
FC: I should
We pull behind her and watch as she gets flustered at the awful parking machine. Her nevada license plate says VETERAN. As the gate goes up we haul ass and screw MGM out of $7. I shout "THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE" out the window as we blow right by her up to the Linq. Through fluffy's awful navigation, we wind up at the loading dock for the Linq. Eventually we find chug and gf hanging at the penny slots. They are holding vegan donuts, which she is very appreciative of. Least I could do after showing her the head. Fluffy plays the House of Cards slot machine.
He stuck $100 in, played for 6 minutes and then got really mad and hit the cash out button and $80 was left after 5 minutes.
ITS EXACTLY LIKE THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT!
Chug's gf asks to play a special slot machine called kitty glitter. We ask and the linq does not offer it but Harrahs next door does. So we head over there and the slot tech finds the kitty glitter machine. Fluffy sticks a C note in there and tells her to play and have a blast. So she's banging away at the one armed bandit WHEN SUDDENLY I HEAR THE SOUND.
It's PUTTIN ON THE RITZ in shitty .wav file internal speaker format. Hahah. She's just hit the progressive jackpot on the penny KITTY GLITTER machine. THIS PLACE IS AWESOME! We cash out after some play and a good time was had by all. I dump off fluffy at the rio since it was very close and drive everyone else back. It's late, I'm tired and the Palace Station oyster bar is open 24 hours......I head over there and there's a 45 minute wait.
So, I pull out my backup bankroll and using everything chug and fluffy have taught me about craps I belly up to the $3 min table where they let you take 10x behind the line. I'm still learning and the table is slow so one of the boxmen start explaining the game to me.
Box: So if you place the 6 or the 9 or individual numbers you can bet those but you gotta pay a little juice on it like a commission
Me: Like when you buy the hook?
short pause
Box: Yeah! Exactly like that! You got this!
So I played a little and went up a bit and down a bit. As you do. Plunked $5 down on the pass line and took full odds and the point hit. This game is pretty cool! So I hung around and watched for about an hour and finally decided to eat my winnings. I take $5 off my stack and, drop it on the pass line and announce dealer bet - $5 to pass. It hits. The dealers love me.
Maybe Vegas isn't so bad after all.
http://imgur.com/a/LGhDj
I have the pan roast at the oyster bar. No line. It is DELICIOUS. I get back to the hotel at 5AM. I don't care when I wake up.
Friday, January 20th. Day 4 of SHOT show.
Wake up around noon feeling like crap. Go to show. Debate destroying milk cart with wheels with an ax borrowed from fire station. Decide against it. Gas up car and find myself out by palace station again. Played some craps, hit the buffet and went for an early sleep.
It's midnight. The neighbors in my the hotel are having sex. A LOT OF SEX. I can hear everything. I gently knock on the door. No answer. I knock slightly harder. No answer. I head back to my room and close the door just as I hear their door open. I zoom back out to find a puzzled middle aged stocky and perhaps sticky Latino man looking both ways.
I get in his line of sight.
Me: Hey. I'm next door. It sounds like you're having a lot of fun. I get it. I really do. In fact I haven't had sex since the bush administration so I'm gunning for you man I really am. But it's midnight and I have a 6am flight and a rental car to return. So trust me when I say I'm really happy for you but if you don't mind I really need to get some sleep tonight okay?
The awkward silence is deafening. He nods without saying a word and mouths okay. I give him a manly nod and thumbs up.
Me: thanks. I'd shake your hand or fist bump but well you know.....
I give him a peace sign as he goes back into his little pleasure palace and I turn to realize that I have just locked myself out of my room. I am wearing boxers, a tshirt and barefoot. I head downstairs to the lobby. The check in at the front desk resembles the TSA line at Mccarran. Normally I would not be this rude but desperate times call for desperate measures.
The line is 50 people deep. I walk past every person. Fuck your queue. I approach the desk where someone is helping a guest and I raise my right hand as if I were in a deposition to get them to stop. The staff and guest looks puzzled as the angry barefoot man clad in nothing but boxers and a "uzi does it" tshirt approaches the desk.
Me: excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt. I have an emergency. I'm up on 8 and my neighbors are having a lot of sex. I mean a LOT of sex.
(This is the same front desk clerk who actually checked me in Monday night by coincidence looks back at me very awkwardly and puzzled.)
Me: this isn't your regular sex. I'm talking this is your (I begin air humping the front desk and slapping the granite counter with my palm and grunting loudly) sex. You could hear the plan B packaging open.
At this point - the ENTIRE FRONT DESK STAFF HAS STOPPED CHECKING IN GUESTS. The people in line and are watching the show. The clerk is stunned. Speechless. Shock and awed. Crapped out and busted. The women are covering their children's eyes and ears. The men are wondering if this show requires a 2 drink minimum.
Me: now I get this is Vegas. Everyone wants a good time. It's midnight. My flight leaves at 6 which means I have to be up by 4. And this just isn't working. So I asked them to keep it down and I locked myself out of my room. So if you can make me another key or move me I'd appreciate it.
The clerk nods.
Clerk: of course. may I see your ID?
Years of ballet have prepared me for this day. I step back to make sure my genitals are still ensconced in my boxers as I pirouette and gesticulate wildly.
Me: DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE ID?
The floor manager steps over and asks me to head down to the end of the desk where she will make me a key. I give her the room number and thank her after she offers to have security sent up to shutdown the best little whorehouse in Vegas. I tell her it may not be necessary. As I take my keys and walk away the people in line break out in raucous applause.
I take a bow and miraculously my boxer shorts don't rip. These people are my subjects and I have been crowned the the king of the three ring circus that is the circus circus lobby. Im offered a $1 tip from a kind soul but I decline.
My walk back to the hotel elevator bank is uneventful. So much so that I realize it is going too well. The other shoe, if I were wearing one felt as if it was about to drop. Suddenly a dumbass in a rascal scooter is heading toward me at flank speed as his head is turned to look at everyone BEHIND HIM. There's no way this will end well.
For you gentle readers joining us mid conversation - it's midnight and I need to be at the airport in 4.5 hours. I can just see it now. (Cue the harp noises)
Scene: Emergency room
Nurse: Allergic to anything? Me: NKDA Nurse: cause of injury? Me: what's the IC10 code for "run down by drunken buffoon on motorized wheelchair?"
I saw my life and confirmed upgraded first class seats home being given away by the Mccarran gate agent flash before my eyes and my catlike reflexes kicked in and I jumped to my left into the wall, mid 1960's Las Vegas union construction being the path of least resistance. Think "The Bodyguard" with Kevin Costner.
The buffoon barely realizes what happens. Children are amazed. "HEY MOM! Look! That guy just ran into a wall!"
Me: it was that OR GET RUN DOWN BY SOME JACKASS ON A GODDAMN SCOOTER GOING FULL SPEED DRIVING LIKE A....
I look down and a midwestern nuclear family with two children of formative age are waiting for the elevator. I change my last word.
Me: LUNATIC!
I look over to the parents.
Me: I'm really sorry. This is a family joint and I shouldn't have cursed the drunken scooter driver like that. Sorry kids.
Parent: no big deal. They've heard fucking worse.
I crack a smile at her word choice. Fucking worse. Yeah. That sounds like my evening.
After jumping into a wall, I'm now wide awake and unable to go back to sleep. I make the plane and push on time. The 737 comes to a stop short of the runway and holds. Something is wrong. The pilots come on and say that they loaded more cargo and passengers than planned so they have to redo their numbers. We're waiting on the taxiway with both engines running as they do this and the waiting music comes on. What's the first song?
Whitney Houston - "I Will Always Love You"

[Storymode], and this was written with the approval of Mint's author! Enjoy!
New York City, New York
Theme Prima
“Mr. Cross?” The voice is tinny through the speaker, but still largely understandable. Sitting in a glass encased conference room from a rented New York office, Barrett scribbles on a notepad with beautiful white quill, as Dimitri takes more thorough notes, clacking away on a laptop.
“Yes, this is. May I ask who is calling?”
“Oh, of course. This is Investigator Cornfield speaking, Clark County Sheriff’s department.”
Oh, fuck. Barrett raises an eyebrow to Dimitri, who quickly shifts tactics, doing a search of Saints activities within Clark County; it’d be just his luck of late to have one of hi men getting picked up for not being able to hold their booze and taking a swing at a cop. As the search continues, Investigator Cornfield continues speaking.
“We have on record that you’re in charge of the investment of Ms. Lillian Mint and her family, correct?“
“Yes, I am. Why?” Curious, Barrett leans forward to the speaker phone. Piqued, he genuinely wants to know more, regardless of the odd look he’s getting from Dimitri.
“We recently had a situation occur that will have affected the flow of Ms. Lillian Mint’s money. We wished for you to know this so you don’t see anything unusual and worry.”
“Investigator, you can’t just say that. What situation? What happened?” Barrett’s tone gets sharper as he’s teased with pieces of information, each kept tantalizingly far away from his
“That is up Ms. Lillian Mint to disclose. For now, the information is being kept within the family. Thank you for your understanding. For any additional questions, please contact Clark County Sheriff’s Department at-”
“I have questions now! Have you talked to Mint? Where is she? Is she oka-”
CLICK
The death knell of the phone drones through the room, as Barrett scowls at the conference phone, his hand letting his quill pen drop to the notepad. With an icy calmness, he pushes the notepad far from him before he stands and reaches for his walking stick beside him. Dimitri, knowing what’s going to happen, quickly closes his laptop and rolls away from the table. Barrett, taking one step away from the table, sharply pivots and brings the cane down in a shattering crack upon the phone, a howl of anger and frustration escaping his lips as the plastic of the phone cracks beneath the bronze cap of the cane.
CRASH!
Silence reigns before Barrett speaks once more. Shoulders shaking and breath ragged, his voice is surprisingly calm.
“Dimitri, get me a flight to Vegas, please.”
“-and yes, I need your help -What? Fine, please help me.” Barrett says into the cellphone, rolling his eyes. Seems karma truly does work, as he’s talking himself in a round circle from an earlier experience. Still, the response he gets is at least favorable.
“Alright, I’ll see you in the lobby of the Venetian, cutie.” A foxish voice giggles through the phone. “And don’t keep me waiting, I hate that.”
Las Vegas, Nevada
Theme Secunda
Landing in Vegas, Barrett grimaces. A good twenty degrees warmer, but at least it’s dry and sunny. Flagging down a taxi, the Child of Momus directs them to the Venetian. As the taxi fights its way through the slog of pedestrians and vehicles, Barrett pulls out his phone, reviewing what facts he has. With Dimitri doing homework for him back in New York, there’s a small portfolio waiting for him. Apparently, Mint’s mother Helena had not withdrawn any money in the past several days. For ease of access and security, her monthly stipend was handled through a separate account, just to keep channels clear. Other benefits were rapidly becoming apparent as well, as Barrett can see that there has been no interaction with the money since it was placed in. Normally, Helena was very prompt with accessing the money; as if she didn’t trust Mint’s loan shark of a friend. A fair assessment for an outsider honestly, but it’s helped bring things into disarray here. Why hasn’t she withdrawn the money? Just what happened?
His reverie is interrupted as the car stops in front the casino in question.. Barrett’s grimace only deepens as he sees the sight.
“She literally could not have chosen a more inconspicuous place…” He mutters, before looking at the surroundings. The Mirage on one side, Circus Circus down the block… alright, maybe they could be somewhere more conspicuous. Possibly. Barrett clambers out of the car, tipping the driver and bringing out his heavy suitcase. He’s blushing all the while, he can’t believe that he’s had to do this to make it work… But, it’ll be worth it if it does work. Rolling the suitcase behind him, the young man enters the casino.
Luckily, he doesn’t have long to wait. The young woman lounging on a couch near the massive doors looks up from her phone, her warm eyes bright as she leaps up from her seat and all but tackles Barrett in a hug.
“Hey cutie. I didn’t think you’d show up.” She murmurs into his ear, smirking as she quickly pulls away and watches Barrett’s rose-tinted kaleidoscope of expressions.
“Uh, of c-course I would, we’re going… going to do some work.” He manages, giving a nervous smile as he takes fluttering steps to the counter. One check-in later, and the two are being shown to their suite midway up the the massive tower. Once inside, Barrett collapses into a surprisingly comfortable armchair, while Fatimah perches herself upon the arm of it, one leg crossed over the other. Silence echoes through the room before Fatimah, ever the bold one, takes the first step, breaking through the ice.
“So… what’s this job of yours, Barrett?” As if asking about the weather, she broaches the topic easily, like this is a rehearsed line from a play. “Unless this about the… cashing in your bet?” Now it’s her turn to flush a bit, and for Barrett to blush a deeper red as well.
“N-no, this is… it’s about a friend. A client of mine, she’s gone missing… and something happened to her mother, I think.”
“Oh, really? Tell me more.” Fatimah inquires, dropping from her perch on the chair of the arm to go to the minifridge and pull out a bottle of water. Barrett nods, before continuing.
“So, I’m in charge of her estate’s finances… and her mother typically receives a monthly stipend… but it hasn’t been touched yet. Then, I received a call from the Sheriff’s Department here, that her finances may come into rough water. When I asked more about it, they said that I needed to talk to Mint… But how do you talk to a person who’s been missing for weeks?” Barrett mumbles this last part to himself and the floor his eyes downcast. Taking a sip of water, Fatimah wanders back to him and tousles his hair before crouching down beside him. A small smile crosses her face as she looks up at him with gentle, brown eyes.
“Alright, I understand… but what’s the plan, Barrett? How’re we going to help her?” Barrett can’t help but notice the faint strain on the word ‘her’ as Fatimah says it. Jealousy is felt in all people, it seems. Still, the pang that follows makes him grimace. Her feelings won’t make this any easier.
“Well… I’m going to need you to disguise yourself as her.” Barrett pulls out his phone, and pulls up a picture of himself and Mint, faces ridiculous and silly. It took a bit of work, but he’d managed to get it off of the Big House’s antique of a computer and on his phone, a note of personal pride. Still, Fatimah doesn’t seem convinced, if the frown is anything to go by. She looks from the picture to him with an ever-deepening frown.
“Barrett, I hate to tell you the immediate flaw in this plan, but-”
“Oh, that I can take care of,” he assures her, slowly pulling himself out of the chair. “That is, if you trust me.”
“...I do.” She nods, and both finally smile, nervous and excited at the same time.
“Alright, then I need you hold out your arms for me, and look straight ahead.” Barrett nods, as Fatimah does as instructed. Slowly, his hands trace above her, never touching as he works his magic. Minutes pass, but finally, Mint stands before him. At least, in appearance. Brown eyes become blue, and her headscarf has been infused with the Mist to appear as a sheaf of flowing blonde hair. A tear slips down his face as he works, and it doesn’t escape Fatimah’s notice. Smirking a bit, she playfully teases the Child of Mockery.
“Is this that hard to do that you’re crying, Barrett?”
“No, it’s not that… just that there’s a lot of feelings.” He admits, raising his arm to dab away the tears before continuing to work.
“...What do you mean, a ‘lot of feelings?’” Fatimah asks, in a surprisingly acidic tone. Hearing those words come from Mint, and the frown crossing her face, Barrett tries to quickly change tracks.
“Ummm… well, you look great as a blonde!” And in that moment, Barrett realizes that was the decidedly wrong thing to say. Turning in a huff, Fatimah goes and locks herself in the bathroom. Barrett quickly goes to the door, knocking on it.
“Oh, Fatimah, that’s not how I meant it!!”
“Right, that’s why you said it after showing me that picture!” She says, her voice muffled through the door. Barrett’s face is a mix of concern, confusion, and just an overall grimace of displeasure at himself.
“I was just saying that… Oh, dammit… Look, I screwed up, okay? I shouldn’t have said that, especially after you didn’t look like you. I’m sorry.” Take that one to the bank, it’s probably worth more than the Saints funding, an apology from Barrett Cross. Silence is the reply, before Fatimah speaks once more.
“...I want a picture of us like that.”
“Umm… okay.” Barrett replies to the quiet demand, relieved that it could be resolved that simply. A moment, then two pass before Mint… no, Fatimah unlocks the door and manages a small smile.
“Alright… let’s get to work then, cutie.”
Clark County Sheriff’s Department
Theme Tertia
Barrett and Mint make their way into the building, faces set in grim determination. A temporary plan had been set into motion during the cab ride there; Barrett’s going to do the talking, be the overbearing lawyer to his distraught client. Once inside, Barrett goes to the front desk, ringing the dainty bell to get the secretary’s attention. As she looks up, an expression of shock and terror crosses her face. Barrett’s used to that, but here? He’s never been to Vegas before.
“He-he-Helena??” The secretary stammers, prompting a look from Fatimah to Barrett, who quickly interjects.
“Lillian Mint to see Investigator Cornfield.” The woman looks from from Barrett and then to Fatimah, her expression raising questions as to whether or not she should doubt that ghosts are real. Stuttering, she manages a shaky reply.
“Oh! O-of course, sir… But who are you?”
“Oh, I’m Barrett Cross, her personal lawyer and financier. Number is 0224223, if you need to check.” He says with a small laugh. The ID isn’t one for Nevada, but for a lawyer in a New York firm. Surely he won’t be too worried about an incidental case like this. The woman nods, pressing a button on her desk phone.
“Investigator, you have two people to see you. A Mister Cross, and Miss Mint- huh, yes, that Mint, by her looks. Just like her mother.” She pauses a few times, nodding and replying as appropriate before returning the phone to its cradle and looking back to the pair before her and gesturing to a door down the hall.
“The right at the end of the hall, he’ll be expecting you. Would either of you care for tea, water? A snack?” An odd stare crosses her face as she looks up at Fatimah. Looking rather uncomfortable with the woman’s gaze on her, she offers a shrug.
“Umm… water and some graham crackers, I guess?” Barrett raises an eyebrow at this, doing his best to hide a faint smirk as he sets down the hall.
“Come along, Miss Mint. We shouldn’t keep the Investigator waiting. Surely he’s a busy man.” He calls as Fatimah follows along. Partway down the hall, Barrett offers a small chuckle.
“Graham crackers? Why not ask for a juice box too- ow, hey!” A sharp punch to the upper arm is his reward, as Fatimah glowers at him with Mint’s blue eyes.
“I like graham crackers, what’s your point?” She says in a dangerously quiet voice. Barrett, deciding to be diplomatic about this, simply goes to the door and holds it open for her. Inside, a man with salt and pepper hair rises to his feet, a careworn smile crossing a face that is apparently on passing terms with a razor, if the stubble gracing his cheeks is anything to go by. Stepping up, he offers a hand first to Fatimah, then to Barrett. A strong confident grip for a man in his prime.
“Miss Mint, and Mister Cross, a pleasure to see you both, thank you for taking the time to to come and talk with me. Please, take a seat.” He gestures to a pair of wooden chairs across from his leather office chair. The pair are seated, as the man continues, “Now, I’ve got to say, you have been a most challenging young woman to get ahold of, Lillian. We’ve tried calling for days, and haven’t had any luck.”
“Yeah, well, bootcamp isn’t exactly a place that gets the best reception.” Fatimah shrugs, toying with a lock of her blonde hair.
“Funny, we even called the bootcamp and demanded to talk with you, but…. Well, we didn’t get you, can you explain that?” The question is an idle one, but the Investigator's eyes show far more than his casual expression does. As Fatimah tries to remember Mint’s upbringing, Barrett takes the time to jump in.
“She’s been out on leave of late, Investigator,” he explains. “What with her grandmother’s death and the exchange of power her dynasty is going through, it’s understandable, honestly. We, meaning her executors and myself, thought it best to keep her fortune out of the picture. We don’t want anyone thinking she’s better than she actually is.” Oooh, the withering glance there is enough to tan Barrett’s arms through the suit, as Fatimah glowers at him. The Investigator simply laughs, nodding along before clicking on a few things on his computer.
“Ah, of course, that’s completely understandable then, yes. As for you Mister Cross… We ran a search on your name as well, and found some most interesting information about some escapades in King County up in Seattle… Know anything about those.”
“I can’t say that I have,” Barrett lies effortlessly, the words flowing like honey from his lips to the Investigator's ears. The man nods in a daze for a second or two, before the secretary returns, water bottles and a sleeve of graham crackers in hand. Smiling, she hands the treat to Fatimah, and puts a water bottle down beside each guest. That seems to draw the Investigator out of his reverie, and he leans forward to ask another question.
“That’s not all you’re eating, is it?” Throwing Fatimah off-guard, she shrugs before slowly answering.
“...Yes?” It’s not like she was expecting a full meal or anything here. The Investigator sighs softly as he watches her open the sleeve and start nibbling at one of the crackers.
“I guess you’re more like your mother than just appearances would suggest… Why’s it always the pretty ones who starve themselves?” He sighs, his question punctuated by a sharp crunch as Fatimah snaps off the cracker. Luckily, Barrett interposes himself before a sharp retort is issued.
“Helena starved herself?” Well, that was certainly news, to say the least. Barrett leans forward as well, unintentionally mirroring the Investigator's position.
“Well, it’s not the official cause of death…” he notes, before looking to Fatimah. “But first I have questions that I need to know the answers to… Like how Lillian was the last person to see Detective Acrobat before he was murdered here in Vegas… Nowhere near where she was stationed. Care to help out, Miss Mint?”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Barrett has no clue of the right answer to this, Mint’s been gone for too long. How can Fatimah know? Still, the woman keeps her cool, before carefully replying.
“He was bringing me to see my mother, he said. Said that he had a surprise for her, and wanted me to be with. Why wouldn’t I go with him? Oh, and I know that I’m not supposed to sit in the front seat of a squad car, so that’s why I was in back.”
Clever girl, Barrett thinks. It’s all he can do to not smirk as the Investigator continues his line of questioning.
“And why you ran from a murder scene?” A murder? Just what happened to Mint that she was in police custody and getting involved in murders? Again, Fatimah has an answer.
“Well, after Acrobat… you know, I was… I was scared, alright? I just watched someone get shot… and wasn’t at bootcamp. Do you think I wanted to deal with that, too?” She crosses her arms looking back up at the Investigator who nods, pulling back.
“I see… I always thought that Helena had raised a more… stoic daughter. You were so quiet and well-behaved the last time you were here with her,” Cornfield notes with a raised eyebrow, prompting an interjection from Barrett.
“Sir, my client’s character isn’t something in question here. She’s been in bootcamp for several months,there’s little reason not expect some degree of change in temperament.” He points out, casually scanning the man for a few of his tics, as well. Barrett has to cover his face with hand to mask the smile that crosses his face. Someone is… well, was bothered by Acrobat, and if the mother is anything like the daughter, he knows why. Man, he’d even feel a sense of kindred spirit with this man in a different life. Cornfield continues on regardless of Barrett’s silent discovery.
“That may be, sir,” a stinging tone is drawn through it, “but I cannot excuse her actions, nor do I believe that Hele- Lillian would do such a thing,” he hurriedly corrects himself midway through, but he wasn’t quick enough to cover that cue from Barrett, who quickly puts up a retort, looking like an amused housecat all the while.
“I think you’re projecting some feelings onto my client that you shouldn’t be, Investigator.” Barrett notes with his classic crocodile smile. “What business is it of hers just how much like her mother you think she should be?”
“It’s that way because, uh… I mean, I didn’t mean to-”
Barrett watches the Investigator finally sweat, to feel what he and Fatimah felt during the beginning of the meeting. When the Investigator stutters into silence, wheels having spun into the mud, Barrett speaks once more.
“Look, it’s none of my business, but you’re being pretty hard on Miss Mint, if you ask me. She witnessed a murder. And yes, she ran. What testimony could she provide if she was that blinded by terror, to the degree that Helena’s training failed her? I’m personally glad that she chose to flee, I’d hate for more blood to be on someone’s hands because of foolish pride.” Barrett’s tone is soft and gentle, perhaps even a bit conspiratorial with the man sitting across from him. “We want to help how we can, but we don’t know anything...can you imagine how Lillian feels here, you haven’t even told her what happened to her mother, Investigator. Please, the only way we can help is if you help us… For Helena.” He gives an appeal to the emotional tie he’s confident that the Investigator has, knowing how he’d respond if someone came to him in such a way regarding the junior Mint. A moment or two passes, before Cornfield finally nods, acquiescing.
“Alright… I’m sorry, Lillian. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” A chastened man, Cornfield hangs his head low as he offers Fatimah the apology. She nods gently, looking at Barrett in surprise. This was a far cry from the criminal she knew from Seattle.
“Now, can you tell us what happened to Helena, please?” Barrett inquires, as Cornfield draws in a shaky sigh.
“...She’s dead, first off. Killed her partner, er, ex-partner, and then herself. She quit the force a few days ago, after not showing up, no calls, nothing. We have no clue where she was before that, the number was blocked and we can’t get a bead on the location itself; she could’ve been calling from a block away, or halfway to France for as much as we know,” he says with a heavy sigh. “As for reasons… well, that’s why we wanted to talk to you, Lillian,” he turns to Fatimah, a frown crossing his weary face, “You say that Acrobat wanted to surprise your mother? Did he say what that surprise was, or did he do anything unusual?”
“No… not that I recall.” Fatimah says quietly, and is rewarded with another sigh from Cornfield.
“I suppose not… that would’ve been too easy. I’m going to be frank with you, Lillian, Mister Cross… We’re looking at a murder suicide, here. With Helena shooting Acrobat, then herself. We’re operating on the belief of mental instability prompting this. The starvation and sudden withdrawal following the death of your grandmother seems to make that a logical conclusion for us… Not that it makes things easier to hear, by any means. We’ve lost two good people.. And I hate to think that it’s because of one of my officers…” A lethargic sigh escapes him as Fatimah looks to Barrett, before she speaks up.
“Investigator...I think I left a few things when I ran away… Was anything found?”
“Hmm… oh, unfortunately not.” Cornfield shakes from his reverie, working to get back to the task at hand. “Wait...we do have one thing that’s unusual…” Pressing a button on his phone, he speaks slowly and clearly.
“Miss Marni, please bring me what we found outside the factory.” A few moments pass, and a plastic bag is delivered to the office. Inside, a single, snowy white feather rests. A few flecks of red can be seen on the outer edge, but it is unmistakably from Mint’s plumage. Cornfield looks from it to Fatimah, gesturing it out to her.
“The blood is Detective Acrobat’s… is this your feather? We didn’t find anything else there, so I’m not sure where you lost it, if not there…”
“No… it’s not mine. Why would I have a feather?” Fatimah questions, but Barrett’s mind is running in overdrive. She was here, Mint was here. But… now she’s not. If there’s blood, something happened… Would her mom kills someone in front of her? Barrett isn’t sure, but he doubts it. While they’re certainly not a Brady Bunch pairing, Helena and Lillian, he doesn’t think that their relationship is that strained. So, what happened to Mint…?
“Were there any signs of people beyond the deceased and Miss Mint?” Barrett asks, receiving a shaken head in reply.
“No, that’s something we wanted to know from Lillian… If she could give us more, I wouldn’t have to say an officer, that Helena was responsible for this… I…. We don’t have anything to go on besides the scene I’ve described, and it seems pretty open and shut, honestly. We’ve tried reaching out to Detective Acrobat’s daughter, but haven’t gotten a reply. She’s always been a hard one to reach, apparently. Acrobat would talk about how hard it was just to get a text from her when she was in college… typical teenagers, right?” He looks to the two across from him, a ghost of a smile on his face. “But look who I’m talking to, huh?” The silence in the room is deafening as Cornfield gives one last heavy sigh, reaching into his desk and pulling out a business card. On the other side, he quickly writes out a number and address.
“Here’s the daughter’s phone number and college. If you can get her to talk to me, I’d greatly appreciate it. Unfortunately, I don’t speak MTV, so I’m hoping she’ll listen to her peers instead. I… I don’t have anything else for the pair of you, unfortunately. You’re dismissed, if you’re missing bootcamp, Lillian.” He manages to give a hollow laugh at the lackluster joke, and Fatimah rises from her chair, her movement mirrored by Barrett at her side. Reaching over the table, Barrett extends a hand to the defeated Investigator, smiling a somber, sad smile.
“Your help is much appreciated, Investigator. If Miss Mint remembers anything, anything at all, we’ll be in contact with you the moment it happens.”
“Thank you, Mister Cross. That… that’s a welcome comfort, one that’s sorely needed, I think. Let me know if you ever want to practice in Nevada as well… we could use someone as sharp and annoying as you.”
“I’ll give it a thought,” Barrett notes with a faint smirk, managing to eke one out from the Investigatoras well. At the very least, he’s not arresting either of them, which makes this the best encounter Barrett has ever had with the authorities; he’d had no intention of getting a private tour of the Clark County prison, nor did he have the time. With muttered goodbyes, Fatimah and Barrett make their way out of the room, and then the Sheriff’s department. Once they’re free, they duck into a back alley, where Barrett dispels the Mist surrounding Fatimah. Gone is the Mint facade, leaving the mischievous young woman he was so confused about beneath. Still, her eyes don’t promise mischief; they only promise concern for the young man.
“You okay, Barrett? That… that’s a lot to think about, what you heard in there.” She admits, toying with the fringe of her headscarf now that it’s no longer flowing blonde hair. It’s a cute gesture honestly, one that Barrett had never seen her do before. A small smile crosses his face as he feels his heart tremble.
“I… I’m not sure what to think, honestly. All I know for sure is that she was here, and that she’s definitely in trouble… I’ll need to regroup and think about what to do…”
“So, you’re going back to camp, then?” She raises an eyebrow as she asks, and Barrett nods. “Well, you’ll need to get back quickly, then… So that ruins my plans.” She sighs softly, a small smile crossing her face. “I thought we could have a bit of a vacation here, enjoy ourselves a bit.”
“I’m sorry, Fatimah, I genuinely am.” And strangely enough, Barrett does feel remorse; he’s genuinely sad that he can’t stay… but he knows that he can’t, that he needs to press on. “I’ve got to find her before it’s too late, you know I’d do the same for you, right?”
“You… you would?” Apparently, she did not, if the shock and faint blush crossing her face is anything to go by. Biting her bottom lip ever so slightly, she shakes her head quickly, perhaps harder than necessary. “That’s not here or there, Barrett. Your friend is in trouble, and you need to find her. I’ll take care of talking to Acrobat’s daughter, I’ve got free time… and your suite.” She winks playfully, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone.
“But before you go, I want my fee for helping.” She shakes the phone and pulls Barrett close. Laughing softly, Barrett puts on a smile for her; a small, yet genuine, one. For a moment or two, Fatimah mirrors his expression, before suddenly leaning in and kissing his cheek, snapping the photo before the shock registers on the Child of Mockery’s face. Pulling away, she giggles softly as she looks at the picture. Leaving Barrett in awe, she waves as she runs out of the alley, waving to him and tossing out one last farewell.
“See you soon, cutie!” Her voice rings out, bright and cheery into the hot Vegas afternoon. Barrett, after a few moments, finally stumbles out of the alley after her, a hand raised in farewell. A taxi, seeing the gesture, pulls to a stop, before calling out, “Hey kid, where you goin’?”
“Huh?? Oh, ummm… Bring me to McCarran, I’ve got to get home.”
“You and me both kid, let’s go.”
Camp Half-Blood, New York
Theme Quarto
Barrett returns to Camp Half-Blood, two flights and an interrogation under his belt. His eyes are weary, and he’s in dire need of sleep; flights not being his favorite experience. Still, a smile crosses his face despite the dire information he’s acquired. Staring down at his phone, he admires the picture of the dark-haired boy and the girl pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek, a heart frame festooning the border all the while.