Odd Jobs

A smooth operator chronicles his descent into the seedier side of Las Vegas's underworld.

Odd Jobs

By Chris Doyle

          Hiding a dead body isn't as easy as you'd think. I mean, hiding one isn't difficult at all, it's the not getting caught while doing it that's tricky. You know, the part that can get you put in a cage with a murder rap around your neck and a needle in your arm. Plenty of easier ways to make a dollar to be sure, but beggars can't be choosers and when I got into it, I was definitely a beggar. Boy was I.
          See, the thing about gambling no one tells you, in my humble opinion, is what actually happens when you lose and can't pay up. Them threatening to break something or going after your family, that's real. I mean, I don't have a family, but I've seen it done. Hell, I've even done it a few times. Have a talk with some poor bastard's wife or girlfriend to get him to make a trip to the bank or cash in a bond? Maybe pawn that antique watch? Oh yeah, been there, done that. But that's not how it went down with me.
          Usually, when I'm betting games, at worst I break even. If not, I do okay or pretty damn well. Lotta things I'm not good at, but one thing I've always been able to do is tell you who's going to win or lose a game. That's especially so during playoff season. Football, basketball, or baseball doesn't matter. Whatever the season, whatever the reason, I pick winners pretty consistently. Well enough that I haven't needed a nine-to-five since I finished college. Hell, it's the reason I don't have student loans or a gang of bills waiting to be paid.
          Still, for the sake of keeping my folks off my back, I have a job as head of security at a fairly upscale hotel. If I'm being honest, head of security is just the title, troubleshooter would be more appropriate. There's security work to be sure, but I'm mostly breaking up fights and wrangling rowdy patrons. Still, it pays well enough and I usually supplement that with tips from guests who want extras. From E.D. meds to marijuana or Molly, I'm your guy.
         I have a rule - nothing too hard or too illegal and definitely nothing that can be traced back to me. I buy from reputable sources and don't traffic much with shady types. Well, not too shady. Every now and then you get that guest who wants it grimy and is willing to pay for the aesthetic of it all. Keeps things interesting for sure, and then there's the gambling.
         I mentioned earlier how I got caught up because of a bad slew of games. More specifically, an unprecedented run of upsets during bowl season that had me owing just shy of twenty thousand. Twenty thousand I happened to not have when I needed it. Don't get me wrong, I had it, twenty K is chump change. I just didn't have it when my bookie's collector came around. Next thing I know, I have a pissed off giant of a Serb bracing me and a pint sized collector with an attitude hemming me up in my place of business, security cams watching from on high.
         "C'mon Frank," I say, while the Serb jams me up in the corner of the lobby, hand pressed into my chest as he tries pushing me through the wall, back first. "Give me time to swing by the bank."
         Wannabe Napoleon shakes his head, grinning. "You know the rules, Slick. Anything over ten Gs, you gotta pay at closing."
         "What are you talking about 'pay at closing'? It's the middle of the day."
         He grins at that. "What can I say? Boss doesn't like you."
         Which is bullshit. His boss likes me just fine, it's his kid that doesn't.
All over a girl he had no shot at, by the way. In this instance a hostess named Gina.
         "Okay fine, then come with me to the bank and we can get this taken care of."
         "You got a hearing problem, don'tcha?" he says. "Boss says you oughta have the money on you."
         "Who walks around with twenty grand on them?" I ask.
         He looks at the Serb. "I don't know, but I got twenty grand. How 'bout you Niki?"
         The giant nods, patting the left breast pocket of his jacket. "Twenty."
         Bullshit. If they have a thousand between them I'd be shocked.
         "Tell ya what,' Napoleon says, "you do sumthin' for me and I'll think about givin' you more time. Maybe even knock some of it off."
         "Okay." I glance up to the ceiling camera, hoping no one is watching or can see what's going on. "What do you want me to do?"
         I see him glance at Frankenstein and smile. "You got a car?"
         "Yeah," I gesture to the entrance, "out front."
         "Okay then, follow us. Now."
         That 'now' wasn't just for effect, he meant it. I could have called the real boss and likely got this straightened out. Big Vic and I always got along well enough, but I got greedy and the chance to maybe clear the books sounded good to me. Plus, as long as I'd been gambling, this was my first time on this side of it. I'd never bothered to learn much about the troubles losers faced before so I was in the dark here. As far as I knew, I was about to see the leg breaking portion of the show up close and personal.