I take a final drag and chuck the cigarette on the asphalt, stomping it out before I go back inside. The noise from the hotel lobby hits me like a train rushing by. People bustling, suitcases rolling along, chitchat everywhere. It drives me nuts. I prefer peace and quiet. Not that there’s any of that here in Vegas. But I’m here with a reason and that reason is a well-paying job for a guy like me, so I can’t complain.
As a security guard, I’m tasked with keeping the guests and staff safe, and that includes mundane tasks such as watching the monitors in the staff room. But my favorite part is kicking out the misbehaving assholes. A hotel casino is a busy place with slot machines and poker tables at every turn. People can’t control themselves when it comes to money, so that’s where I come in. One stern look is usually all that’s needed to get troublemakers to leave, and if not, my co-workers and I round them up and throw them out.
Sometimes we have to call the police, but it usually doesn’t come to that. Violence is the last resort. Don’t wanna scare away the customers.
That’s what my uncle would say anyway, and he runs the place. Built it from the ground up.
I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a hardworking man, and I can get behind that. My papa raised me the same way, so I guess it runs in the family.
After a quick check on the floor to make sure everything’s running smoothly, I go into the office and tap Mateo’s shoulder. “Your turn.”
He spins his chair around and looks up at me. “That was quick.”
“Yeah, just had a smoke. That’s it,” I reply, tightening the hair band around my braid. I grew out my black hair over the years. It’s a way to honor my ancestors. And my papa. He always wore his braids just like this. It’s a small gesture to remember where I came from.
“Dude …” Mateo snorts, shaking his head. “What about lunch?”
I shrug. “Not hungry.”
He makes a face and gets up. “Suit yourself.” Then he takes a box out of his bag and opens it up right in front of me, eating half the sandwich while walking out with a stupid grin on his face.
Fucker. Trying to get me to feel hungry. Well, it ain’t working. I’m not the type to eat three times a day anyway. Breakfast … sometimes … but I almost never have lunch. Usually, I just shove my face full of burgers after my shift ends. That’s it. It’s not healthy, but it’s cheap, and a man’s gotta eat.
My boss may be my family, but he ain’t paying me to get rich. I need to work for my food. Besides, it’s not like cooking is so much fun when you’re eating by yourself. I’d rather spend that time going for a ride in my truck, enjoying the fresh air like I do every day after I get off work, and filling my stomach to the brim.
Sighing, I plop down on the chair and watch the monitors. The people in the casino probably don’t even know I’m watching, and if someone told them, they probably wouldn’t believe it. Ignorance is bliss.
I’d rather not know someone was watching my ass 24/7 either. But that’s my job, and it’s what I do best.
I go through the live video footage, trying to find something interesting while looking at my phone at the same time. There’s not usually anything noteworthy happening, so scrolling through a news app entertains me otherwise.
However, the moment I look up at the monitor again, something catches my eye. A woman dressed in all black with long platinum blond hair and wearing sunglasses walks along the hallway on the twentieth floor. She glances around hastily, then goes into room number 2042 using one of the key cards.
I frown when she comes back out again three seconds later.
As I lean in to get a better look, that’s when I notice the holster underneath her leather jacket.
Oh, fuck no.
I pick up the phone and dial the number I always call when shit’s about to hit the fan. I keep an eye on her as she walks through the corridor again. Suddenly, she looks straight up at the camera, sticks up her middle finger … and sprays it with paint.
Fuck me. We’ve got trouble.
* * *
Dixie
Present
Age 29
I put on the platinum blond wig and dress myself in black, then gaze in the mirror. No one will know it’s me. Perfect.
I have a job to do today. One so important that it could get me killed.
I’m well aware of the risks involved with doing what I’m about to do, but sometimes shit just needs to get done.
In this case, it’s planting a bomb in the middle of the Locklear Casino Hotel in Las Vegas.