“You guys hear?”
“Hear what?” Pop asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Ly, you’re online—you don’t know?”
“I’m on Insta. What?”
Rather than answer either of them, he charged into the room and grabbed the remote off a shelf. He turned on the television. CNN came on, muted, because Pop liked the picture on when he was working alone, but the sound distracted him.
Lyra was sitting practically under the TV, so she pushed her wheelie chair back to see the screen right. Even so, it took her a minute to make sense of what she saw: a parking lot, and a white wall. Lots of emergency vehicles and flashing lights, lots of people, many weeping or otherwise in distress. She hadn’t put her contacts in, and she was wearing her computer glasses, so she couldn’t quite make out the chyron.
But Pop muttered, “Holy fuck.”
And Reed replied, “Yeah.”
He turned up the sound just as the camera panned. Lyra saw a familiar purple and pink sign, the neon muted by the sun. She saw palm trees and desert beyond them. She saw a street she knew well. South Casino Drive. The Laughlin Strip. The Cadence Hotel & Casino.
That image shrank, was fitted into a box, and the anchor of the hour, a blonde woman in a snug blue dress, appeared on the screen. “Thank you, Andy. Be safe. Again, for those just tuning in, there has been a mass shooting at the Cadence Hotel and Casino in Laughlin, Nevada. Officials are now confirming that the shooter is deceased and the scene is no longer active. We have no confirmed count of casualties yet beyond that, but unconfirmed reports suggest a significant loss of life. We have a crew at the scene and will stay with this story.”
“Mute it,” Pop barked, and Reed obeyed. “What casino does Michelle deal at?” Pop asked, and Lyra loved him extra hard right then. Thinking, before anything else, of the one close person in their lives who worked the casinos.
“Aquarius,” she answered. “She is working today, though.” And probably on lockdown now.
“Thank fuck,” he sighed. Then he picked up his phone, swiped around on it, and put it to his ear. He’d call everyone he cared about who ever stepped foot in a casino and make sure he heard their voices before he could relax.
Lyra turned to Reed. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah. I heard on the way home. It’s bad, Ly. Local radio isn’t being as precious about confirmed info, and they’re talking to people on the ground. They’re saying at least fifty dead, a couple hundred wounded. The guy walked through the casino like fuckin’ Rambo, firing bullets faster than people could react, not even aiming, just hitting whatever he could. It sounds like it’s worse than what happened in Vegas in 2017.”
Sitting in her boring home office several miles from the Cadence, Lyra felt sick and scared. “I have to call Chelle.”
Probably she was being ridiculous; the Aquarius was several casinos down from the Cadence, and the news had said the scene was contained. Her friend was fine. But she needed to hear her voice anyway. If she could get through; reception was blocked around all the gambling areas at casinos, which effectively closed off the whole main floor.
Michelle answered on one ring. “Hey. I’m okay.”
Lyra surprised them both by bursting into tears.
“It’s okay, sappy,” Michelle said with a laugh. “Nothing happened here but the lockdown, so we’re sitting on our asses while security goes door to door and checks the rooms. The worst thing that’s going to happen to me today is numb bum.” When Lyra got control of that burst of emotion, Michelle added, “Butfuck, right? I told you it was only a matter of time before it happened here, too.”
Lyra wasn’t close to anyone who worked the Cadence, but Michelle knew a lot of dealers in Laughlin and was pretty friendly with a few. Mostly in the carnally friendly way, but she tended to stay platonically amiable with her exes. She’d mastered the elusive art of breaking up well. “Have you heard about anybody?”
“Not yet. We’re not getting any more info in here than you are out there. Less, maybe. All the TVs are on the news, and everybody’s got their phones out, but you know casinos and cell phones. Down here, there’s nowhere to get a signal except the employee areas and right by the doors. Which security won’t let us near. So many people went to the bars to try their phones there, they had to shut the doors and they’re serving drinks from fucking room service carts.”
Lyra laughed. “I bet they’re charging for those drinks, too.”
“I don’t doubt it. Probably an upcharge.” A voice in the background distracted Michelle for a moment, and then she said, “I gotta go. But I’m safe, and we’re all hearing the guy’s down. It’s over. Don’t worry. I’ll continue to be the light of your life for years to come.”
“Pain in my ass, you mean.”
“I’m sorry”—she made a staticky noise—“You’rekshskshskbreakingkshkskhup ...”
“I love you, you annoying twat,” Lyra said and felt her eyes start to fill again.
“I love you back, Bambi. I’ll call when I get sprung from this joint, okay?”
“You’d better.”
When she hung up, Reed was giving her a steady look. So was Pop.