Reggie -- Part Three
The story continues below the cut.
LAS VEGAS, 1955 -- CONTINUED
“Good morning.”
For a second, I thought I was blind. Every morning of my life, I've woken up to harsh sunlight hitting me in the face, contemptuously daring me to drag myself through another day. But I opened my eyes and saw nothing, at least at first. My vision started to adjusted and realized that if it was morning, it was damn early. The lights were out in the room and the shades in the room were drawn, though it didn't seem like there was anything to keep out. I squinted, looking and failing to see who was talking.
“Hello?” I asked groggily, as the sound of my own voice caused a stabbing pain in my forehead.
“Over here.” I looked to the side of the bed I was laying in, and Alistair Brooks sat in the dark, his unmistakable outline apparent against the moonlit wall. I struggled to sit up, hoping my eyesight would adjust more, and quickly. “You bruised your forehead pretty cool, but the worst of it, according to the doctor, is that you have a pretty nasty cold. You're lucky you don't have pneumonia.”
The comment fired something off in my head, and I kneejerked. “Well, my mom's told me a thousand times about wearing a coat or I'd get sick...”
I could hear Alistair tense a bit. “What does your mom say about living on the streets?” The sarcasm was acidic. I looked down at the sheet in front of me, suddenly not wanting to look at the man.
“How'd you know?”
“A couple months ago you and your friends conned one of my casino's better guests out of a few dollars over a fake school charity drive. They complained to the staff after they realized the ruse, and one of my assistants recognized you.” I almost wanted to smile, thinking about the ploy that we'd pulled. Some of our better work.
“We've been around since, why didn't you kick us out?”
“I don't know. Maybe I'm just another sucker like they are.” He started to get up from his seat. “Doctor says you need some rest for a couple days, and I'm guessing that you can't do that on Fremont Street. You can stay here if you'd like until you're ready to...” he trailed off for a minute. “...yeah. Anyways, get some rest.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brooks.” I wanted to say a lot more, but it's all that I could muster, with the avalanche of thoughts in my mind.
“You're welcome. What's your name?”
“Reggie.”
“Just Reggie?”
“Yeah.” There was another pause before Alistair silently nodded and left the room.
“What time is it?” I called out.
“Oh, 4:30, give or take,” Alistair called back from the stairs outside. I didn't need much more reason to pass back out.
The next time I'd awoken felt like the early afternoon. There was someone I hadn't seen before sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, reading a book. When he realized I was awake, he walked out without a word, talking to someone outside my room. A few minutes later, a man in a tuxedo came through the doorway, pulling a metal cart behind it. The smell was unmistakable. Breakfast had arrived, in the form of one of the biggest steaks I'd ever laid eyes on. My pupils must have grown to unnatural levels.
"You must be hungry," the waiter said, as he placed a lap tray over me and prepared the meal for it's inevitable inhalation.
"Yeah..." I looked over his outfit. "Hey, aren't you from the Golden Nugget?"
"You are correct. Name's Bert. Ask for me next time you get over there..." he looked me over before continuing. "...and you've turned 21." I gave a half smile, not really in the condition for humor just yet. I just wanted him to put down the silverware so I could eat. The man who had been sitting in the room beforehand re-entered, taking his old chair back.
"Why am I getting room service from a casino?" I asked. The man shifted in his chair slightly.
"Alistair... thought you'd like the five-star treatment." Bert laid the fork and knife in front of me, and I started digging in, all other business around me becoming a quickly fading priority.
"Appears he was right."
That evening, with more than a full night's rest and the biggest meal I'd had in years in my system, I felt good enough to get out of bed and figure out just what I was going to do next. The fact that I had no money to show for my efforts slowed any real motivation to head back the guys. The paralyzing indecision and lack of anyone trying to get rid of me made for a few hours of silent wandering through the gargantuan home.
During the third slow walk through the front foyer, I heard some noise coming from the library, and it was Alistair, setting up a chess board. "You're up, that's good," he offered as he laid out the pieces. "Ever play chess before?"
"Once or twice."
"Excellent. Take a seat, son." It took me a few hesitating seconds before I found the will to move my legs towards the table, nervous about the situation, suddenly unable to remember anything about chess. Tommy used to talk about playing at his old shelter all the time, he would draw makeshift boards on paper and we'd pencil in where pieces were. It occured to me this was the first time I was playing with a proper board. I tentitavely made my first few moves while Alistair responded quickly, more interested in talking than the game.
"So... you made quite a trek to come up here."
"Yeah."
"What was it that you were asking Daniel?"
"Who?"
"My assistant, who opened the door."
"Oh. Uh...." Now I suddenly didn't want to say. Before, Alistair Brooks was just some rich moron in an empty suit. Now, our plan seemed like the dumbest idea to grace Las Vegas since Single Deck Blackjack. Alistair seemed to understand what was up.
"What was it going to be? Soup Kitchen? School project? You certainly weren't coming to offer to mow the lawn in that weather." I almost had to smile a bit, even if I was being admonished one way or another.
"School project."
"Aha. And the plot thickens." Alistair moved a bishop forward, and suddenly my half of the board felt claustrophobic. I scrunched my nose as I tried to remember if that passing pawn rule applied here, but was too afraid to do something stupid in front of this guy. This led to being very self-conscious about caring about not looking dumb. Alistair waited patiently while my brain went into a death spiral of hesitation.
"You don't seem to be enjoying himself," Alistair quipped, a faint smile on his face.
"You're beating up on a kid."
"You don't strike me as the type who would enjoy winning because I took it easy on you." My brain ground to a halt as I took this in.
"How do you figure?" I moved a knight, almost defiantly. Alistair watched me move, then looked back up at me.
"Your friends hatched a plan, but you were the one that was sent. This tells me you're confident in whatever you're doing, though you don't seem to be the ringleader type. Then the weather came in, and you had every reason to head back, but you came up here anyways." I took this all in as he sent his queen clear across the board to take the knight I'd just moved. I winced. "And clearly, you're not taking losing very well at the moment, even though I've been playing for years and this is maybe your third game." He took my knight off the board, and I stared at him, not really sure what to say.
"So, my question to you is, are you interested in learning?" He sat and waited for my response. I think for the first time since we started, he wasn't sure what was going to happen next.
"Why do you care?"
"You seem like a bright kid who could use a hand."
"I'm a bright kid who could use a few dollars in my pocket, not chess lessons."
"Alright, then, I'll pay you to learn."
"What?"
"I'll make you a deal. Once a week, we'll play chess. If I win, I'll pay you a dollar for your time. If you can beat me, I'll pay you 100."
My eyes got big, betraying my excitement at the possibility. Alistair pretended not to notice.
"And I'll get you a nice meal to boot. We'll have Bert cook you up something nice. Whaddya say?"
I tried to play it cool. I failed. "I don't really know how to respond to that."
"The best response is most likely to say yes."
"You're not some weird guy?" Alistair gave me a confused look. "Sorry."
"There's a shelter for kids your age over in Henderson that just opened. I'll make sure you and your friends can find a place to stay there."
"Henderson?! How are we supposed to-"
"Supposed to what? Scam tourists?" I turned red. Alistair smirked, starting to walk out of the room, calling for an assistant and the phone, before turning back to me. "That sound alright to you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We haven't finished the game yet."
A knowing smile crossed his face as he walked back to the table. 10 moves later, it was over, and a car pulled up to take me back to my friends. I would not be leaving with a paycheck, though it would take me awhile to realize I'd found something better.
LAS VEGAS, 1955 -- CONTINUED
“Good morning.”
For a second, I thought I was blind. Every morning of my life, I've woken up to harsh sunlight hitting me in the face, contemptuously daring me to drag myself through another day. But I opened my eyes and saw nothing, at least at first. My vision started to adjusted and realized that if it was morning, it was damn early. The lights were out in the room and the shades in the room were drawn, though it didn't seem like there was anything to keep out. I squinted, looking and failing to see who was talking.
“Hello?” I asked groggily, as the sound of my own voice caused a stabbing pain in my forehead.
“Over here.” I looked to the side of the bed I was laying in, and Alistair Brooks sat in the dark, his unmistakable outline apparent against the moonlit wall. I struggled to sit up, hoping my eyesight would adjust more, and quickly. “You bruised your forehead pretty cool, but the worst of it, according to the doctor, is that you have a pretty nasty cold. You're lucky you don't have pneumonia.”
The comment fired something off in my head, and I kneejerked. “Well, my mom's told me a thousand times about wearing a coat or I'd get sick...”
I could hear Alistair tense a bit. “What does your mom say about living on the streets?” The sarcasm was acidic. I looked down at the sheet in front of me, suddenly not wanting to look at the man.
“How'd you know?”
“A couple months ago you and your friends conned one of my casino's better guests out of a few dollars over a fake school charity drive. They complained to the staff after they realized the ruse, and one of my assistants recognized you.” I almost wanted to smile, thinking about the ploy that we'd pulled. Some of our better work.
“We've been around since, why didn't you kick us out?”
“I don't know. Maybe I'm just another sucker like they are.” He started to get up from his seat. “Doctor says you need some rest for a couple days, and I'm guessing that you can't do that on Fremont Street. You can stay here if you'd like until you're ready to...” he trailed off for a minute. “...yeah. Anyways, get some rest.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brooks.” I wanted to say a lot more, but it's all that I could muster, with the avalanche of thoughts in my mind.
“You're welcome. What's your name?”
“Reggie.”
“Just Reggie?”
“Yeah.” There was another pause before Alistair silently nodded and left the room.
“What time is it?” I called out.
“Oh, 4:30, give or take,” Alistair called back from the stairs outside. I didn't need much more reason to pass back out.
The next time I'd awoken felt like the early afternoon. There was someone I hadn't seen before sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, reading a book. When he realized I was awake, he walked out without a word, talking to someone outside my room. A few minutes later, a man in a tuxedo came through the doorway, pulling a metal cart behind it. The smell was unmistakable. Breakfast had arrived, in the form of one of the biggest steaks I'd ever laid eyes on. My pupils must have grown to unnatural levels.
"You must be hungry," the waiter said, as he placed a lap tray over me and prepared the meal for it's inevitable inhalation.
"Yeah..." I looked over his outfit. "Hey, aren't you from the Golden Nugget?"
"You are correct. Name's Bert. Ask for me next time you get over there..." he looked me over before continuing. "...and you've turned 21." I gave a half smile, not really in the condition for humor just yet. I just wanted him to put down the silverware so I could eat. The man who had been sitting in the room beforehand re-entered, taking his old chair back.
"Why am I getting room service from a casino?" I asked. The man shifted in his chair slightly.
"Alistair... thought you'd like the five-star treatment." Bert laid the fork and knife in front of me, and I started digging in, all other business around me becoming a quickly fading priority.
"Appears he was right."
That evening, with more than a full night's rest and the biggest meal I'd had in years in my system, I felt good enough to get out of bed and figure out just what I was going to do next. The fact that I had no money to show for my efforts slowed any real motivation to head back the guys. The paralyzing indecision and lack of anyone trying to get rid of me made for a few hours of silent wandering through the gargantuan home.
During the third slow walk through the front foyer, I heard some noise coming from the library, and it was Alistair, setting up a chess board. "You're up, that's good," he offered as he laid out the pieces. "Ever play chess before?"
"Once or twice."
"Excellent. Take a seat, son." It took me a few hesitating seconds before I found the will to move my legs towards the table, nervous about the situation, suddenly unable to remember anything about chess. Tommy used to talk about playing at his old shelter all the time, he would draw makeshift boards on paper and we'd pencil in where pieces were. It occured to me this was the first time I was playing with a proper board. I tentitavely made my first few moves while Alistair responded quickly, more interested in talking than the game.
"So... you made quite a trek to come up here."
"Yeah."
"What was it that you were asking Daniel?"
"Who?"
"My assistant, who opened the door."
"Oh. Uh...." Now I suddenly didn't want to say. Before, Alistair Brooks was just some rich moron in an empty suit. Now, our plan seemed like the dumbest idea to grace Las Vegas since Single Deck Blackjack. Alistair seemed to understand what was up.
"What was it going to be? Soup Kitchen? School project? You certainly weren't coming to offer to mow the lawn in that weather." I almost had to smile a bit, even if I was being admonished one way or another.
"School project."
"Aha. And the plot thickens." Alistair moved a bishop forward, and suddenly my half of the board felt claustrophobic. I scrunched my nose as I tried to remember if that passing pawn rule applied here, but was too afraid to do something stupid in front of this guy. This led to being very self-conscious about caring about not looking dumb. Alistair waited patiently while my brain went into a death spiral of hesitation.
"You don't seem to be enjoying himself," Alistair quipped, a faint smile on his face.
"You're beating up on a kid."
"You don't strike me as the type who would enjoy winning because I took it easy on you." My brain ground to a halt as I took this in.
"How do you figure?" I moved a knight, almost defiantly. Alistair watched me move, then looked back up at me.
"Your friends hatched a plan, but you were the one that was sent. This tells me you're confident in whatever you're doing, though you don't seem to be the ringleader type. Then the weather came in, and you had every reason to head back, but you came up here anyways." I took this all in as he sent his queen clear across the board to take the knight I'd just moved. I winced. "And clearly, you're not taking losing very well at the moment, even though I've been playing for years and this is maybe your third game." He took my knight off the board, and I stared at him, not really sure what to say.
"So, my question to you is, are you interested in learning?" He sat and waited for my response. I think for the first time since we started, he wasn't sure what was going to happen next.
"Why do you care?"
"You seem like a bright kid who could use a hand."
"I'm a bright kid who could use a few dollars in my pocket, not chess lessons."
"Alright, then, I'll pay you to learn."
"What?"
"I'll make you a deal. Once a week, we'll play chess. If I win, I'll pay you a dollar for your time. If you can beat me, I'll pay you 100."
My eyes got big, betraying my excitement at the possibility. Alistair pretended not to notice.
"And I'll get you a nice meal to boot. We'll have Bert cook you up something nice. Whaddya say?"
I tried to play it cool. I failed. "I don't really know how to respond to that."
"The best response is most likely to say yes."
"You're not some weird guy?" Alistair gave me a confused look. "Sorry."
"There's a shelter for kids your age over in Henderson that just opened. I'll make sure you and your friends can find a place to stay there."
"Henderson?! How are we supposed to-"
"Supposed to what? Scam tourists?" I turned red. Alistair smirked, starting to walk out of the room, calling for an assistant and the phone, before turning back to me. "That sound alright to you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We haven't finished the game yet."
A knowing smile crossed his face as he walked back to the table. 10 moves later, it was over, and a car pulled up to take me back to my friends. I would not be leaving with a paycheck, though it would take me awhile to realize I'd found something better.