Post by Cross Recoba on Jan 7, 2016 13:43:20 GMT -6
Originally Published/Aired: 5th December 2015
”Great night, absolutely hanging. Do you know who the girl I woke up with was?”
Cross smiled at the WhatsApp message, he’d been out with Tom the night before, Ainsworth worked for a company listed on the NASDAQ. He’d come out to Vegas to find a venue for his company’s sales kick-off meeting next year. Recoba had become adept to showing people the side of Vegas they truly want to see - their corporate event facilities were great but what they were really looking for was to send their sales force into Vegas, have a great time, and get a morale boost coming out of it. After all, attendees weren’t going to talk two weeks later about the ‘Death by Powerpoint’ they had before they cut loose.
Landing this deal was small-fry commercially, on the face of it, their sales kick-off wouldn’t even register on the earnings call. The aim last night was to sign them up for the kick-off in the hope they’d come back to them for their flagship event, one that was covered by everyone from Re/Code to Mashable to the technology section of the Bits blog of The New York Times. The Sands played the long game where it could when it came to the corporates,; the regular Joes came back because they all truly believe that they’ll beat the house, they took no effort - big business however was still big business.
Cross opened his phone and began typing:
Recoba took these kind of gigs for a reason - he was charming, he knew when to shut up and let the client talk, and more importantly he knew to never turn down a drink and never finish one either. Cross had taken off around eleven last night before Donna had turned up as he’d requested. Tom would head back to the East coast thinking he could take on the World, tell his friends that the drink never stops flowing and the women were beautiful and, if the plan came off, the only cost was Donna’s fee to leave after he’d woken up.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, set down his phone on the nightstand next to his watch and walked over to the shower. Today had all the makings of being a great day.
*****
“Hey, Nick. How’s the floor looking today?” Cross shook hands with Nick, the morning gaming manager.
He looked across the floor and knew the answer that was coming.
”It’s a Thursday morning, all we got going on is holiday drifters, drifters, and retirees. I could sleep-walk this shift if you let me!”
Nick was good at his role and truth be told - if he wanted to sleep-walk through his shift he probably could, but Nick was a solid hand. Cross made it a point to take this walk every morning through the gaming floors, he’d come down at night too, the disparity between the two periods couldn’t be more different.
Morning gamblers were never high-rollers, they weren’t particularly skillful either. They took the attitude that if you tossed enough chips on the table or quarters into the machine that it’d one day pay out.
It always raised a chuckle from Recoba. These were the people who would toss a coin a hundred times and be confused when they got sixty heads and forty tails. To them, probability was a certainty. If they’d listen, and they never would, Recoba would explain his theory on probability - go to a public restroom and be told that there is one stall that has been destroyed and the other four were pristine, the idiot would say that you had an 80% chance of not getting it. The smart man knew that Muphry’s Law would kick in and that 20% chance leapt to nearer the 50% mark.
Recoba headed over to his next check-in point, the cigarette girls. These girls were dressed to allure, though the allure was purely cosmetic - nicotine was a hell of a drug. They also knew the clientele better than Nick - purely because their job was to form a relationship with them, flirt a little, and because of that Cross knew that if there was going to be trouble they’d spot it before anyone else.
He walked up to Bobbi, her dark hair trimmed to a pixie cut, her features the classic girl-next door. Cross leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. He smiled and went to open his mouth but she cut him off.
“I got a message for ya”
She passed on a piece of paper she’d scrawled on, luckily she wasn’t paid for her penmanship.
”Tell Cross I have a job for him. Al”
Cross put the piece of paper back on the tray and took a pack of Lucky Strikes, replacing it with a twenty-dollar bill. He lit one up fully prepared to expect the job to be anything and wondering how much it had to do with the Evolution Wrestling contract he’d sent back signed at the beginning of the week.
*****
Al Costello reclined back into his chair and half opened his drawer. He fingered the top of his cigar box and hesitated. His physician had been heavier on the smoking lectures since he started using his cane, his age was catching up to him apparently.
He shook the medical doubt and pulled out a cigar, almost absentmindedly chopping off the end before lighting it. He took a heavy drag on it and exhaled, setting it down into the ashtray. Jane, his PA, buzzed through to him.
”Santino is here, sh-”
”Send him right in.”
The door opened and Recoba strode in confidently. Costello looked at the pink shirt underneath his jacket and wondered just how many people walked past him thinking he was a frocio. In Sicily no-one would bat an eyelid but over here it was like Santino was spoiling for a fight.
Cross didn’t wait for the invitation to take a chair, he’d spent more time in this office than almost anyone who’d ever taken a paycheck there. He rested a leg across his knee and leaned back into the leather chair.
”Santino, I’m not going to keep you very long. It’s to do with Pete Summers”
Pete Summers was a well-known name to Cross, as well as half a dozen other casinos. He was a Thursday morning gambler of the worst kind. A degenerate who had decided his credit should extend as long as his charm.
“What floor is he booked into?”
Cross’ eyes lit-up at the chance to even the debt by the cent or by the punch.
Costello took a drag from his cigar.
”He washed up in Burbank earlier this week.”
Costello was sombre with the update. Whilst not a cheerleader for Summers he felt a certain disappointment at the waste of life.
”So, what can we do about that? ”
”The police so far can’t find any evidence of foul play, what I do know is that there’s a widow, and where there’s a widow there’s a will…I need you to see Mrs Summers and make’s sure she does the right thing, so her children learn a lesson in responsibility.”
Cross let his leg drop to the floor as he leant forward.
”When do I leave?”
”It can wait til after the weekend. The interest will only grow”
”Great night, absolutely hanging. Do you know who the girl I woke up with was?”
Cross smiled at the WhatsApp message, he’d been out with Tom the night before, Ainsworth worked for a company listed on the NASDAQ. He’d come out to Vegas to find a venue for his company’s sales kick-off meeting next year. Recoba had become adept to showing people the side of Vegas they truly want to see - their corporate event facilities were great but what they were really looking for was to send their sales force into Vegas, have a great time, and get a morale boost coming out of it. After all, attendees weren’t going to talk two weeks later about the ‘Death by Powerpoint’ they had before they cut loose.
Landing this deal was small-fry commercially, on the face of it, their sales kick-off wouldn’t even register on the earnings call. The aim last night was to sign them up for the kick-off in the hope they’d come back to them for their flagship event, one that was covered by everyone from Re/Code to Mashable to the technology section of the Bits blog of The New York Times. The Sands played the long game where it could when it came to the corporates,; the regular Joes came back because they all truly believe that they’ll beat the house, they took no effort - big business however was still big business.
Cross opened his phone and began typing:
”Anytime, as for the girl - haven’t a clue, take it as a win if she was attractive and if not, no-one’ll ever know”
Recoba took these kind of gigs for a reason - he was charming, he knew when to shut up and let the client talk, and more importantly he knew to never turn down a drink and never finish one either. Cross had taken off around eleven last night before Donna had turned up as he’d requested. Tom would head back to the East coast thinking he could take on the World, tell his friends that the drink never stops flowing and the women were beautiful and, if the plan came off, the only cost was Donna’s fee to leave after he’d woken up.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, set down his phone on the nightstand next to his watch and walked over to the shower. Today had all the makings of being a great day.
*****
“Hey, Nick. How’s the floor looking today?” Cross shook hands with Nick, the morning gaming manager.
He looked across the floor and knew the answer that was coming.
”It’s a Thursday morning, all we got going on is holiday drifters, drifters, and retirees. I could sleep-walk this shift if you let me!”
Nick was good at his role and truth be told - if he wanted to sleep-walk through his shift he probably could, but Nick was a solid hand. Cross made it a point to take this walk every morning through the gaming floors, he’d come down at night too, the disparity between the two periods couldn’t be more different.
Morning gamblers were never high-rollers, they weren’t particularly skillful either. They took the attitude that if you tossed enough chips on the table or quarters into the machine that it’d one day pay out.
It always raised a chuckle from Recoba. These were the people who would toss a coin a hundred times and be confused when they got sixty heads and forty tails. To them, probability was a certainty. If they’d listen, and they never would, Recoba would explain his theory on probability - go to a public restroom and be told that there is one stall that has been destroyed and the other four were pristine, the idiot would say that you had an 80% chance of not getting it. The smart man knew that Muphry’s Law would kick in and that 20% chance leapt to nearer the 50% mark.
Recoba headed over to his next check-in point, the cigarette girls. These girls were dressed to allure, though the allure was purely cosmetic - nicotine was a hell of a drug. They also knew the clientele better than Nick - purely because their job was to form a relationship with them, flirt a little, and because of that Cross knew that if there was going to be trouble they’d spot it before anyone else.
He walked up to Bobbi, her dark hair trimmed to a pixie cut, her features the classic girl-next door. Cross leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. He smiled and went to open his mouth but she cut him off.
“I got a message for ya”
She passed on a piece of paper she’d scrawled on, luckily she wasn’t paid for her penmanship.
”Tell Cross I have a job for him. Al”
Cross put the piece of paper back on the tray and took a pack of Lucky Strikes, replacing it with a twenty-dollar bill. He lit one up fully prepared to expect the job to be anything and wondering how much it had to do with the Evolution Wrestling contract he’d sent back signed at the beginning of the week.
*****
Al Costello reclined back into his chair and half opened his drawer. He fingered the top of his cigar box and hesitated. His physician had been heavier on the smoking lectures since he started using his cane, his age was catching up to him apparently.
He shook the medical doubt and pulled out a cigar, almost absentmindedly chopping off the end before lighting it. He took a heavy drag on it and exhaled, setting it down into the ashtray. Jane, his PA, buzzed through to him.
”Santino is here, sh-”
”Send him right in.”
The door opened and Recoba strode in confidently. Costello looked at the pink shirt underneath his jacket and wondered just how many people walked past him thinking he was a frocio. In Sicily no-one would bat an eyelid but over here it was like Santino was spoiling for a fight.
Cross didn’t wait for the invitation to take a chair, he’d spent more time in this office than almost anyone who’d ever taken a paycheck there. He rested a leg across his knee and leaned back into the leather chair.
”Santino, I’m not going to keep you very long. It’s to do with Pete Summers”
Pete Summers was a well-known name to Cross, as well as half a dozen other casinos. He was a Thursday morning gambler of the worst kind. A degenerate who had decided his credit should extend as long as his charm.
“What floor is he booked into?”
Cross’ eyes lit-up at the chance to even the debt by the cent or by the punch.
Costello took a drag from his cigar.
”He washed up in Burbank earlier this week.”
Costello was sombre with the update. Whilst not a cheerleader for Summers he felt a certain disappointment at the waste of life.
”So, what can we do about that? ”
”The police so far can’t find any evidence of foul play, what I do know is that there’s a widow, and where there’s a widow there’s a will…I need you to see Mrs Summers and make’s sure she does the right thing, so her children learn a lesson in responsibility.”
Cross let his leg drop to the floor as he leant forward.
”When do I leave?”
”It can wait til after the weekend. The interest will only grow”
