Vegas seemed like the best place to go, if I was going to get back on my feet.
I only had a couple hundred bucks left after they took the houses, the cars, and the jet. I had no idea that winnings from lotteries or gambling were taxable, I mean, it's called "income tax". When people ask you what your income is, they're asking how much you make a year at your job. I thought that meant I had to work before I had to pay taxes.
That didn't matter. I could get it all back again, and this time I'd pay those tight-asses their 33% or whatever. The first thing I planned to do after a month of careful winning was to hire an accountant. I wanted to be careful, because I've noticed that winning millions of dollars in a couple weeks draws attention. Negative attention.
"I guess I wasn't careful enough," I thought, as Mickey the Brick slammed his giant fist into my gut again.
"You're going to have to learn not to come back here again, Mister Smith." Frankie Alberti ran about 7 different casinos in Las Vegas. He used to only run three, and I'd avoided those this time. I suppose I should have at least asked around before sitting down at the roulette table, but I wanted to stay in a nice room while I was here, and I'd spent most of my money on the flight. He nodded at Mickey, and I took another hit, this time to the side of my face.
Frankie spoke again. "We don't like cheaters in this town, Mister Smith. I'm sure you thought you could avoid me, but I gained a lot of influence and friends in high places after I got rid of you the last time. You know you're considered both the best and the worst cheater this town has ever had? You're the worst because you have no idea how much attention one person repeatedly winning at slot machines and roulette will draw, and because you are stupid enough to keep coming back. You're the best because nobody can figure out how you do it, so you've been able to stay on the right side of the law." He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "But you're gonna tell me how you do it."
He grinned at Mickey, who then pulled a pair of brass knuckles out of his back pocket, and slid them over the thick fingers on his meaty right hand. "This is how it's going to happen. You're gonna tell me how you do it, how you can rig roulette machines in 10 different casinos, roll boxcars 8 times in a row, and hit the jackpot on slot machines no matter where you go, and not be caught no matter how many cameras are watching you. You're gonna tell me this, or the only money you're gonna be making in this town is the change that will show up under your fuckin' pillow in the morning."
I'd like to say that my response was witty and tough, like something Clint Eastwood or John Wayne would say, before revealing their free hands and loaded pistols. I wasn't tied up though, and I didn't have a lockpick for getting handcuffs off. I wasn't in handcuffs either, this was one of those high tech chairs with the electronicly locking arm and leg straps that you see in the movies. Frankie loved gadgets, and had rooms like this in all his casinos for cheaters. The only thing I could move was my head.
I babbled like a child. "It's magic or something, I don't know! Please don't hurt me anymore, I don't wanna lose my teeth! I'll never come back here again, I swear! I'll go to Atlantic City or something, Vegas won't ever cross my mind!" I franticly hoped for someone to show up and rescue me, you see it on the news all the time. Those people are usually being ransomed though, or are stuck in some highly publicized disaster waiting to happen. Nobody knows I'm here. Still, I wouldn't be surprised if an old college roommate of mine walked through that door because he just happened to be in Vegas, at this casino, and thought that this was the bathroom. Stranger things have happened to me.
"You know, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't give me the answer right away. Mickey, let's see how this jackass looks without his front teeth. And don't move, Mister Smith, or you're going to get another even after you tell me." He snapped his fingers.
As the massive, brass covered fist came toward my face, I panicked and moved my head to the side, despite knowing that Mickey would hold me by the hair and hit me twice after for doing it. Or he would have, if he didn't slip on a small patch of blood on the floor, sending his fist through the drywall behind me and into an old and shoddy electrical box.
Sparks flew, the lights went out, and the restraints popped open. I brought my legs up (painfully), and kicked Mickey's unconscious body off of me and right into Frankie, as he yelled in shock at what had happened.
I got up and picked a crowbar off the floor that I'd seen (and worried about) earlier, and the lights went back on as the generators kicked in for backup power. Frankie shoved Mickey off of him, and as he got up, I knocked him unconscious with a wild swing. After searching him for his passcard, I opened the door and ran as best I could down the hall to the back exit, coughing up blood on Frankie's nice white carpet.
Once I got outside, I ran down several alleys, tripped and fell into a pile of garbage, and after struggling to get up a few times, I gave up and passed out.
When I woke up, I saw a bright light, and heard an authoritative voice ask if I had any identification. I coughed up some more blood.