(With apologies to Harold Robbins)

"New York, New York, is it everything they say? There's no place I'd rather be. Pretty, pretty girls & the neon lights. . . ."

Heavy settled on the Luxor instead, because one of the managers recognized him from his high rollin' days,& comped him. It was amazing they even let him back in the place. The last time he'd been here he'd run into old buddy Hunter Thompson at a convention & they'd proceeded to trash his $1500/night suite. After a few drinks it was impossible to tell directions in the Luxor, & the two of them were continually getting lost. Hunter ran out of drugs & had to fly back to LA on the shuttle for a quick score. On the return flight he'd dropped his 80 gram, 18-carat gold chain in the airliner toilet. Hunter had created quite a commotion when he emerged from the restroom with a cobalt blue arm up to his elbow, a byproduct of his rescue efforts. He was greeted at the airport by security, but fortunately Jayson Williams wasn't in town, & somehow he managed to talk his way into a limo back to the Luxor. Hunter managed to keep his sports jacket on until about 3:00 AM, so no one was the wiser. But by then the drugs were taking effect, & after stripping to his underwear, Hunter jumped into one of the canals in the lobby to wash the offending blue off. Some buddies from Rolling Stone greased a few palms & saved his ass on that occasion, but Hunter was always a ticking time bomb. Probably still is. Heavy hadn't seen him since the sexual assault trial in Colorado, but that's another long story.

Heavy really didn't like being all the way up at this end of the strip. He preferred being at one of the more centrally located hotels like Caesar's, the Mirage, the aforementioned NY, NY, or one of the newer hotels. That way he was always just a short distance from his hotel, which made it less likely that he'd get mugged on the way back to his room. The way late night traffic had gotten to be on the strip, it was not unusual for Heavy to pass out in the cab on the long ride back to the Luxor & wake up on some side street penniless. Even the MGM, where he'd seen many a good fight back in the days when the Nevada Boxing Commission wasn't so closely scrutinized, was a better choice. Hell, he'd seen fights with guys convicted of manslaughter; now days a guy bites off an ear & he's toast! What's the world coming to?

Heavy made his way to the Hotel Sports Book after slipping the bellhop a 5-spot to take his bag up to the room. He'd written the room # on the inside of the pocket flap of his sports jacket in marking pen as Hunter had taught him. This usually worked fine as long as you didn't lose your jacket -- as Hunter frequently did. The key was to pick up a spare jacket or two at one of the local pawn shops. They often reeked of old cigar smoke, but nobody was ever tempted to steal them. Charles Bukowski had taught him that trick. Heavy had once asked Hunter why he didn't write the number some place less accessible like inside his fly. But, he was told, fishing around inside your pants in the lobby was a no-no even in Las Vegas.

Approaching the counter, Heavy noted that the Sonics were a 5 1/2 point 'dog against Dallas, & the total which had opened at 195 was already up to 197. There were also some prop sheet bets as well: Odds were 3-1 that Van Exel would score more than Lewis; 5-1 that Cuban would get fined; & 10-1 that Nate would be ejected. Heavy smiled wondering what fool would take that last bet; had Nate EVER been ejected? Heavy never liked the long odds anyway, so he dropped a dime on the "over" before it moved up any further & made a note to tell his buddies at SonicsCentral where all the money was going. Heavy wanted to take a flyer on the Sonics plus the points as well, but he decided to hold off until he'd had a chance to talk to some of his wise guy buddies.

People had long memories in Las Vegas. Heavy could walk into KeyArena, & after 20 years heavy time with eight off for good behavior, no one remembered him. Nor did Heavy any longer recognize any of the staff at the Key. Even at the beer concession, which was probably a good thing. How many people had been 86ed from a basketball game for screaming profanities when refused further alcohol service as Heavy had been? Here in Las Vegas, people were used to that sort of thing. Perhaps that was why Heavy felt so at home here. As a wise guy buddy had once told him, "You haven't really lived until you've slept in your own puke." With so many eyes watching, it took little to be noticed here. But you had to have friends like Hunter to REALLY stand out. Heavy stood out.

Heavy glanced at his watch. There were almost 6 hours until game time, plenty of time to get a buzz on with all the free alcohol. Maybe take in the buffet at the MGM & check in with Guido to see where all the action was these days. This time of day, all the high rollers were sleeping, & all the scum who lived on their coattails were as well. But in a reverse kind of seniority, the seasoned veterans were out & about trying not to draw attention to themselves.

And then he saw her. Heavy'd been wanting to think that thought for most of his adult life, but he'd never actually seen HER. Until now. She was no spring chicken, but she was gorgeous. And she had a thing for slot machines. Heavy watched her for awhile wondering how anyone could get that excited pulling a handle. Sure it was a multimillion dollar progressive, but who wore a black, low cut, spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress in the middle of the day even in Vegas? Maybe she'd been up all night? Nah, her makeup was too perfect. Heavy watched awhile longer, nursing his drink & marveling at her excitement. There was something about Las Vegas that transformed women. His own ex-wife hated Heavy's gambling so much that she'd once screamed at him on the phone as she listened in on the extension as Heavy placed his daily bets with his bookie. Yet when she came to Vegas with Heavy, ostensibly "to see the shows", it didn't take long to find her similarly ensconced in front of the most expensive slot machine in the house. Dollar machines were fine, but she could blow through a couple of hunskies in nothing flat playing the progressives.

"Having any luck?" Heavy inquired of the black cocktail dress. The neck swiveled slowly in Heavy's direction, their eyes met briefly, & she returned to her machine with nary a word.

"Do I know you?" she finally said as she gazed over Heavy's shoulder in the direction of the change man & simultaneously groped in her purse for a large bill.

"I don't think so. I'm Heavy."

"I'm sure you are," she said straight-faced.

"I was just admiring your . . . enthusiasm."

She had to smile at that for some reason. The changeman filled her plastic bucket with 100 silver dollars, taking stock of her Lady Presidential Rolex as he did so. Heavy proffered his hand & offered up, "And you are . . . ?"

"There you are, my dear." Heavy recognized the voice approaching him from behind. As he turned to see Wally, it was hard to tell who was more shocked. Wally recovered first. "What are YOU doing here, Heavy?"

"After the last three weeks I felt I needed to relax awhile."

"I thought that's what you were doing." The sarcasm was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"And how is it you're here while the team is in Texas?" Heavy countered. Good women always seem to know when to diffuse a situation, & this was no exception.

"Honey, tell me again when we're leaving," she said to Wally.

"We've got about three more hours, dear." Turning to Heavy he added, "We had to stop to refuel, so we decided we might as well test our luck."

"And?"

"Well now that I see YOU'RE here. . . ."

"I was just introducing myself".

"That's nice. Dear, we REALLY should be leaving. The limo is waiting."

As Wally took her arm & whisked her away,she smiled back one of the most ambiguous smiles Heavy had ever had the misfortune of enjoying.Then in an instant they were gone.Heavy had a sinking feeling his relationship with Wally would never be the same again.

Editor's Note: The preceeding is fiction. Any resemblance to real people, events, or locations is purely coincidence.

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