After they lost a few hundred dollars at the craps table, they headed over to the lobby to get a room.
“Sorry sir, we’re all sold out for the convention,” said the desk clerk.
Dino said, “Miami, you said you would take care of a reservation. Please…tell me you made a backup reservation at Caesars Palace. They always take care of me.”
“No worries mate, we’ll get a great room. They love you at Caesars Palace. We’ve seen it every time.”
The two men left the Mandalay and went to the place they felt represented everything that was great—and also wrong—about Las Vegas. This hotel has towering Roman statues and gaudy columns that allow it to morph from garish to classy. The fountains in the front of Caesars Palace set the heart of every gambler fluttering the moment they head down the long entrance driveway. For two Los Angelinos used to seeing Rodeo Drive, this place made Beverly Hills look like Topeka, Kansas.
Dino noticed the décor and asked, “Miami, what the fuck do white statues of prancing horses and angels blowing trumpets have to do with gambling?”
“I think those are all gambling images going back to the Bible or something. Those early Bible people really liked to gamble. That’s why they invented chariots. Chariot gambling was big back then.”
“Yeah…I would have probably been a professional chariot racing gambler back then.”
Unfortunately, despite Dino being on their comped players list, there were no rooms at this inn, either. People in for a food convention had taken over the town. The concierge was sympathetic, but said, “Mr. D, if you had called ahead I’m sure we could have arranged something nice for you.”
Miami and Dino hit the craps table to regroup. There they ran into one of Dino’s appraisal clients. Working all day then flying to Vegas for the night was common for this guy. Dino placed small bets on the table next to the client and the dice began to get hot for them. The client asked Dino, “Where are you staying in Vegas?”
“You wouldn’t know it. It’s smaller hotel just outside of town.”
“I know this town really well. What’s it called?”
“The Hotel Impala. Small place…yellow…very intimate…off the main drag.”
“Yeah…we have two separate suites,” added Miami.
The boys played a few hours longer, lost about $250 each, and were zombie-level tired. Miami could no longer keep his eyes open and told Dino he needed to sleep. It was now after two a.m., and after driving and casino hopping for 12 hours both men were inebriated, exhausted…and had neither room nor bed.
Miami went to the pay phone and called every hotel outside of the Strip. When he gave it up, he said, “Dino, let’s just sleep a couple of hours in your car until the morning and then I’m sure we’ll find a ton of rooms when some people check out.”
It became their plan. They found a well-lit parking space behind a cheap casino and tried to sleep, but with no blankets or pillows, they were cold and uncomfortable. It was 36 degrees Fahrenheit outside the car…a cold, windy, winter Las Vegas night.
Miami had an idea. “Let’s turn on the car heater for 15 minutes. I’ll stay up until it warms up and then turn it off.”
Dino was not having it. “No friggin’ way! I know we’ll fall asleep and die of carbon monoxide poisoning. It’ll be the perfect ending to a perfect weekend.”
“Don’t worry, man, I’ll stay up. Remember I used to be a long-distance sailor and can sit a damn watch for 15 damn minutes. I’m trained for this. Buddy…look it’s four a.m. now, at 4:20 I’ll turn off the car and sleep. You take the back suite…seat.”
Dino gave in, nodded off, and was soon snoring.
At 6:00 a.m. Miami was smacked in the face with a folded racing program. “What the hell! You said you would stay up and turn off the car. We could have died in this cheap, dumpy casino’s parking lot.”
“Sorry. Sorry, man. I guess I dozed off, too. But hey, we are OK! We’re alive! We broke our losing streak! Come on, breakfast is on me.”
“The rest of my life is on you.”
They had breakfast at the same Denny’s Luis and his buddies dined at two months earlier and then cruised to Caesars Palace to plead for a room. They got one but were told they could not check in until after two p.m. Relieved, they pulled from their small suitcases toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, one hairbrush, and some hair spray. In the marble ambiance of the men’s room, Miami and Dino spent a good 20 minutes manscaping.
“You don’t look much like Don Johnson now,” said Dino talking to the mirror image of his friend. “That cotton teal sports coat looks more like a wrinkled dinner napkin than a ‘Miami Vice’ jacket.”
Dino’s hair was sticking straight up, but only in parts. “Yeah,” said Miami, “and you look like those guys that play in the band Devo.”
Two other men were brushing their teeth. “See…this is no big deal,” Miami said in a whisper.
Dino threw the can of hair spray at him. It missed Miami’s head and tumbled, clanging, across the floor. “Stop speaking to me. Ever.”
They left the restroom and headed to place bets at the race book on East Coast horse races. Dino did well and won a photo finish on an 8-1 shot at Gulfstream Park racetrack in Hallandale Beach, Florida. That win got them both nearly back in the black.
At 1:00 p.m., they checked with the desk and learned a room was ready. They were escorted to
