It’s dark, but not pitch black. I might need the pen light to see my watch, but I can see the monkeys without it, and they can see me. I snap the light off and put it back in my pocket, remove the ceramic device and move it around in my hand.
The monkey cage isn’t actually a cage. It’s more like a deep, circular pit with a rock mountain in the center, and some artificial climbing trees. The monkeys have lots of space to move around in, and the trees and mountain offer them opportunities to exercise. The chain link fence around the perimeter comes up to the middle of my chest, high enough to keep kids from falling into the pit.
I fling the ceramic device at the monkeys.
Several rush to the place where it strikes the mountain, and scramble around, fighting for it, until one emerges with the prize.
I watch with amusement as he tries to keep it away from the others. He jumps onto one of the trees and makes his way to the top. He sniffs it, puts it in his mouth. For a moment I think how funny it’ll be if he swallows it. But he removes it from his mouth and works it around in his hand the way I’ve been doing.
Pressing the button four times in ten seconds will fry my brain.
The monkey gives up and tosses the device to the ground.
Dozens of monkeys begin fighting over it, and I assume it won’t take long for this many monkeys to press a single button four times in ten seconds.
Why am I doing this?
I don’t know. It’s fun? I’m in Vegas? I need the rush? My fate is in the hands of a bunch of monkeys, which seems appropriate, somehow.
I start to laugh. And keep laughing. Kimberly’s not the only one who can push my buttons!
“Have at it!” I shout, and walk away. I get about five feet when something hits me in the back of the head.
I bend down and pick up the device.
The monkeys have spoken.
I wipe the device on my pant leg, put it back in my pocket. Then head to Carmine Porrello’s club, the Top Six.
20.
“How old IS that one?” I ask Carmine, pointing at the skinny blond on the far left.
“The nurse?”
I feel like saying, “nurse costume,” but what’s the point?
“You like her?” Carmine says.
“She doesn’t look legal.”
“I run a legit club. She don’t look eighteen, but she’s got a driver’s license. You want me to call her over?”
“No.”
I look at the skinny girl a second time. Her hair is close-cropped, with a streak of red on the front of each side, framing her delicate, pale face. She looks like she’s completely drugged out. But there’s something else in her face that would break my heart if I were her father. It’s something you don’t normally see at her age.
She’s given up.
This is the type of kid who probably won’t live to see her twenties. I’m looking at a dead girl, I think.
“You keep lookin’ at her,” Carmine says. “Here, I’ll call her over.”
He waves his hand until she notices him. She looks over her shoulder a minute, then back at Carmine, then reluctantly climbs off the stage and comes over.
“Hi Shirl,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” she says. “I’m supposed to go on next.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Shirl looks nervously to the left of the stage. “But Roy-”
“I’ll take care of Roy.”
She looks dubious.
Carmine says, “You trust me, yes?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Porrello.”
He nods. “Good. I want you to meet a friend of mine. A good friend.”
She looks at me. I notice Carmine didn’t say my name, which is his way of showing respect. He’s old school. He’ll let me decide if I want to use a fake name.
“Hi Shirl, I’m Donovan Creed.”
I put my hand out. Shirl looks at me with utter confusion, bites the corner of her lip and looks at Carmine, who says, “He’s offering you his hand. Shake it.”
Shirl looks completely bewildered, but takes my hand. It took her exactly ten seconds to make me feel like I’m mentally challenged. She looks back up at the stage, clearly agitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, while looking at the big, angry slab of beef who’s giving her a hard look.
“That’s Roy?” I say.
“Uh huh. I better go.”
She starts to move, but Carmine puts his hand on her arm. Shirl stops, but looks as though she might pee her pants, she’s so frightened.
“Don’t be rude,” Carmine says.
“We’re about to play PNQ,” she says, by way of explanation. “I’m up first.”
Carmine nods. “Okay. After that, you come back down.”
“I’ll ask Roy.”
“You’ll what?” Carmine says.
Shirl realizes she’s made a big mistake. By fearing Roy more than Carmine, she’s disrespected the old Don.
In front of me, a good friend.
She’s in full-blown panic mode. It’s pitiful to see.
I know what’s going on here. Carmine’s older than dirt. Roy’s the young tough. They’re about to butt heads. Carmine, needing to prove he’s still got it. Roy, not wanting to be disrespected. I’m in a position to prevent it. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit either way, but Carmine did me a favor telling me about Gwen. And this little girl shouldn’t have to live in fear like this.
“What’s PNQ?” I say.
Carmine’s about to blow up, but my question simmers him down a bit. He actually starts to chuckle.
“PNQ stands for penny, nickel, quarter. It’s a game our friend Gwen made up when she used to work for me. Since you never played, I don’t wanna give nothin’ away. You’ll like it.”
“I’ll walk Shirl back up on stage,” I say.
Carmine starts to say something, then looks over at Roy, who’s scowling at both of us. Then says, “That’s good.” He smiles, and adds, “That’s real good. And Creed?”
“Yes, Mr. Porrello?” I say, showing him respect in front of Shirl because I, too, am old school.
“Have fun with it,” he says.
“You know it.”
21.
“Whatever you’re about to do on stage,” I say to Shirl, “You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay.”
