Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…
We walk in silence for some time until we find ourselves standing outside the Tangiers.
"Great, I was wondering when we would get to this one," I say before walking toward the doors. "Let's get this one over with. I still want to find out what happens to Sara."
It never ceases to amaze me how similar all casinos are. They're essentially the same—just with different names. Once you walk out onto the casino floor, it's impossible to tell any of them apart. A blackjack table at the Tangiers is the same as one at Mandalay Bay. The nickel slots here are just like the ones at Caesar's Palace. Roulette is the same here as it is at the Excalibur.
And every day, thousands upon thousands of people stroll into these places and test their luck—'cause it's all about luck—and lose their money. They make people like Sam Braun very rich.
Mini-me joins me and takes my hand. "You see that man there?" she points to a nervous looking fellow sitting at a poker table with stacks and stacks of chips in front of him.
I nod my head in the affirmative.
"Well, he's cheating. And the eye in the sky," she motions to one of the hundreds of cameras around the casino floor, "is watching him. And sometime soon, he's going to be escorted off the floor. And he'll get to have a special little talk with the big guy."
"The big guy? You mean Sam? Sam doesn't tolerate cheaters, but they just kick 'em out and don't let them back in the casino. Right?" I start laughing, "Sam's too old to do his own heavy-work these days. He doesn't get his hands dirty--anymore."
While we're standing there watching the man, I notice a couple of suits approaching him. One of them leans over and whispers something to the dealer who starts the process of closing down her table.
"He's cheating?" I ask mini-me.
"Well, let's see. He has a stack of chips in front of him. He's sweating like he's running a marathon. And two of Braun's goons are standing over him. Do you really have to ask if he's cheating?"
She takes my hand once again and we walk past all of the slots and toward an exit that will lead us into the alley behind the casino. Once the door opens, we're at Lake Mead, standing in a grove of trees.
A limousine pulls up and out steps the two goons and the man from the casino floor. They begin to work the guy over, punching and kicking him. They take turns—one holding him up while the other delivers the message that Sam obviously wanted this guy to get loud and clear.
The goons turn and look at the limo before stepping away from the man and leaning against the trunk of the waiting car. The cheater, now beaten to a pulp, tries and fails miserably to get to his feet.
Another figure steps from the back of the car and walks over to the man. From this distance, I can't make out if it's Sam or not. I flinch and am about to move when mini-me grabs my hand. "I told you, no more interaction with the people we're here to visit. You can watch. That's it. Or this little journey stops—understand?"
I turn back to the scene and watch as the tall figure helps the man to his feet. They walk a bit closer to the water's edge. The new guy has his arm around the other guy's shoulders and is obviously talking to him. I notice one of the goons approaching him and handing something to our new guy. Almost as soon as he has possession of whatever was handed to him, he takes a step away, lifts his arm and pulls the trigger. The man crumples to the ground and it takes every fiber of strength I have not to scream as the gunshot bounces around the surrounding area.
As the goons move to slide the body into the lake, the gunman turns around and I can easily make out who he is now as the tail lights illuminate his features.
"Sam," I half-whisper.
"Yeah, good ol' Dad seems not to mind getting his hands dirty after all. See, all Sam ever had were his boys—his sons. And, well, we know how they turned out, remember? Anyway, yeah, he fooled around with the woman who was your mother, but you were never conceived. So he had no real incentive to ever clean up his act or try to make good. He's a tried and true, dyed in the wool mobster, Rin. He runs half of Vegas. No one makes a move in Vegas without his okay. He has more muscle working for him than Arnold," she turns to walk into the woods and I follow her. "See, he's old-school. People steal from him and he takes what's most important to them—their life."
She stops and turns to look at me, "Without Catherine Willows around, Sam never discovered his softer side. He really is the monster you always imagined him to be."
We keep walking until we reach the edge of the woods.
"Now what?" I ask with defeat and regret heavy in my voice.
"Now we go and visit your friend."
"Sara?" I smile and feel relief flood over me as I imagine what it'll be like to see her now.