Losers Bluff formerly Insurance
- 3 years ago
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"Driver," the exhausted looking girl said for the second time.
He couldn't hear her, and then she saw the sliding panel that separated the passenger compartment from the driver's seat of the Rolls Royce. Sliding it open, she spoke again.
"Driver, don't take me home. Take me to the Casino." And then fell back into the seat and squirmed slightly to ease the pain down between her buttocks. Her mind recoiled completely from any memory of what had happened to her. She could only lie there in the comforting darkness of the silent car and try to concentrate on the soft music from the stereo system.
She was going to the Casino to see Deke Vito, to get the contract for Johnny--and then she was going away. She'd tell Johnny what had happened, how horrible it had been, then she'd go home for the two weeks it would take until he began his engagement in San Francisco. She loved him so much and would hate to be away from him that long, but she couldn't face another day in the casino. Couldn't face the thought of ever seeing Deke Vito... or even worse, the possibility of ever facing that horrible fat man again who had taken her in the most degrading way possible... and made her grovel for it.
The sleek silver and grey Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the casino, and the chauffeur whose name she'd never even heard came around to help her out. She wondered if he even had a name, and she wished he hadn't stopped in so obvious a place, under all those lights. She felt that anyone who saw her would know exactly where she'd been and what she'd been doing.
She walked into the brightness of the casino, through the milling throngs of tourist gamblers, and looked for Johnny. Then she realized that it was late enough for him to have already finished his last set and decided that he'd probably already gone home.
She still looked for him but found him nowhere. And she wished with all her heart that he'd been waiting there for her, that it could be he that went to see Deke Vito instead of her having to do. Well, it doesn't matter, she thought, this is the last time I'll ever have to see that horribly greasy man again.
Laura Dutton pushed her way through the crowds at the tables, searching for Deke Vito. But he wasn't at his usual crap table and she couldn't find him in any of the restaurants. Finally, one of the cocktail waitress whispered that she thought he was upstairs in Mornay's suite. It seemed that the casino owner had brought in a select crowd and they'd all gone upstairs for some private gambling. Mr. Mornay was a legendary figure around the clubs, mostly because no one ever really saw him. Word would just come down that The Boss was upstairs and whatever he ordered would be sent up.
The employees of the Casino knew that whenever he used the closed suite upstairs it was for some very high-stake gambling with people that didn't want to be seen downstairs. And Laura knew that it was very likely that Vito would be up there running errands or whatever he did for Moray.
She went to one of the house phones and asked that a call be put through to the suite's special switchboard. After giving her name it seemed like several moments before she heard Vito's voice at the other end.
"Well, hello Laura Baby. Have a nice time? She felt a shudder of disgust pass through her at the sound of the knowing laughter in his voice.
"Come on up, kid. I'll have Black Jack let you in."
She rode up in the it elevator and wondered how it would be to face Black Jack and then Deke Vito. But, she shouldn't have worried about the huge Negro, because as he opened the door for her there was absolutely no sign of recognition. He just nodded slightly to her and taking her arm, led her through the crowd to the table where Deke Vito was buried in conversation with several men whose faces Laura recognized from the newspapers.
"Laura Baby, just have the black boy here make you a drink and I'll see you in a moment." At the words 'black boy' Laura felt the huge hand at her elbow tense momentarily and then relax. And, turning, she saw an intense shadow of hatred pass across the giant Negro's face. Then he led her back to the bar and poured her a drink.
She sipped her drink and looked around the room. The crowd wasn't very large but it probably represented more money than everyone downstairs combined. She recognized several movie stars, older men who had once been the idols of millions, and other men in the room seemed to have been cast from a common mold. All a little fleshy looking and obviously extremely prosperous. And interspersed amongst the men were half a dozen beautiful girls. The latter caught her attention for a moment until she realized that they too all looked alike. Each one was tall and lovely, and each one was a little too trashy and hard looking as though they had really been around.
Call girls, she thought correctly.
It probably wouldn't have surprised her very much if she had known that the stable of beautiful girls was run completely by Deke Vito. Each of the larger casinos found it advantageous to have a few girls on tap for their better customers. The customers never had to pay for their favors, the casinos picked up the tab. And, it was Deke Vito who handled the procurement for the customers of the clubs owned by Mr. Mornay.
Even after her evening with Harry Goldman Laura Dutton remained spectacularly attractive and as she wandered around watching the action at the tables, she attracted the attention of every man in the room. And, particularly the attention of a tall silver-haired man a the center roulette wheel. The man was Cassis Mornay, one of the most powerful man in Nevada gambling circles.
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Man, am I glad for a beautiful day. Nothing before me but the weekend. My plump 36D breasts bounce happily as I hop into my truck. I hitch my skirt up to my waist so I can have more freedom of movement. I remove my 8′ black platform heels – a girl can’t drive in those. I stab the key in the ignition, turn the motor over and crank up the radio. It’s going to be a wonderful drive home. I weave through the downtown streets as I steer my juicy red truck towards the interstate. At the last red light...
There's an old joke about D.C. weather; If you don't like it, just wait a week. The weather flips around so quickly it almost produces whiplash. (This is opposed to Florida weather, which practically vibrates.) The common side-joke, which isn't terribly clever and is used too often by comedians who aren't really trying, is that it is caused by all the hot air blowing out of the Capitol building when Congress is in session. Locals know however that this is not the case. No, the local...
It’s Labor Day Weekend, and we’ve booked a room at a Bed & Breakfast in Belfast, Maine, called The White House. I’ve been there before, and it’s fabulous. I know you haven’t, and I also know you’ll love it. The rugged shoreline, the sailboats and fishing boats in the bay, sleeping at dawn as the mist surrounds them like a blanket. We’re driving through the back country roads, soaking in the scenery, or at least I am — you’ve fallen asleep, your hand intertwined in mine, your face peaceful and...