Post by Church on Feb 23, 2021 22:05:29 GMT -6
The only tables in operation today were 2 blackjack tables and 3 poker tables. Atleast two people sitting at each table made the games worth it, playing against the house through the hands of the dealers still on Church’s staff. 4 rows of slot machines were active, at least every other chair occupied as well.
Keeping the slot machines running was tricky, as there was no staff left that knew how to fix them when issues arose. The ones that broke, Church had wheeled off the floor to increase more open space. From a business standpoint, he’d call it ‘social distancing’. From a reality standpoint, he’d call it ‘what’s left, is left’. Good news is some of the most popular ones were still running strong. The “Godzilla” themed penny slot still roared once in a while and the “Chimp Mode” reel slot still spun away.
The bar raked in the majority of the profitable money, but the liquor supply was starting to hit levels that made Church realize that this operation only had about a month left of real juice.
He watched over the large room at a high table off to the side. The man stood out amongst the Vegas wanderers. Size. Hair. Beard. Attire. You name it, and it set him apart. He lights a cigarette, pulling a glass ashtray closer to himself as his eyes aimlessly gaze outward. A glass sits in front of him, a double pour of Laphroaig 10 that he had barely sipped on. It was a conscious decision, as he couldn’t afford to have free reign over the bar’s options anymore.
A man approached him, nervously, making eye contact with Church who let out a sigh. The large man didn’t seem in a mood for company.
“Excuse me, Mr. Church?” The man asked with genuine anxiety. Church peered up with a cocked brow from behind a curtain of long hair.
“Who’s askin’?” Church asked through naturally-gritted teeth.
“Um, my name is John, Mr. Church. John Backus, I’m a writer/reporter for the Las Vegas Sun.”
“They still runnin’ that thing right now?”
“Yeah, well, um, sort of. A few of us figure, while we’re obviously stuck here, no use in denying the fact that we are surrounded by news and stories.”
Church nods in appreciation of that statement.
“Ain’t that the truth. Have a seat, Backus. Tell me a story.” He says sarcastically. “Can I get you a drink?” Church waved a finger towards one of the servers, Sera.
“You guys have Faygo?”
Sera now stood beside the table.
“Sera, do we have...the fuck did you just ask me for?” Church asked, failing to repeat the request. John looks down for a moment, thinking of something more appropriate to ask for. Church denies him further thought.
“Bring this man a Shock Top.” She nods with a cute smile, the brunette walking towards the bar to retrieve.
“Mr. Church, I was hoping you would tell me a story. We’re starting to do extensive coverage on the Black Pyramid Wrestling organization and the million dollar tournament ongoing.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, while also doing some investigative reporting on its connection with the Las Vegas lockdown as a whole.”
“Look, Mr. Backus. If you’re looking for some grand story about BPW, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”
“Well, I also want to tell your story, Mr. Church. I mean, not only are you undefeated in your tournament, which is very impressive, but you’ve also seemed to keep the Aria Casino afloat somehow amidst all of this chaos.”
“You ain’t walked much further in, have ya?” Church asks after letting a ‘pfft’ of air out as laughter.
“Would you be willing to tell us what happened with Aria management and why you’re still here ‘at work’ during the lockdown?” As John Backus asks his question, he’s already pulling out an old school black, flipping notebook. Church inhales from his cigarette, chasing the nicotine with a small sip of his whiskey, but he leans both elbows on the table in front of him.
“There was a window of time there, as you well know, where we knew the cage was bein’ dropped down on us rats, but steel hadn’t hit concrete yet. My ‘superiors’ here at Aria? They were on their private jets faster than a fuckin’ crap shoot. See ya, adios, if and when the casino burns, we’ll collect the insurance money and take it from there.”
John Backus was writing furiously, very surprised at getting a very open answer from Church.
“Alot of business owners certainly did that. But yet, I step into the Aria and I see an organized establishment. Have you had alot of trouble with attempted robberies, wildly drunk patrons or anything of that sort?”
“Not on my watch.” Church’s answer was blunt, sharp like the razor of truth.
“So I have it on record that you actually have 2 kids that-”
“Next question,” Church cuts John off, a chord struck to change Church’s vibe slightly.
“I, uh, yeah, sure, ofcourse. Would you be willing to tell us about your wife?”
“Divorced, next question.” If blunt could be blunter, it was. Silence came from John as he scratched out a couple things writing on his piece of paper.
“Sorry, Mr. Church, I, uh...So, you have a fight this week in your pursuit of the Million Dollar grand prize against a man named Jason Wilds. Apparently nicknamed the “King of South Las Vegas Boulevard.” John states as he points over his shoulder towards the Strip outside. Church slowly nods. “Anything you’d like to say going into another fight?”
“Let me tell you something, Mr. Backus.” Church adjusts in his seat, leaning back as he pulls forward on his leather jacket. “When someone decides that they're gonna try and cheat the system and find a tactical advantage at the casino...they play with fire. A man makes a conscious decision to steal, cheat, what have you. Premeditated.”
Church pauses, taking a quick puff off of his cigarette before snuffing it out into the glass ashtray.
“When he makes that conscious decision, he’s not just deciding to try and help himself. No. He’s deciding to come onto someone else’s territory and claim an unoffered piece of it for himself. He’s decided that he is going to take what isn’t his. In my line of work? That someone is stealing the money from my house. Making my job harder, as it is, ofcourse, my job to protect the integrity of the game and the sanctity of my sanctuary, you follow?”
Backus continues writing.
“You don’t get to disrespect me, my place of work, my place of business and you sure shit don’t get to take anything from me. This guy Jason Wilds? He’s fixin’ to get his head kicked clean-the-fuck off. He can claim ‘King’ to any street he wants, but in here? He sure as hell ain’t king. And in a ring with me? No. I am the king of my domain, no matter where I go, no matter what I do. Because I’ll fight for what’s behind me like a goddamn starvin' dog.”
Another sip of whiskey, as John has slowed with his pencil, reaching forward and taking a sip from the Shock Top that had snuck its way onto the table. Church leans forward, closer than before, and drops his deep voice down to a whisper.
“That million dollars? That’s mine. It’s already claimed, there’s just 15 other people that don’t know it yet. I haven’t lost yet, I won’t lose this week and lose the week after that. The only time you will see me lose is at that damn blackjack table over there when I get a little cocky sittin’ at 16. Jason Wilds is gonna know what it truly feels like to bust, and his surprise dream run at my million dollars is gonna go up in smoke like a Boulevard corner magician. There ain't no more good days for Jason Wilds. You can print that, Johnny.”
Silence follows between the two men, the sounds of gameplay creating a dim buzz.
“Well, Mr. Church, thank you so much for speaking with me, I really appreciate it. And thank you for the beer, I rea-”
“You’re paying for that,” Church says, as he clenches a fist slowly in the most playground-driven intimidation tactic. He knew it would work on the Las Vegas Sun rep.
“Thank you, sir, I’d love to interview you again, I get the sense that there is alot of story here to tell with you, Mr. Church.”
“No.” Church turns his body a bit as the interviewer takes the hint awkwardly. He slowly gets up from his chair.
He walks over to the bar and pays for the Shock Top.