Psalm 141:9

“Nice to see even a fancy ass place like this can go to shit.”

A deep, booming voice came from the open doorway of the Aria Casino's meeting room. Church’s eyes raise from a lowered head, seeing an old acquaintance.

“Didn’t think you’d actually have it in you to leave the home sweet home of the Old Strip, Luther.”

The large man in the doorway scrunches his face as if the comment literally stung; Wearing a tight white wife beater, a thick gold necklace hanging around his neck, dark jeans that held crisp seams like they were just pulled off of the top shelf of an in-store Levi’s display. Luther’s arms, muscled and tattooed, rival the visual strength-assumption of his Church counterpart.



“That’s funny comin’ from the guy who cried out for people to come here to see him. What? You can’t take a fuckin’ walk yourself?” Luther asks harshly, Church now standing from his seat as the two men are locked at the eye.

Church slyly looks over to Marcos, who is uncomfortably getting out of his chair, unsure of what’s happening in the room.

“Marcos, this is Luther. Luther, Marcos. You both mind giving us a few minutes?” Church glances at Amanda as well, before returning his eyes across the room. Luther slowly looks over to Marcos as he stands aside to clear the doorway.

“That’s Luther King, brother. Church, you put some respect on that shit.”

Marcos nods respectively as he makes his way out of the room quickly, half-expecting the room behind him to come to violent blows any moment after. Amanda slowly makes her way towards the exit, giving Church a confident gaze.

“Nah, she stays.” Luther says. Amanda doesn’t seem so surprised. “Might need ourselves a mediator, big boy. You ain’t got the swing you once had, not in this Las Vegas.” As he speaks, Luther takes a seat at the far end of the table. Church nods at Amanda, and the pair sit down at the table as well; Church on the opposite far end from which he stood; Amanda in the neutral zone.

The two stare across yards.

“I ‘preciate you keepin’ the past where it belongs.”

“What? What past? You mean you stealin’ my job?”

“That’s some petty shit, brother, that was 6 years ago.”

“Uh huh, and I was well on my fuckin’ way to gettin’ that Head Of Security job but nah. Tough white boy from the MGM gets it and then fuckin’ targets my ass”

“You were dealing drugs out of the casino, motherfucker.”

“Never once interfered with my job. I never dealt inside the casino, bro, always outside. Never once let shit from my hustle hit that lobby carpet.”

Tensions are high, but Amanda seems to enjoy the hash-out from the middle of the table. Church slowly shakes his head.

“Listen, we gotta talk about what’s goin’ on with our city…”

Church tries to steer the topic of conversation back to his intention. It fails.

“You got me fuckin’ fired, dog. You think I consider this our city.”

“I told you to stop dealin’”

“Why couldn’t you just let me handle my shit. You know I had Luxor on lockdown, enforcer style. But nah...I got stuck workin’ security gigs on the Old Strip. Where I got locals pissin’ on the front of my buildings more than I’ve got anybody cheatin’ games or stealin’ shit.”

“You still got all your peeps with you over there? Your crew still whole?”

“‘Course. Ain’t nothin’ changed for me, I’m still runnin’ that strip like it’s my backyard. When shit’s already rough, no lockdown’s shakin’ anything up for me. And I ain’t doin’ no crazy shit like you and that wrestlin’ tournament. I’m just keepin’ it real, and keepin’ my people goin’.”

“Oh yeah? Shit’s goin’ great over there? I don’t believe you.”

A dismissive laugh slips between Luther’s lips.

“Da fuck do you know? You got me on your fuckin’...4k...fuckin’...futuristic camera rig?”

“Security and cops got this whole city on lockdown. You’re gonna tell me that your entire drug dealing, street-runnin’ crew’s gonna keep doin’ what they’ve been doin’ when there’s not one god damn escape route outta here when there’s heat?”

Silence follows for a bit, Luther’s iron-like facial expression softening a bit with it. He clicks his mouth as he begins to let his eyes roam a bit.

“Just listen to me, Luther. I’m IN on this shit, i’m tellin’ ya. Everything goin’ on around us...That wrestling tournament you mentioned? Is a big fuckin’ part of it, I know it.”

“You got proof? All I see is a bunch of white boys trying to figure out how to beat your ass for some money. Just a cock-measurin’ contest while all y’all bored.”

“It’s not. Jabberwock Security? The fuckin’ backbone of this lockdown, the majority of the ‘forces’ keepin’ us in place. Von Brandt? Heads up Jabberwock; also Head Of Security for BPW. Conrad Dukes is runnin’ the whole thing, and call it a hunch, but imma say it’s more than wrestling enthusiasm that’s his motive. Southwest? The Bastard Lands? Yeah, I’m fightin’ that crazy fuck that’s runnin’ that spot this week for BPW. Everything lockdown and all the shit that’s blowin’ up during it? All of it links back to Black Pyramid.”

Luther doesn’t look very engaged in listening to the words coming at him from across the table. Church sees through the act though, knowing he’s atleast got one listening ear from the man he had been hoping to see all week.

“Southwest Vegas? At the very beginning, woulda been our best shot at gettin’ out of here post lockdown.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t try that way first, didya?” Luther asks.

“Why do you say that?”

“Cause yo kids don’t live that way.”

Church doesn’t respond...much. His head does slightly nod, however, before carrying on.

“But Corey Bull planted the flag ASAP, lockin’ down that once-quiet area and turnin’ it into his own little dreamscape. The Bastard Lands. Calls himself the Bastard Warlord.”

“I bet that bitch hasn’t met a real O.G. bastard like me, homie.”

“He’s gonna be as big of a part of gettin’ outta here as anything...cause Bull is livin’ his fantasy right now. Control? Power? He’s feelin’ it and he’s lovin’ it. As long as this lockdown stays in place, he gets to keep his wet dreams a reality. This is a guy I’m gonna have to beatdown more than once.”

“What does any of this have to do with me, fool? I don’t give a shit about no Bastard Lands and I don’t give a shit about the fact that you want to go hit that road and see your fuckin’ kids. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with me.”

“You’re right. But if I’m right, even half-right... it will. I want you to know...despite our history? If we come together, we bring what peeps we got left together, we gear up to fight for whatever we gotta fight for...there’s no Bastard or Jabberfuck army that can stop us. Remember that.”

Luther is tapping a few of his fingers on the table in front of him, staring at Church inquisitively.

“Whatever, Church. Atleast offer me a fuckin’ cup of coffee next time.” Parting words, as the large man gets up out of his chair and makes his way out of the room as if a school bell rang.

Church looks over to Amanda, who is already looking back after enjoying the show.

“Whatcha think?” He asks through a strained whisper.

“I think he’s hanging on to what he had by the skin of his teeth, just like you are. And I think people like Corey Bull? Well, he’s not the dentist, let’s put it that way.”

Church grunts with approval as he gets up and walks to the far corner of the room, pouring a bit of whiskey from a decanter into a sparkling glass. He walks it over to the table, taking a sip before sliding it down the wood to a stop right in front of Amanda.

“He’s not in this for the money prize. Corey Bull is too busy playing war. The shit he used to act out with his G.I. Joe’s. Does that make him dangerous? It does, cause he’s lookin’ for casualties to be his show of success. But he ain’t ever had to scrap with someone like me. Problem is...when I beat his ass, does the little BastardLand DCI army come into Paradise next?”

Amanda slides the glass of whiskey back to Church after taking a sip.

“When you talk to Luther tomorrow, which I’m sure you will, you tell him...if he rallies his boys and has my back in this, I’ll give him a cut of my million when I win it.”