Waltzing Matilda

Another day, another dollar. The winnings went to the room rental for the next week, a new deck of Bicycle cards, and another bottle of Turkey. I’d already drank it down a quarter, and my carton of smokes was on the last couple packs. But I wasn’t going outside, unless it was to work a shift for some scratch or to light one off the flames of this poor bastard town. Maybe it was the reckoning – maybe Vegas had to bleed and burn for our sins. Maybe we all had to bleed and burn with it.

Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death – amen.

Dukes wasn’t done with Vegas; I’d received a call in the morning for another gig. I’d had my fill of excitement in this town – had my fill of excitement, period – but I promised to be there. Least I could do these days was be a man of my word. Vegas was a one-show commitment, but even if this was all she wrote, what the hell else did I have to do? I followed the beacon here for a reason, didn’t it? I turned out the chance for a swift exit, didn’t I?

So what else was there to do?

The blade was sitting on the coffee table. I’d wiped it clean after last night, not that I expected Vegas’s finest to be kicking down the door any time soon. Naw, they had much bigger problems out there. I just didn’t want to look at it in that state anymore – I wanted it clean and shining like her eyes when she gave it to me. I wanted to be able to draw it, look at the right angle, and catch a reflection of the Weight. I picked it up, and I was once again surprised by the lightness and elegance of it. Graceful and deadly – ain’t that fitting.

I strapped it to my hip and stepped out of the motel room to look out at the skyline under the desert moon. I wondered where she was right now – did she make it through the perimeter and to some salvation, or was she wandering around aimless and lost in the world? And then I wondered where she was and how her life was going. Did she turn on the evening news for the latest story on poor Vegas and see a familiar face staring across the pit from another lost soul to have that last tango? And before she averted her eyes and turned off the TV, did she catch a glimpse of the Weight?

I mourn the youth like this kid, Jason. You always think you’re so invincible when you’re young, and then reality creeps up like a wolf to bring you down by the throat and drag you off into the woods to die. But maybe he’d prove me wrong – maybe he’d put me down – or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe I’d live to fight another day, put another notch in my belt, and walk on to the next place, looking for the next shot at serenity. Either way we’d be spilling some blood in that ring if that’s what Duke wanted. And I could maybe feel a little lighter for a few minutes.

I wonder if she’d be there wherever the next place was. When I closed my eyes, I could see those eyes of hers, so big and sad as she tilted the glass to her lips and gave a shudder. Maybe next time she wouldn’t have to follow – maybe I’d take her hand and we’d walk back together to whatever roach motel I’d booked and we finished what we started. Whatever that outcome would look like. Maybe she’s ask again – maybe this time I’d take her up on the offer. Or maybe she’d slide those hands of hers down my neck and then down my leg to take back that blade of hers she left behind.

But either way I was doomed. Because I knew it would end that time just like the first. No, there’s be no salvation – not on my terms.

I flicked the cigarette over the rail and went back into the room to get my bag. After slinging it over my shoulder, I took another slug off the bottle and left back to the smoky streets of Las Vegas towards that beam of light shooting up into the sky from the top of a black pyramid in the distance. I’d leave Las Vegas the way I came in: alone.

And if the kid wasn’t up to the task? Still not put down.