Scumbags with money
Whisky Pete's, Buffalo Bills, and The Primadonna. I dealt at all of them.
I usually took Interstate 15 out to State Line. State Line was 42 miles south of Vegas. I had two or three guys with me; they would give me five bucks for each round trip, which was cheaper than the bus. Plus, I would take them door to door.
We always stopped on the way, to have a drink. There were lots of places like the Nevada Landing in Jean, or the Gold Strike across the highway. We could buy beer at gas stations.
On the old road, there was a bar out by the Factory Outlet Mall -- a bar at the condo development there and convenience stores. The old road didn't go right through anymore. It petered out around Jean.
One day I drove out to State Line by myself. I had a swing shift at Buffalo Bills. I pulled into the Nevada Landing and strode up to the back bar. I was in a hurry, and besides that, to a speed freak, everything is moving in slow motion.
I get up there, and it's a woman bartender. She's on the phone gossiping with a friend. She glances at me and ignores me. This is bad for two reasons. One, I want a drink. Two, I tip up front, and she's disdaining money, which is a sin in Vegas. If money doesn't have power in Vegas, then you are in the wrong town. If you aren't habituated to moving for tips, then you are not with the program. You don't belong in that kind of environment.
My neck is swelling. Shortly, I'm yelling at her, "Hey! Come on! I want a drink! I've got to get to work!" She gets all huffy puffy, "You are going to work and having a drink first?!"
"I'm a dealer. I'm not doing a heart transplant."
She called security, and it was time to go. I passed the guy on the way out. He looked at me. He knew it was me. But he was pleased to see me kick myself out.
So the upshot was that I had to go across the freeway, underneath, to the Gold Strike to get a drink, which was fine. But I started to take the old road more often.
At one point I checked out the condos across from the Factory Outlet Mall. The one bedroom was $55,000, and the two bedrooms were $63,000. This was in '95 and was the closest accommodation you could get to State Line. They were decent, one story places.
I believe that Primm subsequently built housing out at State Line. It's called the town of Primm of course. He owns everything out there.
I didn't buy, because I was worried about losing my job, and with good reason. I'm predisposed to get fired from one job after another, all my life -- when I get bored things happen.
I was getting restless near the end there at Buffalo Bills. I would experiment. I found out that you can say almost anything on a dice table if you say it in an even, well-modulated, conversational tone of voice. "Them Kennedy's was all mobbed up," apropos of nothing. But so what?
I get on a game -- get on the stick. When I came around to third base, I've got about six players. Now a dice layout is not marked for player position. I know. I pay from base to stick. I take and pay from my closest player to the furthest player who is standing next to the stickman.
This protects the game. People can't press winners or pick up (pinch) losers. On my far corner, I've got a Hispanic guy, six feet tall and muscular, wearing a tank top and sporting a lot of black ink. On each elbow is a vacuous looking Hispanic bimbo -- pretty girls. Every time the dice pass, every time the front line wins, he's pounding the layout, "You gonna pay me?!"
I had just gotten on shift, and I was somewhat bemused. This guy keeps doing that. I mean I have to pay the people in order. I'm looking at this guy, "You gonna pay me?"
I've got my head down, "Scumbags with money." This guy, "What??? What did you say?!"
I pause. I'm looking at him. "I said it's bright, and it's sunny!" "I heard what you said!"
I'm smirking. A floorman comes over wanting to know if I'm all right. "I called that guy a scumbag with money." "They're all scumbags with money."
The Mexican gangster is glaring at me. "I'll meet you at the door." Me: "You won't even make it to the door."
Hey! The words just popped right out of my mouth! "You're a cocky little bastard."
I was glad I had the table between us. I get tapped off the game, and when I got back, he and his appendages were gone.
The thing about a dice game, if you move, my head moves. I'm like a motion detector. It's automatic. I watch hands, and I watch faces, because if people cheat and I don't catch them, it's on me. That's my job to protect the game.���j��