The Kings of Vegas

Part 23

It was my 25th birthday and Casey and I decided to do the one thing that had eluded all of our previous birthdays: a Vegas trip. Casey was even nice enough to drive and spring for the hotel. Behar and Shitty lived in Vegas at the time so we planned to hang out with them. Our old friend Pete was even temporarily staying with them so there would be five of the old crew hitting the town together. To this day I believe I’ve been to Vegas with Casey more times than with anybody else I know. So we know the drill. The first night is usually spent drinking until the sun comes up and then we lick our wounds during the day and plan to do it again the next night. The next night almost inevitably is a disappointment due to a lack of funds and functioning brain cells. This time we decided to add a new element to our adventure. We bought two grams of coke. The plan was to teach Vegas a lesson that it would never forget. Ah, how plans fail.
We arrived at our Hotel, Harrah’s, in the early evening and our three friends met us there. We got a couple drinks in the bar and caught up then bought a bottle of rum in the gift shop and went up to the hotel room to get loaded before we really hit the town. Once in the room, Casey started chopping up the drugs. At first we were trying to keep it a secret from Pete because he had had a previous addiction and we were not so much concerned about ruining his progress but rather that he’d totally relapse and snort us right out of a good time. But Pete found out rather quickly and assured us he didn’t want any. So we finished the vile white powder and the bottle of rum and left our room to seek out the American Dream. I made an offhand comment about finding a hooker at some point.
Over the next several hours we walked around the strip, stopping at every bar we came to and got a drink. We sat at blackjack tables for a while and enjoyed the complimentary beverages. For anybody without any coke experience (good for you) there is something you should know. While experiencing this specific high, alcohol goes down like water, seemingly without having any effect on you. You don’t have any idea you’re at all intoxicated, and then it all slams on you at once. You’re suddenly really fucked up. This is where we found ourselves. While wandering the strip aimlessly, Pete randomly passed me his cell phone.
“Here are those ladies you wanted.”
I took the phone, a little confused and unable to comprehend what was happening.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby. I understand you want a girl to come up to your room.” Her voice was very kind.
“I sure do.”
“Okay, would you like one or two?”
“I think two sounds better than one, don’t you?”
“That sounds great. They’ll be there in 45 minutes.”
“I can’t wait.” I hung up the phone and passed it back to Pete. I was vaguely aware that I had just agreed to have two prostitutes come up to my hotel room, where I would somehow have to pay them. I was also vaguely aware, however, that our hotel room was more than 45 minutes away. I figured it would all just work itself out. All the same I decided I needed more coke if I was going to possibly have to face a couple ladies of the night. Walking down the strip towards Harrah’s we came across a large black man who offered us some weed.
“We don’t need any of that. You got any coke?” I asked.
“You know it, son. How much you want?” He was nervously looking all around.
“Just a gram should do. Forty right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He held out his hand and I handed him forty dollars. He handed me back a clump wrapped in cellophane. He quickly left and we, just as quickly, walked away in the other direction. I held the drugs in my hand, and the one hundred degree heat caused me to sweat pretty profusely. Soon my hand was coated in a pasty, coke powder. I licked my hand to catch a quick numbing sensation.

A quick side note about Casey (this will be important in a second, I promise). Casey is among my oldest friends in the world, and despite hanging out with me and other cretins and burnouts his whole life, he has managed to maintain a very clean image. Even to me, who has seen Casey drunker than shit, doing all kinds of drugs and participating in degenerate activities, like fucking his old lady in between a couple dumpsters in an alley behind a bar, this stuff never seems to touch him. He’s always seemed above it.

Casey grabbed my hand, saw the powder encrusted upon it, and slowly and deliberately licked the palm of my hand. Finally Casey had come down to our level, if only briefly. For me it was a magic moment, he probably wishes it had never happened. We continued on down the strip to our hotel, praying to God or somebody that we wouldn’t have to face a couple of money demanding hookers when we got there.

To be continued…