Vegas With Dad's Best Friend

“Yeah, kinda,” I say, giving him an embarrassed smile. My Southern twang immediately comes through strong, no doubt giving away that I’m not from around here. “I was just looking for my hotel.”

“We can help you get there,” he says, glancing to my left and behind me. I turn my head a little and realize there are three of them, all wearing similar clothes, surrounding me. Somehow, I feel like I can trust them even less.

“Oh, um,” I say. “I just need directions, really. Thanks.”

“We can do that,” he says. He sidles close to me and holds out his hand. I see that he’s holding a bunch of what looks like homemade CDs with low-quality artwork printed for the cover. “For a price.”

“Oh, you’re selling music?” I ask, not wanting to be impolite. I really didn’t bring a lot of money with me – my food is included in the room bill, and I’m not much of a gambler. Even though I’m twenty-one now, I don’t really do a lot of things that other people my age might be interested in trying. I don’t drink, and I don’t do drugs, and I don’t want to get myself into any kind of trouble. I just came here to get away for a bit and see one of the most famous places in the world.

“It’s my debut album. You’ll love it,” he says. He pushes one into my hand, even though I’m trying to resist. “Just ten dollars for you, sister.”

“I don’t really want it,” I tell him, trying to push it back. “I’m sorry, it’s just I don’t…”

“You already took it,” he says, pointing down at my hand and refusing to allow me to push the CD back into his own. “You owe me ten dollars now.”

“What?” I try to give him the CD back, feeling like it’s burning my fingers. “No, I didn’t take it – you gave it to me. Really, I don’t want it.”

“Well, you’ll have to buy something else to make up for wasting his time, then,” one of the others says. I try to step away from them, but we’re in an awkward spot. People are flowing by on the sidewalk behind them, but the only way that they haven’t blocked off is down an alleyway at my back. It’s a dead end. It doesn’t look like an escape.

What am I going to do?

“I don’t want anything, really,” I say, trying to plead with them.

“How about something to help you loosen up?” one of them says. Quick as a flash, he’s produced a small bag of something – something green and moss-like.

Oh.

“I don’t do drugs,” I tell him. “I mean it – really. I… I don’t even drink or smoke cigarettes.”

“Pills, then?” one of them says. The baggie has disappeared, and in its place is another filled with white pills. I have no idea what they are.

“Please, I don’t want to get into trouble,” I say.

“Well, fine,” the first one says. “Just give me my money, and there’s no trouble. Come on.”

I’m too frightened to think. I don’t know if I should take my money out – what if they just take it all? Right now, my purse is secure on my shoulder, but if I bring it down to root through it…

“That’s enough.” A firm, strong voice, calls out from behind them, and even though I can’t see who said it, the men all turn. “Step away from the young lady and run along – before we have to get the police involved.”

Chapter Three

Jonas

I’m not going to just stand by and watch this happen.

“That’s enough,” I say, making all three of the youths turn and look at me. It’s almost comical, the way their heads swing. “Step away from the young lady and run along – before we have to get the police involved.”

“What are you going to do about it, grandpa?” one of them scoffs, making a rude gesture in my direction.

“Grandpa?” I repeat, with a raised eyebrow. “How about for starters, I show you that I’m not as old as you seem to think?”

It’s a hot day, as it always is in Vegas, so I’m wearing a light jacket which is easy to discard. I shrug it off my shoulders and lay it over the top of my briefcase in one hand, using the other to start folding up my shirt sleeves to the elbow.

It’s a studied and practiced move. Underneath the jacket, my shirt is tight enough to show the contours of my biceps and chest, which means they can see how large the muscles are in both places. As I roll up my sleeve, they can see how thick my forearms are, a small taste of what is to come.

The three of them are scrawny, drug addicts with no flesh on their bones. They glance between themselves and then back at me, assessing the risk.