Number Nine: Chapter 6

ORPHEUS


FADE IN:

EXT. SUBURBAN LAS VEGAS – ARIEL VIEW – DAY

Ruby’s baby blue Rambler convertible heading out of town, Ruby driving and Jake in the passenger seat.

The Beatles’ MARTHA, MY DEAR (White Album) plays in the foreground.

Hold your head up you silly girl look what you’ve done
When you find yourself in the thick of it
Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you…

EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY – DAY

Abandoned vehicles alongside the road. Close up of license plate “7FXY721” being removed. Close up of license on Baby Blue. Zoom out as Jake and Ruby kick up dust heading back to town.

EXT. LAS VEGAS – DAY

Close up of ATM cash withdrawal.

EXT. LAS VEGAS – ARIEL VIEW – DAY

Ruby drives.

EXT. CHOP SHOP OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN – DAY

Ruby exchanges cash with tattoo man.

EXT. CHOP SHOP – DAY

Ruby, Jake and tattoo man play poker around a spool for chump change.

EXT. CHOP SHOP – SUNSET

Ruby’s Rambler freshly painted ruby red. CLOSE UP of a tear rolling down Ruby’s face.

INT. CASINO – NIGHT

Slow pan reveals Ruby at a poker table with a good stack of chips, Jake at the bar with a beer, and a couple of goons in cheap suits. They are MINNIE and SLIM, employees of Guido Lazerri.

When you find yourself in the thick of it
Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you…



Ten years ago, a man named Giovanni Minolla, AKA Minnie, as much in reference to the legendary pool player, Minnesota Fats, as to his family surname, was a street vender selling sausages on the streets of Little Italy in Chicago.

Owing to a family recipe, Minnie’s sausages were reputed to be the best in a city that prided itself on old style cuisine. It was his misfortune to be stationed at a street corner just across from Guido’s Pizzeria.

As word spread, Minnie’s sausages began to cut deeply into the pizzeria’s business. Customers took to the habit of buying a sausage on the street and entering the pizzeria for its air conditioning and a cold brew.

The owner of the pizzeria was Guido Lazerri, a made man in a powerful crime syndicate. When Lazerri demanded an explanation for the decline in revenue, his manager, a beer bellied, self-promoting buffoon of a man, stammered and stuttered, afraid to inform the boss that the Lazerri recipe was second rate to that of a street vender. Guido had a reputation for volatility and not without reason.

A short, wiry busboy-dishwasher and general gopher, who went by the name of “Slim” for obvious reasons, whom everyone thought was mentally deficient because of his quiet nature and a spasmodic laugh that seemed to erupt without reason, stepped forward and told the truth.

Everyone in the restaurant froze in a slack-jawed, silent stare until a grim chuckle emerged from Guido’s throat. He fired his manager on the spot and instructed Slim to invite Minnie in for a glass of Chianti and a couple of sausages.

Minnie became the new manager of Guido’s Pizzeria and Slim became his assistant. As Guido moved up the ranks in the organization, he brought Minnie and Slim with him.

They were profoundly grateful. In a business where loyalty is as rare as it is valued, loyalty was their primary asset. Whatever their shortcomings (and they had more than their share, one of which was not being able to recognize them), they could be counted on. They would give up their lives for Guido Lazerri. They would stare down the eyes of a dragon for the honor of their boss. They were groomed from the cradle the perfect lackeys and they were proud of it.

When Guido made the move west to take over a floundering gambling operation in Vegas, Minnie and Slim went with him.

Their current assignment was to track down a murderous, double-crossing bitch by the name of Ruby Daulton and they were hot on her trail. It was not a bad place to be.


Sitting on a barstool, sipping a beer, Jake was a little bored when he heard a sound, a low-pitched humming, that summoned his attention. He looked around at the symphony of flashing lights, clanging and jingling, and tired faces.

Ruby was doing well. She sat down at the poker table less than an hour ago and already she had a sizable stack of multicolored chips, whose meaning escaped him. She was in her element, a radiant jewel in a sea of common stone. He realized that the world would always be divided between life before Ruby and after Ruby. He would have been content to watch her play, to observe her inner joy, for as long as the moment endured but the humming entered his brain and beckoned like the siren song of ancient lore.

He looked around until he zeroed in on a poker machine across the room that seemed to emit an aura in red neon. He rose from the barstool and let the force of destiny pull him in. It was once in a lifetime and he savored the moment, like a mad scientist on the precipice of a universe-altering discovery.

Standing before a red neon machine, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a single silver dollar – the kind you get only at a Vegas casino. He plugged it in, punched the deal button and watched the adventure unfold in cinematic slow motion: Jack of Hearts, King of Hearts, Ace of Hearts, Ten of Hearts, Queen of Hearts.

A ruby red sea of hearts, the colors that turn seasoned gamblers green with envy and make believers of the most devout cynics. It was the ultimate high, an affirmation of all that was good and true, the homecoming of Ulysses, and proof of a divine being.

He smiled and stood in awe at the wonders of random chance. He believed neither in chance nor in the possibility of divine intervention and so his universe was torn asunder. Gravity was deconstructed and the earth beneath his feet became a sea of constant motion. He was no longer Jake Jones. He was above and beyond the man in his moccasins. He was someone else watching Jake Jones from a distance.

He was a little surprised that the machine did not spew a fountain of coins at his feet. Instead, a flashing red light and an alarm alerted all that a miracle had occurred on the casino floor. Another lucky winner. Another confirmation of the existence of god. Elvis lives and Jim Morrison would have had it no other way. Here in the same casino where Tupac Shakur was shot down like a common thug, prayers were answered and dreams really did come true.

He felt a twinge of regret that Ruby was not there to share the moment. This was her turf, her kind of glory, and the dream that centered her existence. He looked in the direction of Ruby’s poker table but his view was blocked, a crowd was pushing in on him, and a casino doll had just arrived speaking too rapidly for comprehension.

She counted out five big ones and chump change as a collective groan emerged from the onlookers. Jake smiled. It did not occur to him that the beauty of the experience could be mediated by the size of the wager. To him it was like a Hopper painting, a good wine, a ball player on a torrid hitting streak or the red rock towers of Monument Valley, but to the dispersing crowd it was a betrayal of the gambling gods, a cruel joke, and a testament to the folly of man.

He accepted their condolences and caught a glimpse of Ruby being hustled off the casino floor by a couple of greasy suits. She looked back and he saw panic etched on her tear-streaked face. Fate took its turn and something was horribly wrong.


Ruby was a good poker player in that she recognized the players and the marks at a glance. A mark could win a hand or two but only the players won in the long haul. It was rare to find a table without at least one player but two could easily share the winnings with a handful of marks.

Ruby was nobody’s fool. She knew that the bogus credit card she got from Sister Woman would not be good for long. She needed hard currency and what better way to get it than at the Orpheus – a casino-hotel with connections to the mobster who placed her in jeopardy.

Having played less than an hour, she had collected over five grand in chips and was looking for a graceful withdrawal. She glanced over to the bar and saw a stranger where Jake should have been. She looked around and her heart stopped, the earth tilted, and the force of gravity pulled her down. The familiar face of a grotesque fat man was staring at her with a crooked smile. An alarm and flashing lights signaled another lucky winner over at the poker machines as Ruby exchanged her chips for larger denominations, left the dealer a generous tip, and calmly rose from the table. If she could only make it to where the mindless swarm was gathering to witness the thrill of victory, maybe she could lose him.

It might have worked but the fat man’s equally disgusting weasel of a partner was immediately at her side, grabbing her waist, pressing a gun to her side and guiding her to where the fat man waited.

“Sweet Ruby!” said the fat man.

“Hiya, boys,” replied Ruby, not bothering to look them in the eyes.

It was not her first encounter with the Minnie and Slim act. She knew them from her drug running days, transferring contraband from LA and San Diego to party town Vegas. There was no point in starting up a conversation. The boys did what they were told. If they had orders to kill her, she was dead. If they had orders to turn her in, she was busted. If the boss wanted a word with her, she was headed up to the penthouse suite. They were moving toward the elevators in the hotel lobby so it looked like a personal interview with the big man.

She looked back once and caught a fleeting glimpse of a Royal Flush in Hearts. She wondered if it was the last hand she would ever see.