Johnny Goes to Vegas
Before Johnny could react, Joey had thrown him into the backseat of a large black sedan-he thought it was a Crown Imperial-that was waiting right outside the back door of the club. Johnny recognized the driver, it was little Bernie Just. “Hey kid, aren’t you the weeknight photographer at the Stork Club? What are you doing here?” asked Johnny. “Relax Johnny,” Joey responded. “He’s one of us. Idlewild Airport, Bernie. And step on it.” Immediately, the car raced into the rainy black night.
“Why Idlewild Airport?” asked Johnny. “Because,” said Joey, “all the answers are in Vegas so that’s where you’re going.”
Several hours and many miles later, Johnny found himself standing in a suite at the Flamingo watching the sunrise over the Las Vegas desert. From his perch, he could see the El Rancho Vegas hotel, looking like a miniature version of what a resort should be standing next to the towering modern Flamingo. Johnny could see the line of people already forming for the grand buffet that made the El Rancho Vegas famous. Looking further out into the desert Johnny saw the construction sites of what was to be the Sahara and, further away still, the construction site of what was to be the Sands. He recognized the site where the Tropicana was to be built. Beyond, was only desert dust. A chill shook Johnny’s body as he lit a cigarette.
Suddenly, Johnny heard the door of the suite open. He knew it was Pauline as soon as she walked into the room. He didn’t need to see her to confirm her presence. The scent was her and the sound of the stilettos clicking on the floor was her. No one could make his heart race like her. Johnny took a long drag on his cigarette. At the sound of her “Hello” he spun quickly around and took a step towards her. But the sight of her raised hand made him stop before he took another step.
“Johnny, we need to talk. We’re all in a lot of danger. This didn’t go as planned. We couldn’t get to the others.”
“They haven’t been brought in?” Johnny asked. His shock at her words caused him to step back from her.
“No. We need your help.” She took a tentative step towards him and slowly leaned on the desk standing between them.
“How can you ask me to help you now?” He asked. “No one helped Earl.” He took a final drag on his cigarette and, with a swift motion that made her step back in surprise, put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk.
“Earl was unexpected. We weren't prepared. We did what we could.” She again stepped towards him as she spoke.
“It wasn’t enough.” He said as he turned away from her. “And what about the Needle? Is he . . . ?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does The Man know that you’ve brought me here?”
“Of course he does. Please, Johnny we need you.” she said as she closed the space between them. “You know what we want you to do. You have to. . .”
Before she finished her request he knew he would do whatever she asked. He couldn’t resist her then and he wouldn’t resist her now. Not now, not with so much at stake.

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“Earl!,” moaned Meadowbrook, as he crouched low over his brother’s broken body. He raised his countenance to the sky, crying out to his deity, but seeing only clouds of data hung low overhead, with the densest dripping heavily over Gotham City.
“Argh,” he cried, “who killed my Earl? Needle, it was you, and you will pay for that!”
“Wait!,” cried Peaches, determined to straighten the record. “Earl was driven crazy by technological overload and he shot himself,” she explained, comforting Meadowbrook as he collapsed to the deck. “It happens to those who are forced to run around at the beck and call of the netherworld all day. This technological overload particularly happens to those of us that work for GCs, who well into the night are diligently fishing for good fresh fish.”
“I know everyone in Gotham,” Peaches went on, “as I’ve visited almost every group, and I’ve helped everyone I can. “What goes around comes around,” she added, and now it’s time to call in my chits. I’ll get IT guys to speak wherever it’s needed, and that way there will be no more technological suicides.”
“Linked in, blogging, better websites, and Facebook--Argh!!!” cried the Meadowbrook crew, eager to rig the PR sails that would set their boat skimming to shore. Once there, they would quickly overrun the myriad Gotham professionals who were writing that blog.
But wait—The Needle had been conferencing with other crewmen while Meadowbrook ruminated. For Lola knew that to move things ahead, two heads are better than one. Needle’s boat lurched forward, but suddenly tilted wildly as it charged into the shoals of…
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Perhaps sailing might be more fun....
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