Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
Ads: Link
connections to wedding chapels.”
“Wedding chapels?”
“Yeah. The person I’m looking for is getting married this weekend.”
“Hang on,” he says, and then he’s gone for, like, twominutes before he says, “Thank you … thank you very much,” to someone and gets back on the phone. “Sorry,” he says in his regular voice. “Photo op.” Then he goes, “Hang on,” again, and two minutes later he’s finally back, saying, “Look, I’m workin’, and Elvis with a cell phone is just
tacky
. You think maybe you can come down here?”
“Uh … where are you?”
“Across the street from the Bellagio.”
“What’s the Bellagio?”
“A resort on the Strip. Near Caesars Palace?”
“How far is it from the MGM Grand?”
“It’s not bad. I’m just past Paris Las Vegas.” I hear someone call, “Hey, Elvis!” and then he says, “I gotta go,” and hangs up.
So I scribble a note that says,
I’ll be back soon
, then I grab my backpack and skateboard and Marissa’s room key and jet out of there.
NINE
I find myself wandering through the casino as I try to get out of the hotel and onto the Strip, and let me tell you, it feels pretty dicey. I mean, I’ve got a backpack and a skateboard and I’m wearing ragged jeans and trashed high-tops, and there’s no way anyone’s going to mistake me for an adult. Plus it’s not like there are other teenagers in the casino. Everyone else is way older, and even the ones who
aren’t
dressed up are dressed way better than I am.
But there I am, walking between banks of slot machines, past big green gambling tables with dealers and cocktail waitresses and people just hanging around, and nobody says, Hey! What’s that kid doing in here?
It’s like I’m invisible.
Which I guess is a good thing, but still. Something about it makes me feel … strange. Like I could get into serious trouble and no one would care.
Or know.
Or even
notice
.
Anyway, I don’t actually know where I’m going and I’m afraid to ask. So the whole time I’m walking, I’mnervous, but in a sort of conflicted way. Part of me’s afraid that someone’s going to kidnap me and no one will care, and part of me’s afraid that a casino guard will grab me and lock me up until they track down some adult who’s willing to claim me.
Good luck there.
Anyway, with my eyes darting around for kidnappers and casino guards, it takes me a while to notice that there are signs with arrows hanging from the ceiling that tell you which way to go for what. And when I spot one that says Las Vegas Blvd. thataway, I go thataway until I find the next sign and the next, and finally I see big glass doors that lead outside.
So just getting out of the MGM is like escaping a little city. And then after asking somebody which direction the Bellagio is, I’m still not able to get
moving
, because I’m stuck in a herd of humans. Seriously, it’s like a cattle drive on the sidewalk. It’s a
wide
sidewalk, too, but there’s no way I can ride my skateboard. Besides all the pedestrians moseying along, the flow’s being plugged up by people handing out brochures or hawking helicopter rides over Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon.
Now, the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon people just holler at you, trying to get you to sign up for a ride. It’s the people handing out pamphlets that are like annoying gnats, buzzing around everywhere. They all do this same slapping thing with their little pamphlets. Slap-slap-slap, they flick their stack against their hand, then step in your way and shove one at you.
The first time one got forced on me and I saw that it had pictures of mostly naked women, I dropped it like a nuked potato.
The next time, I shoved it back and snapped, “I’m thirteen, you idiot! You think I’m going to call your stupid Hot Women hotline?”
He either didn’t hear me through his earbuds or didn’t speak English, because he just went back to slap-slap-slapping his stack and turned to the next
“Wedding chapels?”
“Yeah. The person I’m looking for is getting married this weekend.”
“Hang on,” he says, and then he’s gone for, like, twominutes before he says, “Thank you … thank you very much,” to someone and gets back on the phone. “Sorry,” he says in his regular voice. “Photo op.” Then he goes, “Hang on,” again, and two minutes later he’s finally back, saying, “Look, I’m workin’, and Elvis with a cell phone is just
tacky
. You think maybe you can come down here?”
“Uh … where are you?”
“Across the street from the Bellagio.”
“What’s the Bellagio?”
“A resort on the Strip. Near Caesars Palace?”
“How far is it from the MGM Grand?”
“It’s not bad. I’m just past Paris Las Vegas.” I hear someone call, “Hey, Elvis!” and then he says, “I gotta go,” and hangs up.
So I scribble a note that says,
I’ll be back soon
, then I grab my backpack and skateboard and Marissa’s room key and jet out of there.
NINE
I find myself wandering through the casino as I try to get out of the hotel and onto the Strip, and let me tell you, it feels pretty dicey. I mean, I’ve got a backpack and a skateboard and I’m wearing ragged jeans and trashed high-tops, and there’s no way anyone’s going to mistake me for an adult. Plus it’s not like there are other teenagers in the casino. Everyone else is way older, and even the ones who
aren’t
dressed up are dressed way better than I am.
But there I am, walking between banks of slot machines, past big green gambling tables with dealers and cocktail waitresses and people just hanging around, and nobody says, Hey! What’s that kid doing in here?
It’s like I’m invisible.
Which I guess is a good thing, but still. Something about it makes me feel … strange. Like I could get into serious trouble and no one would care.
Or know.
Or even
notice
.
Anyway, I don’t actually know where I’m going and I’m afraid to ask. So the whole time I’m walking, I’mnervous, but in a sort of conflicted way. Part of me’s afraid that someone’s going to kidnap me and no one will care, and part of me’s afraid that a casino guard will grab me and lock me up until they track down some adult who’s willing to claim me.
Good luck there.
Anyway, with my eyes darting around for kidnappers and casino guards, it takes me a while to notice that there are signs with arrows hanging from the ceiling that tell you which way to go for what. And when I spot one that says Las Vegas Blvd. thataway, I go thataway until I find the next sign and the next, and finally I see big glass doors that lead outside.
So just getting out of the MGM is like escaping a little city. And then after asking somebody which direction the Bellagio is, I’m still not able to get
moving
, because I’m stuck in a herd of humans. Seriously, it’s like a cattle drive on the sidewalk. It’s a
wide
sidewalk, too, but there’s no way I can ride my skateboard. Besides all the pedestrians moseying along, the flow’s being plugged up by people handing out brochures or hawking helicopter rides over Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon.
Now, the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon people just holler at you, trying to get you to sign up for a ride. It’s the people handing out pamphlets that are like annoying gnats, buzzing around everywhere. They all do this same slapping thing with their little pamphlets. Slap-slap-slap, they flick their stack against their hand, then step in your way and shove one at you.
The first time one got forced on me and I saw that it had pictures of mostly naked women, I dropped it like a nuked potato.
The next time, I shoved it back and snapped, “I’m thirteen, you idiot! You think I’m going to call your stupid Hot Women hotline?”
He either didn’t hear me through his earbuds or didn’t speak English, because he just went back to slap-slap-slapping his stack and turned to the next
Similar Books
