Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
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person coming his way.
Anyway, the farther I walk, the more it seems like the Strip doesn’t know what it wants to be. For example, there’s a store that has fifty-foot M&M’s characters looming above the sidewalk. They’re like Godzilla M&M’s ready to jump down and crush everyone on the sidewalk.
But still.
They’re M&M’s.
Sweet, innocent, yummy candy.
There are also costumed characters like SpongeBob and Patrick who wave at people going by. And people with jewelry carts or in little tiki huts selling sunglasses. And all the lights everywhere are
amazing
and make you feel like you’re in some fantasy kingdom.
But in between the M&M’s and SpongeBobs and sunglasses are rowdy bars and Pamphlet People and bums with signs that say WHY LIE? I NEED A BEER . Plus wasted musicians with open instrument cases begging for change. And delivery trucks rolling by with skanky pictures of women painted on them. Stuff that makes you remember, Oh yeah, I’m in Sin City. Still. It may be getting close to midnight in SinCity, but there are so many people and so many lights that the seedy things aren’t making me
scared
, just cautious.
Now, the lady I’d asked for directions had told me that the giant lit-up
O
down the Strip was the Bellagio, and since I can now see that, plus a big sign for Caesars Palace, I’m definitely going the right way. But what’s weird is that I keep walking and walking and walking … and walking and walking and walking … but I don’t seem to be getting any closer to the big
O
or the Caesars Palace sign. It’s like I’m walking on a giant cement treadmill going past the same Pamphlet People over and over, getting nowhere.
Which I guess is because everything is so oversized that even though it looks like it’s right
there
, it’s not. And when someone tells you that something’s on the next block, what that really means is that it’s a mile away, because the blocks go on
forever
.
Anyway, I finally make it to a fake Eiffel Tower and a big lit-up hot air balloon that has PARIS written in the middle of it, so I know I’m getting close. And then, as the sidewalk sort of swoops to the right, I spot Elvis.
My heart does a little Wa-hoo! But then I see that there are actually three Elvises.
Whoa, wait—and a Mini-Elvis.
Mini-Elvis is definitely not a kid, but he is … little. I stand off to the side and watch for a while as people go up and have their picture taken with an Elvis, then slip him some money and continue on down the Strip. The Elvises are all wearing some variation on the same white-and-gold Elvis costume, with bell-bottom pants and a wide gold belt, and they’ve all got the black Elvis hair andmuttonchops and sunglasses. The Mini-Elvis isn’t getting any takers, and the other three seem to be annoyed that he’s there and keep their distance from him. But I guess no one owns the corner, because Mini-E stays in the game, calling out, “Come on, baby! Let me be your teddy bear!” to women as they walk by.
Anyway, at first I’m not sure which one of the Elvises is Pete. I know it’s not Mini-Elvis, and I know it’s not the luxury-sized Elvis, but either of the other two could be him.
Or neither could be.
So I just stand there watching, until finally one of the midsized Elvises does a double take at me, then tosses me a grin and a wink. “Hey, little mama!”
I nod at him, but I’m still not a hundred percent sure it’s Pete until he comes across the walkway and says, “You’re not here alone, are you?”
Now, what’s sort of weird for me about all this is that when Pete worked nights at Maynard’s Market, he was always Elvis. Everything he said was an Elvis phrase or song title. Half the time I couldn’t figure out the meaning of what he was saying, because pretty much the only thing I know about Elvis Presley is from Pete working the counter at Maynard’s.
Anyway, him talking to me now in his regular voice is not something I’m used to. And I’m
Anyway, the farther I walk, the more it seems like the Strip doesn’t know what it wants to be. For example, there’s a store that has fifty-foot M&M’s characters looming above the sidewalk. They’re like Godzilla M&M’s ready to jump down and crush everyone on the sidewalk.
But still.
They’re M&M’s.
Sweet, innocent, yummy candy.
There are also costumed characters like SpongeBob and Patrick who wave at people going by. And people with jewelry carts or in little tiki huts selling sunglasses. And all the lights everywhere are
amazing
and make you feel like you’re in some fantasy kingdom.
But in between the M&M’s and SpongeBobs and sunglasses are rowdy bars and Pamphlet People and bums with signs that say WHY LIE? I NEED A BEER . Plus wasted musicians with open instrument cases begging for change. And delivery trucks rolling by with skanky pictures of women painted on them. Stuff that makes you remember, Oh yeah, I’m in Sin City. Still. It may be getting close to midnight in SinCity, but there are so many people and so many lights that the seedy things aren’t making me
scared
, just cautious.
Now, the lady I’d asked for directions had told me that the giant lit-up
O
down the Strip was the Bellagio, and since I can now see that, plus a big sign for Caesars Palace, I’m definitely going the right way. But what’s weird is that I keep walking and walking and walking … and walking and walking and walking … but I don’t seem to be getting any closer to the big
O
or the Caesars Palace sign. It’s like I’m walking on a giant cement treadmill going past the same Pamphlet People over and over, getting nowhere.
Which I guess is because everything is so oversized that even though it looks like it’s right
there
, it’s not. And when someone tells you that something’s on the next block, what that really means is that it’s a mile away, because the blocks go on
forever
.
Anyway, I finally make it to a fake Eiffel Tower and a big lit-up hot air balloon that has PARIS written in the middle of it, so I know I’m getting close. And then, as the sidewalk sort of swoops to the right, I spot Elvis.
My heart does a little Wa-hoo! But then I see that there are actually three Elvises.
Whoa, wait—and a Mini-Elvis.
Mini-Elvis is definitely not a kid, but he is … little. I stand off to the side and watch for a while as people go up and have their picture taken with an Elvis, then slip him some money and continue on down the Strip. The Elvises are all wearing some variation on the same white-and-gold Elvis costume, with bell-bottom pants and a wide gold belt, and they’ve all got the black Elvis hair andmuttonchops and sunglasses. The Mini-Elvis isn’t getting any takers, and the other three seem to be annoyed that he’s there and keep their distance from him. But I guess no one owns the corner, because Mini-E stays in the game, calling out, “Come on, baby! Let me be your teddy bear!” to women as they walk by.
Anyway, at first I’m not sure which one of the Elvises is Pete. I know it’s not Mini-Elvis, and I know it’s not the luxury-sized Elvis, but either of the other two could be him.
Or neither could be.
So I just stand there watching, until finally one of the midsized Elvises does a double take at me, then tosses me a grin and a wink. “Hey, little mama!”
I nod at him, but I’m still not a hundred percent sure it’s Pete until he comes across the walkway and says, “You’re not here alone, are you?”
Now, what’s sort of weird for me about all this is that when Pete worked nights at Maynard’s Market, he was always Elvis. Everything he said was an Elvis phrase or song title. Half the time I couldn’t figure out the meaning of what he was saying, because pretty much the only thing I know about Elvis Presley is from Pete working the counter at Maynard’s.
Anyway, him talking to me now in his regular voice is not something I’m used to. And I’m
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