The Security Guard

The Security Guard

There is no town that makes a person feel more alone than Las Vegas. You can get a hooker but it is like going to Disneyland. The pulse races fastest in anticipation of getting there. Once you arrive, the rush is gone and the loneliness returns. I needed a connection, a human interaction; so that I could at least confirm to myself that I was still a member of the human race. Sometimes I wondered about that.
After having a few beers while playing the quarter slots, I swerved back through the maze of neon and plastic towards the haven of the bank of elevators. I hoped that they would dump my exhausted body close enough to my room as to enable me to crawl the rest of the way if so needed. Since the company I worked for was putting me up, they made the reservations for a non-smoking room. So, being a closet smoker and smoking more when I am away from home, I decided to have the last cigarette of the evening before retiring upstairs. Those of you that are smokers will know what I mean. The last smoke of the night provides you the time to contemplate all that went on during the day and begin theorizing about the state of tomorrow. Also, a cigarette is like your friend in such circumstances, and you are saying goodnight to them as much as you are telling yourself goodnight. It is like a ritual for all smokers. So I stood next to Bill at a small round table normally reserved for the patrons of the nearby cappuccino machine, closed at this late hour, gathered an ashtray (which wasn’t difficult, because there are ashtrays everywhere in casinos), and began to draw upon my cigarette.
Bill was a Security Guard at the resort, and he sat on a large stool behind a podium next to the corridor leading to the elevators. He appeared to be a king upon his throne. He was a tall white-haired gentleman, with a white moustache, and apparently his role was to check to make sure everyone heading upstairs had their room key. He was greeting everyone that walked by, casually asking to see the room key, and those passing by seemed more than willing to comply.
“You see all types of people here, don’t you?,” I asked him, hating to resort to a cliché to start a conversation with a stranger, but doing so nonetheless.
“Yep, sure do.”, he replied.
“What happens if someone doesn’t show you a room key?”, I wondered.
“Then I’d have to stop them”, he said. “Of course, I’d try to be very polite, but if they insisted on going up without having their key, I would have to stop them. Some folks have just lost their key, so I direct them to the registration desk for another key.”
I wondered whether or not this guy at his age would be able to stop anyone. He appeared to be in his late 50’s to early 60’s, was tall and filled out, with a slight bulge to his belly but otherwise looked like he was in good shape. I decided he probably would be able to stop most people from heading up on the elevator. Even if he could not, I had no doubt he had other resources at his disposal if needed or warranted.
“Sometimes the cocktail waitresses like to change after their shift and make a little extra money, which wouldn’t be good for the casino if you know what I mean, so I try to prevent that.”
“Really!”, I exclaimed. “There must be dozens of fine women who work here. You must have a great memory to remember what they all look like.”
“I’ve been here a coupla years,” he said. You know what to look for and you recognize the faces that have been here a while. The new girls aren’t the problem as much as the old girls. The new girls, unless they are coming from other casinos, haven’t learned any bad habits or tricks of the trade. The old girls break ‘em in pretty quick, but by that time, I’ve seen ‘em around enough so as I recognize ‘em.”
“Are you from the northern Midwest?”, I asked.
“Yep,” he replied.
“It sounds like you still have a bit of an accent. Where you from?” I asked casually.
“Minneapolis. Spent all my life there. Retired, 27 years on the force. That’s how I got the security gig here was because of my background.”
“So what made a retired cop from Minnesota come down to Las Vegas?”, I inquired.
“My wife had some health issues. Doc said that the best thing for her was to get her out of the humidity and take her someplace dry, so we came here.”
“Yep, got to take care of the family.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Uh huh. So we have lived here for about 5 years now and I got this part-time job to earn a little extra spending money.”
“I understand the humidity, I lived in Orlando for a couple of years, but it seems to me the heat here would be unbearable?”
“I don’t much care for the heat. In the summer, it is terribly hot and not worth going out in if you can help it. I’ve lived all my life with humidity, and every day when I wake up my eyes dry out, my lips crack, and my body is waiting for the humidity to creep back into it, but it never does.” He stared blankly.
“Why don’t you move back?”
“My wife has some health issues.” He nodded slowly, as if he were thinking about someplace else.
“May I see your room key please?” He asked, as a middle-eastern couple strolled past not hearing him.
“Excuse me sir, ma’am, may I see your room key please?”
They finally stopped but it was clear they did not understand what he was saying.
He pulled a key out of his pocked and showed it to them, and then pointed to the fellow’s pockets to indicate he wanted the fellow to do likewise. The man finally understood, pulled out the key, and Bill allowed him to move on.
“It must be difficult sometimes trying to communicate with those guests that don’t speak English?” I asked him.
“Sometimes, but as you saw, there are things we can do to get folks to understand what we are needing them to do.”
“You have any family?” I asked.
“Yep, two boys, both in Minneapolis. I had a business there before I left, a popcorn business. I let my oldest son have the business. He’s doing pretty good with it.”
“Popcorn business? Hmmm, have to sell a lot of popcorn to make any money, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but he’s doing pretty well with it.”
My cigarette was nearing the end.
“Well Bill, very nice meeting you. I wish you the best. I’m going upstairs to retire. Take care.” I reached out my hand to shake his. He shook my hand warmly.
“Nice to meet you too. Hope you come and see us again.”
“Oh, I will.” And I meant it. I loved the human interaction.
A year later I went back to the hotel and began looking around for Bill. He was nowhere to be found. The stool with the podium in front was still next to the elevators in the same location as I remembered, but was covered with a black, plastic tablecloth. I asked a security guard if they knew who he was, and they finally referred me to a guy that had been there awhile.
“I hear you were asking to speak with Bill?”
“Yep, that’s right. Met him here last year and was wanting to talk with him some more. Sort of a big fellow, worked the night shift here last December checking the room keys. Had white hair and a white moustache.”
“Yes sir, I know who you mean, but I’m afraid Bill passed away a few months ago. Had a bad heart I guess and just dropped dead one day of a heart attack.”
“I am very sorry to hear that.” I was saddened in a way that I cannot clearly describe.
“Yeah, me too. He worked for me during the day shift for a few months before moving to the night shift. Had me over to his house for dinner a couple of times. Had a very nice wife.”
“Yeah, he told me about his wife. How is she doing? I heard she had some health issues. Have you spoken with her? Is she doing alright?”
“Well, a bunch of us here at the hotel went to the funeral, and when we spoke to her there she had decided to go back to Minneapolis to be with her kids. She was pretty shaken up at the funeral as you’d expect. I don’t know about any health issues though.”
“I see. Well, I’m very sorry for your loss. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”
“You are more than welcome. Very nice meeting you. Hope you come and see us again.”
But I didn’t see. I walked into the elevator and rode the fourteen floors up to the floor on which I was staying and laid down on the bed.
The phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hi, it’s Keri,” a voice whispered sweetly into the phone. Keri was a voluptuous cocktail waitress with enormous breasts who had served me earlier in the day while I was playing the slots. I had clearly tipped her well, and over some conversation she agreed to give me a call at the end of her shift.
“Hi Keri.” I stared vacantly at the diamond print on the wall.
“Are you still interested in getting together? I can change and be up to your room in about thirty minutes, if that is OK?”
“That works for me,” I replied. “See you in a little while.”
A pause on the end of the line. “Ummmmm…..I need to know the room number….,” she stated.
“1416,” I replied. I hung up the phone and walked over to the window overlooking the west side of Vegas. In the distance you could see the Devil Mountains, looking like a distended spine, but with more color. I wondered how many miners had gone up there with mules seeking gold and borax, never to be heard from again. Fucking hot and dry, that is what this place was. I lost track of time as I stood looking out over the city and mountains.
There was a knock at the door, and walking away from the window my pulse started racing.