Working Class Vegas Vamp is a free urban fantasy serial, usually publishing on Tuesdays. It is unedited and subject to change. If published later, it may differ significantly, and will probably include additional material. Typos and English errors are likely; feel free to leave a comment or write me at am {AT} amscottwrites.com (revised as a standard email address. Pesky bots!) Available for a limited time only!

Haven’t started yet? Chapter 1: https://www.amscottwrites.com/2024/10/29/working-class-vegas-vamp-chapter-1/

Chapter 9

Before I recalled what he said, I hit the water, my arms and legs flailing. “Ah!” I clamped my lips shut and tried to roll to the side, but my bottom hit the concrete with a thunk. I rose, and managed to get my feet under me, standing with my head just above the water.

Flashes of light were probably cell phone cameras. I swam to the nearest dark point, gripped and rolled over the bulky concrete railing, and crouched. The flashing never stopped, so rather than trying to blend in, I ran. Sprinting full speed, I careened through the crowds, grateful my orthopedic shoes stayed on despite their squishy state. The difference in sole height wasn’t important when I was on my toes.

I ran north, dodging people, to the pedestrian bridge crossing Las Vegas Boulevard. I’d lose any pursuit in the shops outside the Horseshoe. Standing on the escalator, I turned sideways, looking for anyone chasing me, and tried to slow my gasping. While I watched the crowd, I ran my fingers through my hair, slicking it back, then gathered the material of my dress to one side, tying a knot at my waist and wringing some of the water out. That tightened and shortened the dress, letting me blend in better. I didn’t notice anyone chasing me, so I continued, merging with the tourists. On the other side of the boulevard, I entered the nearest drugstore and bought flip flops, a sun hat, and pink heart-shaped glasses, using the prepaid credit card tucked into my bra. I had cash in my waist belt, but didn’t want to draw attention getting it out.

At a shop outside the Horseshoe, I bought a tight, short, sparkly black dress and a tote bag purse, almost wiping out that card. Then I entered the Horseshoe like I belonged there, and walked towards the back of the casino to the bathrooms. I used a dozen paper towels to dry off a little, then changed into my new dress in a stall. Throwing the old lady dress and shoes away, I stuffed the hat and sunglasses into my bag. I also pulled some cash and a key out of my waist pouch.

Leaving the bathroom, I sat at a nearby $1 slot machine, and fed it the rest of my credit card. The best way to stay anonymous in a casino was to play the slots.

A server found me quicker than I expected. “What can I get you?”

I didn’t recognize her, but since she was middle-aged, we probably had mutual acquaintances. I glanced at her nametag. “Can I get sparkling water with lime, please? And is Tricia working tonight, Sunny?” Her name was as fake as her smile. But that was smart.

“Sure, although you look like you could use something stronger. Tricia’s off tonight, sorry.” She sauntered off before I could ask for anyone else.

That was okay, though. I pulled the card from the machine and got up, dropping it on Sunny’s tray on her return trip and grabbing the plastic glass of water. “Thanks. Have a good night.” Strolling into the the shops connecting the Horseshoe and Paris, I sipped the water and watched for anyone tailing me in the dark shop windows, but I was mostly alone. I took an abrupt left, turning for the parking lot. I threw away the glass and entered the brightly lit parking lot.

Despite the lights, there were plenty of shadows if you knew where to look, and I did. The Horseshoe, formerly Bally’s, was one of my first jobs in Vegas, ironically, as a cocktail waitress. In the bottom of a garage stairwell, I held my breath and inserted my old key. It turned, and no alarms appeared to go off. Since silent alarms were normal—guest experience was everything in Vegas—that wasn’t a guarantee. But I knew the renovation money had gone to the front of the house, not the dregs of the support equipment.

While bright lights and security were important for guests, no one cared about the employees cleaning the parking lot. In the concrete room, rolling garbage cans were pushed against the walls, while brooms and other hand tools hung on the walls. Most of the space was taken up by an industrial sweeper.

There was no way to lock the doors from the inside, but with a little ingenuity, I could secure the space. I wrapped electrical cord in a figure eight around the old-style crash bars so they couldn’t be pressed down, which also tied them together. Then I rolled the sweeper close to the doors and tied the ends of the electrical cord to the machine.

It wasn’t perfect, but it ought to work for a day. It was the best I could do, so worrying was useless. I would, of course, but that would end when I passed out. I put the seat on the sweeper back, grabbed a garbage bag for a blanket, and found the most comfortable position I could.

While I waited for the sunrise, I thought about the night and all the mistakes I’d made. My biggest mistake was moving too soon. I should have stayed another day in my cave. I would have been bored, but I doubt they’d have found me. I could have moved the vehicle the after the first night then driven away safely, because running official roadblocks two nights in a row was probably more than even Theoden could pull off.

Then when I got the ride out of Theo’s lair, I should have grabbed my tote bag. I had more money, cards, identification and lair options in there. Those were all useless now, as was everything in my suitcases and car. Of course I had more stashed, but I had to get through the coming day. If I was discovered here, I’d end up naked in the morgue and give some poor worker a heart attack when I woke. Or more likely, Theo had someone there, and I’d find myself in a cell in the tower.

I’d rather be naked and free—that was easier to fix. But for now, I had no choice but to relax and hope I woke up here tomorrow.

***To be continued***

Working Class Vegas Vamp Copyright © 2024 by AM Scott. All Rights Reserved.

Cover by Achlys Book Cover Designs