Las Vegas Stories that Didn’t Stay in Vegas

Dateline: Las Vegas.

Your mission should you choose to accept it…. attain the “secret files.” The incriminating evidence. They can sink you, embarass you. They can be held over you for eternity. But without them, all they have is heresy. Their word against yours. You must obtain these files. Serrano’s got the disks. Get them. Destroy them. Or all will be revealed.

…On a horrendously dry night in Henderson, Nevada, our hero sat ill, nauseatingly ill, hunched over, leaning against a concrete wall outside the fatty strip club, a.k.a. the Centerfold, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The combination of weed, pills, coke, whiskey, clove cigarettes and sleep deprivation topped off with twelve white russians, give or take twelve white russians, gave his vomit a nice frappucino taste. His traveling partners, glad to see that Franklin had given in to pukey temptation before them, were caring and supportive… yet were not to miss the photographic opportunity that had presented itself. Click FLASH…. click FLASH… the laughter commenced. Franklin could barely muster enough energy to scramble away from the Olan Pills session…. but shortly thereafter, he slumped again like a man defeated. He fought the law, and the law won. Even the hundred-eighty-five pound stripper who he had been flirting with would not stop to greet him as she finished her shift and walked out the door.

The pictures. Must….. get…… those files. Four or five taken. Clearly showing to what depths this trip had descended. No close-ups of puke on the chin or anything. It was a clean vomit session and Franklin took it like a man. But these pictures… they could be distributed for all eternity. “How not to spend your vacation in Vegas… Priceless.” He could see it now. The Don could be relentless when inspired.

The following morning, his opportunity arose. The Don was in the shower trying to wash away his sin, preparing himself for the arduous flight home. Franklin was packed and ready to go when he spotted…. the Camera, there…. on the desk… the files unprotected. Redemption was within his grasp. Now was the time to strike. Franklin held the camera and reviewed the pictures with a sick sense of pride. Shots of a man defeated…. but now, stood a man victorious. File…. DELETE. File… DELETE. He was sport enough to leave two photos. One of him scurrying away from the first photo shoot and another silhoeutte, head hung low, resting in peace. The others…. gone forever.

Even the Don, in recovery mode, thumbed through the shots on the flight back, saw only two photos and muttered…. “Hmmm, I thought we took more shots than that. Oh well.” The camera must have hit it’s max storage capacity and deleted some of the files. But now we know the real story. The guy behind the guy, behind the guy. Files deleted….. mission accomplished…. and pride restored.