You brainless scumbag…

you’re supposed in Vegas covering the National District Attorney’s Conference, I rented a suite at the Flamingo. Everything has been arranged. Now, what are you doing out in the middle of the desert?

flamingo hotel

Nothing. Never mind, it was all a big joke. Actually, I’m poolside at the Flamingo right now, talking though a portable phone some dwarf brought out from the casino. I have total credit here. DON’T come anywhere near this place, you bastard. Foreigners aren’t welcome.

One thought on “You brainless scumbag…

  1. I gave my bag to the boy who scurried up, and told him to bring a quart of Wild Turkey and two fifths of Bacardi Anejo with a night’s worth of ice.

    Our room was in one of the farthest wings of the Flamingo. The place is far more than a hotel: It is a sort of huge under-financed Playboy Club in the middle of the desert. Something like nine separate wings, with interconnecting causeways and pools — a vast complex, sliced up by a maze of car-ramps and driveways. It took me about twenty minutes to wander from the desk to the distant wing we’d been assigned to.

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