Tag: Las Vegas

Book Review: Disappearing Act

On a recent trip to Hawaii, the girls wanted shave ice (a local treat) and we stopped at the Waikoloa mall.  It was a warm afternoon, the line was long, and I wasn’t about to stand in line and wait.  The girls did, and I set off to wander the mall.  Malls all pretty much look the same to me, but I wanted to get my daily steps in and it was an opportunity to do so.

I hadn’t gone very far when I was surprised to see a local authors exhibit.  I stopped to see what was there.  There were several writers, and one was a nice fellow about my age named Ray Pace.  We had a pleasant conversation, I enjoyed his east coast accent, and before I knew it, I bought a signed copy of Ray’s book.

Disappearing Act was a wise choice.  It’s a crime novel that mixes science fiction, Vegas, Chicago, the mob, a private investigator, and assorted characters in an interesting tale.  It was refreshing to read a story with no technical mistakes in the firearms descriptions.  Pace is a good writer (he has the experience for it;  before turning to fiction he was a crime reporter for big city newspapers).  Disappearing Act is 150 pages long and I read it on the flight home from Hawaii.  It’s a light read, a good story, well written, and I enjoyed it.  You will, too.

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Lucky Boy

To me, the three most terrifying words in the English language are “Where’s the party?” I’m a homebody. I like it at Tinfiny Ranch amongst the trees, rocks and dirt. It’s a safe place. I’ve got my junk cars and junk motorcycles. I’ve got my tractor and shed full of tools. No one can see what I’m doing and I can’t see anyone else. It’s pretty much heaven.

Unfortunately the world has a way of forcing itself on you and my cool nephew Anthony is getting married. I can’t miss that scene, man. I like the kid. That means leaving the serenity of Tinfiny and taking trip to the neon gates of hell: Lost Wages, Nevada.

Chief amongst my pet peeves of this modern world is air travel. I used to enjoy flying but now it’s a trial to be endured. Every time I get on a passenger airplane it seems they have managed to make the restroom smaller. I had to use the toilet on the flight to Vegas and my head was bumping into the curvature of the fuselage while my butt was resting against the bi-fold doors. I’m not a large person yet I still had to remove my billfold, watch, and think of baseball to turn around in the confined area.

Mooing and kicking at the fences, we disembarked into the Las Vegas airport where we attempted to rent a mini van because our wilding days are over. Dollar was out of minivans so we ended up with a Ford Flex. The Flex is like a mini van with a snout. It’s easier to find the squared off profile in a parking lot. So that’s a plus.

It’s always the turbo-charged 1970’s in Las Vegas. The clothes, the hair, the Hugh Heffner value system. There’s a dusty, aged-vibe sucking the life force from fresh-faced youth that is creepy if you pay attention to it. Everybody has to make a living but I’m uncomfortable with the place, you know?

Our hotel is also a huge casino and between visits to CT’s rowdy family I’ve been busy working the electronic slot machines. In only two days I’ve made $4.05 doing nothing more than repeatedly pushing buttons. It’s like taking candy from a really stingy baby. I never bet large amounts. Every expenditure breaks down into bags of concrete. Do I take another spin on the machine or should that 50 cents be used to buy 10 pounds of mud? Maybe I’ll take just one more try.