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“Go back to sleep,” says Kyle. “I’ll wake you later.”
“No, to hell with that, my ass is gonna … gonna stay up.” He’s trying and failing not to slur his words. “Hey, do you got anythin’ good here? Could go for a whiskey sour. No. Corona. No, fuck that, you got any vodka?”
“We’re not drinking any more, you’ve had enough.”
“I decide when I stop. I decide when I’ve had enough.”
Kyle sighs. It’s no use. Drunk Brock is a dimension of his old friend he never had to deal with. Had he been around to experience college with him, this might be another story.
Maybe they’d have had many drunken make-out sessions.
That thought makes Kyle feel sad somehow.
Kyle’s phone buzzes. He glances down. Just another text from another who-knows.
“Someone blowin’ up your phone?”
Kyle shakes his head, sighs. “Ever since the video, I’ve been getting these calls, nonstop. Crazy people. Weirdos.” He runs his thumb across the screen, showing Brock the stream of calls and texts. Brock has to squint to see it, eyes still too blurry. “It’s annoying, being temporarily famous.”
Brock snorts. “That must suck.”
“It does.” Kyle glances at Brock. Is it too soon? He decides he doesn’t care. “Hey, uh, back at the bar, you said something about some Trujillos. About a casino you went to in Vegas.”
“Trujillo? Huh? Oh, fuck, right, that Trujillo.” Brock rolls his eyes and lets out a laugh. “New money in Vegas. Huge new resort casino, blew into existence outta nowhere about three or so years ago, took over a cushy spot in Vegas, rakin’ in millions. It’s all my dad talked about last time he went. Good things and bad. He still invested in the, the, the whole thing, I think. Got himself a permanent suite.”
Kyle leans forward. “Tell me more about the casino.”
Brock squints. “Why you wanna know?”
“Just tell me.”
“Hey.” Brock gets up, stumbles, sits right back down when he realizes it wasn’t a good idea to attempt standing. “I’m your friend, right? I’m your childhood friend. I’m not the one you give bullshit reasons and excuses to. You tell me your business. I got you.” He leans back and lifts his chin at Kyle. “Why you so interested in it?”
Kyle finds Brock’s sudden interest in opening up rather ironic, considering his insistence to stuff down and deny the kiss he forced on him. Kyle decides he doesn’t care. Finding Elias takes precedence over it all. “I’m looking for a friend.”
“Your friend got a gambling problem?” Brock snorts. “The casino, it’s … what the hell was it … Scarlet? … Yeah, that’s it, the Scarlet Sands Hotel & Casino.”
“The Scarlet Sands?”
“Place is always booked, up to its eyes in waitlists, only the elite of the elite can get a room on the fly. ‘Course I always got a hookup, thanks to my old man. But I’ve only been the once, like I said. Once was enough.” He frowns at Kyle. “What? You plannin’ a vacation or some shit? Wait.” He lets out a sudden laugh and claps his hands together. “Fuck, now I get it! I get why you’re so interested in that place. It’s ‘cause of the whole Transylvanian bullshit, isn’t it. That’s why.”
Kyle is so lost. “Transylvanian what?”
“That’s the whole thing with Scarlet Sands. It’s all fuckin’ over-the-top Transylvanian shit. That’s the whole dark appeal. Like the place is a glorified coffin. It’s so stupid. Servers walkin’ around half-dressed, fake-ass bite marks on their necks or fangs in their mouths. Even got these … these blood-themed drinks, blood margaritas … it’s all just cherry juice and vodka punch.”
Kyle wrinkles up his face. “Seriously?”
“You don’t wanna go there, trust me. Went once, a while ago, dragged to Vegas on another business thing with my dad. Trust me, God wouldn’t touch that place. It’s Satan’s domain.”
Kyle has relocated to the couch, sitting right next to Brock. The next question has Kyle’s heart galloping. “Do you know … Do you know an Elias Asad Trujillo? Is that name familiar?”
“Elias who …?” Brock pinches the bridge of his nose. It apparently hurts to access his brain or perform much thought.
“Can you think? Please? For me?”
Brock gazes at Kyle. It seems to only now occur to him how close they’re sitting on the couch.
That awareness has his heart jumping.
Kyle not only hears it literally. He also feels it, the emotion packed behind Brock’s stony face, his incessant longing, and his stubborn suppression of said longing.
Suddenly the emotion is gone as Brock’s eyes snap forward. “Wait a sec. Yeah. Elias. I think he’s …” Brock snaps his fingers at once. “Yeah, yeah, that’s ringin’ a bell! Elias. He’s the son.”
Kyle lifts his eyebrows. “The son …?”
“Yeah, the son of, like, the big lady, the head lady. The one who owns and runs the whole thing, the whole Scarlet Sands.” He shakes his head. “Dunno her name. Met her just once.”
