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Chatting makes the flight time pass in a wink, and before I know it, we’re landing to a red-hot setting sun. The oily tarmac in Las Vegas promises warm weather. A far cry from New York’s freezing snow and rain.
My new friends are a blast to hang out with. A limo waits for them and before we check into the Airbnb, we stop at a casino. I linger behind them with my sunglasses on and suck down the free drinks.
Papa kept me isolated, and to have friends feels electric. I blend in perfectly with these girls, who probably have rich daddies, too.
In the third casino we visit, I pass a souvenir shop and spot an older couple buying postcards. They’re wearing baseball caps with RV-shaped pins from other states. Figuring they’re road warriors, an idea pops into my head.
“Can you guys wait for me?” I call out to the girls.
Thinking they’ll hang back, I go inside the shop and approach the couple.
“Excuse me.” I smile, and the old man returns a yellow-tooth grin.
“What?” his wife snaps.
“I wonder if you can help me.” I look at him, ignoring her. “I promised my sister I’d send her postcards from all over the country. But I ran out of money to travel anywhere else. I don’t want her to worry about me.” I take out the address Katya gave me and snap a photo with my burner phone. “If I give you a few dollars, will you buy a postcard on your travels and sign it from me, say hi, and that I’m having a good time? Please?”
“Sounds suspicious,” the woman grumbles, looking me up and down.
“No problem, honey.” The man takes Katya’s address from me in a flash. “What’s your name?”
I freeze. “Just sign it, A.”
“A?”
“A. Like apple.”
“Your name is Apple?” Wifey thinks I’m a poison Macintosh from the Garden of Eden, trying to sweet-talk her wrinkled, old husband.
“No, ma’am. My name is…Alicia.”
“Then we’ll sign it Alicia.”
“Just A is fine.” I reach into my coat pocket where I got change of a hundred at the airport when I bought water. “How is twenty dollars?”
“Do you know how much stamps cost, missy?”
I sadly do not, but I also don’t have that much to spare.
“Forty? Three cards, minimum, please.”
“Deal.” The man takes my money and scoots his wife away before she can spit on me.
Back on the casino floor, a loud, rapid-dinging sound and the roar of cheering catches my attention.
An imposing, well-built man with golden-blond hair in dress slacks and a black button-down shirt has apparently won big at the roulette table. I watch him scoop up a large pile of multi-colored chips.
I look around, realizing the girls I came here with didn’t wait for me. Shit, I need to find that bachelorette party, so I have a place to sleep tonight.
But I can’t take my eyes off the big winner.
Until he turns around.
Sheer terror nearly knocks me off my feet.
Cormac O’Rourke. One of the youngest O’Rourke brothers from back home.
Shit! What’s he doing here?
