[D3] Episode 11

I instructed the cabbie to leave as much space as he could between us and the other cab. I still wasn’t sure if I’d been made, I didn’t want to give the guy I was following any reason to be suspicious.

After a few minutes I began to relax a little. The cab ahead of us was going fast, sure, but not the kind of fast you’d expect from someone who knew they were being followed. With my newfound relaxation, I found myself looking out the window a bit.

Vegas in the morning is a very different place than Vegas at night. At night, the place has a sparkle and an energy to it — with neon and flashing video screens calling to you from every direction at once.

Once the sun comes up, though, the bustle of people and the excited hum and throb of the crowds fades into insignificance. The screens, noise and neon are still there, sure, but like the rest of the city they fade into the background. It’s like the city as a whole has a giant hangover, and keeps telling you to shush.

Nights in Vegas Vegas are times for living.
Mornings in Vegas are times for consequences.

Maybe it was because I was mulling on this fact, or maybe it was merely lack of sleep. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t until the fourth time I passed a bus stop that I realized where I had seen my quarry before.

Pretty much every bus stop in Vegas has advertisements on the front of them. It might be a testament to Vegas’ character, or a commentary on life in modern America… but about half of the bus stops in Vegas advertised for lawyers.

The bus stop I was currently looking at advertised for Craig Johnson, Attorney at Law. And right there on the sign was the big smiling face of the man I was chasing.

The plot, as they say, thickens.

As our cabs pulled into the Bellagio hotel, certain hypotheses were forming in my mind. As stealthily as possible, I followed Mr. Johnson to the elevators. I saw him get in alone, and the elevator went straight up to the top floor.

The penthouses.

A few discreet inquiries at the front desk left me with a name and a fuck-ton of questions.

“Denise Callahan” the desk clerk said, “and guest.”

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