The babes walked with their hips swaying, talking about their plans for the night—the smell of cocaine and rum hung pungently in the air. The bright neon sign lights up the unlit street. Vintage cars rolled past the entrance again and again, and each time, the security guards moved their hands near their hips. Nirvana and Sixty circled the lot of luxury cars. Sixty groaned as she drove up to level 5. The jackpot jingle escaped from the building along with the sound of men cheering. Nirvana admired the dancing lights bouncing from one letter to the next on the side of the tower. B-O-U-N-T-Y. The radio hummed the blues. Sixty ran her hand through her hair and slowly pressed down on the brake pedal. She looked over at Nirvana with her sleepy eyes. She ran her fingers through his hair, then she slid down to his face. She pushed her thumb into his cheek. He looked over his shoulder.
“You should go in,” Sixty yawned, “You know what you have to do.”
Nirvana opened his mouth, but only a yawn exited. She giggled and kissed him. Their lips didn’t seem to unlock. She turned the knob for the radio up ever so slightly, shifting it from background music to the setting, and just before he could advance, she pressed the unlock button. The click shattered the immersion as their lips untethered, pulling them apart. Nirvana beamed as Sixty wiped her thumb across his lips. Nirvana stepped out of the car.
There was a jazz band playing just outside the garage. Every level Nirvana descended, it became clearer. A man burst out from the stairwell with a magazine covering his face. His shoes scratched the asphalt as he sprinted past Nirvana. He reached his car and slowly lowered the magazine to look at Nirvana.
“Hey! You! Have you seen anyone ‘round here?” His voice sounded panicked, but he was keeping his composure.
“No, sir.” Nirvana tried to hold in a yawn. The man didn’t respond; he just laid the magazine on the hood and dug around in his pocket. Two men exited their car across from him. He tried to flee, but the assassins attached silencers to their pistols and hit him in the leg and then brained him before he could wail. The man’s heel scraped across the pavement as they dragged his body across the parking lot and hurled him into their trunk. They stayed silent as they listened to Nirvana’s shoes echo down the stairwell.
He jogged through the street with his hands buried in his pockets and the cold night breeze slapping his face. He squeezed through groups of men, frustrated and drunk. The colors began to bleed into each other. He looked up at the tower. He remembered Sixty saying 8 stories and that you had to earn your way up each floor. His heart began to race at the thought of the sight from the 8th floor. A girl stood at the casino entrance, not dressed like the other security guards, but she looked legitimate enough.
“Nirvana or The Doors?” He stopped fishing in his pocket for his wallet. Neither of their mouths moved, but she cocked an eyebrow, and he sent one back at her. “You can like both, but nobody likes both equally.”
A long, ummmmmmmmmmmmm wanders out of Nirvana’s mouth. “I was named after—”
“I don’t care.” He knew the look of a drunken grin or a coked smile from his mother, but this was neither of them. It could’ve been another drug, or this could be a 100% sober woman.
“The Doors.”
A long, mmmmmmmm vibrated from her lips. “Good answer.” She took his hand. His feet tripped on the two steps. She asked him if he was drunk, and he shook his head. She whispered “good” as they opened the doors to the casino. He asked her for her name.
“Are you going to remember me tomorrow?”
“I’m Nirvana Orozco.” He paused. The entire casino was quiet. Nothing is making a sound. Nada.
“I know.” She pointed at the wall of fame where Luciano Orozco’s memorial hung. 43 years old. Made it to the seventh floor before he took a leak and never came out. Shanked 9 times. Nobody had replicated what he’d done. Does anyone ever look at the photo and think about that guy’s family? “You’re not going to fulfill his legacy. It’s even tougher to get higher now. A drunkard made it to the fifth floor, left the building, and I haven’t seen his car drive away…”
She kept going on with her speech. After watching so many people killed by mafia members, assassins, and hobos, she had a lot of boiling in the pot. But isn’t the gold-plated casino fascinating? The slot machines are rolling endlessly. The poker players threw chips at each other. The chips bounced off the floor and rolled into Nirvana’s shoes.
“I’m going to blow this place up.” He cut her speech off, and she fell into an unusual silence. “I have a detonator in my pocket that will make every machine in this room jackpot.”
Nirvana heard his father’s voice ringing in his head as his father told him he wanted everyone to win at the casino. His eyes began to burn from the bright lights that gave the restless gamblers their juice.
“Do you think any of these people believe in God? They’ll keep going up. Hell, they’ll reach a 9th floor.” She began to laugh hysterically. Nirvana pulled the detonator out of his pocket. He stood there in a confused silence. The laughter grew increasingly forced, sounding more like anger. She took a deep breath, and her face crinkled as she wiped her eyes. “Press it. Press the button. Kill hundreds of people.”
His thumb hovered over the detonator. He planned this out many times before. He and Sixty ran through every possible scenario. Why would it change now? Who even is this?
“Who are you?” Nirvana raised the detonator over his head
“Fabia.”
“Last name.”
“Orozco.”
The memories rewound like an old tape. The drunken arguments his parents had led to his mother’s cocaine addiction. By his 30th birthday, he spent less time in the house and more time at the parlor. He learned how to muffle his door better by then, but he always heard the murmurs of yelling.
His thumb pressed down on the red button.
She was the one who found his body in the bathroom. The funeral home didn’t allow Fabia to watch, per Nirvana’s mother’s request, so she stood outside the entire time. Gamblers never think they have won. Two children, a wealthy and beautiful wife, and he never stopped to consider that he had won. Now, hundreds of Lucianos were going to be born.
The gunshots woke Sixty up, but she couldn’t do much more than just grip the wheel tightly. The sound of three cars started up below her, and their engines revved away. She thought about taking their spots, but she was scared someone would take revenge and shoot at her car. It was dead quiet after the two gunshots, so maybe it was a weird engine problem. She pulled into the parking spot and walked through the garage. She followed the sound of the women singing the blues. The Bounty was the end of something big, like the final score to a movie. The only way she kept herself sane for the last 3 years with Nirvana was by seeing the world as this grand movie, but what would come of it? What’s after the button?
One slot machine began to hit 777, then two, then three, then ten, then seventy. The jackpot jingle began in unison. The drunken men all jolted out of their chairs one by one. They began to hug each other and scream. The machine operators ran out of the maintenance room. They looked at each other hopelessly. A few men ran to the front to cash their money in and leave the casino for the night, while others ran right up the stairs to the second floor. Just like Fabia predicted. Sixty found a parking spot and ended up in the jazz circle outside. The jackpots echoed into the street. The band hit their highest notes, and Sixty zoned out of the real world. Nirvana could hardly enjoy his moment. He ran outside, leaving Fabia to witness the destruction. His face beamed with a sense of victory, and he watched the neon lights flash faster and faster before the two assassins shot Nirvana in the head twice. He lay in a pool of his own blood.
