Dead Man's Hand Read Online Free PDF Page B

no luck, then peered through the gate. Two cars sat in the driveway, a green truck and something yellow that looked like it should have clowns coming out of it.
    The truck could be Dick’s, but who the fuck’s was the clown car? Randy wouldn’t be caught dead driving that thing.
    He was about to start yelling when he noticed something else on the driveway. A red and yellow plastic trike.
    Holy fuck. Someone else was living in his house.
    He looked up at the windows, all dark. A sudden dread descended on him, along with that urge to drop it all and go to Jersey. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He must have had a bad crash. Must have been out for days. Weeks, even, long enough for them to fucking sell his fucking house!
    He turned back to the cab. The driver sat snapping her fucking gum, looking bored. His suit jacket was neatly folded beside her on the front seat. He climbed into the back again.
    â€œI changed my mind. Take me to the Desert Inn.”
    â€œThe Desert Inn?” The driver turned around and gave him a weird look.
    â€œYeah, the Desert Inn. What, are you deaf?”
    â€œWhat are you , stoned?”
    â€œI wish. Just drive.” Ned leaned back and sighed. His head was starting to ache.
    The cabbie kept staring at him, snapping the gum. “You got money at the Desert Inn, eh?”
    â€œI got friends there. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you. Fifty bucks. If not, you can keep my jacket.”
    The cabbie shook her head. “OK, pal. Whatever you say.”
    She turned around and took off, muttering something into her dispatch radio. Ned glanced back at his house as the cab pulled away from the curb. He’d get whatever fucker had pulled this. If it was Randy and Dick, they were both dead.
    He tried to remember what had happened, but could only conjure vague dreams. Wandering around lost in the Rabbit’s Foot’s casino, watching the World Series of Poker and cussing the winners. Spacing out on the floor of his house. He’d been chasing the dragon, and he couldn’t tell the nightmares from reality.
    Too much horse. Not enough.
    He swallowed the saliva that rose to his tongue. God, he needed a fix.
    Don’t think about it. He had to talk to Donny. Donny’d lend him some cash and help him sort out this mess.
    The cabbie turned down the Strip and Ned looked out at the lights. They seemed even brighter and more crazy than usual. He stared out the window as they passed the sci-fi shape of the Stratosphere, the carnival pinkness of Circus Circus. All the glitz that hid the dark stuff underneath this tawdry town. God, he loved this place.
    The cab pulled across the street into a long drive that led up to a hotel he didn’t recognize. It was Bellagio-shaped but slick and modern, with a lake out front and landscaping out the wazoo and a honkin’ sign that said “Wynn.”
    â€œThat fucker Wynn,” Ned muttered. “Buying up the whole fucking Strip.”
    The cab pulled to a stop at the lobby entrance. The cabbie turned around and looked at him.
    â€œWhat the fuck is this?” Ned demanded.
    â€œDesert Inn’s gone, buddy. They tore it down ten years ago. Where’ve you been?”
    Ned looked behind them at the other side of the Strip. He could see the corner of the Fashion Mall, but the Frontier was fucking gone. Desert Inn, too, was gone.
    He looked back at the giant Wynn hotel. It was sleek and modern, whispering of huge amounts of money.
    His stomach churned. This was getting fucking scary. His house they could sell in a few weeks, but tear down the Desert Inn and build this? It would take years. What the hell had happened?
    â€œSo,” said the cabbie, grinning, “about that fifty bucks—”
    â€œWait here.”
    Ned got out of the cab and walked into the hotel. Cool air washed over him. The lobby was huge and expensive, the ceilings painted with weird flowers. It was quiet, unlike the older hotels where the sound of the