Though Lester did notice quite a few Indians hanging around the Circle K asking for his pocket change so they could buy another 40.
They would take his money. Their dirty hands cupped together to collect whatever change Lester felt like giving that day. After buying beer they would wrap the tall cans surreptitiously inside a brown paper bag like no one knew what they were doing.
The Indians would look up at you with bleary eyes and mutter thank you. Counting all 37 cents and doing math in their heads. Wondering if they had enough money to buy another beer, or if they had to keep nursing that bottle of King Cobra that was still 2/3 full of bright green pungent liquid.
But it wasn't difficult to guess what was inside the brown paper bags that littered the parking lot. Even if you were so stupid that you could not guess what was in the bag, you could smell the alcohol on them before they got within 3 feet of you.
No. Lester was not thinking about Indians on his birthday. He was only thinking about their casinos. Lester had just gotten paid and wanted to turn the small paycheck that he got from working the concession stand at the movie theater into a pile of money.
Lester knew the odds were against him. "They don't build those casinos from winners." His momma told him on the way out the door waving at him and his brother as they sat cross legged by the TV eating bowls of Super Sugar Crisp. The familiar theme song from the Super Friends blaring at them from the 19 inch TV set and obscuring some of what his mother had said to them.
"There were almost never any winners in the casino if you don't count the Indians lucky enough to get those monthly checks from the company that runs all the gambling operations." He thought.
"Not that I care." He said to himself. "It will get me out of the house, and I need to get out of the house."
The house was not really a house. It was a motel room that he shared with his girlfriend. A girl he had met at the movie theater. They both worked together and it seemed to Lester that Krystal was always looking to change shifts so that they worked together.
He would be stuck together with her all day in the ticket booth. Cramped and surrounded by glass walls for at least most of the 4 and 5 hours shifts they worked. And he would be forced to come up with conversation.
Krystal liked to talk. Whenever she wasn't surfing the web, or texting her friends she asking him probing questions that she found on MySpace bulletins.
Lester did not have a favorite color and he did not really have an opinion about cats. He tried to ignore her questions. He gave nods and shrugs instead of answers to most of her questions. He was hoping she would get the hint, but she never did.
She seemed especially interested in knowing the sexual things about him that MySpace Bulletins were full of.
Lester knew if he answered those questions she might get the wrong idea. Think he was interested in being her boyfriend or something. She was wrong. Lester could get laid from any number of a half dozen girls (and let's be honest boys also) if he wanted. And none of those girls (boys) worked with him. None of them asked him about his shoe size or inquired about the places he had visited.
The girls "were just nice wet pink holes." He thought. So nice and warm that he usually forgot they came with mouths. That is until one of them took his long, thin cock in their mouths. Their tongues stumbling across his manhood.
"At least they used their mouths for something other than talking." He said.
"It was hard to talk when you were gobbling down dick." He laughed to himself at the idea.
Lester walked out of the movie theater and into the blinding white sun. He counted himself lucky that Krystal was busy in the back stock room. He would not have to explain himself to her where he was going, or what he was going to do with the money after he took his check to the check cashing place.
He walked quickly to his car taking the occasion glance backwards at the automatic revolving doors of the mall. His car was parked hurriedly and took up the better part of two spaces. The front tire peaking in to the handicap spot enough to get him a fine or ticket from a prick cop if they so choosed.
The door to his 1987 silver Buick Skylark was stuck. He had to give the car door a yank before it grudgingly opened. The sound of his car door opening, piercing, sharp metal on metal, may have embarrassed others, but it did not worry Lester.
Lester plopped himself down on the gray cloth interior and started the car. He was careful to gun the engine without flooding it and the car responded to his practiced technique by roaring loudly. The radio turned on and the blown speakers starting blasting a song by Jay Z.
Lester turned the music up and rolled the passenger window down using the silver switch on his driver side door. The car did not have air conditioning and it was a long drive to the casino.
Lester's ears were ringing by the time he got onto the freeway. He was in a good mood. One hand on the steering wheel, he moved casually in and out of the lanes. The speedometer read 68 miles an hour in the pale green LCD light that was popular in luxury vehicles from the early 80's.
Lester cursed himself. He had forgotten to stop by the check cashing place. He had to take the nearest exit and double back towards the movie theater. He took the McClintock exit and drove to the Check Cash store.
The same obese 40 year old woman who was always working was working the counter. She greeted Lester with her customary salutation. Something between a cougar in heat and the concern of of an adopted mother.
"I bet you need your check cashed, huh?" The cashier asked dumbly.
"Yeah." Lester smiled sheepishly. Lester looked down at the check and was humiliated to see that the check was missing a day's pay.
"Shit." He muttered to himself. Since he had left the theater in such a hurry he was going to have to wait until next week to get the check fixed.
"What's wrong?" The check cashing woman asked.
"Oh, nothing." Lester said as he placed the check under the bullet proof glass. "They forgot to pay me for a few days is all." He said depressed.
"That sucks." Monica said. At least that was what her name tag said. Monica. Lester tried to her will her name into his memory banks. You never knew when knowing a person's name could come in handy.
Monica stamped the check loudly. Black ink perfectly copied, she wrote a few initials on the back of the check. She counted the money out of her drawer carefully. Twice. She did not need to be that conscientious, but she enjoyed staring at Lester.
Lester reminded Monica of her son. His plaid button down shirt shoved up at the elbows. His unkempt hair matted down with sweat. Even his ear ring which her son had taken to wearing, probably just to upset her, matched the boy in front of her. The strange tingling in her loins that Lester gave her was the only difference she could think of between the two boys.
"Any plans?" She asked.
"It's my birthday." Lester shared, uncharacteristically talkative.
"And I am going to the casino."
"That sounds fun." Monica winked at Lester. Lester smiled broadly and shoved his slipping shirt sleeves to his elbows again.
Lester scooped up his cash and turned on his heels and walked out of the store. He nodded his head at Monica as the door closed.
In the car and again gunning the engine he took off with a cloud of black smoke fuming from the tailpipe. Lester managed the car on to the freeway again. This time speeding in and out of lanes. His heart pumping and racing along with the car. He felt he was cheated out of an hour of gambling already. He had to make up the difference.
Indian casinos in Arizona are not like the casinos you see on TV. They don't have all the neon signs like Vegas. The building were non descript. They blend into the background of red and maroon topography of the valley.
At the entrance to the casino are two security guards. Both appear to be Native. The larger is female. She is obviously Navajo. The male looks to be Native but he might just be old and weathered. His skin is beaten red by the sun. He looks feeble to Lester.
"Old and slow." He thought to himself and he walked past the two guards. "And fat."
"God." He muttered. "What a bunch of fucking stereotypes."
Lester felt a tug on his shoulder. A surge of adrenalin went through him.
"Hey," A gruff female voice sounded in his ear. "I am going to need to see your ID."
"Oh." Lester said a bit confused. "That's right. My identification."
Lester pronounced the full word of the acronym and relaxed a little showing the guard his ID from his wallet.
"I need you to take the ID out of the wallet." The guard said with trace of annoyance in her voice.
Lester complied with a bit of annoyance himself.
"It's my birthday." He said. "I am 21."
"Congratulations." The guard said as she looked up from his ID. Then she smiled at him and wished him good luck.
"Thanks." Lester said and walked into the casino.
The casino can be overpowering for a first time visitor. The impact of 1,000 slot machines whooping and ringing. The flashing lights. The hundreds of people milling around. The controlled chaos of loose inhibition. It was enough to make Lester feel out of place. That maybe he was not ready for all this.
Lester decided to get a beer. He had heard in Vegas that cocktail waitresses walked around all day and offered free beer or screw drivers to anyone playing a game. But Lester wanted to wait for a minute before trying his luck at the slots.
He walked past elderly Mexicans playing slot machines. He walked past white trash smokers at the smoking area. He walked past the buffet tables and sat himself at the sparsely populated bar and ordered a Bud Light.
He sat there slowly sipping his beer, lost in his thoughts when a man in his 50's sat next to him.
"You mind if I sit here?" He asked.
Lester took the bottle away from his lips and said, "I don't care."
Lester put the bottle down and fumbled a bit with the napkins the bottle rested on. The man's presence was making him uneasy.
As if sensing Lester's discomfort the man introduced himself.
"Hi. I'm Pat." The man offered his out and Lester shook it good mannerdly.
"Lest,...er" Lester dragged out his name as if Lester reconsidered telling Pat his real name mid way though.
"Nice to meet ya." Pat cooed back at Lester.
Pat was thin boned and smelled like menthol cigarettes. For a man Pat's age his arms were unnaturally tight.
"Probably from working out." Lester thought.
Pat wore black slacks and a black dress shirt that was opened to the third button. Lester could see his gray chest hair.
"Nice to meet you too." Lester said. Though it was not nice to meet Pat. Lester wanted to be alone. He needed a few drinks and he wanted to get the lay of the land before he set out to play the slots.
Lester had thought about playing poker or one of the various card games that the casino had laid out before him. The female staff in low cut blouses were an enticing offer, but Lester knew there was not much of a chance of him leaving with any money if he did that. It was better to stick to something that was pure chance like slots. Something he had no control over. Something he could not screw up. If he lost. Then it was fate. Nothing you could do against fate.
"You play much?" Pat asked pointing at the slot machines that lined the walls of the bar.
"No." Replied Lester. "Never played before."
"Then you just need a bit of liquid encouragement." Pat laughed at his joke and slapped his knee. Pat smiled a toothy dentured grin.
Lester looked over at Pat trying to asses him.
"I guess." Lester admitted. He took another drink from the bottle of Bud Light that was getting dangerously low on beer.
"Looks like you need another." Pat said and waved his arm at the bartender. The bartender walked over and twisted off two caps and placed the fresh bottle of beer next to the two men.
Lester looked up at Pat after this and smiled a bit. He was happy to have someone buying him a beer.
Pat had a question for Lester.
"Lester, I would like to pay you $10,000 to have penetrative anal sex with you."
This was Part 2. Parts 3 and 4 are on the way. Part 1 brief convo with a prostitute.