Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Kyle, the keys,” calls out Brock, who returns with a young man. The valet attendant wears a red and black leather uniform that is as lavish as it is tacky, over-sexualized with cutouts at the chest and sides. His dead eyes compete with Kyle’s own. “This guy’ll take care of my baby. Hey, you bring it back without a scratch,” says Brock, “and I’ll double your tip.”
In a dull voice, the valet attendant replies, “We’re happy to have you back, Mr. Hastings.” He takes the keys from a rather reluctant Kyle, slips into the car, then calmly takes off. Kyle is still watching him drive away when Brock throws an arm over his back and steers him to the front doors. The woman on the bench keeps smoking her cigarette, aloof. The old man on the phone turns away with a huff.
The lobby is colossal and unexpectedly bright. The floors are white and reflective, contrasting with the unsettlingly matte black-and-red walls and impossibly high ceiling, which makes it feel as if there is no ceiling at all. Noise from the casino far ahead echoes around the lobby, disorienting. Kyle notices an enormous metal enclosure in the center of the lobby bursting with otherworldly plants and exotic flowers, hugged by one of those creepy red-leafed trees with greyish bark. At a glance, he assumes everything in that enclosure is poisonous.
Isn’t it always the prettiest things in nature that are?
The three women and one man at the front desk all wear the same sort of sexualized red and black leather uniforms, each of them just as dead in the eyes as the valet attendant, each of them silent and still.
“It’s all an act,” says Brock as they approach. “Gotta stay in character, act like they’re all dead and shit, so dumb. See what I mean? Hey,” he greets one of the women at the counter, who regards him with a twitch of her tiny red heart-shaped lips. “I’m Brock, Brock Hastings. I need the key to my father’s room. Got a pal with me, he’ll be staying.” He slaps his ID on the counter with his damaged hand, splinted finger sticking out. After she gives it a look, she returns her eyes to the computer to type away. “I’ll get us some of their crappy room service, bud. It’s overpriced garbage, like I said, but the BLTs are decent.”
Her eyes flick to his, then back to the computer. Kyle feels annoyance radiating off of her. He doesn’t blame the clerk.
“This place is a fuckin’ amusement park,” says Brock after they’ve retrieved their keys. They’re passing down a tall, wide hallway. “And celebrities pay high dollar for this kind of gaudy shit?” He snorts and shakes his head. “Can’t believe my dad’s so hard for this place. Apparently one of the LA Chargers made a streaming thing online out of his visit, shit went viral, basically an endorsement from the sports world, of all places. I think I might change my mind about those BLTs. Maybe I can get Pizza Hut to deliver to the lobby, y’know, just to be a big fuck-you sorta thing. You should see the resort pool here. It’s red, Kyle, the water, it’s fuckin’ red. A blood pool. Actually, I think it’s just a trick of the pool lighting, but still …”
Kyle finds he doesn’t have the patience for a history lesson about this place. “We’re not just here as guests to fuck around. We’re here on a rescue mission, remember?”
Brock snorts. “‘Rescue mission’. Do you hear yourself? We aren’t the FBI. I think your friend’s plenty fine. His mom runs the whole thing. He’s loaded. What the hell can he want for? He’s basically Prince of Vegas. Hell, I bet he’d set you up with your own suite if you guys really are in love and all that.”
Kyle sighs. “Brock, I’m being serious. We need to—”
“We’re goin’ up to my dad’s suite,” he states. “I’m takin’ a shower. You’re eatin’ the room service, no need to repay me, I probably make fifty times what you make at that bar, and yeah, the shit here’s that expensive.” They come to a stop in front of a set of elevators. Brock jabs the button. “And tomorrow when we wake up and I got a clear head, we can look for lover boy.”
Kyle stares at him. “Tomorrow??”
When the elevator dings, Kyle notices a set of red glowing eyes in a golden face above the doors. He grimaces at it as the doors slide open, revealing a tall gaunt bellman standing inside. The bellman gives a slight bow and asks, “Which floor do y—”
“Hastings suite, thirty-third,” Brock cuts him off. “Thank the Lord you’re here to push a fuckin’ button for me. This jerk broke my hand with his face,” he says, giving his hand with the splinted finger a demonstrative wave.