Riding the rails with Licorice Petey - Slot Decathlon part 2

Decathlon Part 2

The next night, I cut a couple of stout saplings from the muddy banks of the lazy Rio Nevada which runs just behind the Gold Spike. They were perfect for securing our handkerchiefs, which contained our meager possessions - some coal, a chipped bowie knife, a lump of brown sugar, half pound of coffee beans, spare buttons, lye soap, a length of sturdy twine, tobaccy and corn cob pipes, and a clean pair of socks each.

Our goods slung over our shoulders on the saplings, we bid a tearful goodbye to Aunt Clarissa and hoofed it to the freight yards. The beefy yardman, with his deadly accurate nightstick, was right on our tail as we struggled to clamber aboard an empty boxcar on a southbound train. Just when it seemed we’d get drug under the wheels, the greasy, sinewy paws of two yeggs reached down and hauled us aboard. They’d saved our lives, or at the least a beating from the local dick and a night in the crowbar hotel.

As the moon came up and shone silver on the rails we brewed up some coffee in a rusty tin can and shared the tobaccy round. One of the drifters had a nice hunk of licorice and we all took turns having a chew on one soggy end of it. Then I spun some video poker tall tales to the boys while the Queen napped.

The train slowed some and Licorice Petey looked out the open door and said, “Hey there’s your hotel. Best you jump now!”

“Thanks for everything, boys. You’ve been swell! C’mon Queenie!” I yelled, shaking her awake, and we jumped for it. A quick roll into the ditch, a dust off of our dungarees and a 200 yard hike and there we were in a new world - the lobby of the palace that is Wynn Las Vegas.

You see some strange sights by Main Street Station on the way to the freight yard.

I never did figure out what this was all about, but alcohol may have been a factor.

We felt a little out of place in what is currently the best hotel in town since most of the guests checking in seemed to be from a different walk of life than us bums. And they had actual luggage, not handkerchiefs on sticks.

As we waited in line to check in, some ultra-annoying ‘I’ve got a $200 haircut and damn the melanoma, I need a tan that sets off my Prada belt’ Cali-metro-broker-agent-sexual high roller whinged into his earpiece, “I had the same trouble in Cataleeeeen-a. I just dropped the Beeeemer at valet and I’m trying to check in but they’ve lost my resssss-ie.”

I hiked my handkerchief on a stick a little higher and prouder.

We were called to the counter and I flipped my ID onto the marble. “Royal Flusher. I’m very happy to be here for my comped room at Wynn Las Vegas. I sincerely hope you haven’t lost my ‘resie’.”

They hadn’t and thankfully we were soon ensconced in, yes, a comped room at Wynn, thanks to an offer that included $100 in free slot play.

Our room was gorgeous. Lush, elegantly appointed, huge, with a sprawling bathroom, the highest quality toiletries (which I may get to see when we get home).

As we flopped on the 3,000,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets picked by virgin winners of various American Idol spin-offs from around the world, I realized that now would be the perfect time for some hot, married-people fun.

And so it was. And so we did. I chose one of our very favorite games, which involves the delivery of hot meat between the buns. Yes, we played the first ever Wynn Las Vegas edition of “Guess the outrageous price of the room service cheeseburger”. (Shame on you, reader!)

As mentioned, our comped room came with $100 free play in the casino, and if it hadn’t been for that, I would have been happy to stay in the room and just fiddle with the various buttons and remotes that ran the multiple TVs, drapes, lights, and ambient sounds. I could have amused myself for hours just giggling over the insane prices on the mini-bar items.

We headed down to the casino and immersed ourselves in the unique groovacious beats that provide the sonic backdrop for the beautiful people that frequent Wynn Las Vegas.

I’m not kidding about the beautiful people – just as we were about to get down to some gambling, I would have to guess around fifty (plus one for the District of Columbia) gorgeous Miss USA contestants strolled by in their evening gowns, on the way to one of the competition events. I was at the right place at the right time and showed some class by repeatedly yelling out our room number as they passed by.

What a coincidence that the parents of all of these contestants named them after states.

We started by making arrangements for the $100 in free play I’d been promised in my offer. I decided to give the entire amount to the QQueen and she graciously split the $130 final tally with me after she’d played it through.

Then it was on to part two of the Olympic Decathlon, starting at the $2 level. Things hotted up immediately, with the QQueenie achieving a return of zero (0), and me achieving a return of $4.

Next it was one pull each of $5. Ridiculously, we each ended up with… nothing.

Next it was one pull each of $10. Indefatigably, we each ended up with… nothing.

We moved up to the $25 level. This meant we got to visit the well appointed and very snotty High Limit Salon. This is the kind of place where the machines don’t even take $20 bills – you have to pump hundy’s into ‘em.

We toured the Salon and watched a few high rollers win enough to buy each of us a small sedan. They seemed mildly annoyed with the small (to them) profits.

And finally, I sidled up to a machine and stuck a hundred dollar bill in.

Four credits rang up, ready to be played.

“Make SURE I cash out after one pull!” I pleaded.

(Who am I kidding, there’s no suspense here, of course, I got NOTHING.)

I cashed out my 2 remaining credits - $50.

Wisely, Mrs. Flusher chose a different machine. Put in her money, pressed the Play One Credit button, the reels spun and… Ding. Ding.

Two dings. Two credits. An actual slot win of two credits!!!! She’d managed to breathe some life into this wretched competition by winning $50.

The last level… was a $50 pull each. Shall I have mercy on you fair reader? No fake suspense. No false build-up with a sudden turn of events. No rambling pre-amble followed by a surprise random chance happening in the nick of time.

Both pulls were over in a flash, with the results being, again, nothing won by either of us.

The competition was (thank merciful heaven) finished, with the results Quad Queen: $50.50, Royal Flusher: a very flaccid $4.50.

We celebrated by ordering very large iced vodkas with a number of very large olives in. These olives were so tasty and so huge, I felt like I could skip dinner.

There isn’t much to play on video poker at the quarter level at Wynn, so I steered the Qyne to some short-pay Bonus Poker.

Wouldn’t you know it, she pulled out a $50 quad and ended up winning $100 on the session. Meanwhile, I lost $20.

At dollar VP she put in $100 and took out a quick hit of $150. Meanwhile I lost more.

We did an accounting over dinner at the easy-going yet elegant Terrace Point Café with its pool-side views, and sure enough, more confirmation that this was one of the most difficult trips I’d ever encountered – The QQ was up $24 on the day while I was $381 in the hole. It doesn’t last long at that rate.

It was time for the hicks to hit the hay. Or in the case of Wynn Las Vegas, the 3,000,000 thread count hay.

The Score

Winning day: QQ: 1
Losing day due to yet another ass-kicking: RF: 1
Beauty free nights at Wynn with $100 free play: 1
Lost ressies at Wynn: Us: 0, AnnoyingBeemerValetFaketanEarpieceBoi: 1
Overpriced (but non-dodgy) club sandwiches: 1
Railway yard beatings by yard dick: QQ: 0, RF: 0, Licorice Petey: 1 (he had some bad luck in Laughlin)
Olympic medals in Slot Decathalon: QQ: 1, RF: 0
Forgotten Clean and Jerk events: QQ: 1, RF: 1

Clean and Jerk Standings (STILL no change) QQ: $10 RF: $0