Lenny's Roots
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2017 by harry lime

The scuttlebutt from the casino owner crowd was that henceforward Lenny Mazurka was no longer welcome inside the city limits of Las Vegas, Reno and even the more sedate Lake Tahoe gambling establishments. There was a sense of finality about the edict despite the fact it was entirely verbal and not attributable to any single party. It was sort of like trying to trace back the original source of the Ten Commandments.

Lenny was mostly either drunk or high lately and he was playing his I-don’t-care card with a blank stare and a smile that confirmed he didn’t give a shit.

Fortunately, the other coast enforcers were all immersed in the free booze and free pussy red carpet I had stretched out for them as soon as they got off the plane. They had shot up a classy suite at the Luxor in some kind of crazy bet about who was the better marksman. The fact they were using standard issue silencers helped keep the lid on the damage and the girls thought they were cute with their long-barreled handguns. I greased the security guys to make their instinct to report to the local law enforcement disappear like the lobster at a free buffet.

I met with Tammy, the casino owner’s daughter and she tearfully told me about her humiliation at Lenny’s careless hands.

The girl was young.

She was too young for me to even consider consoling her in a way that might make me a target as well. I knew her mom from some time back and remembered how she had a way of making a pole an accomplice in carnal carnival.

Her spa-pampered mother gave me the evil eye from the edge of the casino pool and I knew she was not a fan because I had disrespected her in the usual way before she had snared the casino boss as a partner for life. In a way, I felt ashamed of my cavalier younger attitude and I wanted to make amends but didn’t have a clue about the best way to go about it.

The still-attractive and mature Zelda got down to brass tacks and asked me with a not so subtle smile,

“You still like the ass humping thing, Tony?”

That was an invitation to follow her up to her suite and we did the two step tango all over the fluffy white carpet. After that royal performance, she calmed her daughter down and told her to accept the cherry red Jaguar I had parked in the VIP lot to compensate her for her embarrassment. I momentarily had a vision of doing a mother-daughter thing right there in the luxury suite, but common sense prevailed and I got lost in a hurry before the tables got turned on me.

We got Lenny bundled up with a pair of blondes from the after midnight show and managed to spirit him out of Nevada with absolutely no fanfare or fuss from his less than adoring public. The girls were a couple of disposables from the old-fashioned review off the strip and they saw the opportunity to go to Hollywood as a milestone in their uninspiring careers. I think their names were Trixie and Candy or something close to that. Trixie was the smart one and she spent most of the trip reading the frigging Wall Street Journal like she understood every confusing word. Candy was playing with Lenny’s oversexed male equipment like it was the only available toy in the playground. I averted my eyes from the panting couple and tried to figure out the Trixie dame because she was not your run of the mill showgirl with a high maintenance agenda and a complete lack of empathy for the less fortunate ordinary looking people around her.

I noticed her paper had a mailing sticker on it with an Italian sounding name with a Capital D and a little mark that usually marked someone from the old country. The first name was Angelina and I suspect that was probably her real name rather than some maiden aunt with a penchant for investing.

For some reason, I was hesitant to strike up a conversation with the strange broad even though we were sitting next to each other with our naked thighs touching like lovers in a honeymoon nest. She had the nicest legs I had seen in a long time and that included Lady Glamour and her jaded mom. Still, I knew she wasn’t going anywhere in the entertainment field because she didn’t have any viable sugar daddy or mentor to guide her through the maze of casting couches and so-called producers with condoms in almost every pocket. This Angelina babe was nice enough that I would have volunteered for the job, except I knew for a fact she had been giving up her pretty ass to Lenny to pay for a chance at breaking into the Hollywood scene.

I guess my urge for steady pussy overcame my reservations because I found it easy to give her my card and suggest we get together for lunch at the earliest opportunity. She acted a bit shy but nodded her pretty little head in agreement and I knew she liked me despite our obvious difference in age.

Ramon and I set up shop in a quiet little cul-de-sac not far from Beverly Hills. It was a confiscated home taken from some out-of-work gambler that tried to turn his available cash into a retirement plan and found lady luck was nowhere to be found when the cards were sorted out on top of the green felt. Apparently, he was one of those divorced pricks that had a neighborhood reputation of running cheap whores through his hot tub in the middle of the night. Most of the neighbors were regular working stiffs and had no connection to the film industry or the field of entertainment. Our neighbor on the left was a middle-aged thick in the middle redhead called Monica and all I could think about whenever I called her by her name was the young intern in the White House down on her knees getting a mouthful of dick from her boss and probably an expensive unlit Cuban cigar straight up her generous behind for good measure.

 
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