Chapter 1

Off of the top of my head, I can easily think of ten or twenty reasons why someone would want to take a shot at me. Not one of those reasons would include a 'Mormon Hit Squad' up here in one of the most ass-backwards, isolated and forgotten mountain ranges in the entire State of Nevada. Since when did the Mormons even have 'Death Squads' anyway? Sure, the Jesuit's or Opus Dei might run those kinds of operations, as might some fringe Southern Baptist cult ... but the Mormons? You learn something new every day!

It didn't much matter I suppose. Frankly for a moment or two I was even glad to see them, until they decided that they didn't want any witnesses and they mentally added me to their butcher's bill. I can respect that, they probably had their orders to follow — and a man needs to do what a man needs to do ... but they can't blame me for wanting to stay alive either.

From the early looks of things, they'd had their quick surprise chance to take me out and they'd blown it. Now, I could just manage to stay alive for a little while longer the odds were going to turn well into my favor. One thing was definitely for sure ... regardless of how things turned out I wouldn't be likely to return back here again! Or was I?

Now, 'What the hell is going on?' you might be asking? Frankly, I'm not at all sure I have an answer for you and for my story to even remotely make any sort of sense at all I need to back up quite a bit, probably the further back the better. So bear with me ... It's a long story, but I'll get to all of the bloodletting and mayhem soon enough.

Back in the hoary days of my early youth, my parents moved to Vegas from the State of Maine. My father had terrible back problems and swore that another New England winter would be the death of him so he wanted to move to a place that was nice and warm. Instead, he found a heart-attack waiting for him working in the 110 degree Nevada desert sun one July afternoon. He was an electrician and a good one, his specialty being neon sign lighting.

He had been a good Union man all of his life but being relatively new to the area hadn't made a lot of political contacts yet. My mother got a little bit of a widow's pension from them but frankly it wasn't a whole lot of money for us to live on. She had to file for a Social Security survivors benefit for us as well for there to be enough income to keep a roof over our heads.

The fifth or sixth of each month, when the Social Security checks arrived was just like Christmas, the one day of the month when there was plenty. The rest of the month we survived on an extremely tight budget. She knew to the penny where every cent of our income went and we got to be geniuses at calculating exactly how much our expense would be on any visit to the grocery store. If we could spend only $25 dollars that week, then we never left the store with more than $24.63 cents worth of items.

I hope I don't need to elaborate on what its like to go do a week's grocery shopping on less than the amount two people could easily spend going out to dinner. My mother was an excellent cook and knew how to make frugal New England style meals last. Sunday was always a soup or chowder that could be stretched out with milk for at least another two days. She baked her own bread and made everything from scratch. I don't think there was ever a box mix or 'convenience item' in the entire house. A treat was a box of discount store brand ice milk — real ice cream was way out of our budget.

In addition, she soon found a part-time job working at an old repertory movie theater that played a popular circuit of old repertoire black & white and early color cinema classics, back in the days before Cable TV and TCM. They didn't pay much, but it was all 'under the table' and tax free, plus eliminated the need to pay for a babysitter. Old movies became my free babysitter, much like today's parents that often use cartoons on the TV. I think I got the better education even though I was never good with books.

It seems like I grew up in that movie theater and I must have seen literally thousands of vintage films over the years. Some weeks it was comedies, the next week film noire, the next Busby Berkley, and even my favorite films, the old silent pictures of Chaplin, Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton made a regular appearance. Old 'B' Westerns, science fiction and horror (complete with vintage 1950's serials) were played every Saturday afternoon to near sell out crowds. I loved them all, but the movies of the silent film era really grabbed me for some reason.

I certainly never missed a showing for a good many years, until I began to work for the legendary and infamous Mr. Adriano DeLuca at his famous casino on the Strip in the early-mid 1970's when I was still barely a teenager.

No one ever called him Adrian or even Adriano to his face; he was either Mr. DeLuca or just 'Sir' to his face and when we employees spoke privately amongst ourselves he was always referred to as "The Boss", and always with sincere respect. He had come to Vegas in the late 1940's on the heels of Bugsy Siegel with some New Jersey 'family' money and had carved himself out a nice little empire of his own, with a noted casino and hotel right on the heart of the strip.

I could mention the name of the casino and chances are you'd have heard of it. For purposes of my narration and to protect the very few innocent and the many very guilty folks, I will refer to the place simply as the Casino.

Sinatra or others of his rat pack performed there for years, along with everyone who was anyone in show business. Mr. DeLuca liked good entertainment and wasn't afraid to pay top money to bring in a premiere name or three to put up on his colossal marquee neon sign out in front. My father had worked (and died) on that very sign, as I found out later!

Big names brought customers into his hotel, clubs and restaurants and meant more money spent at his gaming tables. He liked having his photo taken with all of the famous and infamous and saw to it that his club (and his photo) constantly appeared in newspapers and magazines. He was very much of the 'there is no such thing as bad publicity' school.

"Never be afraid to spend some money to make even more money" was one of his legendary sayings. Unfortunately, his descendents in the modern corporate age have embraced the opposite, namely 'cut all expenses to the bone so we can show a bigger profit'. Sure it works for awhile, but it's very bad for the long term and extremely bad on employee loyalty.

He may not have earned every dollar honestly, but Mr. DeLuca was a man of a great many principles, the foremost being repaying debts of loyalty.

It was probably one of the hottest days of the year on that August early afternoon, when I was fourteen and just hanging out in the rear parking lot near the main parking garage of the Casino. Truth be told, I was bored out of my wits and had contemplated doing some 'dumpster diving' to find something of either interest or resale value in their trash today. It's amazing the odd assortment of stuff that you can find in any hotel dumpster. Basically, anything left behind by a guest that 'Lost and Found' can't be bothered to deal with, which covers a lot of stuff.

Finding a discarded jacket sounds pretty meaningless in Vegas when it's over 100 degrees outside but that doesn't mean I can't get a dollar even five for a nice one when taken to a local consignment resale shop. Considering my allowance was just $5 a month, making an extra $10-20 from selling stuff to consignment and pawnshops made a huge difference in my personal finances.

Still, I didn't like to be blatant about my second hand excursions of acquisition and was trying to look 'cool' and casual when an older very well dressed gentleman came out of the underground part of the parking garage and marched right up to me. He looked vaguely familiar and I thought I might have seen the old fellow over at the movie theater a few times. At first, I thought he was just some well-dressed security gunsel coming to run me off the property but instead he had a unusual proposition for me.

"Hey kid, what's your name and are you doing anything right now. Wanna make $20 bucks? The garage manager's short on help today and needs some cars washed all afternoon. You game?"

Sure I was! Absolutely. I'd wash cars all day in the hot sun for $20, I thought and I replied back instantly with my snappiest, "Yes Sir! My name is Jonny Peters and I'd very much to help you, Sir. Thank You Very Much, Sir!" and ran down into the basement of the garage to find the boss. I might have been a poor kid without two dimes to rub together but I'd had a proper 'New England' upbringing and knew how to be polite when speaking to older gentlemen and ladies.

Naturally, the garage manager didn't know a thing about my newly pending employment and had pretty much brushed me off entirely until I described the elderly fancy dressed gent to him and his attitude then suddenly changed a full 180 degrees. Two minutes later I was joining four or five other fellows washing and cleaning hundreds of cars for the next four and half hours until everything was done and I was told to go home. By then however, the Garage Manager "Rusty" was 'elsewhere' and I couldn't find anyone who could give me my promised twenty dollars, so I resolved (soaked wet to the skin and all) to find this 'Boss" and get my money directly from him!

Heaven must protect fools because an hour later I had actually found his executive office and was standing (slightly dryer) in front of his humongous desk and I was annoying the great man in person. His secretary seemed to have left momentarily but that didn't stop me from knocking on his large double doors and letting myself in. Undoubtedly she would have been horrified seeing a grungy ill-dressed young kid dripping water and sweat all over The Bosses priceless antique oriental rugs.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother and interrupt you but I've completed the chore you asked me to do and I can't seem to find anyone that can pay me. That is, regarding the $20 you promised earlier, Sir." I then gave my best smile at him and tried hard to stand up straight and look 'earnest'. He in return blinked at me a few times and regarded me with some slight interest.

"So ... I owe you some money then son?"