Writers Tricks of the Trade January-February 2015 | Page 33

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MORE MOB MEMOIRS

THE BOSS ALWAYS SITS IN THE BACK (Cont’d)
There doesn’t seem to be one square foot of unused property in this old
desert oasis.
Over the years I had read the articles and seen the TV specials about how Las
Vegas had grown and how it now resembled a family theme park with rides and
circus acts for the kids, shops and pools for the wives, and casinos and hookers
for the dads.
But the allure of the decadence; of the wild nights with Frank, Dean and
Sammy; the rare Elvis and Howard Hughes sightings; the coolness; the glitz; the
excitement...that was all gone.
Inside, I never really cared about what the town had become because as far as
I was concerned I was never coming back here anyway.
When the plane touched down, everyone applauded.
I slowly shook my head and smiled.
The applause triggered a flood of memories as the plane taxied to the
terminal and the canopy approached us.
This surely wasn’t the same McCarran Airport I had flown into 22 times over
twenty-six months during the mid ‘70s.
It used to take 10 minutes to get through this airport. Now it took more than
thirty. But eventually, I found my luggage and was in the Hertz van headed to my
rented Lincoln.
I checked into a $1,900-a-night penthouse suite at The Mirage, and as soon as
the bellman left the room I picked up a phone to make the call.
“Jerry. I’m here.”
“Whatcha think, Juan?” After all these years, he still called me Juan. “It’s
changed since the last time you saw it, huh?” he asked as I opened the remotecontrolled curtains to look out over The Strip.
I let out a small nervous laugh.
Only Jerry knew what that laugh meant.
Vegas, for me, existed in a previous lifetime.
--It was October of 1977.
My last memory of this town was the morning two to ݕɥ