My Life with Death

Huntridge Tavern, Las Vegas, Nevada

 The South Vegas establishment was my favorite—even the most popular. I enjoyed the music and the atmosphere of the whole place. I went there practically every day. They knew me very well there. They always joked with me. For example, they asked if I had already been invited to Jurassic Park or if I was like Indiana Jones, only instead of sacred artifacts, I was a dinosaur hunter.

8:28 p.m.

"I like it here," I said sweetly.

"Really?" surprised.

"Yes, I love country music. I'm from West Virginia, so it's in my blood."

"And how did you get to Vegas?"

"I ran away here and started studying. I fell in love with it here so much that I never returned, and after school, I immediately started working at the same university."

"How long have you been in Vegas?"

"Over seven years."

"And you never came home."

"Never," I smiled.

"What about your family?"

"I don't want to go into that... Understand that I had a reason not to come back, but I'll put it this way," I took a deep breath while playing with the chain around my neck. "I have a family there, but also here... and I'm happier here," I said. "what about you? What's your story?" I asked. "You know, I'm asking because I'm starting to feel like I'm being interrogated," I added, smiling.

"Excuse me," he apologized. "occupational hazard." He laughed.

I took a drink of the beer standing before me on the tabletop in a dewy bottle.

"Can you read people? Tell me, what have you found out about me when we talked? Show me your tricks."

"They're not tricks. It is ordinary psychology combined with observation. It's called deduction."

"How did you learn that?" curiously.

"I studied psychology in high school...but I've always observed people and learned to read them from a young age. This kind of thing can be trained. It's nothing special," modestly.

"It seems quite extraordinary to me. I don't know a psychologist who can do this. You would be a good fit for us at the FBI. You could read any criminal in minutes. You would save us time, money, and employees," he flattered me.

"Is that supposed to be a job offer?"

"Maybe?" he flirted.

"Talk," I prompted. "tell me about yourself."

"I grew up in Texas. I studied in Boston at MIT. I've been with the FBI for ten years. I started in the Cyber Department because of my education, but I was drawn to serious crimes, so after five years of working in the basement, I worked my way up to snipers and finally to homicide."

"You're a sniper?"

"Yes," he replied. "A desire for justice has always driven me," he added.

"And why did you choose paleontology? You could have done anything else with your knowledge."

"I got a scholarship to Charleston High School. I could have gone to study literature and languages, but I wanted to study science. I wanted to study forensic anthropology in D.C. I was ready to go there when something happened. I wouldn't be able to look at dead bodies and talk to the victim's families," I exclaimed. "so I ran to Vegas... away from trouble. I took all the money, but it wasn't enough. I worked to pay for school. I worked from morning to night, day and night. In the end, Christine helped me the most."

10:34 p.m.

We sat there thoughtfully, staring at each other and drinking beer from the bottles. I listened to the tune that started playing from the jukebox. I looked at Agent Kent and smiled.

"What is it?" strangely. "Nothing," I replied, laughing even harder. "It's just that I'm not that spontaneous."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... maybe I've never invited a man to..." I thought. "for a beer," I added. I cleared my throat and stared anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, nothing," I excused myself. "just the song," I said, listening to myself again.

"Do you dance?" he asked modestly.

I laughed. I didn't believe it. I thought I was going crazy from the beer or from being overworked.

"You don't have to," I said.

"What don't I have to?"

"Dance with me. If you feel sorry for me, you don't have to," I replied.

"I don't understand you," he replied.

"I understand. You checked me out. Surely you wouldn't trust a stranger with a case when you found out everything about my life and why I'm in Vegas," confidently. "It's okay," I added, touching his hand. "I'm fine with it."

He looked at me uncomprehendingly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to lie to me," indignantly.

I've had enough. I took money from my pocket and placed it on the table across from me. I took my bag, stood up, and left without another word or sentence.