The Swailing

Vegas: A Meal

Finn helps me cash in my coins and I am amazed that I am Ɵ250 richer just from pulling a lever. I take half of the money and hold it out to Finn. He looks at it but doesn't take it.

"What's that for?"

"It's for you."

"Why?"

"Well, you took me here. You showed me what to do. It was even your coin. Seems like we should split it."

For a second he has an almost pained look on his face that I don't understand, and he gently pushes the money back at me.

"You keep it. You won it."

I wait for a second to see if he changes his mind, but he turns away, so I put it in my pack figuring I'll find a way to repay him later.

We walk around the casino floor and now that I'm paying closer attention I hear different accents, even different languages. Optima has occasional international visitors too – mostly businesspeople from places like Sweden and Denmark who share a similar, non-consumerist mentality who come for business and then stay longer for the warm weather. But even if travel into Optima were easy, it's certainly not where you'd go for indulgent meals and adventure and ... nudity.

Gaming tables stretch out as far as the eye can see. I have no idea what they are playing and I don't even bother to ask Finn. They look complicated and I have already been asking too many questions. Plus, I am starting to feel dizzy from the noise and the flashing lights and the stuffy air.

"Let's get out of here. It smells like smoke."

"Oh, yeah. You can smoke here, too."

"Then why aren't you smoking?"

He shrugs and avoids eye contact in a way that tells me that maybe he doesn't really smoke. That maybe he did it to give the impression of being older. More ... worldly. I look at him again, more closely. He looks younger than I initially thought, now that I've spent some time with him. His skin is smooth and unblemished. The scruff of his beard is light – like someone who has only been shaving for a handful of years.

"Well, you shouldn't smoke anyway," I say. "It will kill you, you know."

"Yeah. Well. Lots of things will kill you."

I don't quite know what to make of the slight and sudden edge to his voice.

Once we're back outside, I squint in the bright sunlight. Finn hands a ticket to the valet, who goes to fetch the car.

"So. I promised to get you safely to Vegas."

"Oh, right!" I reach for the pocket on my bag that holds my money, but Finn stills my hand.

"I didn't mean you have to pay me now. I just don't know what's ... next."

He doesn't seem anxious to ditch me and I hesitate, debating about whether I should tell him about my search for my mom and brother. I don't suppose there is any harm in sharing that information, but it still feels too new and too personal. So instead I say, "I'm not really sure."

Finn nods. "Well. We can get some food, take a look around a bit, and I bet you're pretty tired ... I can find a place to stay tonight and then we can talk about your plan."

I clear my throat. "Yeah. Okay." My plan. What plan?

The valet pulls up in the car, and we hop in. Finn drives us away from the main strip of hotels to the edge of town where the buildings are smaller and less elaborate. He pulls up in front of a restaurant and turns off the engine.