Shadow

Chapter 4 - The Blame Game

It had been almost an hour since Jimmy received the devastating news that he hoped he wouldn't have had to hear. Constant thoughts raced through his mind while he was packing a few of his clothes in the sports bag he rarely used. He kept seeing Richie's face. Jimmy questioned himself whether he was strong enough to take a life, and if he was, what method would he use to get the result he desired?

He paused. What if Richie wasn't at Vegas and he happened to be somewhere else? Before Richie's uncle died, he had supposedly left him a house in his will back there, given the fact his uncle had never married nor had children.

Even though Richie had never stepped foot in the house his uncle had left him, he would constantly go backward and forward from Bakersfield to Vegas in hopes of job opportunities.

Jimmy didn't even know the address, and he wasn't one-hundred-percent sure if Richie would be in Vegas. If he wasn't, it would be a wasted trip.

Before he started packing, he had called up another friend of his who currently resided in Vegas, Harry Deckard, who also happened to be the manager of the infamous Mirage Hotel. If anyone knew where Richie's house would be, it was this man.

Jimmy grew up with Harry and they had become good friends and still continued to stay in touch when Harry moved to Vegas. But that didn't stop him from giving Jimmy much-needed support after Charlie's untimely passing. And when it came to the subject of Richie, Harry had zero respect and tolerance for him.

He once said to Jimmy: You can't trust that man; he's unreliable and unpredictable. You just never know what he's going to do next.

The reason he had said that was because Richie had been in Harry's employ at the Mirage five years ago, working as part of the security team, whilst residing in a motel room. He would usually miss his shifts, spend his breaks smoking marijuana at the back of the hotel and try to set himself up with some dates with the women (or even young girls) who had stayed. Harry hired competence and professionalism in the highest order, and Richie certainly did not fit the criteria. After a few weeks, Harry had given him his walking papers.

I'm telling you, Jimmy. If I were you, I wouldn't waste a second on him, he had said. Screw his friendship. How many times did you have to beg him to stay off the marijuana if he were to be one of your best men at your wedding? Remember the embarrassment he almost caused you when he felt up one of the bridesmaids? He ain't a good friend; he's an out of work, useless bum who has no respect for himself or for anyone else. Guys like him either die young or go to prison.

Jimmy knew there was some truth to what Harry was saying but would occasionally laugh it off because he knew Richie better than anyone until Harry's words came back to haunt him on that tragic day.

He rang him about ten minutes after his phone-call with Richie's parole officer. When Harry picked up and said hello, Jimmy said two words: 'He's out.'

Immediately recognizing the voice, Harry responded with, 'I know, my friend. I know.'

'How did you hear about it?'

'Hear about it? Son of a bitch had the nerve to ring me up. Told me he was out on parole, and he would be in Vegas tonight to stay for a while, looking for job opportunities. He asked if it was possible to be in my employ again.'

'What did you tell him?'

'I think when I laughed my ass off, he pretty much understood my stand on the matter. He wanted a second chance; there are no second chances with me. Trust me, there's no way I'd consider giving employment to that lowlife piece of shit again.'