OUT OF LAS VEGAS

  "I'll be right back Mar, I gotta get this package up to Mr. DeGras."

  "Yeah, sure Joey. Just bring me back a cinnamon roll. You know, the ones from the...," Martin looked around, but Joey was gone.

  Joe Crozia was not the best of co-workers, but he had his good days. And unless he came back with some sort of sweet pastry, today would not be one of them.

  "Yep, it's gonna be another scorcher," Martin looked around again. Nobody was there to listen. If there were, they wouldn't of cared.

  Even under the large canopy, it was obvious during the late morning that the temperature would soon be well over a hundred degrees. He lifted the black patch over his left eye and rubbed it for a few seconds. The skin underneath was moist with sweat. A nearby speaker crackled as it hummed into electronic life.

  "Johnson, bring lot 312 to north valet."

  Martin ignored his radio. The message wasn't for him and there hadn't been one for his station in over two hours.

  He was beginning to hate Management. He had gotten stuck with south side parking duty for the past three days and they refused to fix the water-spraying cool zone. His black pants were beginning to ride up and the puffy, white shirt he had forgotten to wash last night reeked with yesterday's toils. He waved away a bothersome insect with his gray, plastic hook.

  Martin was starting to feel that it wasn't much fun being a pirate.

  He had been working at the Treasure Island (Hotel & Casino) for six months and he had yet to see any of the 'company perks' that all of his fellow employees bragged about. Complimentary seats at Cirque de Soleil, a couple of free trips to the buffet, maybe even a part in the pirate show that played in the front of the casino.

  No, none of that good stuff.

  Martin wasn't such a bad worker. The Management hadn't received that many complaints about him. Well, maybe a few more than he admitted to his family and friends. It's just that so many beautiful women came to gamble and he just couldn't help but staring. In fact, here comes...

  His mouth dropped open.

  "Oh my god."

  A woman.

  No.

  A goddess.

  A goddess was coming towards the glass doors.

  She was easily seven feet tall, with long blond hair waving over her broad shoulders and halfway down her arched back. Her gargantuan breasts were bouncing heavily back and forth, up and down in a huge, red bikini top. As she came through the doors, bending over slightly as to not hit her head on the high door frame, he saw that it was a slightly too large; covering too much of the firm globes it encompassed for his refined tastes.

  Probably unable to find something exactly in her size, Martin thought.

  He closed his mouth.

  She walked lightly on her tip-toes, though she didn't need to. It added a little height to her already impressive stature and accentuated the firm muscles in her slender calves. They were long and tan, continuing up to equally gorgeous thighs. Unlike her chest, her legs didn't jiggle at all as she walked.

  She kept coming closer.

  Her ass was firm and round and tight and ...

  Oh man.

  ...it filled out her jean shorts exceptionally well. Above her wide hips was a very trim stomach that would make a woman two feet smaller than her sigh with envy.

  And there was that chest again, nipples that were at an even level with his staring eyes. Not erect, but still poking out with a solid purpose. The arms on either side of her, what looked like, good-sized pumpkins, were as tan and strong as her legs. They weren't grossly enormous, but were long, toned, and exceptionally feminine.

  She towered over him.

  A titaness.

  She said something.

  He shook his head.

  "Uh, excuse me ... miss?"

  "My car? Bring it around please."

  She handed him a slip of paper. It said 506120 in light, green numbers.

  He turned towards the valet booth and kept his gaze on her reflection in the streaked glass. Her voice was stern but soft. She could command him to do anything she wanted and he would do it without question.

  Oh yeah.

  Martin opened the door to the booth and went to grab his walkie talkie. He stopped.

  No, he would get her her car himself; maybe he could score an extra point with her. At any rate, he could also get a picture of her with the camera the boys had down there. Yes, he could.

  Hot Damn.

  He went back outside.

  "I'll be back with your car in a minute miss." Martin walked away with a funny limp as he tried to conceal his swelling erection and didn't turn around to look at her as he ran down the ramp into the covered parking garage. It was because of this that he missed her scowl.

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  "So the priest says 'twenty bucks, same as in town!'"

  The faces around the small card table began to laugh as cigar smoke spilled from a few of their mouths. Someone slapped their hand against their knee. Johnson glanced up to see one of his fellow valets walking into the cool confines of the garage and he grimaced.

  "Martin? What the fuck are you doing down here? Who's minding the booth?"

  Martin shrugged before grimacing himself and answering.

  "Joe's up there. He's taking a nap. Don't worry about it. If someone drives up they'll wake him and he'll come down here. I'm here to pick up a car."

  "Why didn't you call it in on the radio?"

  "Uh, the radio's not workin'. Try it, you'll see."

  Johnson took the black phone from off of his hip and whispered a few words into the sound grid. Weiss and Phillips went back to their game of spades, something neither of them really knew how to play.

  "Joe, you there? Come back."

  Silence greeted him.

  "You see? It's not getting through." Good, Joe's not back yet. "I need to pick up lot 506120. Where is it?"

  "Over there."

  "Okay, let me grab something from the back first." Martin went through a series of doors before reaching the valet locker area. He rummaged around for a little while before finding what he wanted in a lone box in the corner; a camera that the hotel staff had donated a while ago to give the group of valets some sense of camaraderie.

  He hated the other valets.

  Martin walked back out into the garage where one of his antagonists was standing impatiently.

  "Here are the car keys. It's a damn nice car; don't fuck it up."

  "Gee Johnson, I didn't realize that was part of my job. Now let me do it."

  It was a bright red convertible with the top down and the front seat pushed as far back as it could go.

  That blonde bombshell needed all of that room, yes she did.

  Martin slid behind the driver's seat. He had to sit on the tip of the leather cushion to reach the pedals and he marveled at the idea of it.

  "Hey, is that our camera that you got there Mart?"

  But the car was already speeding away up the ramp.

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