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Description I had one goal by the time I was 20: to go to bed with the same number of holes I’d woken up with. In retrospect, I did not know what I had gotten myself into. That’s why they say you should never take a favor from the Mafia.It was June 1990, something when I awoke with the worst hangover I’d ever had. I was getting drunker and drunker each night. It was the only way I could keep things under control and block out the memories of my daily life. The sunlight filtered through the slats of my bedroom blind and woke me up. It’s like a hammer to the head.John sr. sent Nick and me to Las Vegas to oversee the grand re-opening of a casino he’d invested in, which is another way of saying someone owed him a buttload of money and couldn’t pay the debt. John wasn’t the type of guy who gave second chances, so he took the stake. He reasoned that if you were stupid enough to get yourself involved in something; you were also stupid enough to suffer the consequences.I’d never been to Vegas before, so I had high hopes after hearing about the poker games. And it didn’t disappoint; the glitz and glamour captivated me from the moment I stepped onto the strip. There were showgirls everywhere, two-dollar steak and seafood buffets announcing their specials on billboards, and nickel and dime shit heels pounding the pavement in search of their next con. I was definitely out of my comfort zone, but I was too excited to care. Especially when I arrived at the Dunes and saw a blonde-haired goddess standing outside. I later learned her name was Tiffany, and she was a transplant from Oklahoma who came to make it big in the city of lights.
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