Petra flapped her paper flight ticket with her delicate long fingers. She busted out laughing while seated on the plane. Closing her eyes, she grinned ear-to-ear leaning back against the finely stitched Swedish leather chair. Philly to Las Vegas. She stared out the jet's oval window, rain battering against the thick bolted wings. The raindrops diagonally faded across the glass, drying to the soft glow of the west coast sunset. It's cerulean blue and ochre hues glowing over the passing silver clouds, wisps catching glimpses to the grids of the sin city lights below. 

The golden rays flashed her soulful brown eyes before unbuckling her belt. She got up, walking past the plush cream carpet of the cabin, towards the warm, smiling flight staff in crisp navy blue uniforms. She nodded her head in gratitude to them as she appeared into the sunlight.  Petra adjusts her dark, gradient aviator sunglasses, descending the narrow metal ramp as a blast from the hot Nevada desert wind blows the tied ends of her fleur-de-lis scarf.

Glancing over to the tarmac below, she sees Doc Knowles leaning against a convertible. Behind her, Alexander Westwood flicked his cigarette over the door. Petra stared at them and smiled warmly. After a slight pause, she hugs her. A soft hug, glad to be reunited.
 

"That's her, that's Petra's plane!" 

Before AlexanderWestwood had a chance to reply with a pithy remark about stating the obvious, I jumped out of the car and watched the plane as it taxied to a stop on the runway. People weren't supposed to be parked out here in the middle of the tarmac, but since he'd taken control of Paradise, my boss could more or less do whatever he pleased. Westwood's way. 

I hear his car door pop open now, and the sharp snap of his lighter as he lights a cigarette. With training as a medical professional, I feel it's my duty to give him a hard time over it, a shake of the head maybe, or at least a look, but I know he's not about to quit the habit just because of my nagging.

I'm too distracted to do that to him today, anyway. As Petra descends the stairs of the plane, for just a second there I can see the impish, laughing young girl she used to be, her image transposed over the refined young lady that she was today. As children, we'd been little hellions, stealing candy from the corner store until the teenage years hit, and suddenly, keeping our figures mattered because we'd begun to notice boys, and they'd begun to notice us right back. Then, it was on to sweet-talking our way past the doormen and bouncers of the most popular dance clubs and social scenes, practicing our hands at pickpocketing and coat-room thieving, while learning the difference between well drinks and top shelf.

We'd lost touch after that, once I got accepted to medical school and moved away. So it was quite the shock to suddenly find my friend again, both of us grown now, living in big cities, and still dabbling in things just this side of the law. 

It had to be a sign, didn't it? I knew I had to get her to Paradise, where we could pick up where we'd left off. The stakes were higher, the cons were longer, and the jobs were riskier, but the money was flowing in Vegas, and one thing hadn't changed... these two little girls still loved the excitement, still loved rubbing elbows with the players, and still loved all that money.

"Hey!" I call out excitedly, waving my arms as if we weren't the only car parked out here at the private airstrip. "I still can't believe you agreed to come. I'm so happy that you did!" I returned her hug, and we all climbed into the car, with me just chattering away like a wind-up toy monkey, too happy to notice or care when Alexander offers and lights her one of his smokes.

It's not everyday you see a Cadillac Series 61 convertible, but there I was, sitting in the back seat watching the thousands of starry casino lights bath Doc's radiant smile as she turned her head towards me. Mr. Westwood gently took a drag of his cigarette as he passed his keys to the valet. As we walked past the gilded hall, a grin escaped my face as I looked down, my heels eased into the loud, intricately woven carpet. Roman wheels, flowers, bud, bloom, and die suggested an ephemeral beauty,  a symbol of the relentless pursuit of fortune. As we walked past the gambling halls to the restaurant, Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra played on stage, "Heaven Can Wait." Three waiter's stood ready at our circular table in the Ocean room. 

Speaking with AlexanderWestwood was relaxing. He was elegant and warmly welcoming. A bodyguard whispered into Alexander's ear, I caught a glimpse of a gentle peck to Doc's cheek as he stood up. He briefly excused himself with personal matters to attend to, easing Doc and I into a private moment to reminisce about our fond childhood memories. I glance at the bubbles rising from my champagne glass, the the rows of candlelit tables, peering through the luxurious wall of glass that separated the clubhouse from the terrace below. Lounge chairs occupied by the upper class of Vegas society splayed across the stone purview. Laughter drifted idly upward as drink eased tongues and hearts and eyes glanced towards the glimmering lights of the strip silhouetted by the cool night.
 

"He has to do that a lot." I watch forlornly as AlexanderWestwood excuses himself and walks away in a flurry of bodyguards, like the central figure in a shaken snow globe. "So much on his plate, yet he never will outright ask for help. It's both admirable, and frustrating as hell." I can feel those stress lines trying to carve into my face, so I take a deep breath and force myself to relax in the overstuffed, brocade dining chair. 

"Do you like champagne? If I'm honest," I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice, "I still can't tell the damn difference between a shitty spumante and a Moet Chanson." 

As if he'd heard me, the sommelier that had been idling nearby approached our table and filled my glass with a Chateau Margaux that I happened to know ran around a hundred and fifty per bottle. Embarrassed, I thanked him and prayed he'd go away.

"Hey. Do you remember that one time," I start giggling, like I did every time I retold the story, "... that one time, with the director of sanitation, where we-" 

My giggling turned to hearty laughter, I couldn't help it, "...and we only got like twenty bucks off him for our troubles?" Tears are streaming now, it shouldn't be that funny that we'd killed the guy by accident, but if anyone had needed killing, it was him. I managed to get myself under control before people started staring, but it was a close one. Lifting my overpriced glass of wine, I examined the hearty color in the candlelit glow rising from the table before giving it a tentative sip. 

Okay, maybe not overpriced. This was good wine. Really good. 

"We've come a long way. I think we're gonna go even further." Smiling, I clinked my glass gently to hers. 

I instantly felt the eyes of every person in the clubhouse. "...it's shouldn't be that funny that we'd killed that guy by accident..." a large grin escaped my face. My eyes met with DocKnowles, eased to speak my voice lowering as well.

I smiled and laughed. " My friend told me he drinks Chateauneuf Du Pape, I wondered if it made any difference too." I clinked my glass gently with hers.  

I nodded, "I think so too."