By Stephen Richter | 2:02 a.m.
The birth of a Story: (naked verse: dialogue only)
Begin with only dialogue then move on to giving a sense of time and place in the world.
Part 1 – The voice
A: “I’m sorry, man. My battery’s dead. You wouldn’t know the score, would ya’?”
B: “Seven – three, Patriots.”
A: “Jesus.”
B: “Yeah, I know. I don’t think New York’s gonna’ cover.”
A: “You get down on the Jets, too?”
B: “Huge.”
A: “I feel you. We all unloaded on New York and the over.”
B: “Who you working with?”
A: “Vegas pipeline.”
B: “No shit? Hank Russo still over there?”
A: “Of course. It was his pick.”
B: “I should have known. Where’s he getting his steam from?”
A: “Stan Pastorini, he picks the games.”
B: “Picks the games? Pastorini can’t even pick his ass.”
A: “Well he did call last week’s Notre Dame lock-burial and-”
B: “Hey, no offense, I’m just saying. I don’t think he puts that much thought into the process, that’s all.”
A: “Well he sure had us all put enough dough into the process this weekend.”
B: “Had you all unload, huh?”
A: “Yeah, huge. He called it his burning bush play.”
B: “Burning bush?”
A: “Says it’s beyond inside information. It’s a divine pick.”
B: “Real inside steam, huh?”
A: “Supposedly.”
B: “Didn’t Dr Vegas work over there with you guys?”
A: “Yeah, until Sam Sharp shot him after the Super Bowl.”
B: “I heard about that. Except I heard it was Tommy the Monster.”
A: “No no, he was still with Billy the Hun and those guys at Black Book Sports back then.”
B: “Well, it is a tough business.”
A: “Fucking A. Yes!!! Yes!!!”
B: “Yeah, baby! Get some!!!”
A: “Ten – seven, baby!”
B: “Burning bush… Maybe Stan can pick his ass after all!”
A: “Whew, okay. Okay. We just need three more.”
B: “Famous last words.”
A: “Gotta’ love it though. Want one?”
B: “Sure, why not. It’s better than drinking it out of the bottle.”
A: “Yeah, plus Tums have calcium in them. So it’s harder for people to break your legs.”
B: “You’re a funny guy. You’ll do good in this business.”
A: “I try.”
B: “That’s all a man can do.”
A: “How long you been in sports?”
B: “Since the Flintstones.”
A: “No shit?”
B: “1974, before your boss even played for the Oilers”
A: “Wow.”
B: “Big wow.”
A: “So how do you deal with it? I mean, when they lose.”
B: “I would’ve thought Hank taught you better, rookie.”
A: “I know, I know. They’re all pieces of shit, degenerate gamblers that lie to everyone in their miserable lives…”
B: “Come on, rookie, say it like you mean it.”
Part 2 – Place in the world
The guitar in front of the Hard Rock hotel casino flashed its neon strings. Limousines, taxis, and pedestrians gravitated toward the rotunda of the main entrance. Valets ran back and forth with a sense of intensity. Pockets bulged with tips and slips of paper for the patrons to reclaim their vehicles. A Country western singer wearing a cowboy hat gave the parking lot a “thumbs-up,” from the mammoth screens above Paradise road.
“Are you ready for some football?!!!” the flashing words read overhead.
Inside, Harley Davidson motorcycles lined the perimeter of slot machines that encircled the casino. Pit bosses counted chips at the craps tables. Patrons postured and flexed their financial feathers. Men tried to impress women with cash and coolness. Women sized up the men with caution, looking for signs of falsehood or feigned luxury. Football games played on every screen above every section of the casino.
At the center of the activity stood the World Bar.
Ice cubes jingled. People mingled and played. They smiled. The air smelled of liquor and AC. Here and there, among the happy, sat the serious ones. Their faces, set like stone, stared up at the screens. Some perspired, despite the air conditioning. Some chain-smoked. Some trembled when they lifted their glasses to their lips. Two men sat at the World Bar, pinned between the pushing and shoving customers who wanted to order drinks. One man was older. The other man was young. Both men drank bottled water. Both men held pocket notepads and pencils. Neither man spoke. The young man pulled a pager from his hip and looked at it. His expression darkened. He hit the pager against the palm of his other hand. He slammed it down on the bartop in front of him.
