Cindy wanted to stop at a Dollar store before we left Farmington, so while she was in the store I walked to the back of the parking lot and took this picture. It is another that I took with my cell phone. I like the way it turned out.
Cindy had no more Books on CD, so she asked me to find the nearest Cracker Barrel© where she could find one or two. I pulled out my smart phone, went to Google, and found a website that would locate the nearest restaurant. I entered our location in New Mexico. At that point I believe the website had a stroke. It told me that the nearest Cracker Barrel© was in Lakeview, Minnesota. Cindy didn’t want to drive that far out of our way. I was relieved.
We drove for quite a while on that day. We got to Las Vegas before the sun set, but late enough to be tired.
Cindy and I decided to have dinner at the casino located next to the resort. At one point I noticed Cindy looking around the eating area. She turned to me and said that she thought that a man sitting in a booth near ours looked like he was in the Mafia. I looked over and saw a young man sitting with a pretty young woman. He was wearing shorts, sandals, and a polo shirt. She was wearing a tight-fitting, peach colored dress. I considered his appearance and decided that his beard appeared to be a couple of days past the approved unshaved effect that is currently popular…but, yes, perhaps a Mafia soldier. The pretty young woman seemed to be laughing too easily, but maybe that was from too much drink rather than nervousness.
I started considering the back story. No, he wasn’t just a Mafia soldier, he was in a witness protection program. Moreover, he had slipped away from his arranged job as a worker at the municipal sewage disposal plant in Eureka, Oregon. He was reverting to is old lifestyle.
In walked two men dressed in shorts, trainers, and bowling shirts. One, the elder, was using a cane. I surmised that they were hit men who had been sent to silence the squealer. The cane was actually a camouflaged pistol and silencer. They were seated in a booth next to their intended victim. He seemed oblivious to them. He felt too safe for his own good.
Next to enter, and seated in the booth next to ours, was an older woman, a devout Southern Baptist woman from Starkville, Mississippi. She had come to Sin City in search of her wayward daughter who had moved here, and had started turning tricks from a street corner two blocks off of the strip. The mother had found her and was taking her back to Mississippi, but only after having a good meal. With them was a man, obviously homeless, whom they had decided to feed, rather than give him money that he would spend on cheap alcohol. I could tell that he was homeless because he was wearing a backpack, and was carrying a shopping bag and what appeared to be a red, plastic carrier for an electric drill.
Wait a minute! Perhaps he was the hit man, and the carrier contained a collapsible sub-machine gun. I needed to ponder this situation.
At that moment I noticed a group sitting at a table nearer the middle of the room. There was an older couple with three people (two women and one man) who were in their late thirties. It seemed obvious that one of the younger women, the blonde, was a former high school cheer leading squad captain who was trapped in a loveless marriage to the younger man, a pharmacist in Hannibal, Missouri. She had a part-time job in an antique store. With them were the older couple, the pharmacist’s parents, with whom they lived, and the pharmacist’s sister, the owner of a tree trimming business.
My attention was drawn back to the former Mafia goon and the pretty girl in the peach dress. They were leaving, but none of the probable hit men followed. Hmmm. Very strange. Then I realized that the pretty girl in the peach dress was the killer. Her plan was to lure him to her room, get him to lower his guard along with his shorts, and when he least expected it she would jam a knitting needle into his left ear where it would penetrate his brain and instantly kill him, leaving a smile on his face.
The two men in bowling shirts, who next left the restaurant, were there to clean up the crime scene. The seemingly homeless man was a secondary cleaner who would dispose of the pretty girl in the peach dress and the two cleaners in the bowling shirts.
I looked back at the people at the table and decided that the woman in the loveless marriage might actually be the principal of an elementary school in Albany, New York, but that everything else was spot on.
Addendum to yesterday’s post: Looking over my notes I realized that I failed to mention that after we left Ouray, CO and before I started driving in the clouds, I drove through one tunnel and one “overpass” that protected the road from avalanches. Also, that on the way down, but before we left the clouds, Cindy woke up. The chill pills were still working so while she showed some concern, she didn’t get the screaming mimis (it’s a medical term).