The Grand Casino Oklahoma City

I think we're all aware by now of the conspiracy that's building in the background of 2077. Most of us know about the mysterious Blue Eyes who appears in The Sun ending to the game. He operates as The Stinger of sorts for (that) ending of the game; He and V discuss a job vaguely alluded to through out the ending sequence and then the ending cuts to V in space charging off towards The Crystal Palace. Cue DLC Hook and credits.
But, let's go back here. This is only the tail end of the conspiracy and where it actually intersects with V's story. Blue Eyes (and some connections to him) crop up multiple times through out the game and, when pieced together, start building a larger picture that runs deeper into Night City than the pockets of most corporats.
I've finished my second playthrough of the game and I've been drafting this post as I play and find more clues. I doubt I'll find everything or might completely dismiss some, but I want to be on the front lines of uncovering this mystery, especially if this will be our Gaunter O'Dim for Cyberpunk 2077. I apologize for the length of this post ahead of time, but I need to summarize a bunch of lore and at least 4 major side-quests; "I Fought The Law", "Dream On", "Full Disclosure", and "The Prophet's Song".
Here's a long essay incoming, but I hope you chooms enjoy and I hope you read through to the end because, oh boy, I uncovered some cool shit!
So, who is Blue Eyes? Who are his contacts? What is his role in the ecosystem of this city?
"I FOUGHT THE LAW"
Let's start with where he most appears in the game; Jefferson and Elizabeth Peralez, political family in the running for Night City's first family. Which I kinda have to summarize their questlines, including the first one which Blue Eyes never appears in. But I'd prefer to go in chronological order and not jump around, so stick with me.
Elizabeth first contacts you for the job "I Fought The Law". It's fairly basic, but the quest tells us she convinced her husband to hire V to look into the recent death of Mayor Rhyne. We get a BD of a cyberpsycho attack by Peter Horvath on Mayor Rhyne. Weldon Holt leaves the room before the attack and then the security gate crashes right before Peter walks in with billions of eddies worth of chrome. The attack is unsuccessful and stopped by Detective River Ward, who was only there because Peter went missing internally at the NCPD and he knew where Peter would go.
When investigating Peter Horvath, his previous boss describes him as paranoid that "probably thought Mayor Rhyne talked to him through the TV" and that the world was out to fuck him. She then mentions that someone "finally saw what he was worth" which cues into how Peter was thrown into this attack in the first place; he had a patron who funded his chrome and the attempt on Rhyne's life. Tellingly, River than goes into a little talk about how clues rarely make sense until put into the larger context, much like we're doing right now.
V goes to the club Rhyne died in; The Red Queen's Race. V sneaks through, takes out some Animals, and can investigate what actually happened to Rhyne. If we read the emails on the office terminal, we know that Weldon Holt arranged for Rhyne to be there. He initially mentioned this to Rhyne during the first BD; Rhyne asked Holt directly to arrange his usual room at the club. So, this doesn't inherently look too suspicious on it's own, but Holt knew where Rhyne would be. We also find out via the Animals Boss there that Weldon Holt is the one who hired them to smash up the club and they're currently waiting around for payment. Further, you can go to the room Rhyne died in, find the BD headset, and put it on... which INSTANTLY knocks V out and they need to be rescued by River (who, btw, takes out any Animals on the property you didn't get to! Ty bro!). They surmise that Rhyne was killed by a virus in the headset. Lastly, we find footage of Detective Han (River's partner) covering up the death of Rhyne. They confront Han, V goes off to the Peralezs, and quest ends.
Of note, finding the BD set is a hidden dialogue option with the Peralezes suggesting, yes, that's the correct deduction to make. You don't get that option otherwise. And V never actually comes to any real conclusion to what happened to Rhyne.
So, let's summarize what we know about the death of our Mayor. Peter Horvath was hired by an unknown Patron who spent a ton of money to turn him into a suicide bomb against Rhyne. They have connections internally to the corrupt NCPD which allowed Horvath to get access to Rhyne, both from escaping NCPD custody and for the security to give him access to Rhyne's conference room. That fails so our mastermind instead assassinates Rhyne at his usual sex club, one that we know for sure Holt knew about. Rhyne is assassinated via malware in a BD porno headset, NCPD comes in an Detective Han cleans it up. Later, Holt hires the Animals to take claim to the club and fuck it up.
Holt is looking suspicious AF rn, but we also don't have any direct evidence and V says as much if you accuse him. Personally, I think it's a little too clumsy if it's him. Holt leaves the room just as an assassination attempt goes down, sets up a sex club appointment for the Mayor where he's successfully assassinated, NCPD covers it up... and then he hires a gang to cover it up more? Something doesn't fit here.
My theory is Holt is innocent. He's a scum bag, but not the culprit here. Why would you EVER give your identity to the Animals you hired to cover up an assassination? The big dumb brutes of the underworld? A name they give up with almost no fight? No, I think someone hired them under Holt's name. And I think they hired them because they KNEW the BD Headset was left behind; Han dismissed it entirely as Rhyne dying of a heart attack brought on during sex. They needed that destroyed to cover the final footprints. It's the only piece of evidence that doesn't have Holt or NCPD's name on it and doesn't fit the narrative that both are pushing. If they're covering NCPD or Holt's tracks, why not delete the emails or footage of Han? And if Holt or Han were trying to push this false narrative, why leave the headset right there the first time?
And, while I have no evidence of this assertion, the Animals are only still there because they're waiting for payment to come in... I think our employer never intended to pay them and left them in the path of V, who is likely to shoot them and tie up the loose end for our mysterious entity. Animals destroy the BD set, V shoots the animals, no trace. And, even if he doesn't, Animals will point V to the wrong person.
No, we've got a third party here. But let's continue so we can finally let our lead actor take center stage.
"DREAM ON"
"Dream On" starts when Jefferson calls V and asks them to help in another case. Long and Short; Jefferson woke up in the night and found a man in a mask (or an implant) standing over him. Jefferson shot the man, only for his head to fry and knock him out. Coming to, he's back in bed with no evidence it ever happened. SSI, their private security, insists that there was nothing on the cameras, no evidence, and nothing happened. Elizabeth claims she slept through the whole thing event.
V investigates the apartment, with Elizabeth giving the tour, and finds a lot of evidence. Elizabeth is kinda dismissive at first thinking V won't find much. First small stuff leading into larger reveals. Let's start small and work our way up.
First room Liz takes us to is the campaign room. She talks about running the campaign entirely out of pocket and having to keep most of their supplies at the Penthouse; "It's cheaper that way". You find a picture of their daughter on the wall and Liz explains that she's off at university in Europe while Jefferson is running for office; "It's easier that way" she says. That phrasing again.
EDIT: A redditor in the comments pointed out that the Peralez are being controlled via drugs in their food as part of the tech. They mention they've been eating fast food lately, explaining why Jefferson was lucid enough to catch the agent and shoot him.
V can look at Jefferson's emails (which Liz slightly discourages them, saying there's nothing there) which reveals a bit more about their campaign. There's a video of the iconic commercial and poster of Jefferson pulling out a gun and shooting a bunch of paperwork. In the email, Jefferson HATES this commercial, but his assistant, Lea Patel, insists on it as it will air in television time slots with action-drama series and catch the attention of voters. Further emails have Eric Boucher, Jefferson's Campaign Partner (Manager?), saying Jefferson has been acting unpredictably lately; presumably referencing one of the next emails. Boucher is confused because they fired Lea Patel together, only for her to continue working and sent him a new ad for approval. When emailed, Jefferson is confused about Lea being fired at all and doesn't remember the event ever happening, even telling Boucher to be honest if he has some issue with her. A final email is from SSI Chief of Security, Wallace, discussing Jefferson's intent to hire a merc to look into Rhyne's death ("Dream On") and they suggest Jefferson drop it or have NCPD or themselves look into it. Private Security just... offering to investigate the former mayor's death? Huh... sounds more like they want to squash the issue to me.
We should now talk about the Peralez's campaign. As you explore the apartment, Liz explains that they're running on a corp free campaign; they want to get Night City out of the control of the corps and do so without ever owing any favors to them. She specifically cites "Night Corp, Militech, and Petrochem" as ones they've denied. Militech and Petrochem come up a few times in other quests but Night Corp is relatively obscure. And they choose that corp to be the first one she mentions? Stands out to me. It also isn't lost on me that we're talking about running a campaign out of pocket and refusing corp assistance... while walking on the fancy ass balcony of a penthouse in Charter Hill- North Oak.
Next room, we find Jefferson's office. Elizabeth and Jefferson both graduated with law degrees from Asukaga University in Berkley. V points out it would be extremely expensive for them both, but Elizabeth says that both got full ride scholarships from the Richard Night Foundation, run by Night Corp. To further fucking cement this moment, there's a Richard Night biography shard on the desk. But we'll drop this for now because I want to get to Night Corp a bit later.
The computer on the office desk has some emails on it sent by Elizabeth. One is between her and Judy where she's asking Judy for help on the original "I Fought The Law" quest and Judy is the one who gave her your contact in the first place. Another is from their daughter kinda asserting the same thing earlier; safer for her in Europe so she's not a target on the campaign trail. And here's the interesting one; Boucher emailed Elizabeth asking why Jefferson changed his mind on Lea Patel. Elizabth says Jefferson explained it to her that it "slipped his mind" and "circumstances changed in Lea's favor" and she asks him to drop the whole thing. She's dismissive and gives extremely vague details.
Next room, Bedroom. Elziabeth's gun is on the table. It's the one Jefferson claimed he fired and scanning it tells us that it has been fired recently. We also find the wedding photo of Jefferson and Elizabeth where she fondly talks about having blue roses because she loves them so much... except the photo's roses are red and V says as much. Elizabeth quietly corrects herself that they only had red roses instead and moves on.
In the hall, we find the blood trail and gun shots in the wall; both covered up hastily. Following the trail, we enter a tv room. The Smart Glass isn't working and Elizabeth says it stopped working recently; not like they use it much anyway. Passing a Tech Check lets us try and fix it... only to be quickly blacked out by it so hard Johnny felt it too. V asks Elizabeth about it but she doesn't know what V is talking about despite having been standing right there. We also find a hidden door in the wall. Unlike earlier, Liz is actually confused by the door but demands V try and open it.
Downstairs we have the security room. Liz says that it used to be her place but "Security had to set up somewhere" and that she had to make sacrifices for this campaign; "it wasn't the first nor will it be the last". One computer has a Welcome email from SSI to new recruits. It details that they have access to all areas except Section Zero, which is reserved for Blue or Black agents and that, should the encounter a Blue or Black Agent (SPECIFICALLY "in the night"), do not interact or acknowledge them. The next email from Wallace mentions an accident where there was a "behavioral anomaly" and "ALPHA" injured a Blue Agent (BLUE-66M) who is in critical and the SSI head is requesting access to Sector Zero to give medical aid. SSI gives Wallace the code to Sector Zero and sends a team to aid. SSI knew about the accident and lied. You go to the second computer, unlock it, and can unlock the upstairs door. On that terminal is a bunch of deleted files (presumably the security footage from that night) and emails discussing "normal maintenance procedure" and further informing security that ALPHA (Jefferson) hired a merc (V) and, should security encounter them, do not interact with them.
Small thing I found interesting, a shard called "You Are What You Slot" is found down here too. It details a fictional assassin who kills and then steals the identity of her victims. Small and doesn't mean much on it's own, but the shards are hinting at the story here; one of false identities and manipulation.
Now, let's get to the main event; the secret room. Inside is a control center. Elizabeth is horrified and feels violated. She shouts that she's not letting SSI anywhere near them, only for her head to start hurting and she tells V to do what he needs to do. She leaves him. Inside the control room is a box of bloody medical supplies. The computer discusses "behavioral norms" for ALPHA (Jefferson) and suggests amplifying "neural dampening". It discusses things similar to Wallace's terminal, but from the other side; ALPHA is displaying odd behavior by hiring a merc, the SSI teams avoided meeting the merc, and then the actual accident that occurred injuring BLUE-66M during regular 'maintenance'. The other side of the room also has another data shard, "Rewriting Synaptic Pathways", basically talking about using tech to rewire the brain a bit.
Following some wires from the control room to the roof, we find a signal dish. Johnny (replacing Elizabeth for conversation now that she's gone), joins in that the tech looks prehistoric but functional and that Militech used it in the war; it requires line of sight to transmit data but otherwise can't be intercepted. We can see the tower and go to investigate. V tells Liz the whole deal; V can suggest that the Van near the tower could be SSIs or that it might not be due to unconventional tech. Liz then itterates twice that it's a stressful campaign time for Jefferson and V should talk to her, NOT him. "Sure, whatever" V and the player dismiss.
(I SWEAR WE'RE ALMOST DONE WITH THE SUMMARIZING FOR DREAM ON, I'M SO SORRY.)
We drive after the van, Johnny is suddenly excited for smashing a corpo conspiracy and iterates that citizens do not choose their representatives, instead they're chosen by "key players" who watch the Peralezes for weaknesses or blackmail material. We arrive at the facility patrolled by Maelstrom and the occupants of our van park, get out, and climb ladders to the roof where they get into an AV that is cloaked to be near invisible (as shown in a couple of vids on YouTube and this subreddit).
At the place, Maelstom is explained; "UNKNOWN USER" contacted them while driving the van for protection to take care of V and then destroy the van. Van's data makes it pretty clear; the Peralezs' minds are being manipulated, new neural pathways are being created, and their memories are being created, changed, or erased. There are also a couple of other names of other test subjects. The data is then erased. We do see an almost flower like symbol before the data is destroyed.
The agents on the cloaked AV CAN be killed and do drop a shard, thought it doesn’t have many more details, merely that they’re contacting HQ to arrange extraction and that the Van’s data should be destroyed and echoing the arrangement with Maelstrom mentioned earlier in their shards.
V calls Liz, Liz wants to meet in person instead of over holo and send him to a Japantown Raman shop (same one that used to be Rainbow Cadenza, coincidentally). Odd choice for an upstanding congresswoman. She says her nerves are shot, the ramen shop is a quieter place to meet than the apartment, and she needs a moment to gather herself since she last saw V, with V even asking if something has happened since they last saw each other. Of note, Liz is stress smoking the entire scene, something she hasn't done until now. She then explains, no, it's been over a longer period of time. She's been watching her husband change and act differently for awhile; he stopped reading, his taste changed, and he even insisted he was an only child and never had a bother when Liz asks about visiting the grave. Of note, yes, Antonio Peralez has a Columbarium Vault, which proves Liz is correct on this. She confesses that she herself has been told by others she's been acting strangely. V says she knew what V would find and she asserts that she doesn't know the who, how, or why, but "they're changing us". Jefferson apparently went on in great detail about a trip she swears they never went on, but she doesn't know if the vacation is a fake memory or if she's the one that doesn't remember.
She saw a stranger in their apartment tinkering with a monitor, only for him to be missing when it was reported to SSI and they looked at the feeds. The next day, she got a phone call from a stranger (whom she refers to by "he") saying that she's walking on thin ice and Jefferson could have an accident. They later erased all data that the phone call had happened. Elizabeth claims she's terrified for herself and her husband's safety and doesn't want V to reveal the truth. V points out "they" could be telling her to say that but it doesn't really change how she feels since she just wants Jefferson to be safe. She tells V to tell Jefferson it was SSI spying for Holt. She asserts she wants SSI out of her roof if they're spying on their sleep. She will take responsibility for firing SSI, but wants Jefferson to be safe and out of that fight. She adds a meeting with Jefferson to his calendar at Reconciliation Park. But, ultimately it's V's choice (especially since she has no idea if she'll remember the conversation) and leaves. Johnny jumps and and talks and mentions that there were talks like this back in his day and worrying about the damage a puppet mayor could do.
V heads to Reconciliation Park to meet with Jefferson. Entering, V is called by an Unknown Number which blacks out V's optics. They claim to know who V is, *what* V is, and what V wants. It doesn't matter what V tells Jefferson, but "don't dare cross that line" and "you're playing with fire". Its a garbled male robo voice, so safe to say it's irrelevant to the owner.
Enter Stage Right, our missing lead; Mr. Blue Eyes. He is standing on a balcony watching the place where we meet Jefferson. In the Scanner, he is labeled "Mr. Blue Eyes", has no known affiliation, is wanted for "SC 370", and is wanted for "Classified". His eyes are electronically glowing blue you can even see from several yards away. You cannot injure him as grenades do nothing and you can't aim at him. Of small note, and I don't know if this ACTUALLY means anything, but his hair style asset is referred to as Morgan Blackhand in the files, but could mean nothing if this hair is actually used by other NPCs. MOST LIKELY THIS IS NOTHING UNLESS SOMEONE HAS FURTHER INFO.
(Plot twist: It meant something. But we'll get there.)
V sits with Jefferson and can reveal the truth; "SSI is on the take from an unknown group to control your lives". V can even point out the absurdity of Peralez being as successful of a politician as he is without any corp sponsors. "They want you to be *their* mayor. Molding you like clay". You can tell Jefferson how to proceed and additional details, but it doesn't matter. Later, Jefferson will send a text and delete your number and so will Elizabeth, who will call you out for telling Jeff. In the end credits voicemails, Jefferson has decended into paranoia about some vitamins Liz gave him which he didn't trust so he sent them to the lab, only to then not trust the lab results saying they're fine. Jefferson Peralez is confirmed the new mayor during Late Act 2 and the major difference is his state of mind at the end game; either hiring V to be on his security staff or descending into absolute paranoia over everything in his life.
Lastly, Johnny appears and cryptically talks about back in his day when they'd talk about rogue AIs. Personally... I kinda completely dismiss this? It comes out of nowhere, Johnny cites NOTHING for why he'd bring this up in relation to the case, and I can't fathom a motive. I’d also point out that this isn’t the only time Johnny is outright wrong. In fact, he’s wrong A LOT in the game. For example, he criticizes V for listening to the Netwatch Agent and that he’s bullshitting you. Except, the agent is 100% correct that VDB did spike V as a suicide virus and Johnny is actually wrong. He also claims he doesn’t know what happened with Thompson after Never Fade Away, but this is a lie because Thompson is flying the AV Johnny takes to Arasaka in 2023. The only connection I can find is "Who is controlling Blue-Eyes" which might make Johnny correct, if just not in the way 'Rogue AIs' initially implies.
So, what actually has happened?
The Peralez family has been molded for a very long time into being the perfect political couple. They got scholarships from the Night Foundation for two fancy law degrees, have successful political careers, and Jefferson is running for Mayor on an anti-corp platform, an insanity for Night City. And he's actually successful at it. During a maintenance service at night on the Peralez's apartment, Jefferson woke up and shot an SSI/Unknown agent making repairs. The Control Booth knocked Jefferson out and they pulled the agent out of the apartment into the secret room. SSI put the Peralezes back into bed and hastily cleaned up everything, but the damage was done and Peralez hired V who uncovered mostly everything.
Elizabeth seems to be initially very upset by the discovery, but wants V off the trail when we meet her next. However, she's not in on it as she's equally a victim to the brainwashing/gaslighting and that's for certain. I think she's a pawn who is either too scared or too programmed to break the rules of movement on this chessboard. It's worth noting that, while the unknown entity threatens Jefferson's life and V's well being, they do not make due on either of these threats. I call their bluff. They have put too much work into Jefferson to abandon or kill him.
But, where else have we heard of this gaslighting brainwash process before?
"FULL DISCLOSURE"
Ok, we're on the shorter end so I don't have to actually explain this quest in full. Sandra Dorsett is a netrunner and a very skilled on at that, actually collecting data from Night Corp. She was kidnapped by the savs we rescued her from at the beginning of the game shortly AFTER she stole this data, suggesting Night Corp was behind it. This data is on the shard she asks you to collect during the aforementioned quest. V has full ability to NOT read it, but let's look at it; "Operation Carpe Noctem" ("Seize The Night" in Latin)
Described in it is an experiment on Night Corp's own employees where they are quietly brainwashing them and getting them to do whatever they want. They specifically cite an empathetic and calm employee who they got to fight a co-worker and then jump from a 16th floor window. The shard ends on mentioning that they're ready to install CN-07 on "our actual target".
I think multiple quests discussing brainwashing and gaslighting is too coincidental to be utterly unrelated to each other. I think Night Corp's actual target mentioned here is Peralez.
So, what is Night Corp?
Night Corp is the most mysterious of the corps in Night City. It currently operates to better Night City via philanthropic ventures, fundraising, community support, and city infrastructure. Basically, while Militech and Arasaka and the others operate in the city, Night Corp basically RUNS the actual city. They're also noteworthy for the level of security they have that even the best netrunners can't get much from them and, since they keep to themselves and seemingly just do city infrastructure stuff, no one really super bothers them. It has been run by Miriam Night, wife of late-Richard Night, until recently and we currently don’t actually know who runs NightCorp.
Originally, they were the Night Foundation, but that requires explaining Richard Night... oh boy, Lore Drop. I'll make it quick as possible.
Richard Night is the founder of Night City. He started as a partner of a firm, but his ambitions grew beyond that to founding "Night International" to build his dream; a city that would be so grand it would make all other cities pale by comparison, Coronado City. A capitalist mecha of opportunity, Night City would be run by corporations and have next to no anti-business policies on the books. Arasaka, EMB, and Petrochem were his first backers and he came into claim of land on the central-California coast; Del Coronado Bay and Morro Bay would be the location of his dream city.
(BTW, irl, Morro Bay, California is a real place. Been there, have family there, go there regularly, kinda cool!).
Despite being a capitalist mecca city and run by corps, Richard Night also dreamed it to be "A sprawling metropolis, free of crime, of poverty, of debt. A place where people could live safely, peacefully, without having to worry about the dire situations that were growing around the world at the time".
However, due to the design plans, Night didn't employ local contractors and instead got expensive architects and builders from all over the world. Local builders didn't like that, they had mob connections, bloodshed started. And soon Richard Night was murdered by an unknown assassin, presumably a mob hitman. The city was renamed Night City in his honor and his dream utopia became to embody everything that was destroying the world. Mob took control and corps didn't give a fuck since it didn't hurt them any until they eventually had to take out the mob gangs, but not in any favor to Night’s dream either.
Miriam Night, Richard's Widow, founded the Night Foundation (later Night Corp) to stick to Richard's Ideal dreams of what he wanted the city to be. They invest heavily in ecological research, alt power sources, civic infrastructure, public works, and charities and scholarships for Night City youth. "They've even managed to stay out of the normal corporate power struggles which tend to plague every other corporation, both inside the city and out. Even the shadowy corporate rumors about them, like having underwater bases in the bay or access to orbital satellites, remain unsubstantiated despite extensive investigation."
So, where does this put us now? We have ONE last quest...
"THE PROPHET'S SONG"
Garry The Prophet is our local crazy man. He spouts off insanities to anyone who will listen near Misty's Esoterica in Kabuki. However, some of his ideas aren't quite as much off the mark as one might think. There ain't no technonecromancers from Alpha Centuri (or Spanish Inquisition) nor is Saburo Arasaka an immortal vampire, but he was correct that Saburo wasn't dead and in fact immortal; via Mikoshi and The Relic.
He send you on a quest to investigate a meeting; he says that his ripper mistuned some cyberware in his head and he can hear their communications. You show up to a meeting between corps and Maelstrom. They say some nonsense phrases and transfer a data shard. Reading it ("Destroy After Reading") it seems like nonsense. But does include the line "The cages of men melt as night descends". You can decode it via a Null Cipher; first letter of every line: “Project Oracle Command Execute Plans”.
We don’t know what Project Oracle is. In real life, secret project or operation names actually tend to be chosen at random and are unrelated to the actual project (you can google funny stories about names that ended up awkward to the actual project), so this could mean nothing. But, narratives tend to give meaning to everything. Oracles are mythical in references and could predict the future or see the unseen. Perhaps perfect prediction via behind the scenes manipulations? Not sure we’ll get answers on this one for now.
Going back to Garry, he's been kidnapped. His protoge is screaming he's been kidnapped "Black suits came by - blue eyes and all". Blue Eyes huh? Further, she claims that they threw him into an invisible AV... Huh, like the one we saw back during "Dream On"? "Night's comin... The eternal night"
So, it’s time to jump us to the final step in our Fool’s Journey: The Sun.
“THE SUN”
The Sun ending has V wake up in their new penthouse apartment (with their love interest if they have one). Checking the computer, we see emails from our dear Mr. Blue Eyes. He wants an answer from V as to the job to the Crystal Palace he has planned and that they’re on a tight schedule for “obvious reasons”. We meet with him at the Afterlife and he talks about the job; Casino security is going into maintenance and V mentions giving him the casino client list. V also asks him to “hold up your end of the bargain”. They never discuss eddies or payment. It’s all in such vague terms. “Your end” or “Obvious reasons”. Smaller point but an email from Vik on the space shuttle also tells us that he’s asked around about Blue Eyes and has nothing; either he works with people WAY above Vik’s paygrade or he’s shady as hell… or both.
I think Blue Eyes knows V is dying (the obvious reasons) and I think the unspecified payment is V’s survival. V always says that they want to come back to their love interest so it’s not a mindless suicide run and I don’t think V would risk it all for nothing but eddies; especially not after Reaper (both versions) paint suicide runs as a horrible terrible thing. To then glorify it in another ending… no, the game is smarter than that.
Your love interest doesn’t seem to be too upset about the situation either. Panam and Judy leave V in The Sun due to their lives taking different directions, but it seems mostly amicable and understanding. They even express desire to see V again because they know V needs to do this job. Kerry, who stays with V in The Sun and expresses worry and also a desire to settle down with V, also seems mostly understanding that V needs to go on this quest. I don’t think they’d be so calm and loving and understanding if this were a suicide run. They know more than the player does.
Further, I think Blue Eyes isn’t after the casino aspect of the Crystal Palace at all. While that’s the major commercial aspect of the station as marketed to the citizen world, the station also has embassies from every nation on earth, facilities from all the major corporations, and is pretty much THE place where all the dark corporate espionage goes down. There’s so much more to this location than ‘casino resort’. *EVERY* corp has space stations and hideaways in space because the Crystal Palace offers it’s own legalities and opportunities that are not allowed within Earth’s terms and conditions. If they want to do some research that would be frowned upon elsewhere and get up to some Top Secret shit, it’ll be in outer space. Night City is controlled by corps and has lax laws, but outer space’s are even more so.
I think the cure V wants is not only on the station, I think it’s what Blue Eyes himself is after, but I’ll get there when it’s time to theory craft about the future.
I think it’s worth noting; Blue Eyes IS IN THE TRAILER FOR THE GAME. Yeah, anyone remember that shot on a shuttle with a guy being burned out from the inside? Yeah, he’s there. In the foreground. *Smirking*. The shuttle also seems like they’re in space.
These events leading to the Crystal Palace and the conspiracy with Blue Eyes are blatant DLC Hooks for the future and suggest a post-game DLC. This isn’t the first CDPR has done so either; Blood and Wine takes place after the story of Witcher 3 and is explicitly incompatible with the worst endings of that game. I think, conceivably, other endings where V is still alive could be roped into this adventure; Blue Eyes merely needs to hire them with the same offer of survival. While The Star takes V to Arizona and away from Night City, I think that choice of location is appropriate as, to even get to space for The Crystal Palace, citizens go from LAX to Arizona for a space port to launch them off Earth’s surface. They could have chosen anywhere else to send Panam and V, but they choose Arizona, huh. I do think Reaper, Temperance, and Devil will be locked out of this future, however, as all make any point of Blue Eyes hiring V irrelevant; there’s no V left to hire/save. MAYBE a rejected Devil ending, but I wouldn’t blame them for not continuing that conclusion either as Devil is one of the bad endings.
So, it’s finally time to really compile a lot of this information into where I think this is going in the next comment below

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

Alright, where do I even begin? I suppose I should start by saying that this by far has been one of my favorite dnd sessions of all time. Me and my group of best friends had a blast...I mean, the game lasted around 7 hours so...
Ok so, this game takes place in Sharn, a city in Khorvaire. According to our beautiful and wonderful DM, the presence of deities in Eberron is ninimal to none, meaning there aren't really any priests or worshippers of gods really. Taking this into consideration, let's jump into to what happened this session
Our characters (group of 5) were level 11-12 and had been offered a job that could win us some magical artifacts and a plentiful amount of gold. We were to infiltrate the wedding of a mafia family and stop a secret trade of a powerful artifact between the family and the Reserved Army (basically the law enforcers and military forces of the city). We presumed the artifact to be the blade of a sword for which we only had the hilt of. We're not sure what will happen once we join the blade and the hilt, but as of now, we are aware the the hilt itself has the capability of restoring lost memories.
Here's the party composition: A grung glamour bard, a human psi warrior, a draconic sorceremoon druid gnome, an abjureartillerist dragonborn, and me, the swashbucklehexblade tiefling. We planned to use our different skill sets to divide the party in pairs. The bard and sorcerer would serve as distractions, making sure that no one notices what the rest of the group is doing, especially a pesky archmage that was at the wedding with a level 20 fighter (screw those bad bad people). The psi warrior and abjurer would be investigating the area, being perceptive and seeing if they found any clues as to how to get into the room where the trade would be taking place (cause of course there were plenty of Reserved Army soldiers roaming the building). I went off on my own, given that I'm the skill monkey of the party that can do most things fairly decently. I served to be the social butterfly and try to sniff out info from people.
Let's stop here for a second to explain something about my character. His whole aesthetic is playing cards; he loves his elegantly designed decks of cards. In addition to this, he's a warlock who made a pact with the Mask, the god of thieves (had made the pact in an alternate universe where gods were prominent, so still had the powers from the Mask, it just took a while for me to get them back when we were transported to Eberron....but that's a whole other story). During a point in the story where I rescued a lost artifact relating to the Mask, he granted me with some of the little power he had left in Eberron. For this, my character was obviously grateful.
Ok, back to the wedding infiltration. The distractions caused by the bard and sorcerer worked wonders. First, the bard presented a painting he had made earlier (rolled a nat 20 for a total of 32 when painting it) to a group of nobles sitting in a lounge area at the wedding. As you would assume, a bidding war began.....and the bard ended up getting a check for 120k gold. The other distraction they made was a fist fight, which allowed the dragonborn abjurer to swiftly make his way into a Scrooge McDuck vault which held unimaginable amounts of money. While that was going on, I was at a small casino room playing a game of blackjack. I was playing with rich folk, and we all decided to bet favors. Luckily, by way of cheating and actually having the Lucky feat, I won. One of the players was a member of the Reserved Army who didn't really like his job and was planning on quitting. As such, the favor I asked from him was to get me through one of the guarded double doors (abjurer had gone through one, there were two). Bringing along the psi warrior, I went past the guarded door. Not long after, combat broke out, as the level 20 fighter entered the room we were in, presumably to make the trade. The bard did his usual hypnotic pattern, the abjurer was way too far to notice anything, the sorcerer fireballed, the psi warrior hit things real good, and I also hit things real good...but then ran away...in style. After the psi warrior demolished the fighter, a group of guards came up some stairs near the area we were in and shouted "They're trying to get into the vault!". As such, I assumed there was a second vault down those stairs, possibly holding the artifact we were trying to obtain. Using my boots of speed and dash action, I ran down those stairs, found a vault, unlocked the door with my knowledge of locking mechanisms, and went inside, closing the door behind me before any guards could follow me inside. There, I saw 4 podiums with an item resting on each. In the center podium was the blade we were looking for, on another were some expensive looking paints, on the next was a monocle, and in the final one rested a small leather case. The podium with the blade was the only one that seemed trapped, so I grabbed the other items first. Checking inside the leather case...well, there was a deck of cards. I'm sure you all see where this is going. Now, my character has average intelligence (11), but cards are his whole thing, he had to check them out real quick...and so one card was drawn. As you may already know, this is a deck of many things I was dealing with, but one that was altered by the DM a bit (6 good and 6 bad cards, no cards that remove or give xp, and some other tweaks). The first card I drew, I got to raise an ability scire by 2, to a max of 24. I was level 12 and still didn't have a 20 in a stat, so I bumped my Charisma to 20. I decided to keep looking at the deck and see what the other cards look like because my character is interested...so I draw another. I drew a card that forced me to draw 2 more cards, and so I do. Suddenly, I look behind me and there's a tiefling bowing to me, as I draw the Knight. The other card I drew? Well, I got 2 wishes. The DM kindly gave me until the end of the session to come up with the wishes. In the meantime, I disabled the trap and took the blade, then dimension doored out of there with my new knight friend. I informed the rest of the party using some communication devices we had, and so it was time to leave. Dimension doors were cast, as well as a high level lightning bolt to the archmage as a "fuck you" before leaving.
The session was about to culminate, and so the DN asked me to please say my wishes.
First Wish: So, my character of course cares for his friends and the group is in a whole shitshow of problems, so I said.."I wish that me and those I care for, including friends, allies, acquaintances, family, and lover would be protected from any harm or ill intent directed towards them."
Second Wish: For the second wish, my character remembered all the hope that deities brought to people in the previous universe and also wated to say thank you to the Mask for his boons. As such, I said..."I wish for all divine beings of grand power, such as deities (including the Mask) with good intentions to come to this world, just as they existed in the universe I previously lived in."
That there, is where we ended off the session. We all leveled up 2 levels, completed the mission we came for, and "revived" the gods..... also like, I got super lucky with the cards cause that could've gone terribly. I was super nervous and shaky when making the wishes, literally almost cried. Nonetheless, divinity has been restored, so I'm interested to see what our DM will do with that next time we play as we shall soon end the campaign.
Sorry if this is too long or doesn't make sense, I just really wanted to share this amazing experience I had with everyone. Some parts may sound wacky, but if I explained everything, I'd be writing for hours. Either way, this was my experience.
I woud like to take a second and thank u/Saokpe, our amazing DM who puts so much work and effort into creating these wonderful games for us to enjoy. I can only hope to be as good as you when it's my turn to DM.
Have a great day everyone, and thank you for letting me share my experience!

My list (only based on cities I've actually been to!)
1) London
2) Liverpool
3) Sheffield
4) Nottingham
5) Birmingham or Milton Keynes
So every January and June - me and two mates go to a city in the UK that atleast two of us haven't been too before - however becuase we've been stuck inside for so long due to COVID we're gonna go out more next year.
We're quite young so we like the tall building, busy city London type of vibe - good food, open spaces, nightlife etc and was wondering your recommendations.
London - nothings going to beat it, feels like literally the whole world in one place - dwarfs everything else by comparison, after not going there for around 5 years or more I went back last year for winter wonderland and fell in love with the place again - haven't been clubbing there though, feels too crazy a place to do it.
Liverpool - Amazing city, was there for 2 days and it exceeded expectations - the accent isn't great but the place is quite gorgeous - part of me loved the centres open designs and part of me found it underwhelming - the shopping is meh but everything else is great, it feels massive and busy and the street food is exceptional - will definitely be returning if just for that - also the clubbings underrated, never hear Liverpool brought up but it was great - apart from when we had to walk all the way back to the apartment then to the club again becuase apparently the shoes I had on are worn by druggies in the area.
Sheffield - Sheffield surprised me alot - went to see a hockey game (or a footy game I can hardly remember) what I do remember is how surprisingly modern it feels - meadowhall is huge which is nice, the shoppings just ok though - could've put a Selfridges or something there - I much prefer bullring and MK's centre.
Nottingham - I moved from London to Nottingham around 2 years ago and I really like it, sitting in market Square and just chatting with mates while the tram goes past is great, it has that city feel and is one of the more varied cities in terms of food, shops etc just a shame that the better shops aren't inside the shopping centre which severely lacks imo - it's an old place that feels young. Known for its clubbing it dosent disappoint - I don't think I've ever seen so much clubs in one place.
Birmingham - the first time I came to Birmingham was a college trip about 3 years ago and I was in awe of the place, I thought it was gorgeous and huge. My gf is in Birmingham so I've been there alot since and that effect has almost completely worn off.
Bullring/grand Central is still great - shops are great, layouts great - no issues there, plenty of big shiny buildings and the food is exquisite - the restaurants, the fast food, shisha lounges - all of that is great and there's some really nice areas..but man, is the city dirty and kind of ugly sometimes to - jewellery quatre is a nice area but that's the only one I can think of, not to mention the amount of rats there is staggering. Really 60/40 with Brum - the nightlife was good though, really fun vibe.
Milton Keynes - never been clubbing here or really seen the living areas but the shopping centre is still my favourite, it feels modern, Xscape used to be more fun when I was a kid before the bowling alley and arcade became a casino but there's still the snowdome and other things - I'm a bit bias becuase I used to come here with my mum alot as a kid and the place was always just magical to me whereas London was too big for me to understand what was going on - we never turn down a chance to go.
Possible visits :
I've heard Manchester's the second best to London - heard nothing but good things all of a sudden by people so thats next on the list for sure.
Heard Leeds is great - really fun atmosphere and great food.
Newcastles always referred to as the undisputed king of UK nightlife - I'm not really into drinking anymore but I love the electric you dunno what's gonna happen feel in the air on a night out so that's on the plans to.
Edinburgh - at some point next year we're planning a road trip to either Edinburgh or either lake or peak district - lake District has the best pub food btw, went when I was like 12 and never forgot the place.

If you are reporting about a casino, could you please try to include the following:

• Name of the casino
• Where it's located
• What time of day and is it a weekday or weekend?
• Max odds
• Field pays
• Side bets available (Repeater, ATS, Firebet)
• Are there dividers or how many are shooting per side

The more information we have, the better off we will be.
We all know that tables can change rapidly. I saw a table go from 25 to 15 to 100 at the Flamingo in the course of a few hours. I'll try to keep the mins what is reported the most and add other information in the comments like "found this table at $5 on graveyard shift" so people konw that isn't the norm
These tables can be a pain to maintain, so please provide as much information as possible. An informed roller is a beter roller.

OtherNV Casnio	WeekDay Min	WeekNight Min	WeekendMin	WeeknightMin	MaxOdds	Field Pay	Sidebet	Dividers/Per Side	Last Update	Comments
Wind Creek (Wetumpka, AL)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	4 to a table	7/31
Sycuan (San Diego, CA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Barona (So Cal)	10	15	10	10-15	5X	2 Dub 3 Trip	Fire/Sharpshooter	2 per side	10/2	dealers managing bets for players. ($10 at times) - Digital table . $10, double the field with Hot Shooter Bet.
Harrahs (So Cal)	15-25	15-25	15-50	15-50	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	7/31
Ameristar (Black Hawk, CO)	10	10	15	15	10X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/12	Colorado law, max bet $100
Golden Gates (Black Hawk, CO)	10	10	10	10	20X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/12	Colorado law, max bet $100
Monarch (Black Hawk, CO)	10	10	15	15	10X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/12	Colorado law, max bet $100
Saratoga (Black Hawk, CO)	10	10	10	10	20X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/12	Colorado law, max bet $100
The Lodge (Black Hawk, CO)	10	10	10	10	10X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/12	Colorado law, max bet $100
Foxwoods (CT)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	4/side	8/22
Mohegan (CT)	15-25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Harrington (DE)	15	15-25	25	25	10X	Unknown	Firebet	2/side	10/1
Rivers (Chicago, IL)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/2
Blue Chip (Michigan City, IN)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	ATS	Unknown		5 minimum prop bets, 5 min ATS bet.
Caesars Southern IN	10	15	15	25	Unknown	ATS & Fire	Unknown	Unknown	11/15
French Lick Resort (French Lick, IN)	15	15	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/5	Tables open at 11am and close at 3AM.
Harrah's Hooiser Park (Anderson, IN)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Hollywood Larenceburg (Larenceburg, IN)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Sharp/Lucky Shooter	Unknown	Unknown	4/side	11/15
Indiana Grand (IN)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No
Hollywood casino Lawrenceburg (IN)	10-15	10 -15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Rivers (Chcago, IL)	10	15
Belle (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	one half sized table sometimes they open the big one. $5 small table and $10 big late at night
Hollywood (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	15		Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	7/24
L’auberge (Baton Rogue,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	8/2
L’auberge (Lake Charles,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	8/2
El Dorado (Shreveport, LA)	10	10	10	10	100X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/17
Horseshoe (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/17
Margaritaville (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/17
Sams Town (Shreveport, LA)	10	10	10	10	20X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/10
Ocean Downs (MD)	10	15		Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/17
Maryland Live (MD)	25	50	50	100	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes, 4 per side	9/6	Electronic craps 15 min
MGM @ National Harbor	50-100	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes		No bubble craps or low roller options.
Firekeepers (Battle Creek, MI)	10	15+	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	8/17	$3 Bubble Craps.
Four Winds Casino (New Buffalo, MI)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown		Digital craps table 5$ min
Gun Lake (Wayland, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	No
MGM Grand Detroit (Detroit, MI)	15	25	unknown	unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes
Turtle Creek (Traverse City, MI)	5	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Soaring Eagle (Mt Pleasant, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes, 5 per side
Hollywood Casino, Maryland Heights (St Louis) MO	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	4 per side
River City (St. Louis, MS)	20	20	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown 4 players per side		You have to have at least a $20 bet for every throw to "hold your spot"
Beau Rivage (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	25	25	unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/18	3 tables
Boomtown (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	Unknown	15	10X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/10	1 table
Hard Rock (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Updated 9/4
IP (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Scarlett Pearl (Biloxi, MS)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No
The Palace Biloxi, MS)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Golden Spike (Tunica, MS)	10	15	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/27
Horseshoe (Tunica, MS)	10	15	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/27
Treasure Bay (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	10	10	10X	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/10
Harrah’s Cherokee & Murphy	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	Unknown
Harrahs River Valley (Murphy, NC)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Ballys (AC, NJ)	10	15	10	10-25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	9/22
Caesars (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	15-25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	7/29
Harrahs (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	7/29
Hard Rock (AC, NJ	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	7/29
Resorts (AC, NJ)	15	25	Unknown	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	7/29
Ocean (AC, NJ)	10	15	10	15-25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes, 4 per side	9/4
Buffalo Creek (NY)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Seneca Niagra (NY)	10	15	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	No	8/22
Jack/Harrah's (Cincinnati, OH)	25	25	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Cocktaw (Durant, OK)	10	Unknown	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/22
Winstar World Casino (Thackerville, OK)	5	5	Unknown	Unknown	3x/4x/5x	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/10
Hollywood (Columbus, OH)	10-15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Hollywood (Grantville, PA)	15	25	Unknown Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Harrah's Philly (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/10
Meadows (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	9/4
Mohegan Sun (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	25-50	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	8/3
Rivers Casino Philly (Philadelphia, PA)	Unknown	15-25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Double field	Unknown	Unknown	10/9
Seneca Allegheny (PA)	5	5	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	9/4
Windcreek (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Mount airy (Scotrun, PA)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	10/2
Valley Forge (PA)	Unknown	10	25	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	9/12
Parx (Bensalem, PA)	15	25	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Yes, 3 per side	8/22
Mardi Gras (Nitro, WV)	Unknown	Unknown	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	7/28	Usually open on weekends

Part 1. It's getting buried so I figured we would make a new one.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

It was getting really tedious to edit a post with over 100 casinos in it. So I'm breaking it up to Nevada casinos and non-Nevada casinos.

Non/NV Casino	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Wind Creek (Wetumpka, AL)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown		4 to a table Updated 7/31
Sycuan (San Diego, CA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		Masks required
Barona (So Cal)	10	15	10	10-15		2 tables 2 per side, dealers managing bets for players. Updated 8/21 ($10 at times)
Harrahs (So Cal)	15-25	15-25	15-50	15-50	No	Updated 7/31
Viejas (So Cal)	N/A	N/A	Unknown	Unknown		No live tables
Foxwoods (CT)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		4 per side. Updated 8/22
Mohegan (CT)	15-25	25	Unknown	Unknown		2 were 10, 2
Harrington (DE)	15	15-25	25	25		Updated 8/22
Rivers (Chicago, IL)	15	15
Blue Chip (Michigan City, IN)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown		5 minimum prop bets, 5 min ATS bet.
Caesars Southern IN	10	15	15	25		Updated 8/5
French Lick Resort (French Lick, IN)	15	15	25	25		Tables open at 11am and close at 3AM. Updated 8/5
Harrah's Hooiser Park (Anderson, IN)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Indiana Grand (IN)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
Hollywood casino Lawrenceburg (IN)	10-15	10 -15	Unknown			Crapless Updated 9/4
Belle (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown		one half sized table sometimes they open the big one. $5 small table and $10 big late at night
Hollywood (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	15		Updated 7/24
L’auberge (Baton Rogue,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
L’auberge (Lake Charles,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No	1 bubble craps $5 min
El Dorado (Shreveport, LA)	10	10	10	10		Updated 8/17
Horseshoe (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15		Updated 8/17
Margaritaville (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15		Updated 8/17
Ocean Downs (MD)	10	15		Unknown	Unknown
Maryland Live (MD)	25	50	50	100	Yes	5 tables, 4 per side. Electronic craps 15 min Updated 9/6
MGM @ National Harbor	50-100		Unknown	Unknown	Yes	4 craps tables 2 were $50 and 2 were $100 mins. Not bubble craps or low roller options.
Firekeepers (Battle Creek, MI)	10	15+	Unknown	Unknown	No dividers, only distancing	1-2 tables depending on demand, did see it at $15 during the day $25 on Fri/Sat night. Masks required, no smoking. $3 Bubble Craps.
Four Winds Casino (New Buffalo, MI)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown		Digital craps table 5$ min Tuesday and Sunday night. Did not check bubble craps
Gun Lake (Wayland, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	No	Temp check, masks, usually the crapless table is open
MGM Grand Detroit (Detroit, MI)	15	25	unknown	unknown	Yes
Turtle Creek (Traverse City, MI)	5	Unknown	Unknown	Unknowned		2 tables, temp check, masks
Soaring Eagle (Mt Pleasant, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	5 players per side with glass. Tough to hear dealer.
Hollywood Casino, Maryland Heights (St Louis) MO	15	15	Unknown	Unknown		1 regular table & 1 no craps. 4 per side. No outside drinks.
River City (St. Louis, MS)	20	20	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	4 players per side. $20 min. You have to have at least a $20 bet for every throw to "hold your spot"
Beau Rivage (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	unknown	3 tables
Boomtown (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	1 table
Hard Rock (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	25	25		Updated 9/4
IP (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown
Scarlett Pearl (Biloxi, MS)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	No	Masks required, temp check
The Palace Biloxi, MS)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown
Treasure Bay (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Harrah’s Cherokee & Murphy	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
Harrahs River Valley (Murphy, NC)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown
Ballys (AC, NJ)	10	15	10	10-25		Updated 9/13
Caesars (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	15-25		Updated 7/29
Harrahs (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown
Hard Rock (AC, NJ	15	25	Unknown	Unknown		2 tables - Updated 7-29
Resorts (AC, NJ)	15	25	Unknown	15	Yes	1 table - Updated 7-29
Ocean (AC, NJ)	10	15	10	15-25	Yes	4 per side
Buffalo Creek (NY)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown
Seneca Niagra (NY)	10	15	15	25	No	2 tables Updated 8/24
Jack/Harrah's (Cincinnati, OH)	25	25	25	25		3 tables, $25 open to close
Cocktaw (Durant, OK)	10		10		Updated 8/22
Hollywood (Columbus, OH)	10-15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	2 tables, masks required
Hollywood (Grantville, PA)	15	25	Unknown Unknown	Unknown		2 tables, masks required
Harrah's Philly (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	15	25		Updated 8/10
Meadows (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		2-3 tables.
Mohegan Sun (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	25-50	Unknown
Seneca Allegheny (PA)	5	5	Unknown	Unknown		Updateded 9/4
Windcreek (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Mount airy (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Valley Forge (PA)		10	25	Unknown	Updated 9/12
Parx (Bensalem, PA)	15	25	15	15	Yes	6 per table. Updated 8/22
Southland Casino Racing (West Memphis, TN)	N/A	N/A	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	4 tables all closed. Other pit games open with plexiglas dividers. Bubble craps $5 minimum.
Mardi Gras (Nitro, WV)			15			Usually open on weekends - Updated 7/28

Last update 9/13
Part 1. It's getting buried so I figured we would make a new one.
Part 2
Part 3

Late to the trend but these are all the movies I watched during the quarantine. I just went back to work this week so I saw that as more or less of the end of the quarantine for me. Rated the movies on a scale of 1-10 with a short review of each movie. Hope you enjoy it and sorry for any grammar errors I wrote all of the reviews today so I went through them fairly quick.
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Raiders of the Lost Ark: Great start to an amazing franchise 9/10 (Rewatch)
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Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom: Another good entry to the series but definitely not as good as the first or third 8/10 (Rewatch)
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Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade: In my opinion the best Indiana Jones movie, Sean Connery is great in this 9.5/10 (Rewatch)
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The Great Gatsby: Interesting movie, I really enjoyed how grand everything felt but would have been much better if they used music that fit the time rather than Jay z songs 7.25/10
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Burnt: Enjoyed this movie a lot more than I thought I would with it being about cooking 7/10
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Memento: One of the most mind bending movies I have seen. Great movie 9/10
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Saving Private Ryan: Had meant to watch this awhile ago and I'm glad I finally did. Definitely live up to the hype 8.75/10
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Zodiac: Really good movie with some great acting. Crazy to think they came to close to catching him (allegedly) 8.25/10
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Days of Thunder: Entertaining but the plot is really all over the place and seem very just slapped together 5.5/10
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The Running Man: Classic Arnold movie cheesy but in the best way possible 8/10 (Rewatch)
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Rocketman: Was very disappointed with this movie I was not a fan of the more musical style rather than biopic. I really enjoyed the Queen movie and was hoping for something similar but I was very wrong. Although Taron Edgerton is very good as Elton 5.5/10
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The Fighter: Christian Bale almost never seems to disappoint and Mark Wahlberg is good as well. Very inspiring story 7.75/10
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Lucky Number Slevin: Really interesting movie seems predictable at first but catches you off guard 7.5/10
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True Grit(2010): Heard a lot about this movie and was not disappointed at all 9/10
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Whiplash: I had the impression I wouldn't like this movie but by the end its hard not to be amazed by the performances. Also the the cinematography was surprisingly good 8.75/10
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Clear and Present Danger: Decent movie with a good cast although easily forgettable 6.75/10
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Old School: Hilarious comedy movie I had never heard of until recently, give it a watch you wont regret it 8/10
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Looper: Really enjoyed the plot of the movie and the whole time travel aspect. The Joseph Gordon Levitt CGI on his face to look like Bruce Willis just felt weird though 8/10
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A Night At the Roxbury: Very dumb comedy not necessarily in a bad way. A lot of better comedies out there 6/10
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Death Proof: I know this is a popular opinion but my least favorite Tarintino movie. You don't really care about any of the characters and their is little to no actual story being told 5.75/10
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Jackie Brown: Again definitely one of my least favorite Tarintino movies but much better than death proof. Really loved Samuel L Jackson in this one 7/10
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Kill Bill: Great Tarintino flick with amazing action and an awesome cast 8.5/10 (Rewatch)
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Kill Bill vol 2: Good follow up to the first and has a satisfying ending, not as exciting/fun as the first 7.75/10 (Rewatch)
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Equilibrium: You can tell how hard this movie tried to be the matrix. Still has some redeeming qualities 6/10
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The Hunt for the Red October: Another Jack Ryan movie, I liked this one better than Clear and Present Danger. Good story and very suspenseful 7.5/10
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Casino Royale (2006): My favorite Daniel Craig Bond movie so far and great start to a new era of Bond. Also Mads Mikkelsen is great as Le Chiffre 8.5/10
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Quantum Of Solace: Extremely disappointing movie after how great Casino Royale was. The villain barely feels like a villain and the editing/ camera work in this movie is one of the worst I have ever seen 5/10
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Skyfall: A return to form after Quantum of Solace. Much better and cohesive story and with a compelling villain 8/10
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Goldeneye: My favorite Bond movie I have seen so far (all the ones i have listed here). As much as I enjoy the Daniel Craig movies I have always like the gadgets and a bit campy vs the very realistic Craig 8.75/10
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12 Monkeys: Had never heard of this movie before but It was awesome and quickly became my favorite time travel movie. If you haven't seen this movie watch it asap! 9/10
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Star Wars The Phantom Menace: Started a Star Wars Marathon and got sidetracked but I have to admit I have always loved the prequels having grown up with them even though im well aware of the issues that plague these movies. Duel of the Fates is Tied for best lightsaber duel of all time 7.5/10
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Star Wars Attack of the Clones: For sure the worst movie of the prequels imo but still a lot of memorable parts and another good duel with Count Dooku, Obi Wan, Anakin and Yoda 6.5/10
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Star Wars the Clone Wars (2008): I love the clone wars tv show but you can easily tell this movie was just episodes of the show put together to movie length. Also the animation in this movie and the beginning of the series in pretty poor but thankfully it only goes up in quality 5/10
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Dune: Ok Movie but does not hold up well at all. Its obvious the plot of the book was far too much to contain in one movie. I'm looking forward to the remake of this and that they are going to do it in multiple movies rather than just one. As much as people shit on remakes this one movie that really deserves another go especially with modern special effects 5.5/10
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Once Upon A Time in Hollywood: Might be a bit of a hot take but my favorite movie of all time! I loved every moment of this movie and the connection between Dicaprio and Pitt is pure gold. I could watch this movie every night and still enjoy it just as much as I did when I saw it for the first time in theater. 10/10 (Rewatch)
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Donnie Brasco: Not a bad mob movie Depp and Pacino are both good but it follows all the typical mob tropes 7/10
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Ace Ventura Pet Detective: Jim Carrey is always great and Ace Ventura is no exception. Solid comedy 7.5/10
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The Lord Of The Rings The Fellowship of the Ring: An amazing beginning to one of the best film trilogies of all time 9.25/10 (Rewatch)
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The Lord Of The Rings The Two Towers: My personal favorite of the LOTR movies you just can't beat when Gandalf shows up at the battle of Helms Deep 9.5/10 (Rewatch)
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The Lord Of The Rings The Return of The King: Another amazing movie and a great ending to such a great film trilogy also with one of the best battles ever filmed 9/10
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Spy Game: Entertaining and fairly suspenseful movie not a bad watch 6.75/10
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Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: First Jay and Silent Bob movie I have seen, was a fun movie and I liked all the cameos 7.25/10
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Total Recall (2012): Not a terrible movie but the original with Arnold is much more memorable and a lot more fun than the 2012 version 5/10
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Constantine: Bit of a weird movie but was still entertaining and has a great dark tone. Hard not to love Keanu 6.75/10
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The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: Very dark movie but I absolutely loved this movie. Great murdemystery along with great performances from Daniel Craig and Rooney Mara. Must watch if you haven't seen it 8.75/10
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Sin City: Really interesting story and has a very different style to it. Makes you feel like it has been pulled right from the comic book. Also a really awesome cast 8.25/10
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From Dusk Till Dawn: This movie really caught me off guard. Very campy 90's style but I had a blast watching this movie and would definitely watch it again. Seeing Tarintino as a main character in a movie is weird but also hilarious 7.75/10
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Team America World Police: Really dumb movie but it is still pretty funny 6.25/10
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American made: Another movie its hard to believe that its a (mostly) true story. Tom Cruise is really great in this 7.75/10
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Live Die Repeat / Edge of Tomorrow: One of the most amazing concepts for a story I have seen in years and they manage to pull it off in an amazing way. Both Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt are great in this movie. Loved the dark humor and quirkiness of all the characters 9/10
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Blade Runner: Amazing movie that still stands up today. Such a great story and the atmosphere of the blade runner world is like no other. RIP Rutger Hauer 9.5/10 (Rewatch)
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Blade Runner 2049: A great sequel to the original Blade Runner. 2049 is one of the most beautiful moves I have seen with gorgeous cinematography from Roger Deacons. One of Ryan Gosling's best performances 9.25/10 (Rewatch)
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American History X: An important story about how even smart people like Edward Nortons character can be convince into an evil cult like mentality. This movie also breaks down the race tensions and shows how nobody can really be too far gone to be changed for the better 8.25/10
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The Ninth Gate: Easy to watch movie with a interesting story. Nothing special but still enjoyable 6.75/10
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Fury: Really good WW2 movie, you get really invested into all the characters and shows what the war was like towards the end 8/10
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The Chronicles Of Riddick: Enjoyable action movie looks pretty good for an early 2000s movie since they used a lot more practical effects rather than the typical shitty cgi at the time 6.5/10
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Sicario Day Of The Soldado: Pretty bad sequel. The first half of the movie is decent but the second half is slow and boring. The story just ends up really going nowhere and is just a letdown 4.5/10
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The Prestige: I can't believe it took me this long to see The Prestige but holy shit is it an amazing mind bending movie. Both Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale are amazing in this. Chris Nolan is such a great director and I can't wait for Tenet to finally come out 9.5/10
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The Bourne Identity: Good and Entertaining action movie. Matt Damon is a great Jason Bourne 7.75/10
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The Bourne Supremacy: Another good action movie that's fun to watch throughout 7.75/10
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The Bourne Ultimatum: I feel like Ultimatum really took the Bourne franchise to another level. Really great action and intriguing story Best Bourne movie for sure 8.25/10
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Knives Out: Really fun murder mystery with a great cast. Only gripe is that they wouldn't have given away so much so soon. You know most of what happened like 30 min into the movie 8.25/10
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Murder On The Orient Express: Another really funny murder mystery. All the characters are very quirky and unique which makes the whole movie a lot of fun. The ending is also very satisfying how it all comes together 8.5/10
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Layer Cake: Good movie but I cant help feeling like this is a Guy Ritchie movie without the Guy Ritchie flair to it 7/10
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Wind River: I really liked Jeremy Renners whole tracking aspect in this movie rather than the typical Detective stuff you see in most murder mystery movies. Also you really feel and understand the pain some of the characters go through 8/10
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Let me know what you think!

[L’itinerario che seguirò in questo breve racconto non sarà precisamente quello che feci all’epoca, cercherò di essere stringato e di seguire solamente le tappe principali di quel viaggio che mi cambiò la vita, per amor di sintesi salterò diversi paesini e particolari. Le tappe saranno: Trieste - Zagabria - Sarajevo - Belgrado - Sighetu Marmației - Sofia - Istanbul - Kulata - Salonicco - Atene - Patrasso - Ancona]
Avevo compiuto da poco 20 anni quando decisi che quell’estate avrei visitato tutti quei paesi che negli scorsi anni non avevo avuto modo di visitare. I soldi c’erano, non moltissimi, ma a sufficienza per tanti spostamenti, avevo calcolato parecchie notti in tenda e in treno, avevo due o tre contatti in Romania e a Belgrado, e l’unica cosa di cui ero certo è che sarei partito da Trieste a Giugno, per il resto sapevo solo che volevo scoprire quanto più possibile dell’est Europa. L’idea del budget me la feci studiando le tratte e i cambi di moneta, feci la somma di tutte le tratte in treno che avrei dovuto fare, comparai con bus e mi informai su internet in merito agli autostop, mi calcolai non più di 15€ al giorno per mangiare, e consideravo che in posti come il Maramureș ne bastano anche 4€. Sebbene i tanti calcoli che comprendevano anche un possibile traghetto finale rimasi comunque a corto di soldi negli ultimi giorni, rischiando pure di rimanere bloccato al confine tra Bulgaria e Grecia.
Comincio col dire che non sono di Trieste, per essere esatti all’epoca vivevo a poco più di 400 km dalla città, ma c’era più di un motivo per partire da lì: conoscevo un posto dove poter dormire senza pagare, per caso c’era in centro un mio carissimo amico ad aspettarmi, e poi Trieste è bellissima. Un po’ di autobus un po’ di autostop e arrivai in città cercando subito il posto dove mi sarei sistemato per la notte, era una scuola gestita dai Gesuiti dove partivano molte missioni umanitarie. Non ricordo benissimo l’ubicazione ma se dovessi tornare a Trieste credo ritroverei quel posto, era relativamente vicino al giardino Muzio de Tommasini, salendo per via Fabio Severo, poco prima dell’Università. Giuseppe era piuttosto esperto di viaggi verso l’est, all’epoca era nella Lega Missionaria Studenti, un gruppo di fanatici attivisti religiosi che non mi andavano per nulla a genio, ma Giuseppe era diverso, lui non era con quelle persone perché smosso da chissà quale impeto moral-religioso, macché, lui era lì tutte le estati per un semplice motivo: la fica. Certo, era bello aiutare gli anziani e gli orfanelli, ma anche sbatterglielo in culo alle giovani purissime missionarie era per lui motivo d’orgoglio. Quella notte fu impossibile dormire a causa del pavimento della scuola, butterato e con diversi strati di polvere, avrei dovuto comprare un materassino più solido per il sacco a pelo, ma all’epoca avevo paura a caricarmi troppe cose, avevo l’idea che se avessi cominciato con i materassi di lusso e i cuscini a prova di fulmine mi sarei presto ritrovato a scarrozzarmi comodini, sveglie meccaniche, forni a microonde e impianti hi-fi. Ero un coglione. Così forzai Giuseppe a passare la notte per le strade di Trieste, dove inscenammo un finto litigio al giardino lì vicino.
[N.d.A: questo è un nostro cavallo di battaglia, lo chiamiamo semplicemente “Alice”. “Alice” in pratica è un esercizio d’improvvisazione teatrale di nostra invenzione, quando uno dei due chiede all’altro: «Ma come sta Alice?» è il segno che si vuole cominciare, è regola che non ci si possa sottrarre alla sfida indipendentemente dal contesto. L’idea è che chi ha chiesto per primo come sta Alice sia anche interessato romanticamente alla suddetta, mentre chi risponde deve costantemente sviare oppure parlare di altre Alice confondendo il più possibile l’interessato. Più volte, dopo un’escalation di equivoci e battibecchi, abbiamo finito urlandoci l’uno contro l’altro per poi, dopo pochi passi di sfida, abbracciarci solennemente, tra gli applausi oppure lo sconcerto generale. L’ultima volta che è successo è stato tre anni fa, lo presi parecchio di contropiede, anche perché ero testimone al suo Matrimonio.]
Senza aver quindi dormito partii per la Croazia, dove restai qualche giorno nei dintorni di Zagabria. Una cosa che notai subito fu la furia assassina con la quale gli autisti dei bus croati viaggiavano, temevo per la mia vita ad ogni sorpasso, l’autista per le curve seguiva la traiettoria di una Formula 1 all’ultimo giro utile di qualificazione. Il paesaggio sloveno che superai lo conoscevo già, avendo tempo addietro sostato a Maribor, una bellissima città fiorita sul Drava. L’ostello che trovai vicino alla stazione centrale costava poco e nei dintorni c’erano molte zone dove ci si poteva accampare, d’estate per fortuna viaggia molta gente per cui non si era mai davvero soli. In città mi feci fare un cappello da un artigiano, il mio pessimo slavo e il suo terribile italiano non furono particolarmente d’impaccio. Ebbi in quei soleggiati giorni l’occasione di visitare il Museo d’arte Moderna, rimanendo impressionato non tanto dal Liberty croato (di grande pregio e dalle magnifiche intuizioni cromatiche, un continuo scontro tra paesaggi algidi e freddi e intarsiature dorate) quanto dall’incredibile catalogo di artisti avanguardisti. Poter vedere le opere di Anto Jerković dal vivo mi ha fatto molto riflettere sulla qualità dell’Informale europeo, sulla diversità degli stili e l’influenza immensa di van Gogh e Yves Klein sull’arte pittorica contemporanea [anche se, a onor del vero, il più originale interprete di Klein per me resta il californiano Don Van Vliet]. Una sera che ero per la Ulica Ivana Tkalčića, mi misi ad ascoltare una band garage in uno dei tanti locali della via, feci velocemente amicizia con una coppia e parlammo tutta la notte de Le ballate di Petrica Kerempuh mentre io ero reduce dall’apocalisse grammaticale di Viaggio al termine della notte. Céline mi accompagnava in quei giorni, quando non disegnavo sul mio taccuino lo leggevo avidamente, prendendo appunti come faccio sempre a bordo pagina, sconfinando nei paesaggi di una Francia oscena e decadente mentre attorno a me i giovani sembravano aver dimenticato il suono delle bombe di un decennio fa.
Partì per Sarajevo che era giorno, prendere i treni-notte mi sembrò una grande idea per diversi motivi: il primo era che costavano poco e mentre ti spostavi potevi dormire, il secondo era che essendo estate erano tanti i giovani che facevano Interrail o robe così, il solito discorso, meglio stare sempre in compagnia. Peccato che a discapito della mia geniale intuizione quasi tutti i viaggi su rotaia si rivelarono dei pandemoni hippie, dove la gente beveva e fumava tutta la notte gozzovigliando al suono della peggior musica balcanica. Per carità, sempre meglio dei Modena City Ramblers, ma comunque uno stupro per le mie orecchie all’epoca dedicate al dolce suono dei Minutemen e di Iannis Xenakis. In quel viaggio per Sarajevo mi ritrovai in cabina con un gruppo di francesi veramente molesti. A parte il continuo far casino, che potevo benissimo capire, era lo “stile” a destarmi irritazione. Giocavano a orribili giochi di società per smartphone, di quelli dove devi riconoscere il marchio famoso e scriverne il nome o boiate simili. Nessuno di loro, fra l’altro, aveva la benché minima idea di chi fosse Luis-Ferdinand Céline. Beh, ero uno snob di merda, portate pazienza, avevo anche appena 20 anni, oggi probabilmente romperei meno i coglioni e giocherei con loro. La notte tentai di dormire ma non servì a molto, perché appena mi addormentai ci fermarono alla dogana. Fu un viaggio tosto, passai molto tempo nel corridoio mentre la notte ingoiava ogni residuo stellare, ballavo, pisciavo nel lavandino (il cesso era intasato di lattine di birra), pensavo a com’era bello il mio cappello artigianale e a quanto fossero grandi i corvi croati.
Una delle prime cose che imparai della Bosnia ed Erzegovina è che “barbiere” si scrive “Freezer” e questo mi faceva ridere da matti. Arrivati alla stazione di Sarajevo ero a pezzi e pieno di rancore per i francesi scassa-balle, erano le 4 e mezza del mattino e non c’era anima viva, se non un tipo piuttosto giovane e pelato che mi venne subito incontro chiedendomi in un buon inglese se avevo già dove dormire in città. Allora ragazzi: non fidatevi mai di gente che aspetta i turisti alle stazioni, se vi va di culo finite come tra poco vi racconterò, se vi va male… vi va male. Comunque io ero cotto e avevo bisogno di un giaciglio vero, per cui accettai la sua offerta di portarmi al suo “ostello”. Mentre eravamo in auto il tipo ricevette una telefonata, capii che mi riguardava ma non riuscivo a decifrarne il contenuto. Ad un certo punto il tipo mi guardò e mi disse che c’era un problema: gli sono rimaste due camere ma siamo troppi maschi e ci sono due ragazze, la sua collega ha infatti intercettato dal mio stesso treno un gruppo di cinque francesi. Considerando di aver ballato e bevuto per tutta la lunghezza del treno sapevo benissimo che l’unica comitiva di testosteroni francesi non poteva che essere la mia. Insomma, dice il tipo, qualcuno deve dormire con le ragazze olandesi che sono già in ostello, mentre gli altri andranno in camera con due anziani. Indovinate quindi con chi feci andare i francesi. L’ostello non era tale, o meglio, era un luogo con quattro pareti e un soffitto, ma era osceno. Era tutto in cemento vivo, non sembrava nemmeno finita la struttura con tutte le armature in ferro ben visibili e arrugginite. Il pavimento della camera che dividevo con le olandesi era spaccato e in salita. La mia prima mattina in quel posto resta una delle mie sveglie più assurde ed improbabili. Seduti su una sorta di terrazza che sembrava stare in piedi con lo sputo ci siamo io e le olandesi a mangiare una buona colazione portata dal proprietario, ma quando si presentano i francesi non riesco più a mangiare. Arrivano, tutti pallidi e visibilmente stanchi, assieme ai loro due compagni di camera: due stravecchi raggrinziti vestiti (non sto scherzando) da gendarmi nazisti, con tanto di fascia al braccio. Decisi in quel momento che non mi andava di passare troppo tempo in ostello.
Sarajevo è una città straziante, sotto il suo strato di cemento e polvere si celano le nevrosi e le tragedie di troppe guerre e conflitti. Visitai poco la parte turistica della città e dedicai parecchio tempo alle periferie e ai borghi a causa del loro fascino umano. Visitai anche le città limitrofe, scoprendo diverse bellezze del paese. Una sera, passeggiando, con la coda dell’occhio vidi un uomo disteso malamente su una scalinata. Pensai fosse morto o robe così, e andai a controllare se era il caso di chiamare aiuto. Il tizio era grosso e puzzava di alcol, respirava pesantemente e provai ad alzarlo. Mi ci volle un po’ ma lo misi a sedere. L’uomo, cominciò a raccontarmi in un buon italiano, aveva lavorato da giovane a Firenze dove aveva passato i migliori anni della sua vita, come un classico immigrato in cerca di fortuna. Tornava poco nel suo paese, ma abbastanza per farsi una famiglia. Purtroppo la distanza e la sua voglia di viaggiare non furono un sufficiente collante, e ora da qualche mese cercava di riallacciare con la sua unica figlia, inutilmente. Era caduto in depressione e non faceva altro che bere. Lo riaccompagnai a casa, un piccolo appartamento di periferia, bianco fuori e con delle orribili luci verdi all’interno. I muri sembravano di cartapesta, pieni di crepe dalle quali sbucavano fuori insetti di ogni forma. C’erano parecchie bottiglie a giro e DVD di film italiani, tra cui Il mestiere delle armi di Ermanno Olmi. Come per Giovanni delle Bande Nere anche per il mio nuovo amico sembrava non ci fosse molta speranza, era tornato a casa per ritrovare la famiglia, ma sua moglie l’ha rinnegato e la figlia non voleva parlarci. Non bevvi quello che mi offrì, e parlammo fino a notte inoltrata, prima di salutarci per sempre.
In un altro vicolo della città in cui mi persi in quei giorni plumbei venni attratto da dei rumori curiosi, come di vecchie VHS. Girando un sudicio angolo scoprii questo posto che sembrava strappato dalla realtà circostante. Era una sorta di pub collassato su se stesso, pieno zeppo in ogni centimetro di vecchissimi mobilii, cornici, set di tazze e tazzine, lampadari di ogni genere e non tutti appesi al soffitto che ne era comunque saturo, tutto sembrava dorato e riflettente, specchi arrugginiti e deformanti, sedie di ogni dimensione e colore, tutte antiche, come anche i tavolini e il bancone. Ma la cosa più strana era la presenza di decine di vecchi televisori, tutti accesi, dove delle videocassette mandavano scene della vecchia Sarajevo. Ero stordito e ammaliato da tutto questo. Nero, così si faceva chiamare il proprietario, era piuttosto giovane, mi spiegò che era figlio della più famosa coppia di antiquari della città. Lui non aveva mai vissuto molto a Sarajevo, era infatti un viaggiatore anch’egli, pieno di aneddoti spassosissimi resi ancora più ilari dai buonissimi rum che continuava a versarmi. Purtroppo i suoi genitori vennero a mancare l’anno prima, e così si ritrovò con garage e garage pieni delle cose più strane e improponibili. Decise quindi di trasformare il vecchio negozio dei suoi genitori in un locale dei più eccentrici mai visti. Dopo qualche ora s’era fatta una certa e io avevo fame e chiesi a Nero quale fosse la miglior baracca della zona dove rifocillarsi a dovere, lui mi indicò la porta esattamente di fronte al suo locale. Gli dissi che non mi andava di mangiare a casa di qualcuno, preferivo un locale o comunque un postaccio dove poter degustare qualche specialità. Allora mi prese per mano e mi portò al portone, bussò e ci aprì un cameriere. Ok, allora è un ristorante, senza insegna ma ok. Alla vista di Nero il cameriere iniziò a tirare fuori tavolini e sedie, apparecchiando in mezzo alla stradina, dopo poco mi prende e mi fa entrare in quello che chiaramente è l’androne di un normalissimo condominio, scendiamo delle scale a chiocciola che, normalmente, porterebbero ad uno scantinato, e dove invece risiedeva una piccola ma ordinatissima e pulitissima cucina. C’era un cuoco e il suo sous-chef, stavano preparando cose inimmaginabili per il mio limitato olfatto. Mi chiese cosa mi andava di mangiare e io gli dissi che mi fidavo pienamente di qualsiasi roba potesse uscire fuori da quello sgabuzzino. Feci strabene. Mi portarono quello che, ad oggi, è il più buono, tenero, burroso e gustoso filet mignon al pepe verde che abbia mai divorato. Quella cena me la pagò Nero di soppiatto, costringendomi moralmente a tornare la sera dopo accompagnato dalle due olandesi che letteralmente impazzirono per il posto. Vorrei tanto ricordarmi di preciso dove fosse ‘sto locale, ricordo solo che era una traversina di una parallela di Mula Mustafe Bašeskije, nient’altro.
Un’altra cosa che mi colpì molto della città fu la famosa piazza Baščaršija su cui si affacciavano rispettivamente una moschea e una chiesa ortodossa. Mi sporsi alla moschea e potei seguire tutta la funzione. Le enormi scritte sui muri dipinte su dei semplici tendaggi mi ricordarono quanto la Parola per gli ebrei e gli islamici abbia un valore diverso e catartico, i cristiani infatti credono che il Verbo si sia fatto Carne, ed in questo Cristo rappresenta il tramite per il divino, non più Profeti ma direttamente la Parola che respira come noi. Nella moschea invece la Parola prendeva forme e colori diversi ma rimaneva Parola, e anche se salmodiata con ipnotica intensità si poteva avvertire tutto il suo peso morale. Oggi, studiando sopratutto testi del buddismo c’han e dello zen giapponese che ne deriva, scorgo ancora più malinconia in quelle religioni che si appigliano alla Parola con strenua fedeltà. La paura e la povertà fanno prosperare le religioni, che serpeggiano tra tappeti, sedie e simulacri, s’aggrappano alla mortalità e promettono una fine alle sofferenze. È una vita sacrificata sull’altare della morte.
Quando arrivai a Sarajevo avevo in mente un preciso itinerario, ma decisi di sostare in Serbia prima di andare in Romania, anche se mi era stato sconsigliato da Giuseppe mentre ero a Trieste. Presi un altro treno notturno assieme alle due ragazze olandesi che bevvero vodka per tutto il tragitto. Quando mi svegliai il paesaggio era cambiato drasticamente: villaggi ridotti ad una fatiscente miseria si accavallavano uno dietro l’altro mentre ci avvicinavamo a Belgrado. Ricordo che l’aria era torbida e colorata di un pesante ocra.
[FINE PRIMA PARTE, scusatemi ma sono un po’ stanco di scrivere! Mi scuso per ogni eventuale errore grammaticale e per la scarsa chiarezza della prosa ma non sono abituato a scrivere di getto. Domani, sempre che interessi, butterò giù del resto del viaggio, ma temo ci vorrà una terza parte per concluderlo.]
clicca qui per la seconda parte!
clicca qui per la terza parte!

Continuing...
“I say that you’re way the fuck out of line, Chuckles. Are you an educated, experienced, fully licensed and internationally renowned master blaster?” I asked.
“No, but…” he tried to continue.
“But nothing, Scooter.” I said, “What, other than your insane xenophobia and nationalism, causes you to come to such unfounded, not to say stupid, conclusions?”
He looked down at the deck. Evidently, he was not used to being challenged in such a manner. He realized he walked face-first into a metaphorical wood chipper.
“I’m waiting for your answer, pally.” I continued.
Still nothing. He was either deep in thought or ill at ease from newly soggy undergarments.
“Want to know why I chose what I did? Fine, meet back here in 15 damn minutes.”
He looks at me with a most perplexed, and ignorant, look on his face.
“Dax, Cliff? I need you.” I say.
We go back to the weapons locker and I explain my idea.
“Let’s load a case of typical, TYPICAL Chinese-made dynamite. Then let’s load a case of American C-4. Be very careful with that leaky Chinese shit. Wait one. I’ll do it if you want and you can handle the C-4.” I say.
“Ah, Rock; yeah. We’d appreciate it. You being the Pro from Dover, after all.” Cliff agrees.
“No worries”, I say, “I got this. You make me up a nice, tightly packed case of C-4. For demonstration purposes.”
I find a near-empty case of dynamite and begin to judiciously fill the thing with random samples of shitty and leaky Chinese manufactured and Korean not-too-well-cared-for dynamite.
This stuff was so incredibly shitty and poorly manufactured that even when leaking and nasty, it was nowhere near as dangerous as its Western counterpart. It was loaded with so much and many interstitials, like sawdust, diatomaceous earth, literal horseshit, and shredded newspaper, the nitro denatured itself to some degree as it oozed out.
Plus, in the non-climate controlled weapons locker; the high humidity, salt air, and poor circulation from the small open grate facing the sea, the nitro had desensitized somewhat and evaporated. It left only sticky, thin, fly-ridden films rather than the usual ‘waiting for a good reason to explode’ puddles.
It was in no way as twitchy as that locker back in Nevada. Oh, but be assured, it was still a shit show.
If I really wanted to, I could blow myself, this boat and all occupants into the next dimension rather easily, but it was nothing like that old locker back in that disused Nevada mine. I still needed to be scrupulously careful as there could potentially be puddles of the pale yellow, viscous liquid explody stuff, instead of the thin films I was mostly finding.
Either way, it required caution and judiciousness.
Nitro’s twitchy as fuck and the last thing I need is a dropped nail, blasting cap, or hunk of the rotten box falling into an errant nitro wet patch…
Extra attention was exercised.
Dax and Cliff are halfway through, and I’m still picking through the leaky, smelly bundles.
“Next time”, I mused to myself, “I‘m writing in a ‘Handling fucked-up explosives”-clause in my contract. No matter how much I’m being paid for this, it ain’t enough…”
We find a couple of expendable, dry-rotted ‘life preserver’ floaty-rings, upon which we secure both cases of explosives. They’re tethered with a rope and primed with a number of blasting caps.
I let the head local Korean crank examine both to ensure that I’m not trying to pull a fast one.
He did not notice the 3-pound bag of Tannerite (an impact-actuated explosive) I snuck in the middle of the box of Chinese TNT.
“Now. Satisfied that they’re equal?” I asked. “Nothing fishy here. Just dynamite in bundles, with caps. Then, over here, C-4 blocks with cap. OK?”
He was satisfied; but only after letting a couple of the shiny suit squad check as well.
“Well”, I smirked,” So much for your ‘covert observation’, asshole.” This guy was DPRK secret service or equivalent.
“Holy cold-pack cheese-food product fuck”, I cogitate, “They are so goddamned suspicious”.
I ask Dax to go over to the pilothouse and borrow the mauled AK-47 I saw hanging on the bulkhead there. They keep it for run-ins with cranky sharks, walruses, and lovesick blue-footed boobies evidently.
“OK, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll float each out, and I‘ll trail with demolition wire. Once we’re a few hundred meters out, you can press the big, shiny, green button and detonate your dynamite. I even used 6 blasting caps, to give each bundle its own. You saw that. We green?” I ask.
He was, although suspicious of what I had in mind. He agreed although he refused to use my terminology, the stodgy prick.
So float away the dynamite case we did.
The case of Chinese dynamite floated out and away from the boat, leaving an oily slick in its wake. As it got to around 200-225 meters or so, I requested a rendition of the Korean version of the Safety Dance, as it was just too fucking hilarious to watch.
Once completed, I handed Doubting Korean Thomas the detonator.
“Your turn, Tweedles”, I said, “Hit the button to spark off your “much-better-than-the-West’s” Oriental dynamite.”
He grabbed the detonator, gnashed a tooth in my direction, and mashed down on the big, shiny, green button with a vengeance.
PFftt! PAH-foof! fuff
There was a cheery little pop, a puff of acrid smoke, and not much else.
Let it be said from the onset that I just selected examples of the Oriental manufactured dynamite at random. I didn’t look for the worst or leakiest. Though truthfully I really didn’t have much too choice in the matter.
“You! You swindled me! You knew the dynamite wouldn’t explode! Somehow you knew it!!” he swore in my general direction.
“Try it again”, I said after retrieving the detonator and doing a quick re-wire to another bank of blasting caps.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”].
MASH goes the big, shiny, green button anew.
Pfffft!” *Pop. Poooof! Piffle. Blerp.
Nothing but a cute little pop, a poof, and a few acrid puffs of smoke.
He was crestfallen.
He had taken on the Motherfucking Pro from Dover in a necessarily explosive subject, with inevitably disastrous results.
I asked if anyone here was weapons trained. A couple of Coasties raised their hands.
“And you are? “ I asked the closest one.
“Lt. P'an Tae-Hyun, Sir”, as he snaps a snappy salute.
“Groovy.”, I reply and retrieve the AK from Dax.
“Can you squeeze off a couple of shots and hit that floating box of dynamite?” I asked.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, smiling.
“OK then”, I replied and turned to the crowd.
“Dynamite is usually pretty stable stuff and won’t detonate without a blasting cap or impulse source. A bullet will most certainly not detonate it. However, I’ve stuck in 3 pounds, imperial, of Tannerite, which is a type of binary explosive used for targeting. Tannerite will most definitely and energetically explode when impacted by a high-velocity bullet. I think we can agree that an AK-47 round is high-velocity?” I asked.
There were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Now, there’s the better part of a case of unexploded dynamite out there. That’s what we in the business call very, very fucking dangerous. Now those three pounds of Tannerite should vaporize everything within a 10-meter radius if it detonates as designed. Agreed?” I asked.
Again, there were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Lieutenant P'an?” I asked, “At your discretion. Fire at will. Or the dynamite case, as it were.”
He nodded. He walked over to the furthest point on the stern, checked to see everyone was back and out of harm’s way, as he was a consummate professional. He futzed around with the old AK for a bit and took a shot.
It was low and outside.
“Ball one”, I snickered.
“Sights are off. Not any problems.” He remarked.
The next round found its mark. The Tannerite exploded adeptly.
It threw sticks of unexploded Chinese dynamite over a 20-meter radius. They each sank into the briny deep leaving only an oily spot to mark their entry and eventual watery grave.
The top of the case of dynamite was blown off, but the floaty ring remained. We reeled it back in to find a few more scorched, but unexploded, sticks of fine Oriental manufacture explosive on the bottom of the case.
These were motherfuckingly dangerous. Cantankerous dynamite has no place on a ship.
I remarked, however, that this would be no problem. Dax and Cliff brought up the case of C-4, which I had wired with one single blasting cap and booster.
We had Korean Doubting Thomas and his shiny suit buddies give it the once over to ensure I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one.
He agreed, it was nothing but C-4 as advertised.
One of the more expendable Coasties jumped down on the stern transom-rack which is just above the waterline on the back of the boat. He wired the two rings together and set them adrift, tethered by a good nylon rope with my nasty, silky demolition wires trailing.
Dax was working the rope and I was handling the spool of demolition wire. I had a good 350 meters of the stuff on the spool and wasn’t about to return a single centimeter.
Old habits and all.
As they floated away, Mr. Kwan asked if we’d like a bit of refreshment, as, gosh, it sure was dusty out here today.
Of course, we agreed in unison.
Good old Mr. Kwan.
So, we’re unspooling our lines slowly, drinking our end of the day refreshers, smoking cigars, and watching our Oriental colleagues getting antsier every minute.
I knew what a case of C-4 was going to do when detonated. It would be one hell of a show.
I was so confident with my design I had Lt. P’ay return the AK to the pilothouse. Wouldn’t work here anyways if the C-4 failed to detonate.
But that’s not going to happen.
Dr. Pro from Dover Rocknocker has spoken.
Finally, I’m almost out of demolition wire, and Dax has tied off the tether.
I motion over to Herr Doubting Thomas and hand him the detonator.
“For ye of little faith”, I smiled, recalling the entreaty that even Satan quotes the Bible for his own nefarious uses.
But first, an encore of the Korean Safety Dance. They're guaranteed to raise a smile.
I look to the character fumbling with the detonator.
“At your convenience, good sir”, I say, dripping insincerity.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”]. Mash goes the big, shiny, green button.
KA-MOTHERING-FUCKINGLY-HUGE-BOOM!
Even over 300 meters away, every one of us not only saw but felt that shock wave. It was like a solid Savate kick to the chest. The boat even rocked a bit in appreciation.
I smile, retrieved the detonator, safe it, and reply: “And that is the singular reason why I used good old American manufacture C-4 as a sonic seismic source rather than shitty, leaky Oriental dynamite. Any further questions?”
He shook his head in agreement, bowed slightly in my direction, slunk away, and that was the very last we ever saw of Mr. Korean Doubting Thomas.
The Captain saw and felt the detonation. He put the boat in park, actually, he handed it over to the sub-pilot for station keeping and came back to the fantail.
He wanted to know if we were now officially finished with our project.
We maintained that we were and it had come off very, very successfully; in no small degree because of his boat handling abilities.
He came over to me and shanghaied one of the translators.
“Doctor Stone?” he asked.
“Hrmph. Close enough.” I smiled.
“May I be first to congratulate your team. In eight sorties, you and your teams are the first to fulfill mission parameters. I am pleased to say that this will go on all our permanent records. It will mean bonuses for all present. I salute you.” And does with a naval flourish.
“No shit? Well, thanks, Cap”, I reply, “But I’m just the den mother for this special education class. Without them, and all their hard work, it’d never have happened.”
“I knew you would say this”, he smiled, “You are leader of men. We see that. You are teacher, but also not afraid to work. You should do this more often. Use your education and experience to train and teach others.” He says, shaking my hand.
Now it’s time for me to wonder. Did he hear of my offer back home? I don’t think he did, I’ve been playing those cards very close to the vest, as it were. I am now officially confused and bebothered.
But, since I don’t believe in anything, much less coincidence, I’m going to chalk it up to happenstance and just gratefully consider the source.
He asks that we wait here and he’ll return forthwith.
“On a boat this size, there are not too many places we can sneak off to…” I chuckle.
He returns with a very, very old bottle of something quite unidentifiable since it appears to be lacking a label. He yells something in official Korean and suddenly, a tray with little, itty-bitty demitasse-style glasses appear along with some smoked fish, I think, nibbles of some kind.
He pours a dram for all present. No one dares take as much as a preemptory sniff until he’s finished with the ceremony.
Everyone thusly charged, he begins a toast.
“Shoo-buddy”, I think, “I’ve been down this road before.”
It was quick, succinct, brief, and laudatory.
According to him, we had ‘hung the moon’.
I liked this style of toasting. Left more time to drink and for camaraderie.
The project thus finished, as we were running out of potables, especially freshwater, victuals, and toilet paper; we were headed back to base. That is, back to the hotel to see what our comrades who chose to stay onshore had developed.
But, that was going to be for another day. First, we needed to chug our way back to port, both literally and figuratively.
Ahem.
Before which, though, there were some housekeeping and paperwork chores. Dax, Cliff, and I did a quick reconnaissance of the explosives locker and created a ‘used’ manifest; which all three of us signed.
They may be officious, they may be obtrusive, but damn, they certainly love their goddamned paperwork over here.
We gave copies to the head shiny suit, one for the Captain, and we retained copies for our records. Along with notes that we expended two rounds from the pilothouse AK, as we were trying to out-officious these officious paper-pushers.
We made certain the keys were returned and logged in the proper logbooks and the explosives locker was locked securely, solidly, and soundly. Before which, we policed up the weapons locker and actually offered to the gods of the briny deep, quite the quantity of unsafe, leaky dynamite, and other ordinance that was more a disaster waiting to happen rather than inventory.
Seawater would neutralize the nasties and in the case of anything metallic, it’d be gone within a fortnight. and the phosphates might provide some nice fertilizer for some lucky passing Cnidarians. We were in water of near 45 fathoms. This stuff would never hurt another living thing.
The Captain was very pleased that we had taken that task upon ourselves. He wasn’t allowed to do anything about what was in the locker, but he was responsible for it and keeping the wrong people out of it. I commented that was a fairly stupid way of handling things, and he mentioned that he’d appreciate it if I made an official note of it to the powers that be once we go feet-dry, i.e., get back to shore.
I assured him we most certainly would.
From then on, all we had to do was putt-putt our way back to port.
It was going to take some hours and we’d end up berthing during the wee hours. This would not be a problem as our bus and driver would be waiting for us no matter what the time. He would briskly and without fanfare, return us to our hotel.
That we were actually looking forward to bunking back in the old hotel sort of gave one an idea of the Spartan arrangements we had endured for the last three days.
Most of the Westerners groused and complained in a humorous manner. Hell, it was only three bloody days. Some of our Oriental friends were so totally aghast they vowed to lodge formal complaints once they returned to dry land.
Landlubbers.
Odd that once we hit the beach, they all scattered to the four winds and not a single letter nor either a peep of protest was ever forthcoming.
Yes, this is an intensely weird place.
We wandered down the gangplank, cigars a-fume, and drinks recently and for one last time, refreshed by Mr. Kwan. The shiny suit squad was supervising the offloaded of the seismic data we had collected and had seen it soundly sealed and concealed in the very living bowels of the bus. It was to return with us to the hotel, where we’d demand a receipt. Then it would be off to the ‘Technological Center” on Scientific Street for processing.
They assured us that they’d handle that themselves. Evidently we were good enough to acquire the data, but not good enough to see the finished product.
Ack, Volna, and Ivan chuckled.
“OK, you pirates. What did you do?” I asked
“They can try with all their might. But without the decryption key, they’ll spend years processing encoded compressed nonsense.” They snickered. “We did offer to come and help set up the decryption for the decompression of the raw data, but they said they could handle it themselves. Oh, well. We tried. Seriously, we did.” Ack and Volna snickered.
“Well, keep it handy in case they come to their senses before we get out of here,” I said.
“Always our intention, Herr Denmother”, Volna chuckles.
“Oh, you heard that?” I snickered quietly.
Back at the hotel, the majority of us sent our sea-gear to our rooms via the on-site laundry. That being settled, the majority of us retired to the catacombs of the basement.
We needed strong drink, decent, non-tinned food, and seats that didn’t slop around every time you sat down.
Well, with the acquisition of our sea legs, two out of three wasn’t bad.
Since the hour was much too late, I decide that tomorrow, well, later today, would be a day of R&R for everyone.
Moreover, I was informed that tomorrow would be the “Day of the Sun” celebration, the insanely earnest celebration birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder and Eternal President of North Korea. It’s supposed to be some sort of big, hairy nationwide deal. But aside from a couple of small posters, we heard little and knew less about the holiday and its celebration.
Everyone’s being even more uncharacteristically low key. It’s odd like there’s something weird going on here.
“What? Something weird and covert and sneaky going on in Best Korea? Pshaw, you old fart. You’re letting the paranoids get to you!”, I mused to myself.
This place will do that to you after a while.
I asked the front desk to place a note that made the rest of today a day of R&R in everyone’s mailbox. After another cigar, some decent prawn stir-fry, and a couple-twelve really stiff drinks, we were all ready to invade the land of Nod for a few hours.
I went downstairs for a drink, a nosh, and a smoke. I ran out of NK won as we tend to use them in Western Expat high-stakes poker games, so I needed to trade some of my weird Middle Eastern currency for weird Best Korea currency.
I was used to the 900:1 won:US dollar (equivalent) trade-off, but after cashing in the equivalent of US$500 in Middle Eastern dinero, I walked off with 650,000 won, not 450,000.
“Pardon me, Ms. Cashier”, I said to the nice little local woman behind the bird-cage security wires, “I do think you gave me too much.”
She took my stack, re-counted it, and proclaimed it correct.
“I thought the exchange rate was 900 to the dollar?” I asked.
“No”, she remarked, “Now 1,336.”
“Any idea what’s causing the fluctuations?” I asked.
She just smiled and shook her head ‘no’. I smiled back and tipped her 50 UAE dirhams for the information.
“Weird. Now what?” I mused.
Little did I know…
The next morning dawned dim and early as there some sort of something going on outside.
Oh, yes, it was ‘The Day of the Sun’ celebration. I discovered it was is an annual public holiday in North Korea celebrating the birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder, and Eternal President and local Poobah-in-Charge of North Korea. It is the most important national holiday in the country, and is considered to be the North Korean pseudo-secular equivalent of Christmas.
“Well,” I thought to myself, “I picked a damn good day to call for an R&R break.”
Then I found out, why no one told us about any of this is still unknown, that the next two days after the holiday would also be considered a holiday.
Come to find out, there are all sorts of intrusive, inconvenient, and wholly unnecessary nonsense that accompany these high holy days here in Best Korea. There are exhibitions, fireworks, song and dance events, athletics competitions, idea seminars: “Think about it!”, and visits to places connected with Kim Il-sung's life, including his birthplace in Mangyongdae.
Shops close, the hotel televisions block any other ‘programming’ and show only ‘special’ movies. Either ridiculously fake documentaries on the life of the also ever so ronrey Kim Il-sung or movies he especially enjoyed. People parade to his statue on Mansu Hill to deposit flowers; later in the day, it resembled a pollinated glacier.
There’s general obviously forced elation, all of which is extraordinarily strained and appears fake. People are trucked by the groaning busload to the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun where the dead maniac lies in state.
“Fuck this”, I said in the exact spirit of international amity, “I’m going to the bar.”
I go downstairs to the basement bar, and even though it’s a high holy day, it’s open early. It didn’t used to be open until the afternoon, but since we’ve arrived, they have adjusted their hours for us.
They have also doubled their daily receipts. So they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.
One of my favorite barkeeps was station keeping that morning. I greeted him in the usual style and expressed to Mr. Ho Gun the best holiday wishes.
“Hi! Ho!”, I said, “Annyeonghaseyo”, which comes out ‘Annie young eez-yo!’ in my Baja Canuckian dialect.
Mr. Ho laughs at my attempt at Korean, but he does appreciate the effort.
“Doctor Rock”, he says, “Dawn greetings. You will drink what?”
Nice and direct, I like that.
“Ye’ ken Greenland Coffee, me ol’ mucker?” I asked in a swirl of different dizzying dialects.
Koran confounds me, so I thought I’d return the favor.
“No, but I’m sure it’s coffee with some of your usual high-proof liquors, correct?” he smiles as I hand him a nice, oily Oscuro cigar.
“For Best Most Happy Returns: Day of the Sun”, I said, waggling the stogie, as I hand it over.
“However, you are correct. Normally, ‘authentic’ Greenland Coffee is a paltry 1/3rd ounce each of Whiskey, Kahlua, and Grand Marnier with excess coffee. Well, I don’t cotton to those liquors or measures. So my Greenland Coffee recipe, really from Greenland, by the way, is Siku Vodka, or any other high-octane vodka, as long as it’s premium. Then Immiak, which is Greenland’s version of Jagermeister, so let’s just go with Jager. Then finish it off with a shot of Tia Maria or Kahlua, if available. Oh, yes, then hot coffee. Silly me, almost forgot…” I conclude.
“And measures?” Mr. Ho asked.
“Whatever fills the cup”, I replied, in a bastardization of an old Russian toast.
“OK, how about a 35 mils (~1 ounce) stiff shot each booze, then hot coffee to fill your mug? With a chilled vodka chaser, as per usual?” He asks.
“Make it so, Mr. Ho,” I say. “No whipped cream or crème liqueurs, please. I’m lactose intolerant, and, well, no one wants to hear that…”
He laughs and whips together a very nice morning sunriser.
It’s a real day off.
In a very, very weird land.
It’s Festival outside and I stayed up most of the night calling people back in the world, creating and updating dossiers, doing explosives-tracking paperwork, worrying over logistics, and how and when the fuck we’re going to eventually get out of here.
Fuck it, double front. I’m doing my ‘people watch’, perched high on Mahogany Ridge. I’m taking, for the first time since, hell, I left the Middle East, some real downtime.
I figured I deserved it.
I was the only one at the bar, but after a short time, there were festival-goers who infiltrated down into the hotel's subterranean catacombs. They didn’t know of the bar’s recently expanded hours and when they saw me sitting high up on Mahogany Ridge, smoking my ubiquitous cigar, they rejoiced.
Obligatory Festival and alcohol! Better than beer and power tools.
In the Baja Canada time-honored tradition, I have a pile of the local currency sitting on the bar. At the new exchange rate of 1,386 won to the dollar, I’m making out like a bandit.
Drinks here are cheap, really cheap, to begin with. With this fluctuation in exchange rates, which I figured reflected the holiday, I was flush. In the chips. Well-heeled. I've got a lot of what it takes to get along.
So, I was feeling magnanimous. I was tipping people very well.
“Paper?” one local asked.
“Sure. How much for a week-old English version of the Daily Worker’s Manifest and Pork Belly Futures Digest? 100 won? Here’s 1,000. Keep the change.”
Not wanting to become over-caffeinated, I switched from Greenland Coffees after a couple to my usual potato juice and citrus concoction. Each one came in a tall, frosted gimlet glass, a very nice touch, and was expertly made my Mr. Ho after I showed him once when we first arrived.
Each one, with the current exchange rate, was about 500 won; an exorbitant sum for any local. It was about US$0.40 for me. I bought several for people who bellied up to the bar and tried to engage me in conversation.
I was used to handing out business cards, hell, one never knew where contacts could lead; and not receiving one in return.
Today, I collected four new business cards; two from various European ex-pats, and two from locals.
I guess Festival! time brings out the best and least paranoid in people.
It’s only 1000 hours in the AM and people here are already seriously lubricated.
This will be a fun few days.
I decided to get a rather tall drink in one of my 100-ounce Kum-n-Go travel cups. With all the hoo-ha going on around here, I haven’t seen a handler, translator, or guide since we got off the boat. I decide with all the shenanigans and goings-on around the place on this festival day, no one would give me nor my wardrobe a second look if I were to venture outdoors for a walkabout.
Besides, we’re on a bloody island. It’s not like I can go too damned far.
So, quicker than a bunny fucks, I get my drink, fire up a cigar, and walk around the lobby of the hotel. There are the usual comings and goings of tourists, local workers, the security forces, and all that allied tat.
I wait until a tour bus pulls up and all eyes are somewhere besides me.
Pfft! And I’m standing outside the hotel, looking at all the sights.
Which, truth be told, weren’t much.
Yanggak Island is a slovenly-manicured island with shrubberies, tracks, trails, and assorted support buildings. The river is basically hidden behind stunted shrubs and nevergreens, and the remains of the defunct golf course. There’s a stadium on the island, which was thronging with festival-goers today. I don’t know what sport, if any, they play there, and didn’t care enough to ask anyone.
There was a cinema hall, which was currently empty and looking in need of some dire repair. There’s some sort of Chinese health complex in the process of being built or torn down, it was hard to tell which. Needless to say, the scenery paled almost immediately.
I did, after a concerted effort, find a small platform that overlooked the Taedong River. It was a very nice little observation platform with a couple of new-Tudor-esque electrical replica gas lights and two concrete benches where a weary traveler could sit and just watch the river.
So I did.
I was interested in the fish of the river, and wondered if any of the locals did any fishing; or if it was forbidden, as are so many ‘proletariat’ activities are in town.
I did see a few locals, huddled out of plain sight, down by the shores of the river fishing with long, 10 meter, reel-less poles. In Britain, they would call this type of fishing ‘noodling’.
I didn’t see them catch anything, but in the bar later, I spoke with a local who told me that they catch various species of fish here. These include Asian Aroana, Blue Guppy, Catfish, Crab, Eel, Halibut, Hucho Perryi, Octopus, Orange Guppy, Pacific Flying Squid, Rainbow Trout, Salmon, and Tuna.
I’m not saying my informant was lying or embroidering the tale, but from the nasty condition of the river, I think Coney Island Whitefish, Cotton River Horse, Dumpster Trout, and Bugle-Mouthed Salmon would be the more common species.
I had enough perambulation and even though I wasn’t given the least look, I felt a bit uncomfortable out here. That unfiltered sun and equally unfiltered air. After that, I wandered back to the hotel and went to enter to go to my room.
“HALT! Who goes there?” some door guard yelled at me.
“An American tourista who was out on a walk”, I replied.
“Impossible!”, he replied, “Tourists are not allowed out without their guides.”
“Look, Herr Mac”, I said, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and I am an invited Western Petroleum Scientist with the UN special-invited group here to evaluate the country’s oil and gas potential.”
“You are not allowed.” He replied loudly.
“My good man”, I replied, equally loudly, "Not allowed? Not allowed? I’m a geologist, I’m allowed everywhere.”
With that, I grab the handle of the ornate door, take a slurp out of my drink, and sally forth into the hotel.
Of course, he goes non-linear. He follows me and is making all sorts of bad noise. He is almost literally dancing around me, pointing, and exclaiming that I’m not allowed.
Then, he made a bit of a mistake.
He grabbed my arm.
Really, really poor career move.
I switched my drink to my left hand and executed a pretty spiffy opposite-side wrist grab on the noisy little nerf herder.
He was so shocked by this turn of events, he went slightly white and was rendered mute for a short time.
I frog marched the little irritant up to the front desk and asked the head clerk there to explain to my captive audience who I was and why I was here.
The clerk smiled and gave the character whom I was dragging around a quick background on the guy who was currently holding him captive. When I heard “닥터 락 노커” [dagteo lag nokeo, “Dr. Rocknocker”], I dropped this guy’s hand and just took a few steps back.
After a minute or two, he comes over, very, very abashed. He apologizes as he wasn’t told that any Americans were allowed outside the hotel.
I told him ‘No problem’, as I really didn’t have any special permission and didn’t want to get the guy into any trouble. I offered him a cigar, which he refused, but he readily accepted the half-pack of Sobranie pastel cigarettes I had in the pocket of my Hawaiian shirt.
I decided from that point to just stay inside the hotel to smoke, drink, and avoid any further Imperial entanglements.
I wandered on down to the casino because I was bored and it was unusually quiet. Too hepped-up to sleep, too tired to work, it was that odd interarea between “should I be giving a fuck” and “who the fuck cares?”
Leaving the basement, I wandered around the ground floor, just taking in the sights, and looking at the “Festival Specials” at the hotel shops.
I found an empty, unlocked conference room that looked inviting. About two dozen chairs, a large wooden table, TV monitors, and a southern view of the city from slightly above ground level.
I walked in like I owned the place, as it is always monumentally easier to get forgiveness than permission, sat down at the head of the table, propped my feet up, found an ashtray, and began playing with the remote to see what was available.
Evidently, these rooms were available for rent by various factions, cadres, and other sorts of like-minded individuals. However, whoever was here last forgot to re-set the filters on the satellite television.
There was real the BBC, real-time. There was German TV, Russian TV, Japanese TV, and even some American TV; all the best of the absolutely prohibited hit parade.
I shut it down and left immediately. I went to find my comrades. They simply had to see this.
I located Dax first, as he was losing won at a rapid rate down at the basement casino. He said he’d spread the word to any of the team members down in the tunnels and we’d meet at Conference Room #1.
I had taken the precaution before leaving to move the “Occupied/Unoccupied” placard to indicate it was in use and that if you hadn’t reserved the room, you’d do best to stay the fuck out.
I waited the obligatory 20 minutes for the elevator and went up to ‘our’ floor.
I knocked on all the doors where I knew they were occupied by our occupants. I found a few of our team and informed them that if they were so inclined, there would be an unannounced, impromptu, and wholly illicit meeting down in Conference room number 1; complete with refreshments and real, uncensored television. They all agreed and said they’d rouse the rest of our team on the floor.
I was feeling so brazen, that when I went down to the ground floor, I stopped at the front desk and ordered lunch and drinks for my team in Conference Room #1.
“Oh, sir”, the desk clerk responded, “We don’t have any reservations today for Conference Room #1.”
“Well”, I replied, “We are in there and if it wasn’t reserved, how would that have happened? The room would have been marked as unavailable, which it clearly was not; as it was open and available and we are now occupying it. Therefore, it wasn’t marked unavailable so it must have been available; not unavailable as you postulate. It’s almost a simple example of the single equation theory of universal containment. So we are meeting there now and requiring refreshments. It’s simply a logical progression of the facts of the matter.”
“You are, of course, correct”, she immediately responded, distracted by all the Festival goings-on in the hotel, “Now, you said you’d like to order 4 dozen assorted meat and cheese sandwiches, two cases of beer, and a mixed case of bottled liquor?”
“Yes”, I replied, “You see, it’s only going to be a brief meeting. I’ll also need ice, carbonated and non-carbonated mixers, sliced citrus fruit, and an on-call bartender if you have one available.”
“Oh, yes sir,”, she replied, “That will be immediately arranged. Anything else?”
“Yes”, I replied, “I’ll need about a dozen ashtrays, of the larger variety. Also, I am going to leave explicit instructions with you to disseminate to hotel staff that we are not to be disturbed. This is a very high-level meeting of the scientists of the IUPG. We will be discussing, umm, ‘sensitive information’”.
I used the international ‘don’t-even-think-of-bothering-us’ buzzword to let her know were being very serious indeed.
“Oh, yes sir”, she stiffened.
“Marvelous”, I said and slipped her 1000 won for her troubles. All sighs of nervousness instantly disappeared.
“Excellent. Excellent service.”, I said, rubbing both hands together most Mr. Burnsly.
I go over to the conference room and see that our order has begun to already arrive. Have to hand it to them, you call for room service and you get room service. Especially if you’re well known around the hotel to be free with imported cigars, pastel cigarettes, and lavish tips.
One by one, my teammates filtered in. There was everyone from out earlier pleasure cruise, and most of the force that remained back in the hotel to prepare the paperwork for our ground assault.
Cigars, cigarettes, and pipes were lit. Sandwiches consumed and drinks were downed. After everyone had a chance to see their home-town, or at least home-county, version of the news, I decided that it would indeed be a good time to have a bit of a meeting. It was going nuts outside with the Festival, and as long as we were in here, we were being left alone.
After the obligatory facilities break, I returned from a 40-minute round trip to my room to get a couple of my field notebooks. I wanted a record of the proceedings, no matter how spur-of-the-moment.
When I returned, I thought the room looked a bit spare. I did a quick headcount and I noted we were missing someone. I glanced through my notes and saw that our Bulgarian geomechanic, Dr. Iskren Dragomirov Dinev, or ‘Iskren’ was not present.
“Hey, guys”, I asked aloud, “Anyone seen Iskren lately?”
There was a brief conclave and the answer was a solid negative.
I called the front desk and got his room number. I asked them to ring his room for me. His room phone rang and rang and rang, but no answer.
“Who last saw Iskren?” I asked the assembled crew.
The Finnish PT, Joon, recalls drinking with him at the casino the night before last. He seemed normally jovial as was normal for him.
“Anyone else? Or since?” I asked.
Again, the answer was negative.
“Something’s not right”, I thought, my rock sense was tingling. “Dax, Cliff, you’re with me.”
We all left, stopped by the front desk, and asked for medical assistance. We explained where we were going and the sudden absence of our Bulgarian friend. We expressed deep concern.
25 minutes later, Dax, Cliff, me, the hotel security chief, and hotel doctor were standing outside Iskren’s room. We had pounded on the door for a good 3 minutes. He certainly wasn’t in the shower.
No answer.
“Fuck this. Open it”, I said.
“Under whose authority?” the chief of hotel security asked.
“Mine. Dr. Rocknocker. I’m the team leader of the IUPG crew. Do it.” I said.
The door was laboriously opened, as both door bolt locks had to be breached. The room was dark, silent, and entirely unnerving. In the gloom, it appeared that there was a human form, unmoving, on the bed.
“I’m a rock Doctor. I think we need a medical doctor here.” I said to the hotel sawbones.
The hotel doctor went in without switching on the lights nor touching anything. He examined the mound on the bed. Apparently, it wasn’t a pile of dirty laundry.
“Was the occupant of this room a large Caucasian male, approximately 60-65 years of age?” He asked.
“Yes”, we all answered together.
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” The doctor replied.
Dax looked at Cliff who looked at me. In unison, all that was heard was a tripartite:
“Oh…fuck.”
To be continued...