Viva Glock Vegas

A couple of Sheena's readers have noticed the odd reference to an incident in Vegas in posts passim and have asked for more info. I chose today to tell the story because in just a few short hours, it will be the 8 month anniversary of the afore-mentioned activity and only the first time that the three members of the Robbery-With-Use Customer Focus Group will be properly re-united on the patio of a beverage serving establishment since Sept '05.

It all started so innocently. Cashed in a few points to take the crewe down for the only Champ Car Race of the season that our schedules permitted us to coordinate. Had great seats. Grabbed Paul Tracy's ass and took a few pics with Sebastian Bourdais.

Sheena lurves the 3-car wide nose to tail contact that the mile plus speedway venue offers. Road courses are OK, but the pure adrenaline rush of the big ovals really needs to be experienced to be appreciated.

"I love the smell of methane in the morning", my racing companion Pat McKittie sighs, as the waft of fumes comes into the stand after the leader pack zooms by in a blur.

And then the race was over, so we piled onto the shuttle bus that took us back to the strip. It was about midnight, and we hemmed and hawed about going out. Token beer at Harrah's but we were tired and didn't even feel like partying.

So.

We

Walked.

Back to the hotel. About a block off the strip. I blame Steve Wynn, actually and his goddamn new golf course behind the new hotel.

From behind the bench at the bus stop, on what was a busy, well lit street, buddy jumps out with a gun already drawn. Sheena rolls her eyes and says "You've GOT to be kidding". We hand over our shit. He runs back behind the bushes. Purses - gone. Cell phones - gone. Blackberries - gone. Prada wallet - gone. Credit cards - gone.

All we have left is the bag with Bubba the Bobble head and a disposable camera. Err.. thanks Pat. Way to go.

So, we run/walk/pole-slide our way back to the hotel (which we can see, about a block away) and call Grissom. Kudos to the LVPD. Hottie and his sidekick were there in minutes, taking down our personal deets.

"Are we on COPS again", I wondered aloud. Helicopters circling with million watt search lights scouring the empty lot next to the golf course.

"Did you get my phone number right,".. "Do you need my email. Should we call you tomorrow for an update?". Err.. thanks Evita.

The milk of human kindness flowed in the form of a stranger in the lobby who emptied his wallet with whatever cash he had in hand and gave it to us for food and phone calls. We protested, but when we turned around he was gone with the cash in front of us. We teared up over the humanity of our angel in a cheap suit. Thank god for him. We really needed that beer the next morning.

We sat up all night phoning to cancel shit. Tired but couldn't sleep. None of wanted to shut off the light.

As we cancelled credit cards, one of us found out that Buddy had used it minutes later at a 7-11 for gas and some goods. I knew it. Taquito-eating Glock wielding bastard.

May some crack-ho mistake his sausage for a Big Bite.

Asshole.