Somewhere between the Gypsy Bar and the Gelato Shop, Taylor had gone missing.
Considering the two locations were just across the corridor from each other, Dave found this disappearing act particularly baffling and rather impressive. But then again, he reminded himself, this was Taylor--a man who ate crayons and could be distracted by anything bright and sparkly that danced into his line of sight.
The Borgata Hotel and Casino practically defined bright and sparkly. Dave realized he could be in serious trouble.
He squinted and looked in all directions, but couldn't spot that damned blond head anywhere. The vast casino floor lay before him, bells ringing and lights flashing and people swarming all around as though the night would never end. Around here, in truth, it never did, night blending into morning into afternoon, all behind these windowless walls. What time was it, anyway? Dave checked his watch--only two am? He didn't usually feel this buzzed until at least four.
Nor this fucking horny.
God dammit, he needed Taylor. He needed to find him now.
"So pick up your cellphone and call him, you idiot," he muttered to himself. But the problem in that soon revealed itself--even if he could hear anything on his phone amidst all this clamor and noise, he had no signal. The casino was built like a bomb shelter; he wandered around in circles, hoping to find a spot where his signal bars would rise to life, but had no such luck.
"No service," the phone kept telling him.
"No fucking shit," Dave grumbled and put the phone away. Time for a search and recovery mission. He could kill Taylor right about now, were it not for the fact that wanted to do certain other things to him first.
He'd save the killing for later. Find him, fuck him, then kill him. That sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan.
Dave decided to circle the perimeter and work his way in toward the center. He didn't even like casinos, so the sooner he could get off the floor and up to his suite, the happier he'd be. Gambling didn't have the slightest appeal--why throw your money away on pure luck? Seemed like a sure lure for suckers, and Dave Grohl was no fool. He'd be glad to get out on the road again tomorrow and leave Atlantic City and its not-exactly-cheap thrills behind.
The show had gone well enough--fuck that, it had gone amazing. Or maybe it had just felt that way, having the chance to rip it up and rock out hard after playing acoustically for so many weeks. But now he was all wired up as a result and needed Taylor to help him wind down from it all.
His head was spinning slightly, and walking around in circles didn't help his ailment much at all. He should have stuck with whiskey, and not been tempted by those fancy tequila drinks the girls at the Gypsy Bar had kept slipping his way. He didn't see Taylor at any of the gaming tables, nor could he spot him anywhere down the long rows of quarter and dollar machines. Where the fuck had he gone?
But then, above the din of the slot machines, Dave heard a whoop of delight somewhere behind him that could only belong to one person. Spinning around, he spotted a familiar baseball cap and pair of flailing arms sticking out above the row of Penny Arcade slots. Changing direction, he walked over to find Taylor grinning broadly while accepting congratulations from the two little old ladies manning the machines on either side of him.
"So there you are, you bastard! I've been looking all over the place for you."
"Oh, hey Dave! Check it out, I just hit the jackpot! Two thousand! Can you believe my luck?"
Dave frowned as he looked at the video screen. "Two thousand pennies, Taylor. That's only twenty bucks."
"That boy's a lucky charm--I just got five dollars myself," the old lady in the purple muumuu said, then exchanging a high-five with Taylor.
"That he is, but he's also my lucky charm," Dave replied, hands grasping Taylor's shoulders. "And it's time for this lucky charm to get going."
"Melba, Helen, this is Dave," Taylor introduced, slipping his claim ticket into his shorts. "He's my boyfriend. I'm going to have to go now because he's looking desperate to fuck my ass."
"Oh! Well don't let us stop you, boys," Melba said.
"You're not available later, are you?" Helen hopefully asked Taylor. She winked and continued, "I'm in room 1812. You can ring my bell any time, sunshine."
Taylor winked back as Dave began to forcibly yank him out of his seat. "Good luck, ladies."
"That old bag looked like she was born in 1812," Dave remarked as he led Taylor away.
"Yeah, but she's sweet. They both were really sweet. Hey, Dave, am I really your lucky charm?"
"You're something all right, Tay."
"Hold up!" Taylor suddenly changed direction, jerking Dave by the arm. "Cashier--I gotta cash in my ticket."
Dave sighed, allowing Taylor to lead the way. I could use a leash to keep from losing him, Dave mused, and then realized that it might not be a bad idea at all. In fact, a leash could be a lot of fun...
The line took forever, as they waited behind a good half-dozen weary gamblers calling it a night. "Admit it," Dave said to Taylor. "You're enjoying all of this, aren't you?"
"All of what?" Taylor asked innocently. Finally reaching the window, he slid his coupon over to the cashier, who made a very grand production of counting off Taylor's twenty-six dollars and seventy cents.
"Playing hard to get," Dave continued. "Sneaking off and losing me like you did. Either that or you've got the attention span of a gnat."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Jeez. I promise you now have my undivided attention for the rest of hey look!"
Yanked again off his path to the exit, Dave stumbled after Taylor to find what had caught his eye this time. "Hey look, what? It's a roulette table. So?"
Taylor laid his twenty dollar bill on the table. Dave groaned. "I'm on a winning streak here, Dave, I gotta play my lucky numbers." The croupier pushed over his chips in two neat stacks of ten.
"You're gonna throw your winnings away, Taylor." And give me a major case of the blue balls.
"Maybe, but what the hell, it's only twenty dollars. Hey, let's make this more interesting," he said after placing one chip each on ten different numbers. He put the remaining stack of chips in Dave's hands and continued, "You play ten numbers, I'll play ten. If one of mine hits, you have to serenade the entire tour bus tomorrow with 'I'm in the Mood for Love.' In the nude."
"And what do I get if I win?"
"You know that thing I can do with a bottle of Baileys, my tongue and your--"
"Let it ride, baby!" Dave yelled out, leaning in over the table and scattering his chips over the numbers hastily.
"No more bets." The croupier waved her hand over the table. Dave swallowed hard. The little metal ball spun round and around the wheel, spinning so long he wondered if it would ever stop.
Finally it bounced a few times and danced around the wheel, coming to a halt at last.
"Twenty-seven," the croupier announced, placing her glass pawn over the number. Sadly, neither of their chips were beneath it, and Dave and Taylor could only watch as all their chips were whisked away.
"Shit," Taylor said, "there goes my winnings."
"And there goes my dream of Baileys," Dave sighed.
"So what are we going to do instead?"
"I say we're going to get the fuck out of here before you lose any more money. And then I'm going to..." Dave leaned in close and whispered his plans in Taylor's ear.
Taylor's eyes widened and he let out a long whistle. "Sounds like I did hit the jackpot after all."
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