They would be safe in Las Vegas, that mildly risque middle-class Disneyland. Even the temptations of the casino posed no threat. Frank could gamble sensibly. He was too good a businessman to lose severely. Hard work was the best vaccination against gambling fever. So he would usually break even at craps, Alicia would lose on roulette, and he would make a little of it back at blackjack, where years of manipulating figures gave him a slight edge over his fellow gamblers.
The long miles tired him, but he became wide-awake when the glow from the lights of an approaching city lit the underside of lingering clouds not far ahead. Alicia sat up straighter in her seat.
"There it is. There it is." The reality of it put paid to the last lingering memories of nightmare.
Sleeping soundly, the children didn’t react. Burnfingers Begay didn’t look up from the book he was reading as he sat cross-legged on the floor near the kitchen. Mouse might have nodded as she stared out a side window at the night. Big as her eyes were, Frank mused, maybe she could see in the dark.
A big green highway sign loomed up out of the darkness. Frank leaned slightly forward, grumbling, "Now what?"
The detour was clearly marked. Uneasy at the thought of leaving the main highway, he thought of running the barricade, but there were ample signs of heavy equipment at work not far ahead. Arc lamps illuminated a distant section of road. It made perfect sense. Naturally the highway department would try to do all its repair work at night, when it was cooler and there was less traffic.
A vehicle had paused just ahead of him. Now he followed it, as it turned right to travel the detour. It was a sleek, expensive-looking sports car. Ferrari or Lamborghini or something like that. In seconds it had accelerated into the night and was gone, though he could still see its lights moving long after the car itself was no longer visible. Ahead, the narrow road was so bright it might have been lit from within. Brand-new paving, he told himself.
"Must be a new way into town, or they’ve upgraded an older road to take some of the traffic off the highway," he surmised aloud. "Not even oil-stained yet."
There was a distinct absence of traffic. Of course, it was well after midnight. And what did he know of traffic patterns in and out of Las Vegas? They were used to flying in, not driving. Probably most drivers were already busy pumping their hard-earned quarters into hungry slots, or groaning over craps tables.
They could see the city now, coming into view off to the left. Alicia stared and sounded mildly disappointed.
"Won’t we drive in down the Strip?"
"If it’s lights you want to see we can take a cab and do it tomorrow night. Right now I just wanna get rid of this tank and find us a hotel."
Mouse had come forward to join them in gazing at the distant, glowing towers. "Is something the matter? I heard you talking."
Funny, he thought. Your ears don’t look as big as your eyes. "Main road into town’s all torn up. We’re on a detour." As they began curving toward the city, the lights of the Strip receded, their place taken by the silhouettes of dark, squat structures from which few lights gleamed.
"Looks like we’re coming in the back way. Vegas isn’t all gambling."
"Industrial park, maybe," said Alicia thoughtfully.
They were alone on the road. As they moved among the buildings, Frank found himself wishing they’d spent more time driving around the city on previous visits. He had no idea where he was. In this dark, dingy part of town it would be easy to miss a road sign. Detours didn’t always provide adequate directions, especially for strangers.
Fortunately they couldn’t get completely lost. The lights from the distant Strip were a constant glow against the sky. All they had to do was keep going in that direction.
As he was consoling himself with that thought, the road abruptly came to a dead end. He braked, angry at himself for obviously having missed the right turn. Ahead, the roadway became a driveway leading into a large factory lot.
Not quite a dead end, he told himself. Narrower but perfectly passable roads split off to right and left, paralleling the factory. But which way? The lights of the city illuminated the air directly ahead, and that way was denied them.
"Damn! Don’t know how I missed the turnoff. If they’re going to detour you off the highway, you’d think they’d put up more signs."
"What’s going on?" A glance in the center rearview mirror showed Steven sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. After hours of steady highway cruising, their coming to a halt had awakened both children.
"We’re here," said his sister tiredly. "Isn’t that obvious?"
"That’s right." Alicia tried to see past the dark bulk of the factory. "But your father seems to have missed a turn somewhere."
In his frustration he spoke more sharply than he intended. "I did not miss a turn!" Then, more gently, "All right. So maybe I did. Any suggestions?"
"Go left, I think. The lights look brighter over that way."
He shrugged. "Good enough." He backed up slightly to make sure the motor home would have enough space to clear the curb, then tugged the wheel to port.
Several blocks on, they found themselves driving slowly past a dark park. Strangely thin trees sprouted from among blades of thick blue-green grass.
Walking on the edge of the grass was an elderly gentleman clad in a thin coat of some shiny, silvery material. It would have to be thin, Frank knew. This time of year Vegas was warm even late at night. His shoes matched his coat and he carried a cane, which he was giving a jaunty twirl. Golden tassels trailed from the back and one side of a gray beret.
The outfit would have drawn laughs in south Los Angeles, but this was Las Vegas. He might be a visitor out for an evening’s stroll, or a casino employee enjoying his midmorning break. Many of the bigger hotels required the wearing of special uniforms by their employees, the flashier the better.
"Let’s ask him," Alicia said.
The same thought had already occurred to Frank. He slowed and pulled toward the curb. Alicia lowered her window.
The old man stopped to look up at them. There was no concern in his expression, only curiosity. If he lived or worked in this neighborhood he was probably used to encountering lost tourists.
Alicia leaned out. "Excuse us, but is this the right way to downtown?"
He nodded. With his full mustache and beard he resembled a slightly anorexic version of that old character actor, Monty Woolley.
"Sure is." Funny accent, Frank thought. European of some kind. The man was pointing up the street with his cane. "Just keep on the way you’re headed. The road will curve to the right, then fork. Take the left-hand fork. That’ll put you right back on the main road." Now he turned his attention to the motor home.
"Interesting contraption you got there. Internal combustion, is it?"
Frank could take a joke as well as any man. "Naw. Nuclear-powered."
The riposte didn’t faze the nightwalker. He sniffed. "Don’t smell nuclear. Can’t tell much anymore." He touched the side of his nose. "Sinuses. You know what desert pollen can do to you when it’s in season."
"Tell me about it," Frank replied. "We’ve been to Vegas every year about this time for the past five years."
The oldster’s eyebrows drew together and the mustache twitched. "Vegas?"
"Las Vegas," said Alicia encouragingly.
Suddenly Frank saw the light. No wonder the old guy was out walking by himself in the middle of the night. He was slightly off.
"We had to take a detour," his wife was saying.
"Must’ve been some detour." The oldster scratched at his nose, sniffed again. "Never heard of this Las Vegas." He gestured with his cane once more. "This is Pass Regulus."