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Nation of Airports 01.06
They skied another hour after lunch, until the hill was frozen in shadow, liquid in sun. They returned to an empty house and a prepared snack in the kitchen. They ate in the living room, again watching financial news. The communications sector had a bad afternoon, proving Walt's trade correct. Walt had a third bourbon to celebrate and wandered upstairs for his nap. Michael stretched out on the couch and decided to follow Walt's lead.
The sleep did Michael good, and when Walt woke him he realized he could have used more. His legs were still tired from the day's workout, which disappointed him. Even as a consultant life in rural Russia kept one fit, but these days Michael sat at a desk and took taxis. He needed to walk to work more often.
They left at seven-thirty in Michael's car, to start the evening at a marina bar in Tahoe Keys. Walt was fascinated by Michael's music player. "This thing is antique," he said. "It doesn't even have a dock. I'm surprised it still takes a charge. How long have you had it?"
"It's my housemate's. She lost the computer in the divorce so she can't update it, and all the music is her ex-husband's so she doesn't like it. I found it in the kitchen drawer. It's all his stuff. I just run it on shuffle."
"It's good stuff." Slow rock faded into a jaunty bassline. Walt shimmied in his seat. He nudged the volume louder and rapped along with the MC. Tourists jaywalked in throngs between the casinos, slowing traffic to a crawl. "Thass right, bitches," Walt told the pedestrians, "spend yo money. You know that's why Nevada has no income taxes."
"I thought it was a libertarian thing."
"Libertarians are surprisingly bad at paving desert roads," Walt said. "Nah, they tax gambling winnings. Casino profits too, so win or lose all these fucks are paying me to play."
"You don't gamble?"
"A hundred bucks at a cheap table, for kicks. But not serious. Everybody wants to be a playa," he said, waving his hands again. "I want to be da' house."
Across the state line California was still shorter, low dull strip malls interspersed with sprawling bungalow lodges or cheesy neon-lit motels. Traffic into Nevada was jammed with Bay Area cars, but toward the Keys traffic was light. At the marina bar they scored one of the rear tables, inlaid with a backgammon board, and asked the waitress for a set. Walt drank hefeweizen beer, Michael ginger ale. Michael took Walt handily for two games, and allowed himself some gloating after his pool losses.
During their third Walt called Laurie. "Can you bring Tammy out tonight?" Walt asked her, then listened for almost a minute.
"It's kinda short notice," Michael said.
"We'll make it happen," Walt said. "You're on vacation." He returned to the call. "So, she dumped his lame ass. Tell her to come out and play. Remind her how cute my boy is." Michael rolled a double five, covering his last two exposed pieces and ready to run off the board. "I'm working hard to hook you up, and this is how you repay me?"
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