bastler

 Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet.  Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore.  I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today. North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds.  Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smell