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The streets of the neon-city were silent. No cars full of tourists gazing out of the windows, no limo’s pulling up outside the equally deserted casinos. Roulette wheels remained still, fruit machines flashed and bleeped but only had each other for company. There was only one place to be tonight, and that was with the King. After the show Elvis would not only leave the building, but the city after a hugely popular run.
As the queue outside the International Hotel shuffled forwards I heard snippets of excited conversation as I queued with some of the other women – “would he do Viva Las Vegas?” of course he would, we were in Las Vegas after all – and he’d not failed to perform it yet on this run. By now I was familiar with the routine, knew there would be no detailed door search, knew that they wouldn’t find what I was hiding especially for The King. As I reached the doors I handed the ticket to the same guy as I had every night for the last four weeks. He didn’t seem to recognise me though, issuing a standard “enjoy the show” as I passed. If everything went to plan, I’d enjoy it a great deal.
I went to my seat, casting my eyes around the area, checking that nothing was out of place – no changes to Elvis’ plan meant no change necessary to my plan.
As the room filled a buzz of excitement spread which I tried to distance myself from, had to keep my mind on the job at hand, concentration was essential as this was my one and only shot. My hand reached towards my pocket, checking it was still there. The cold metal sent a shiver through my body as I considered the possible outcome of my actions.
The lights dimmed, the moment arriving to the sound of delighted screams from the audience. As the crowd pushed forwards, eager to catch the first glimpse of The King I knew show-time was here – for both of us. I followed as part of the crowd, disguising myself with them, hiding my intentions, moving with them to put suspicious minds at ease.
The furore reached its peak as he emerged from the same side as always, the side at which I was waiting. The target was in sight. Cameras flashed as fans grabbed pictures they could treasure forever on a night I’d never forget. All eyes on Elvis as I moved in, unseen. Weeks of careful planning, close observation, all culminating in this one opportunity. I thrust my hand into my pocket as I watched his strut towards the microphone. I pulled it out and took aim before launching it at him. Time slowed to a crawl as it sailed through the air. As it got closer I appreciated the days spent practising my throw had been worthwhile. Elvis stuck out a hand and caught my room-key. He looked at the attached knickers for a moment and smiled, “thank you very much,” he uttered before bursting into song.
So now in my hotel room I play the waiting game. Every footstep in the hall I think is him approaching my door, but as it drifts away I'm left still waiting, hoping, expecting.
As the queue outside the International Hotel shuffled forwards I heard snippets of excited conversation as I queued with some of the other women – “would he do Viva Las Vegas?” of course he would, we were in Las Vegas after all – and he’d not failed to perform it yet on this run. By now I was familiar with the routine, knew there would be no detailed door search, knew that they wouldn’t find what I was hiding especially for The King. As I reached the doors I handed the ticket to the same guy as I had every night for the last four weeks. He didn’t seem to recognise me though, issuing a standard “enjoy the show” as I passed. If everything went to plan, I’d enjoy it a great deal.
I went to my seat, casting my eyes around the area, checking that nothing was out of place – no changes to Elvis’ plan meant no change necessary to my plan.
As the room filled a buzz of excitement spread which I tried to distance myself from, had to keep my mind on the job at hand, concentration was essential as this was my one and only shot. My hand reached towards my pocket, checking it was still there. The cold metal sent a shiver through my body as I considered the possible outcome of my actions.
The lights dimmed, the moment arriving to the sound of delighted screams from the audience. As the crowd pushed forwards, eager to catch the first glimpse of The King I knew show-time was here – for both of us. I followed as part of the crowd, disguising myself with them, hiding my intentions, moving with them to put suspicious minds at ease.
The furore reached its peak as he emerged from the same side as always, the side at which I was waiting. The target was in sight. Cameras flashed as fans grabbed pictures they could treasure forever on a night I’d never forget. All eyes on Elvis as I moved in, unseen. Weeks of careful planning, close observation, all culminating in this one opportunity. I thrust my hand into my pocket as I watched his strut towards the microphone. I pulled it out and took aim before launching it at him. Time slowed to a crawl as it sailed through the air. As it got closer I appreciated the days spent practising my throw had been worthwhile. Elvis stuck out a hand and caught my room-key. He looked at the attached knickers for a moment and smiled, “thank you very much,” he uttered before bursting into song.
So now in my hotel room I play the waiting game. Every footstep in the hall I think is him approaching my door, but as it drifts away I'm left still waiting, hoping, expecting.
Heh. I didn't see it coming, and it was all wonderfully worked, the only thing I could possibly put at fault was the slightly snappy ending, but it didn't detract from the piece much at all.
Great stuff as usual.
Great stuff as usual.
Haha, classy. Being you, I expected a twist, but I couldn't have predicted that. Very nicely written from the start, and I think it finished well too.
The streets of the neon-city were silent. No cars full of tourists gazing out of the windows, no limo’s pulling up outside the equally deserted casinos. Roulette wheels remained still, fruit machines flashed and bleeped but only had each other for company. There was only one place to be tonight, and that was with the King. After the show Elvis would not only leave the building, but the city after a hugely popular run.
As the queue outside the International Hotel shuffled forwards I heard snippets of excited conversation as I queued with some of the other women – “would he do Viva Las Vegas?” of course he would, we were in Las Vegas after all – and he’d not failed to perform it yet on this run. By now I was familiar with the routine, knew there would be no detailed door search, knew that they wouldn’t find what I was hiding especially for The King. As I reached the doors I handed the ticket to the same guy as I had every night for the last four weeks. He didn’t seem to recognise me though, issuing a standard “enjoy the show” as I passed. If everything went to plan, I’d enjoy it a great deal.
I went to my seat, casting my eyes around the area, checking that nothing was out of place – no changes to Elvis’ plan meant no change necessary to my plan.
As the room filled a buzz of excitement spread which I tried to distance myself from, had to keep my mind on the job at hand, concentration was essential as this was my one and only shot. My hand reached towards my pocket, checking it was still there. The cold metal sent a shiver through my body as I considered the possible outcome of my actions.
The lights dimmed, the moment arriving to the sound of delighted screams from the audience. As the crowd pushed forwards, eager to catch the first glimpse of The King I knew show-time was here – for both of us. I followed as part of the crowd, disguising myself with them, hiding my intentions, moving with them to put suspicious minds at ease.
The furore reached its peak as he emerged from the same side as always, the side at which I was waiting. The target was in sight. Cameras flashed as fans grabbed pictures they could treasure forever on a night I’d never forget. All eyes on Elvis as I moved in, unseen. Weeks of careful planning, close observation, all culminating in this one opportunity. I thrust my hand into my pocket as I watched his strut towards the microphone. I pulled it out and took aim before launching it at him. Time slowed to a crawl as it sailed through the air. As it got closer I appreciated the days spent practising my throw had been worthwhile. Elvis stuck out a hand and caught my room-key. He looked at the attached knickers for a moment and smiled, “thank you very much,” he uttered before bursting into song.
So now in my hotel room I play the waiting game. Every footstep in the hall I think is him approaching my door, but as it drifts away I'm left still waiting, hoping, expecting.
As the queue outside the International Hotel shuffled forwards I heard snippets of excited conversation as I queued with some of the other women – “would he do Viva Las Vegas?” of course he would, we were in Las Vegas after all – and he’d not failed to perform it yet on this run. By now I was familiar with the routine, knew there would be no detailed door search, knew that they wouldn’t find what I was hiding especially for The King. As I reached the doors I handed the ticket to the same guy as I had every night for the last four weeks. He didn’t seem to recognise me though, issuing a standard “enjoy the show” as I passed. If everything went to plan, I’d enjoy it a great deal.
I went to my seat, casting my eyes around the area, checking that nothing was out of place – no changes to Elvis’ plan meant no change necessary to my plan.
As the room filled a buzz of excitement spread which I tried to distance myself from, had to keep my mind on the job at hand, concentration was essential as this was my one and only shot. My hand reached towards my pocket, checking it was still there. The cold metal sent a shiver through my body as I considered the possible outcome of my actions.
The lights dimmed, the moment arriving to the sound of delighted screams from the audience. As the crowd pushed forwards, eager to catch the first glimpse of The King I knew show-time was here – for both of us. I followed as part of the crowd, disguising myself with them, hiding my intentions, moving with them to put suspicious minds at ease.
The furore reached its peak as he emerged from the same side as always, the side at which I was waiting. The target was in sight. Cameras flashed as fans grabbed pictures they could treasure forever on a night I’d never forget. All eyes on Elvis as I moved in, unseen. Weeks of careful planning, close observation, all culminating in this one opportunity. I thrust my hand into my pocket as I watched his strut towards the microphone. I pulled it out and took aim before launching it at him. Time slowed to a crawl as it sailed through the air. As it got closer I appreciated the days spent practising my throw had been worthwhile. Elvis stuck out a hand and caught my room-key. He looked at the attached knickers for a moment and smiled, “thank you very much,” he uttered before bursting into song.
So now in my hotel room I play the waiting game. Every footstep in the hall I think is him approaching my door, but as it drifts away I'm left still waiting, hoping, expecting.