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didn't hear them kick in the door. It's a shitty apartment and it came right off the hinges.
    When I turned, too late to see the commotion, wiping the back of my sleeve over my mouth, the skinny one rammed me in the stomach like he was driving home a bayonet, expecting my guts to spill all over the floor. I'd seen people like him before, stalking the losers on the Strip. It was always the little guys with the baseball bat or flashlight, an extension of their dicks they could swing around in their hands. I doubled over, dry-heaving, my freshly manicured nails grasping for purchase on the linoleum. They laughed at the sight of Doug, like it was the funniest thing to hit Vegas in years. The Bat called him a bitch and said he took the easy way out. It hurt to agree. I knew Doug was broke. I'd paid the rent for the past two years. But I didn't know he was in deep with a bookie.
    I stared up at the two men with blurred eyes bleeding mascara, recognizing that part of me knew this day would come. Doug had dragged me down into the gutter and now his dead body was chained to my ankle. I grew up around men who called themselves professional gamblers. I should have known. I'd seen Doug's friends fall to drugs and drink. Show up at the apartment with broken hands and busted faces. When it got bad, some cheated. And when it got worse, they turned to other sources of funds. Anything to get another shot at the money. Anything to feel another stack of chips.
    The other thug I recognized. His fat head and braided goatee were unmistakable, even with the large 49ers cap pulled down low. My eyes must have given it away because he seemed startled all of a sudden and his face darkened. He worked security at Mermaid's, a dive casino located a few blocks off the strip where Doug had moved after he was no longer welcome at the major Vegas institutions. I'd been to Mermaid's a few times when Doug couldn't find his keys, let alone his feet.
    The Bat grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked. The fuck already had my attention; now he was just playing with me. He gave me the short: Doug owed the bookie over one-hundred grand, and since I was family, I now owed the bookie over one-hundred grand. I'd challenge his bullshit definition of family and began to say something snippy to that effect, but he cut me off with the back of his hand. He told me I should be thankful he didn't use the bat.
    While the Bat was giving his spiel, the Bouncer took to the rest of the apartment. I could hear drawers being emptied, the bed being tossed. The place wasn't big and he was through with it in under five. I got the sense he knew what he was looking for. The blood drained from my face when he returned with the thick roll of bills.
    When I was sixteen, I caught Doug stealing from my ceramic piggy bank. He'd smashed it on the kitchen floor and was bent over, groping at the money. I moved to stop him and he struck me. It was a light, drunken punch, but it stung. I gathered two handfuls of cash and ran out the door.  I wandered until my feet hurt and ended up outside of a Quick Cuts hair salon. I thought I saw one of Doug's gambling buddies so I ducked inside and sat down in the waiting area. It was cool, clean and smelled of cherry shampoo. I didn't realize I was still clutching the crumpled sweaty bills when the owner walked over to me.
    She took pity; I could see it in her eyes. I wanted to run out the door but I was too hurt to be embarrassed. She coaxed me into a chair and gave me highlights and cut it into a short bob. She got me to open up. I told her about the gambling, Doug, the money. She listened without saying a word. When she spun me around in the chair and I saw my reflection, I could barely breathe. I felt alive. There was no way I could repay her, but I told her I'd help out after school. She eventually took me on as an assistant. It wasn't much but I saved every dollar I could toward an education that would get me the hell away from Vegas.
    It hurt more to see