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The stench of alcohol hit me moments before he appeared. Bewildered and recoiling from the lights, he shuffled into my small workroom. All 6ft of him loomed over my table. "Can I help you?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at the bizarre man above me. A crinkled white shirt covered him, but his tie and blazer jacket had been discarded along the way. Lost in Vegas scrum forevermore. Leather gloves covered his hands, a strange choice that made me question whether or not a serial killer was in my midst. But the oddest sartorial choice? A pair of sunglasses, dark enough to see my own reflection in. "Ugh, I guess so." The man grumbled. I gestured to the seat across from me and watched as he awkwardly placed himself on the other side of my velvet-lined table. "20 bucks a reading," I began to pick my tarot cards up and vigorously shuffled them. "Not the cards," He demanded quickly. My movements froze, but I wasn't the type to scare easily. "My apologies. My apologies. I er-" He reached up for the sunglasses on his head and plucked them away from his eyes. Duo-chrome pupils looked back at me, peppered with red veins. Instantly, my demeanour changed. "How has an Emeritus boy landed in my shop?" I mused, secretly seeing dollar signs. His hands shuffled under the table as I spoke. The pink and purple neon cast a gentle glow over the stoic man before me. It wasn't enough to soften his steely resolve. The man was weathered. He had the type of features that suggested he'd been a catch in his youth, but time was not kind to him. Deeply rooted wrinkles framed his face and the weight of his obvious hangover drew his skin down further than gravity intended. To my surprise, when his hands reappeared above the table they had been freed from his leather gloves. Palms up, he slid them over the table. "Tell me what you see, Mystic." "Papa, if I may-" "You'll get no hints from me, sinner. I ask what you see, not what you think I want to hear." His words were short and sharp. They did nothing to absolve my inner suspicions. An Emeritus wouldn't just land in my lap without good reason. This man wanted something specific. Guidance, knowledge, help - I did not know which. Gently, my hands slid over the velvet-lined table to reach for him. Our fingertips touched. "Have you had your palm read before, Papa?' He looked back at me without offering a response, as if to reaffirm his prior statement. I sighed as I cupped his hands. "I only ask to ensure you know how things work. Your hands, the markings on them, they do not tell you the future. If that's what you're expecting." His teeth grit, flexing the jaw muscles hidden under loose skin. "Go on," he said. "On your non-dominant hand, the lines there tell you about the traits you inherited from your lineage." I traced a finger over his palm. Light movement, just enough to make his thumb muscle twitch. "And this, your dominant hand," I said as I turned over his right hand to expose grazed, red knuckles, "This one gives us an insight into who you are as a person and where that may lead you." A displeased grunt came from the man. It was nothing I had not seen before. Working just off the Las Vegas strip made sure that my clients were certainly diverse. However, I knew the machismo type when I saw it. Dubious of my words, but still willing to pay and hear them. "Perhaps it's this one you're seeking information from?" I asked whilst turning his palm over once more and leaning forward. In turn, he leaned forward too. I pawed over the deep wrinkle that lay just under where his fingers began. "The love line." He scoffed in return. I tutted in retort. "I'm sure it's nothing you don't already know. It's very… well worn." I teased looking back up at him. His pencil-thin moustache twitched, ever so slightly. I cast my eyes back down and focused on the point below his index finger. As his love line tapered off into fraying strands that reached out to the head line. "No marriage. Not one that destiny has planned anyway. Though… we are in Las Vegas." I gave him a wink. His stern face remained. His aura, unreadable. My eyes scanned both palms simultaneously. "Hmmm. Quite different indeed." "I should expect so," Secondo replied. It was common knowledge that he wasn't exactly thrilled with his lineage - namely his father - but I didn't expect him to be so curt. "Well, at least this line here serves you well." I pointed to a wrinkle that ran straight across his palm. The head line ran firm and strong from one side to the other, connecting with the life line. A featherlight touch carried my investigation. "This one, Papa, shows me that you are much more of a logical thinker than your ancestors. See how it joins the life line here? This means we can see you lead your life with logic." "If that were true would I have stumbled into a place like this?" He asked, as if to mock my service. A defensive retort sat squarely in the back of my throat. However, I certainly didn't want to pick a fight with a leading member of the Satanic Church. Neon lights continued to bleed onto his white shirt. Perhaps it was odd for a someone of his ilk to be surrounded by a pink and purple glow, but I wasn't going to let him get away with his snark completely. "Some would say that what I do is a science. Of course, most evidence has been lost to time, shunned throughout history. That, I'm sure a man of your profession can attest to." A gruff 'hmm' came from him in acceptance. Subconsciously, my finger began to swirl over his life line. The muscle in his thumb seemed to push back, like the feel of a rare-cooked steak. "You've lived a long life Papa. Do you see this line here?" I asked as my finger traced the parallel wrinkle. He immediately leaned forward. Bingo. "This line here means that someone is watching over you." The elderly man rolled his eyes. The focus I once had from him instantly disappeared. "Hmmm that's a little dismissive, Papa. They've been with you for a long time, almost since the very beginning. Though they seem to fade out towards the end." "What does that mean?" He asked. I pushed my face closer to the table, almost level with his hand. Velvet grazed my face, just, as I angeled myself to confirm my findings. The faint wrinkle that haunted the space above his life line didn't just fade towards the end, it crossed over the wrinkle. Not much. Just a touch. Usually, a crossover at the end of a life line would indicate someone or something ushering you through to the other side. Not necessarily in a nefarious way. But not necessarily in a peaceful way either. "Have… have you lost someone you'd like to reunite with?" I asked, fearing his icy gaze back once more. "Haven't we all?" He asked, softly. "That we have," I nodded, "But this, right here. It does interest me. It could mean a number of things of course; A parental figure guiding you throughout life, someone you lost helping you cross to the other side-" "Death," He interrupted. "I'm sorry?" The room seemed to feel colder all of a sudden. "She's been stalking me my whole life," A breathy response, one he dared not say too loud. Our concerned eyes met one another. Part of me wondered if this was just a case of post-bender psychosis. The man had a reputation for partying hard and if I dared to get closer I would probably find remnants of white power near his nostrils. "Papa, would it perhaps not be better to discuss this with a Quintessence ghoul." He grumbled at my suggestion, waving his non-dominant hand. The other remained cupped between my own. "I'm sure you appreciate discretion, Mystic. I- uh, need someone I can trust on the matter. An objective insight." Paranoia. Perhaps this was just a comedown for him. Too much sin, not enough sunlight. The day a retired Papa couldn't trust the clergy would surely be a cold day in hell. I gently cradled the palm I was reading between both of my hands. In that moment I settled on reassurance. He just needed a glorified trip sitter. "Papa, I am quite certain that death is not on the cards for you." He breathed in and snatched his hands away. Whatever I had said seemed to offend him gravely. "What do you mean by that?" His voice raised. "Papa, let's please have some decorum, please. I'm saying you'll have a long healthy life." I willed him to calm down but I had no qualifications to deliver such a message in truth. "No, no. You said - 'on the cards'. I heard you." The quizzical look on my face only showed an ounce of my confusion. Was this some sort of language barrier issue? I knew he was originally of Italian descent but surely he understood common terms of phrases by now. Vibrations rumbled from his moving chair, announcing an inbound departure attempt. "Papa, please. I have no idea what miscommunication we've had here. Tell me how I can assist you." I practically begged, seeing my next meal ticket about to leave without so much as a tip. The dishevelled man looked at the doorway. His body turned in the chair, about to lift away and leave. "I have no need for you, Mystic. Not unless you can change my fate." "Papa, you must understand. There is no changing fate. We all play the hand we are dealt." I tried to smile in reassurance but my words only added fuel to the fire. Suddenly his imposing stature was off the chair and looming over me once more. He swiftly removed his gloves from his pocket and struggled to put them back on. I tried to remain impartial, but all I saw before me was an old fool who'd let party drugs melt his mind. He wouldn't have been the first person to have a rough time on the Vegas strip and he certainly wouldn't be the last. His babble regarding cards could only boil down to a bad hand at the casino. We'd all been there at some point. Plucking the sunglasses off the table, he adjusted himself before flipping through his wallet. A crumpled 50-note landed squarely in the centre of the table. "Papa, before you go. If I may be so bold as to read between the lines - so you speak. You talk of cards. I see that only as a sign that maybe you've had enough of Las Vegas? Hmmm. Perhaps it's time to go home. To be with your brothers?" The man let out a solemn sigh which suggested he'd been holding his breath for as long as his tired old body would hold out. "Si, si." He muttered, pausing for a brief moment before leaving for good. 'Crazy old fool' I thought, as I ironed out the note between my fingers. If he can't hand the tables of Vegas casinos he should really stick to Uno.