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Sam, Ginger & Nicky's History

When you love someone, you've gotta trust them. There's no other way. You've got to give them the key to everything that's yours. Otherwise, what's the point? And, for a while, I believed that's the kind of love I had.

Before I ever ran a casino, Ace Rothstein was a hell of a handicapper, I can tell you that. I was so good, that whenever I bet, I could change the odds for every bookmaker in the country. I'm serious, I had it down so cold, that I was given paradise on earth. I was given one of the biggest casinos in Las Vegas to run. The Tangiers.

By the only kinda guys that can actually get you that kinda money. Sixty two million, seven hundred thousand dollars. I don't know all the details...

((Largely taken from the movie script narration, up to the point that their story here starts.))

Oct. 25th, 2007

Sam was leaning against the bar on one elbow. His usually garish choice of suit had been toned down today. He'd stared into his closet that morning and pulled a face that accentuated all of his laughter lines. It was true what Ginger had said to him. "You don't smile enough anymore."

That was only because he had less to smile about. So he ran a Casino. So he had more money than it was safe to tell even his best friend Nicky about. So he was still driven to his choice of apparel by his mood. So what? Nobody told Ace Rothstein what to wear.

He tapped the end of a Gitane against the box from which he'd removed it. He placed it absent-mindedly between his lips as he surveyed the passing scene, lighting it equally nonchalantly.

Sam liked times like this. Nobody was jumping down his throat. Ginger was off somewhere, doing her thing, in her own sweet way. Nicky seemed to be behaving himself, for once.

Generally, if only for a moment, life was just fine. So he savoured it, exhaling deeply.

Bad Day At The Office.

Sam's day had not got any better since his run-in with Ginger earlier. There were problems with the high-roller slots, three of the dancers in the show were at least three pounds overweight, two of the pit bosses hadn't turned in for work, most likely feigning sickness and Billy had been bending Sam's ear about Nicky using him as a personal secretary.

Needless to say, the normally cool and clam-tight exterior that was Ace Rothstein was slowly stripping away. The old Sam Rothstein was coming out today. After a few days of apparent calm and normality, where he had relaxed and let down his guard, he was back to propping up the rest of the people he knew. He was aggravated by the ineptitude of those around him in a professional capacity and to add his woes, his personal life seemed to be getting away from his vice-like grip too.

He decided he wasn't patient enough right now and decided to just go with it. Fuck it.

"How many times have I told you about putting the slots in the right places. What are the big jackpots doing in the back? They should be in the front. They make our money. You certainly don't make our money. Your area is a fucking mess. Do you even give a shit about your job or are you here because you think you can take the mickey out of me?"

The Slot Manager tried to explain, but his half-hearted protestations weren't about to get him anywhere.

"Fucking shut up. I'm talking. If you used your fucking ears as much as you used that mouth of yours, you'd be a fucking millionaire."

Sam pointed a very focused index finger into the face of the Slot Manager.

"You are a fucking waste of space. If I didn't know better, and I do, I'd say you were trying to rob me blind. I know you're not becasue you're too fucking stupid."

Sam paused for a second.

"Well, I can't afford stupid in my Casino." The pointing finger turned quickly into a waving hand. "Get the fuck out, before I throw you out myself."

Quiz Result

Steady & mature. You are The Gentleman.

For anyone looking for an even-keeled, considerate lover, you're their man. You're sophisticated. You know what you want both in a relationship and outside of it. You have a substantial romantic side, and you're experienced enough sexually to handle yourself in that arena, too. Your future relationships will be long-lasting; you're classic "marrying material," a prize in the eyes of many.

It's possible that behind it all, you're a bit of a male slut. Your best friends know that in relationships you're fundamentally sex-driven. You're a safe, reliable guy, who does get laid. In a lot of ways, you're like a well-worn, comfortable pair of socks. Did you ever jack off into one of those? All the time.

Your exact opposite:
The Last Man on Earth

Random Brutal Sex Dreamer
Your ideal mate is NOT a nut-job. She is giving and loving, like you, but also experienced. Avoid the The Battleaxe at all fucking costs.

CONSIDER: The Maid of Honor, someone just like you.

Lunchtime at The Tangiers.

Sam was at the Craps tables with Billy Sherbet. Sam was measuring some new die. He didn't need to, he had a myriad of people to do this for him. Nonetheless, every so often, he liked to wander the casino floor, checking that everything was by his book. He expected a level of professionalism that matched his own. The experience the customers had, ultimately came from the service he provided, and there was no-one who provided a better service than Ace Rothstein. He had been an advocate of heuristics for more years than he cared to mention and had spent more than his fair share measuring and rolling, rolling and measuring. It paid to know. It certainly paid Sam to know.

Happy with the die, he released them to the table and there was an air of relief around the table as they realized they could get on with their game.

Sam looked at his watch. Lunchtime. He had a date. He smiled to himself. Nodded at Billy, advising him of his whereabouts in the next hour and a half, then made his sauntering exit.


Sam 'Ace' Rothstein
Sam's Story

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