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Who could resist?
Anywhere else in the country I was a bookie, a gambler
always lookin' over my shoulder, hassled by cops, day and night.
But here, I'm Mr. Rothstein.
I'm not only legitimate but running a casino
and that's like selling people dreams for cash.
I hired an old casino pal, Billy Sherbert, as my manager and I went to work.
For guys like me, Las Vegas washes away your sins.
It's like a morality car wash.
It does for us what Lourdes does for humpbacks and cripples.
And along with making us legit, comes cash, tons of it.
I mean, what do you think we're doing out here in the middle of the desert?
It's all this money.
This is the end result of all the bright lights and the comp trips,
of all the champagne and free hotel suites
and all the broads and all the booze.
It's all been arranged just for us to get your money.
That's the truth about Las Vegas.
We're the only winners.
The players don't stand a chance.
And their cash flows from the tables
to our boxes, through the cage
and into the most sacred room in the casino.
The place where they add up all the money,
the holy of holies - the count room.
Now, this place was off-limits,
even I couldn't get inside
but it was my job to keep it filled with cash, that's for sure.
They had so much fuckin' money in there
you could build a house out of stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
And the best part was that upstairs
the Board of Directors didn't know what the fuck was going on.
I mean, to them everything looked on the up and up. Right? Wrong.
The guys inside the counting room
were all slipped in there to skim the joint dry.
They'd do short counts, they'd lose fill slips.
They'd even take cash right out of the drop boxes.
And it was up to this guy right here
standin' in front of about two million dollars,
to skim the cash off the top without anybody gettin' wise,
the IRS or anybody.
Now, notice how in the count room nobody ever seems to see anything.
Somebody's always lookin' the other way.
Now look at these guys. They look busy, right?
They're countin' money. Who wants to bother them?
I mean, God forbid they should make a mistake and forget to steal.
Meanwhile, you're in and you're out.
Past the jag-off guard who gets an extra C-note a week just to watch the door.
I mean, it's routine, business as usual. In, out, hello, good-bye.
And that's all there is to it.
Just another fat fuck walkin' out of the casino with a suitcase.
without
winners
where
washes
wants
vegas
usual
upstairs
truth
trips
through
think
these
their
tables
front
extra
forget
broads
desert
wrong
cripples
casino
boxes
hotel
limits
directors
counts
everything
counting
hello
could
billy
night
gambler
should
anywhere
another
there
comes
always
country
anything
manager
money
hassled
guard
bother
joint
along
suites
arranged
forbid
business
shoulder
bookie
bills
suitcase
booze
dollar
dreams
resist
about
other
steal
going
dollars
sacred
bright
legit
nobody
doing
place
count
build
chance
anybody
holies
humpbacks
meanwhile
hundred
inside
legitimate
slips
lights
routine
right
watch
looked
slipped
stand
flows
middle
lourdes
million
mistake
house
morality
hired
notice
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