Trouble came in three’s for Reno. Online gambling siphoned gamblers from traditional gambling venues. The advent of Tribal Casinos in Auburn and Sacramento drew customers away as gamblers did not have to drive all day or through brutal winter weather over Donner Pass and go to work the next morning after a night of serious gambling. Finally, the casinos were victims of another pandemic wave. The series of pandemics created a culture of solitude and isolation from fear of the next pandemic.
The casino signs are all dark. The doors are padlocked and chained shut. Smart gamblers left Reno for Las Vegas to the south for larger winnings, leaving only card rooms and slot machines in the local dives and greasy spoons. The only residents left in Reno were the dregs of society and the customers of a new industry.
Organized crime financed the ballot measure to semi-legalize suicide. The ballot measure argued that a sanctioned suicide was cleaner than mopping up the mess of a pistol to the temple, bloody razor cuts in the bathtub, or the suicider vomiting a mess when the method used is an overdose of illegal drugs. When performed at a private club, known as a suicide club, it was viewed as a more humane and civilized way to end it all.
Suicide clubs were identified to the public by a simple circled black cross displayed on the entry. Many taverns and bars also provided this service by taping a black cross printed on a single sheet of paper taped to the front door. Lifetime memberships allowed the suicider a period of time to decide when the act was performed, allowing the customer to say goodbye to loved ones and acquaintances or to party until the end. Of course, a day pass was available for those who wanted an immediate conclusion.
Suicide clubs offered entertainment and many methods to end life by using a drug called Todesserum, a binary drug manufactured by the multinational firm I.G. Furben. The drug was administered in two separate steps. The first part was dispensed in food or drink, creating an enzyme in the bloodstream to tolerate the second part of the Todesserum regimen. The second part of the serum functioned as the death bringer. Part 2 administration was somewhat more difficult, usually administered through aspiration. Part 2 was formulated to activate when the proper stimuli are present. The stimuli are a time delay, level of excitement, or, critically, a level of brain activity that I.G. Furben or their test monitors do not understand. Todesserum, when a 24-hour delay transpires between the introduction of parts 1 and 2 occurs, it becomes harmless and does not affect the suicider.
Committing suicide at a club can be public or private. Clubs had Karaoke Nights, Film Festivals, game nights, and other events to make suicide a holiday event. Clinics popped up in Reno, where the terminally ill were cared for until they decided to pull the plug. Of course, some individuals with DNA combinations were not understood by I.G. Furben that the Todesserum did not affect them. Suicide by Todesserum was found to be about 92% successful.
******
Tats and Dreadlocks slipped noiselessly across the garish aged red vinyl upholstery, showing cracks because of its age, into the booth across from me. “Oh God,” I said, “another homeless bum wanting a free ride.” We looked at each other across the table, sizing each other up.
“Can I go along with you?” he asked, “I don’t want to do it alone,” both of his hands were held to his chest over his heart as if praying with a sincerity that I never had.
I grumbled back at him in a low voice, “If you want a party when you go, join a religious cult.”
“Nah, man, I just need someone with me when I go,” Tats pleaded.
“What, you want me to hold your hand?” the knife was sharpening in my voice.
“Why you gotta be so anti-social?” he asked, “at a time like this?”
“Anti-social? Why did you pick my booth to slide into?”
“C’mon man, let’s do it together.”
“When you get down to it, you are alone in front of Saint Peter, atoning for your sins.”
We looked at each other for a few moments. “Screw you, man,” said Tats flashing a pathetic look at me, “I didn’t come here to get ridiculed for wanting camaraderie when departing for the afterlife. One last chance, and I go.”
That was Tat’s ultimatum. I rubbed my chin, wondering if this was some sort of scam or if Tats and Dreadlocks worked at Cleopatra’s, getting a commission for each suicide he sold. What the heck, I thought, I’ll bite. I have nothing else to lose. “What do you have in mind for us?” I said, still not believing his sincerity.
At that moment, the server approached a young college student dressed in blue shorts and a white tank top carrying her pad and pencil. Her white tennies glowed in the black lighting of the club.
“Hi, I’m Andrea, your server tonight. What’ll it be, boys? We have a special on ‘Russian Roulette’ with Tequila instead of Vodka, you know, the Russian embargo and all. Stella’s in the back room if you’re gonna go for the ‘Last Orgasm. We only have Marlboros today for the ‘Last Smoke.’”
The random nature of Russian Roulette isn’t a cooperative way to go. One person expires before the other. The timing required for ‘The Last Cigarette’ is too critical. It has the same problem as Russian Roulette for two suiciders. ‘The Last Orgasm’ wasn’t really a community event, except maybe at a Swingers Suicide Club. Group sex suicides don’t interest me, I don’t want an STD when I expire, and I don’t want sloppy seconds if Tats goes first with Stella.
I looked at the server while thinking. “We haven’t decided yet. But I’ll have a Mountain Dew, and he’ll have a Miller Lite. Both with Part 1.”
Russian Roulette isn’t what you would think. It is a game with a Lazy Susan and seven glasses of, usually, Vodka, but tonight, Tequila is placed on the Lazy Susan in front of you. Part 1 was in a separate glass or your choice of beverage. One of the shot glasses on the Lazy Susan has Part 2 mixed in with the Tequila. The suicider spins the Lazy Susan and randomly picks a glass to drink. Almost like using a revolver, but cleaning up was easier. The attendants in the back will discreetly place your body on a festively decorated gurney and wheel you back to the morgue.
The ’Last Cigarette’ is pretty self-explanatory. Part 1 is administered in a beverage of your choice, and the cigarette holds Part 2 in the butt of the cigarette. I think that is kind of poetic. Sort of like the old Black and White films where the hero is standing with his back to a wall in front of a firing squad, refusing the blindfold but asking for a cigarette. When you reach the end of the cigarette, you reach the end of life. I don’t smoke, so that is out of the question. I don’t want to die with a hacking cough or my mouth tasting like an old ashtray.
“I got the cash. They only take cash, the almost-dead do not use credit cards, and the expiration date of the suicider doesn’t match the expiration date on the card. Thursday nights is Karaoke Night. As luck would have it, today is Thursday.
“We could do the ‘Last Curtain Call Together.’ You can even pick the song. We could perform as Tats and… What are you called again?”
“Garfy and I think ‘Garfy and Tats sounds better.”
This had piqued my interest, singing a duet with this freak and then dying after the words ‘Sneerin’ from the dashboard of my car’ from The Plastic Jesus song or in each other’s arms with ‘Afternoon delight.’ Tats and Dreadlocks probably listened to a lot of Bob Marley, not that I’m not a fan of Bob Marley, but singing Reggae isn’t always fun in Karaoke and doesn’t seem like a good final song.
The server came back with my Mountain Dew and Tat’s Miller Lite. “Well, boys, what’ll it be for your final ride?”
Tats blurted out, “Karaoke, ‘The Last Curtain Call.’”
“Relax, boys, Karaoke starts in an hour. You want an appetizer while you wait?” Some suiciders go for the ‘Last Meal,’ but Tats signed us up for Karaoke Night.
“A coupla cheeseburgers and fries. We don’t want to be first on stage, please.”
“Ok, boys, that’ll be $45. Todesserum is $15 each, Beer is $4, Mountain Dew is $3, deluxe cheeseburgers are $10 each, and Resort Fees are $100 each. Comes to about $250, cash only. No Traveler’s Checks, personal checks, bank drafts, IOUs, or credit cards.”
I pulled out my wallet and was surprised when Tats threw 3 $100 bills on the table and said, “Keep the change, Andrea.”
“Bring us the song list when you get a chance,” I said to young Andrea and then to Tats, “Thanks, Tats. I haven’t worked in six months.”
“Peace Brother.” Andrea brought out our burgers, and we set into them with a passion.
It was Afternoon Delight, after all, and with the full band, no canned music for us. After the final chorus, the audience went wild and threw paper money up on stage. It was the first time I was ever popular. The Todesserum didn’t work. What are the odds that two strangers were part of the 8% failure rate? We stared at each other in a dumb fashion. Tats and I are stuck with each other. Oh, God.
We exited stage right and made our way to the door. Outside the club, our arms over each other’s shoulder, Tats says, “come on man, let’s get back to work. Someone might be looking for us,” he handed me a lit blunt, “better luck next time.”
“I don’t have a job.”
“Come with me. We can be cleaners at the Clinic.”
That was how I began my career as a cleaner at the Suicide Clinic in Reno. Me and Tats. Tats and Garfy pals forever, until the afterlife. Unless maybe this is what the afterlife is like, a dream that goes on forever.