In a darkened room at the world-famous Bellagio Hotel and Casino, a room paid for by a nonexistent German national named Rajinder Brar, the man behind that alias lay in a deep, coma-like sleep on top of the bed, over the sheets, still fully clothed in his three-piece suit, minus the jacket which was slung over a chair, which made this particular gentleman look like an unmade bed.
The hotel staff were used to such cases of jet lag but had rarely seen such an extreme case as this one. Two bellboys with nothing better to do even on this Christmas Day made a wager against each other, betting their next paycheck on how many hours the brown-skinned German of Indian heritage had been awake by this time -- Duane figured it was under 50 hours, while Colin thought it was at least 50 hours or more -- but of course the only difficulty was how to discover this information from the hotel guest while still maintaining the kind of respect such a high-roller as Mr. Brar would expect to receive at this high-class establishment.
It was a sunny, relatively warm day of December 25th in the desert town of Las Vegas, Nevada, yet the interior of Rajinder Brar's hotel room was almost completely pitch-black, thanks to window shades that effectively blocked off all outside light. In that room the man who called himself Rajinder Brar was able to shed that fictional name and his fictional purpose for being there (he was supposedly a sales representative for a German multinational), and everything was allowed to melt away into sleep.
This Rajinder Brar was, of course, the legendary figure known by various names but most often as the Swordsman due to his now-absent yet almost always present sword, Caliburn. He was a warrior-born, disciplined to always remain on guard for any threat to his person or to those whom he has vowed to protect. Yet he had also not slept for several days, now. Thus it was understandable that he remained asleep and did not hear the sound of a key-card being swiped at his hotel room door, did not hear the click of the lock opening nor the door opening and shutting, and did not hear a figure creep quietly across his room, retrieve an object from his belongings, and steal just as quietly out of the room as if this figure had never been there. He was, after all, even despite his immortality, still only human.
***
In another room at the Bellagio, a raven-haired woman scribbled notes onto the pages of a miniature notebook as she sat in a hot bath, steam rising from the soapy hot water. It was very relaxing and quite a treat, as she hadn't had a bath for such a long time. She hoped she hadn't gotten that poor boy back at the gas station into too much trouble, but once she had done him a "favor" or two he was more than willing to part with any and all available cash and necessary supplies that he could gather in a short time. If she hadn't stopped him she was sure he could've gone so far as to steal from his own grandmother's purse to give her more money, but there was enough in the till to last for awhile. The owner of that gas station, "Bud" or one of his surviving progeny, must have forgotten to deposit the week's take at the bank. And after all that, poor young Jay wouldn't remember the first thing about her. If only every situation were as simple as that one, perhaps she wouldn't have had any blood on her hands. Some people took a bit more convincing, however.
***
In yet another room at the Bellagio, this one a large, deluxe suite reserved for V.I.P.s, a young man and a young woman had just finished what they did best: love-making.
"Oh, Merx, that was wonderful," the auburn-haired woman said, stroking the man's ebony arm slowly and delicately as she stared into his dark eyes. Her name was Ursula Mittelholzer, and she spoke with a Swiss accent. "I don't know why I resisted you for so long."
Merx grinned and said, "If you want, I can keep going, babe. I can go all day, all night."
Ursula laughed. "Some of us have to work, liebchen. And as much as I appreciate your... boundless stamina as much as the next girl, I'll never have enough endurance to keep up with you."
The African-American man known as Mercury "Merx" O'Donovan sighed loudly and sat up on the edge of the bed, still grinning to show he wasn't completely serious about his irritation at the interruption of their coupling. "You're right, of course. We should get back to work."
The Swiss-born Ursula Mittelholzer sat up just behind him and placed her pink arms around his chest, allowing him to feel the tips of her breasts along his back. "Well... we don't have to leave right away..."
"No?" Merx said, turning his head back a bit.
"I'm willing to put work off for another hour or so, if you are," Ursula said, her face next to his. They both grinned, and she pulled him back down onto the sheets. It would be three more hours before they left their hotel room and got to work.
