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Halloween Spirits

Part 1

A Nevada Ghost Story!

The Fun House is now closed and haunted!

One night many years ago I entered the front door of the always over flow capacity Crazy Horse Too in Las Vegas, Nevada The sheer size of the complex was intimidating enough without the natural claustrophobic instincts of an overly packed house. The back door was open and numerous limousines were parked in a blocking pattern to allow patrons to step outside for a breath of fresh air.

Again I entered this time from the rear to an even larger crowd. I had never witnessed anything like this before in such stripper friendly towns as Memphis, New Orleans, Los Angeles or St. Louis. The women were hanging off of no less than six elevated stages or dance floors. The atmosphere was complete pandemonium alternating between organized chaos and a free for all with money and booze changing hands faster than a hot stock.

The women were just as wild as the stereotypical old west saloon atmosphere gyrating nearly naked through the crowd to their next dance station with wads of cash bent between their fingers, stopping along the way to flirt with regulars, friends or marks.

 Almost everyone was standing accept those in the outlying booths where yet other dancers were shaking their tail feathers in the faces of adoring drunks, celebrating bachelors, fans and predators.

The intensity of the music stifled the senses except an over stimulated libido as the basic instinct to suppress this internalized cacophony slowly with limited movement through the throngs eventually reaching the front door and exiting this never to be repeated life experience.

Once the din of a brief stay in this version of sardine compression wore off I looked skyward into that clear winter night and appreciated the cold breeze diluting the club smell still bonded to my clothes and hair. 

The rest of the story is gleaned from television and newspaper reports of how the club shared a common wall with an auto repair shop next door. It seemed strange that an enterprise of such magnitude would not be stand alone. “Buffalo” Jim Barrier was the tenant and auto electronics expert. He apparently had a wrestling ring somewhere inside his shop where kids could come after school and practice their moves.

Ultimately friction ignited by and between “Buffalo” Jim Barrier and Club Management over the normal things that neighbors fight about like noise, trash, parking and the like. Both sides dug in for a protracted fight. Other club problems spilled out into the parking lot with allegations that club employees or bouncers would shake people down for cash for phantom lap dances or inflated bar tabs and beat them up if they didn’t pay. One incident ended horribly with a patron allegedly visiting from Kansas City leaving with a broken neck. He  was paralyzed from the incident and sued the club for damages.

Eventually the Club was raided by the F.B.I., certain persons were convicted or accepted plea agreements. Ownership agreed to sell the club, couldn’t find an acceptable purchaser and eventually the City of Las Vegas revoked their license to dispense liquor. In an unusual move the Federal Government joined with Club Ownership to seek an injunction against the City seeking more time to locate a suitable buyer. The Judge agreed with the City of Las Vegas and the club has been shuttered ever since.

“Buffalo” Jim Barrier succumbed to an untimely death and was found in a motel room. His beautiful daughters have vowed to prove he was murdered and that The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department bungled the investigation based on leaked toxicology reports.

 An Asian proverb states that when we seek vengeance we should always bring two shovels, one to bury our foe and the other to bury ourselves.

This feud escalated for years. The final outcome left two daughters without their Daddy, { BuffaloJbjb1 } jail time and financial ruination for club owners and the collateral damage of hundreds of lost jobs and another vacancy for a city witnessing the vaporization of its tax base.

A rumor persist that the club once known as Crazy Horse Too {crazyhorse1.}

 is haunted and that if one is very still while cross traffic is stopped and listens intently with ear pressed to the door late at night they can hear the muffled sound of a lone piano and guitar emulating “Rust Never Sleeps” for ghost dancers performing routines entertaining lost souls and a black tom named Lexus who often observes the spiritual energy transition from his perch atop of an over turned couch { lexus1. } The smokiness of their orbs materializes into figurines of perfect curves then briefly as outrageously beautiful pale strippers.

The click clack of an oncoming ride signals their departure will be soon but only when arriving at three. They leave the club by the back and board an invisible carriage at the rear for the long ride on this ghost freight train destined for a Hollow somewhere near Black Oak,  Arkansas.  Other ghosts of bartenders, patrons and strippers past now reconciled to an extended existence in the nether world { netherworld. } arrive from L.A. disembark and seek refuge in a club and city where they shared the best times of their truncated lives.

But for tourists and locals alike the live dancers have left the building, the bar is dry except for a bottle of rye hidden under the floor, memories for a lifetime and a haunting all that remain each night at two.

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