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Terry Flanagan never liked gambling, but as a low-level guy at J.P. Morgan in 1981, he wasn’t in a position to deny an invitation to Atlantic City with coworkers higher up on the food chain. He knew what this trip was – a weekend excursion that his bosses could write off as an expense.
An excuse to do cocaine, buy lap dances, gamble, and drink on the company’s dime. Terry didn’t necessarily like any of the indulgences that Atlantic City had to offer, but he felt it necessary for him to go if he wanted to move up the ladder. It was there, at a roulette table inside the Bally’s hotel and casino that Terry would meet Ellen Buggit for the first time.
Ellen was on the arm of a guy in a three-piece suit when Terry sauntered over fresh from a steak dinner with his coworkers. The man Ellen was with at the time was stinking drunk – Terry could smell the scotch on his breath from across the roulette table and he was losing money fast.
Ellen, on the other hand, looked magnificent. Massive hair styled and teased into submission, with pearls around her neck and a one-shoulder black sequin dress that fell just below the buttocks. Terry placed a fifty dollar chip on black, but as the dealer spun the wheel he found himself completely uninterested in the outcome. He left his chip on the table, the dealer yelling “Red wins” as he walked over to where Ellen was standing.
“Margaret? It’s Margaret right?” he asked Ellen sincerely.
Ellen turned around confused. “What? No, I’m sorry I’m not Margaret.”
“Well, regardless – could I buy you a drink?”
The man Ellen was with suddenly turned around.
“HEY!” The man shouted. “What the fuck are you doing, buddy?!”
Before Terry could answer a security guard approached the three of them. “Sir, I’m going to need you to lower your voice,” the guard said speaking directly to the man in the three-piece suit.
“Get the fuck out of here this is between me and whoever this jagoff is.”
It was at that point that Ellen chimed in. “Sir, I don’t know this man,” she said gesturing to the guy whom she was just with at the roulette table. “Could you help me out here he’s quite drunk.”
Ellen winked at Terry as security escorted the man out of the casino, and ten minutes later the two of them were sitting at a bar overlooking the casino floor, laughing about the situation and getting to know each other.
Ellen sat on her bed inside that dingy hotel room at the DoubleTree, half-asleep from the Xanax and wine she had drunk, alternating between thoughts about her first encounter at Bally’s with her late-husband and whether or not Detective Lang would actually show up at her doorstep. She wanted Lang in bed, that much she was certain of.
When they had first met in the interrogation room back at the police department Ellen was attracted to him. But now, as she thought longer on it she wasn’t sure why exactly she wanted the detective in her bed. She thought about the rush she felt when she walloped her husband over the head with that baseball bat. She could kill again, she just needed Lang to come to the hotel room. .
Respond
jduda@grandex.co
Certifiably insane train-of-thought there at the end.
Imagine being detective Lang thinking you’re about to get it in and this nutcase murders you instead
I hope Lang is smarter than succumbing to this invite, but if I have watched any cop/detective show on TV, I know he’s not declining it.
Where is this going? Only Duda knows.
Thank you for bringing this back!!!!!!!
Duda’s on such a rush after Will giving an entire article to his ‘fits. He’s gonna take this series to the next level
Finally!!! Keep them coming!!!
Back up in that ass with the Resurrection
I’m not confused, you’re confused.
Jesus they met in Atlantic City? No wonder things ended the way they did.