DAY ONE

Chapter One

Alex was in love. Really, really, really, in love. We’re talking head-over-heals-sure-I’d-love-to-meet-the-parents-and-when-exactly-would-you-like-to-move-in-and-take-over-the-bathroom-in-love.

This girl could very well be “the one”.

Now, admittedly, Alex had said this type of thing before. Usually, the exact moment Alex said this type of thing to himself, involved a dark bar, a lot of alcohol and some very heavy eye contact. But this time, it was different. This time it involved a dark bar, a lot of alcohol and sex.

Yes, sex. Alex could hardly believe it himself. Alex had never, ever had sex, after picking up at a bar before. In fact, as best he could remember, Alex had never picked up in a bar before, full stop. And he was absolutely positive, that he’d never, ever picked up a bar and then proceeded to have sex out the back of the bar, in the bushes at the front of the bar, and in a bathroom stall inside of the bar.

So if this wasn’t love, what could love possibly be? Admittedly, Alex’ track record on this score wasn’t so great. He’d been pretty damn positive he had found love with his last girlfriend. So much so, that despite dating her, loving her, and wanting her for nearly 12 months, he had not once even attempted to pressure her into sex, because that was what she wanted, and also because Alex was quite fond of holding onto the romantic notion that their wedding night was going to be the greatest experience of his life.

But then, for seemingly no good reason, she ended it. Told him it could never work. And disappeared.

So Alex was pretty sure love did not involve, NOT having sex. And therefore it logically followed that love did indeed involve having sex and therefore based on the fact that he’d had sex with this girl three times in the last six hours, there had to be a hell of a lot of love involved,

If only he could remember her bloody name.

Tiffany! That was it, how could he forget? Certainly, the fact he was almost paralytic, having engaged in a non-stop, all-night sex, booze and dancing frenzy, wasn’t doing a lot for his memory at this point. He wanted to stop – he could barely stand, was absolutely exhausted and was starting to feel like he needed to puke, but Tiffany was still going strong.

She was currently still writhing away on the dancefloor – her long blond hair draped across her face and swaying from side to side, her hands sliding seductively across her taut, athletic body, her eyes closed and her mind focused on nothing but the beat of the music. There was no doubt about it, Tiffany was absolutely hot and, indeed, Alex had found it pretty difficult to comprehend that he had managed to pick her up.

Actually, a casual observer overwatching the initial mating ritual, would probably have suggested it was Tiffany that had picked Alex up. They had been at the bar buying a drink and when Alex had ordered, Tiffany immediately recognised his accent. Well, recognised that he had an accent, anyway.

“Oh my god, your English,” she had said to him.

“No, Australian,” Alex replied.,

“Close enough. Buy me a drink and I’m yours.”

Tiffany liked accents. The more exotic, the better. So Alex bought Tiffany a drink, and true to her word, she was Alex’.

At first, Alex had been paranoid. He was a dreadful dancer, relatively shy and felt horribly intimidated by this wild party girl, and had a hard time convincing himself that she wanted to be with him. So, at the start of the night, every time he went to buy a drink for the two of them, he’d broken all landspeed records in getting from the dancefloor to the bar and back in double-quick time. After all, every minute he was away, was a window of opportunity for some other sleazebag to move in on his woman.

But each time, he’d return and there was Tiffany, ignoring the advances of each of the men hovering around her, and welcoming back Alex with open arms. So each time, Alex had taken a little more time in returning to the bar. After all, the more time that took, the less time he had to actually spend on the dancefloor.

This time, he’d gone to the toilet, grabbed a bit of fresh air outside and stood in the longest line at the bar he could find. He’d engaged in a bit of social chit-chat with the bartender and was only now, about 10 minutes later, sauntering back to the dancefloor.

Unfortunately when he returned, his Tiffany was mounted on the thighs on an absolutely spectacular looking man. He had a rippling physique, a strong, handsome, Mediterranean face and a presence that seemed to attract the eyes of every woman in the club. His pelvis ground against her in time to the music and Alex felt the familiar sensation of extreme jealousy flow through his veins. This didn’t look good. The guy looked like a Greek God. Now, he had never met a Greek God before, but if he did, he was pretty sure this is what one would look like.

Far from swaggering onto the dancefloor, this time Alex approached with trepidation. Tiffany had her arms around the Greek God’s neck and was staring deeply into what were amazingly deep blue eyes. Alex moved to Tiffany’s side but her eyes remained transfixed on his.

“Umm, Tiffany. You’re drink?” Alex said holding out the shot glass.

It wasn’t Tiffany that broke the lover’s stare. The Greek God turned to look at the little man pestering him and his soon-to-be-lover, saw the shot glass, took it and downed the Tequila. He then took the other glass, passed that to Tiffany who drank it and then they kissed. And kissed. Alex could only look on in absolute awe. Tiffany’s passion had stolen his heart, but this kiss was on a whole other level, he had never even witnessed before, never mind participated in. When finally their lips broke contact, the Greek God again caught sight of Alex out of the corner of his eye. At first, he was annoyed the little man was still there. Then Alex noticed an expression of realisation and the Greek God still balancing Tiffany on his thighs, reached into his back pocket, pulled out a dollar note and placed it in Alex’ palm.

“Good work, kid, we’ll have another,” he said.

Alex looked at the dollar note in his palm. Prior to that moment, he had considered putting up a fight. Sure, the only possible result was that he was going to be beaten to a pulp, after all he could barely stand up and his foe was a specimen of physical perfection, but at least Tiffany would see how much he cared. And she would realise how much they loved each other and would stand by him until she had tended his battered body back to full health. And she would decry him as a beast and that he could go and rot in hell for all who she cared.

He looked at Tiffany again, who still had not even once dropped her gaze from the Greek God to even acknowledge his presence. He looked back at the dollar bill. Felt the humiliation settle in the pit of stomach. And he decided to cut his losses and take the cash.

“It was fun Tiffany, call me,” he said, in a last futile attempt to salvage some honour. Again, no reaction.

Alex trudged away from the dance floor. Every muscle in his body was crying out for rest and some sleep. But considering yet another love of his life had trampled his heart into the dirt, there was only one thing to do. Have another drink. He bought himself a Bud and looked around the bar. Alex had learnt from experience that the easiest way to cheer oneself up was to find someone who looked even more depressed than yourself. After listening to tales of other people’s pathetic existence, one’s own pitiful life always seemed marginally less pitiful. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but it was comfort where previously there was none.

Except this time, Alex had trouble finding someone who looked more pathetic than himself. Indeed, considering it was 4:30 in the morning, the club still seemed packed with beautiful people with boundless sexual energy. The best he could do was a sad old man standing by the bar. He was hardly the typical pathetic mess that Alex normally liked to boost his ego with, he was well dressed and handsome for an old dude, but the old man’s eyes did nothing to hide an undeniable sadness, and he was sure he could find some reason for thinking his existence wasn’t so bad after all in there.

He sidled up to the old man and offered his hand.

“How are you, sir,” he said, doing his best to hide his slur. The man turned to him, looked him up and down and then took his hand. “I have seen better days,” he said. Now, that was exactly what Alex wanted to hear.

“Here on business or pleasure,” Alex said.

“Who comes to a night club for business?” the old man replied matter-of-factly.

“No, I meant Las Vegas. Are you here to party on or you’re in town for a convention or something.”

“Do I look like I’m here to party?”

“Well not exactly.”

“Then it stands to reason that there’s a very good chance I’m here for a convention, doesn’t it?”

“I guess that it does.”

The old man finished the last of his drink, which looked to Alex like a scotch on the rocks.

“Can I get you another,” Alex asked.

“Is there anything stopping you?”

“No there’s not.” He signalled to the bar tender for another round.

“So you seem kind of down, business not so good.”

“I seem down do I?”

“Yes, you do, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“And I’m here on business?”

“That’s what you said.”

“Then what do you think?”

“I think business is not so good.”

“Well you’ve answered your own question, haven’t you?”

“Look I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Or perhaps you’re just hoping that if you buy me another drink, I’ll tell you a tale of woe and you can feel a whole lot better about your own limited existence. What do you think?”

Alex had a bad habit of looking down at his feet whenever he was caught red-handed. For the first time tonight, he noticed how scuffed his boots were. “No, not at all, just being friendly.”

“Are you?”

“I am.”

The bar tender came with the drinks that Alex ordered.

The old man took the drink and turned to Alex holding out his glass.

“To you or to me?”

“To you” and the two men clinked glasses and drank.

“So business is not so good, hey?”

“Hadn’t we already established that?”

“Yes, I think we did. Do you always reply to a question with another question?

“A man who asks a stupid question deserves nothing but questions in return.”

“My questions have been stupid?”

“Have you received questions in return?”

“Yes.”

“Then that tells you something doesn’t it?”

“That my questions are stupid?”

“Finally, we seem to be getting somewhere.”

It was clear that this conversation with the old man was not going to be the confidence-boosting experience Alex had been hoping for. Still he found the old man fascinating and he had forked out for a drink so he thought he’d persist with the conversation which had been somewhat entertaining, if frustrating.

“So are you a psychiatrist or something. They always answer a question with a question.”

The old man thought about the question for some time. He seemed to be trying to decide if it deserved a straight answer in reply.

“No, I’m a God.”

“Did you just say you’re a God?”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?”

“I just didn’t think I’d heard you correctly. So you’re a God, hey?”.

“Didn’t you just ask that?”

“Yes I did, I’m sorry for my stupid questions, it’s just that I’ve never come across too many Gods before.”

“And that surprises you?”

“No, I guess not.”

Well, maybe the conversation would be a confidence booster after all. For while the old geezer was confident and had an amazing presence to him, at least Alex wasn’t cuckoo. He signalled to the bar tender that they would have another drink as the old codger was certainly a thirsty bastard having emptied his glass in double quick time.

“I’m sorry I never introduced myself, I’m Alex.”

“Pleased to meet you Alex, I’m Zeus.”

“Of course, you’re Zeus, like the God Zeus, right?”

“You’re a complete moron, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why must you ask me to repeat myself?”

“Because I’m a complete moron.”

“Good answer. No not like the God Zeus, I am the god Zeus. How many other Gods do you know that are named Zeus for crying out loud.”

“You must forgive me, I’m a complete moron and you’re a God and I’m somewhat overcome with awe. So you’re here for a God convention or something?” Oh this was hilarious. This was a story he was going to be able to tell when he was old and grey.

“I’m a God aren’t I?”

“So you say.”

“And I’m here for a convention aren’t I?”

“Again so you say.”

“So it’s somewhat unlikely that I’m here for a plumbers convention, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is somewhat unlikely. There’s me being a complete moron again.”

“I noticed.”

“So you’re like king of the Romans God, aren’t you?”

“Do you get stupider with every sip of that drink?”

Alex cast his mind back to his ancient history classes in high school. He liked to think that had he not drunk non-stop for two days he’d be able to remember exactly who Zeus was. Unfortunately, Alex had paid so little attention in ancient history, on account of the fact he shared that class with the love of his then life Latitia Cowen, that it was doubtful he ever actually learnt a single thing. Oh except for memorising every curve on Latitia Cowen’s body something he was still vividly able to recall today and indeed still did so quite regularly when searching for sexual inspiration.

“So, not Roman, are you Greek then?”

“Did your lover suddenly cease to realise you existed?”

“How did you know?”

“I’m a God, it’s our job to be all-knowing.”

This freaked Alex out a bit, but he soon pulled himself together and realised the old man had been standing by the bar for quite a while now and could quite easily have watched the whole embarrassing affair.

“Well, you don’t look much like a Greek God.”

“What does a Greek God look like?”

“That I can answer. If I had to pick anyone in this room it would be him.”

“Who’s him?”

“That asshole who moved in on my girl,” Alex said pointing to the tall, handsome brute whose tongue was still entwined in that of … hell, what was her name again.. yes, that’s right Tiffany. “Now, that’s a Greek God.”

“That’s about the first thing you’ve got right tonight.”

“Oh, so he’s a Greek God too, is he?”

“Yes, have you ever heard of Eros?”

“Yeh I think I passed it on the way here. It’s one of those adult book stores isn’t it?”

“You didn’t win her over in the first place with your intelligence, did you?”

“I think it was my… well, whatever it was, I seem to have lost it.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad. You’re girl has been entranced by the Greek God of Love. You never stood a chance.”

Alex would have liked nothing more to have believed that the crazy old dude was indeed Zeus and that he’d lost Tiffany to Eros, the Greek God of Love, after all there would be no shame in that. It’d be difficult enough for a mere mortal to compete with any old God, never mind a Love God. Alex looked out onto the dancefloor again, just as Tiffany and the alleged Eros came up for air. He took her by the hand and led her off the dance floor and towards the door of the club. No points for guessing where they’re headed.

“Maybe she’ll tire of him and come back to me.”

“I have good news and bad news, young Alex. The good news is he will no doubt tire of her soon enough. The bad news is once you’ve been with a God, and a love God at that, no mere mortal could ever satisfy you again.”

“You have the same effect on women do you?”

“Well I don’t like to boast..”

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be so sure. That girl can do things with her tongue that I’ve never even imagined and she is absolutely insatiable.”

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll satiate her soon enough. No disrespect to your own love-making abilities, of course.”

“Of course. Do you realise you just said three sentences without throwing a sarcastic question at me.”

“Either, you must be getting more interesting, or I’m getting drunker. I think I’m getting drunker, except my glass is empty again.”

Alex could take a hint, he hailed the bar-tender and ordered another round.

“So I guess, Mr. Love God was in town for the convention, too, hey.”

“You gave up shooting for four straight responses, hey?”

“Well there must be a whole heap of other gods here, then, if there’s this big convention and all.”

“Only the Greek Gods here tonight, I believe. The younger ones wanted to let their hair down tonight before the convention started but I have no doubt they’ll be letting their hair down again.”

Zeus sighed and his eyes filled with sadness again. The old man may have spent the last half hour lambasting Alex, but there was no doubt he’d rather enjoyed doing it. Alex had to admit as his mood had improved, he had become quite awe-inspiring. He spoke in a deep, confident voice and despite the ludicrousness of his story, he had been so convincing and earnest that Alex had to keep reminding himself the old fart was nuts.

“So what’s up Zeus, you can’t keep up with them?”

“Let me ask you a question.”

“Just for a change.”

“What would be the likelihood of bumping into Jesus Christ in a place like this?”

“Pretty slim I guess.”

“Or Mohommad?”

“Mohommad Ali?”

“You’re not serious?”

“No, of course.”

“When you have a certain standing in society, people expect you to behave in a certain way. It’s no wonder we are where we are today.”

“Where are you today?”

“When was the last time you heard someone pray to Zeus?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone pray to Zeus.”

“Exactly.”

“See that woman dancing on the table over there?”

Dancing on a table over in the right hand corner of the room was perhaps the most beautiful woman Alex had ever seen. A crowd of hollering men had surrounded the voluptuous brunette, who was wearing tight, sequined lycra short shorts and a matching brassiere top that only just managed to hold in her ample breasts. Indeed, at that moment she must have decided they were doing such a poor job, that she unclipped the back, ripped it off and threw it amongst the men, causing a near riot as six men tried claimed the prize.

“That’s my daughter, Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty.”

“Wow, she’s amazing.”

“She’s a tramp is what she is. Look at her, flouncing herself around like that. She’s been through every god in the realm and now I think she wants to go through every mortal too.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with Eros taking off with my Tiffany.”

“What you don’t think Gods have double standard?”

“I guess not.”

“You guess right. Look, if she was a little discreet about the whole thing, but I’d hardly call that discreet.”

At that moment, Aphrodite had managed to mount the shoulder of one of the men, with her crotch in his face and her legs wrapped around the back of his neck.

“That’s very athletic.”

“Hardly, the behaviour of a God though is it.”

“I guess not.”

“Oh, and let me introduce you to someone else.”

The old man put his hand on Alex’ shoulder and moved him to his left to clear a better view of the bar. Alex’s shoulder tingled where he was touched and he felt a kind of warmth and every muscle in the area relaxed. He turned around and at the bar where Zeus was directing his attention, a young man in a Hawaiian shirt was leaning back over the bar, downing Tequila lay-backs. Only, not like anyone else Alex had seen. As the barmaid in the tight white shirt poured both the spirits into his mouth, the guy opened his mouth and drank and drank and drank. Quite amazingly, he managed to scull the entire contents of two bottles of spirit.

“Dionysus come here.”

Mr. Hawaiin shirt raised his arms in glory and the crowd that had gathered to watch the amazing feat cheered as one and then strutted over to where Zeus and Alex stood.

“Hey, old Zeus dude, how’s it hanging.”

“Alex meet Dionysus, he is the God of Wine and Festivity.”

“Woah, no way dude. That’s my old title. I’ve got a new title. I’m the God of Party.” Dionysus pumped his fist in the air and started chanting: “Party, party, party…”. His gathered group of cronies, joined the chant.

“If you’ll excuse me old dude, my disciples need me.”

Dionysus then jumped up onto the bar and then leapt into the arms of his disciples and body surfed over the crowd.

“You see what I have to deal with. Is it any wonder nobody has worshipped us for a millennium or two,” Zeus said, shaking his head sadly.

‘Well, they seem to have managed to pick up followers. That’s got to be good, right?”

“Meh,” Zeus said dismissively. “Those morons only like Dionysus because he throws his Corporate Amex on the bar and buys them all drinks. And even for Aphrodite and Eros, well there’s only so many people you can sleep with. These are hardly best-practice recruitment campaign. No, I’m afraid those bloody Christians have cornered the market, I don’t know why I’ve even bothered with this conference, I should just go and find a nice little place in the clouds and live out the next couple of millenniums in happy retirement.”

“Is that what this conference thing is all about,” Alex said. It wasn’t that he believed the old man, it was just like the old codger on Miracle on 34th Street who thought he was Santa Clause. If he really believed he was Zeus, well who was it hurting to play along with him.

“Yes, yes. It’s called Miracle Marketing in the New Millenium for Gods and Prophets. There’s a whole bunch of fancy keynote speakers and workshop leaders, but in the end, let’s face it, its just an excuse for us all to get together and get pissed.”

“Aren’t all conferences?”

“This is true, why else would you hold them in Las Vegas.”

Zeus emptied another glass of scotch.

“Well, I hope that this crazy old man has brightened your day somewhat,” Zeus said.

“Hey, I don’t get to speak to a god every day of the week.”

“You don’t really believe I’m a God do you?”

Alex was drunk. Very drunk. But you know what at that very second, he did believe that Zeus was Zeus. Like when you're eight years old and you know there’s no such thing as Santa Clause, but you want to believe so bad, that you force your mind to reject all logic and you do believe. That’s how Alex felt.

“Zeus, let me tell you this. Before I met you I was an atheist, but now I believe in a god. I believe in you. Tonight you are my god.”

Alex believed. And Zeus believed that Alex believed. And at that moment he felt a surge of power he had not felt for many a year. He felt young again. He felt just for the faintest second that he was once again, the king of all Greek Gods, the mightiest God of them all. And on that note, he felt it best that he quit while he was ahead.

“Now, I should get back to my hotel and get to bed I’m not as young as I used to be a couple thousand years ago.” He motioned to the bar tender, in order to settle his tab and held out his hand for Alex. “Well, it was nice to meet you Young Alex.”

Alex took the old man’s hand and shook it. “It was nice to meet you Zeus. Hope the conference goes well.”

The old man reached into his pocket for his wallet, then into his other pocket. Then back to his first pocket. “Oh my dear, this is so embarrassing I seem to have mislaid my wallet.”

Zeus continued to frantically search his pockets. Alex considered for a moment whether this was all part of the con, to win over some poor sucker’s affection with his fantastical tale and then sucker the poor sap into paying for his drinks for the night. Except once again Zeus seemed absolutely sincerely panicked by his lost wallet.

“Look, Zeus, don’t worry about the tab, I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh Alex, that’s most kind of you. But I’m afraid being able to pay for these drinks is the least of my concern. My conference ticket and so on”

“You probably, just left it back at your room,” Alex said taking the bill from the bar man. He’d been prepared for the damage to be around the $50 mark, so when he saw the figure $127 he nearly had a coronary.

“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Are you right with the bill, I’m afraid I’ve had a few. Well, perhaps a few more than a few.”

Alex took out his wallet. There was a $100 note, a $20, and six one dollar notes.

“Shit, I’m a dollar short.” He turned to the barman and put on his most pitiful face. “Surely, you won’t mind if we’re a dollar short.”

The barman wasn’t exactly the sympathetic type. “Should, I just let every bozo that comes in here a dollar short. The tab runs to $127 and I want $127.”

Alex wondered if he could find Tiffany and hit her up for the money, after all he’d lost count of the number of drinks he’d shouted her more than 24 hours ago. Except, knowing Tiffany it was more likely her love tirade with the Greek God would just be kicking into top gear right now. Oh, how he wished it had been him taking Tiffany home. It hardly seemed fair, he got Tiffany and all Alex would go home with was the dollar note. The dollar note!

He reached into his top pocket and there was the dollar note that, the Greek God, or more specifically Eros had given him as a tip.

“We’re saved Zeus and we can thank your good man, Eros, for this. He gave me this, in return for stealing the love-of-my-life.”

“One dollar. I dare say a feisty young thing like that bombshell would be worth more than a dollar.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? I would have thought at least a tenner.”

“He’s always been a cheap bastard. You’ve settled my debt, Alex, I’ll settle the debt Eros owes you.”

“You don’t have to do that, Zeus.” Alex handed over the dollar bill to the barman.

“I don’t suppose I’m going to get much of a tip, am I?” said the barman to Alex.

“Look buddy, if I had another dollar, it would be yours, but I’m skint. “I was lucky to have that one,” he said patting his shirt pocket. As he did, he felt something else in his pocket, which was strange because he didn’t remember having put anything else in that pocket. He reached in and it lo-and-behold it was another dollar bill. “Well, what do you know. This is your lucky day, mate, here’s a dollar.”

“Gosh, how can I thank you enough, now I’ll have enough to send my kids through college,” said the barman, who snatched the dollar bill from Alex’ hand anyway.

Alex racked his mind to think where that dollar bill had come. Maybe he’d had change from a round of drink and put in there and forgotten about it. But he didn’t think so. He looked down at the pocket puzzled and again there was a distinguishable bulge in it. He reach in and again pulled out another dollar.

“What the?” He opened up his pocket and peered in. There was another single dollar bill. He took it out and then looked into the pocket again, and there was another single dollar bill. He kept reaching into his pocket
 and kept pulling out dollar bills.

“Now that’s more like it,” said the barman, who swept up a fistful of dollar bills as Alex kept pulling them out. “Steady on, buddy, I haven’t really got kids, I’m not even out of college myself.”

It was amazing, as many times as Alex reached in to his pocket, he would pull out another dollar. “Zeus, did you do this,” he said, but as he looked around for the old man, he was clearly nowhere to be seen.

He looked at the fistful of dollar and decided he could afford a cab home, instead of hiking it. His mind was struggling to come to grips with what seemed to be blatantly obvious. He had a never-ending dollar bill. Or was it, never ending. Would it stop over time, or after a certain amount of money. What was it that Zeus had said to him. I’ll settle Eros’ debt, or words to that effect. Alex started to wonder exactly how much Zeus supposed Eros owed him. How much did he consider Tiffany to be worth? Alex started to ponder the question and on reflection, he reckoned the money he’d already pulled out his pocket would have pretty much settled the debt. If Zeus thought she was worth more, though, he was hardly going to complain.

Chapter Two

Come 7am in the morning, Eros probably would have asked for his dollar back. Tiffany was sitting on his tightly ripped abdomens, beating his chest.

“And you call yourself a love god,” she said. “Love dud, I reckon.”

“Are you crazy woman, a couple of hours ago you proclaimed me the world’s greatest lover and now you’re calling me, Eros, Greek God of Love, a dud.”

Tiffany leapt off Eros and walked naked across the room to the window, where she proceeded to sulk. “Men have no stamina, that’s there problem. One sensational screw and you think that’s enough to satisfy a girl.”

“One, where were you the other five times.”

“Okay, six sensational screws. Well, actually the first three were very good, but you’re form started to taper off after that.”

Eros sat up and held his head in his hands. His ego was not just bruised, it was a beaten, mangled mess – a write-off. He had never not succeeded in satisfying a woman. Such was his prowess in the sack that he was able to reduce even the most insatiable woman to a state of comatosed delight. At first Tiffany had been like that. She’d laid there, with a smile as broad as any he’d ever seen. “Oh my God, that was incredible.”

Eros had thought of Zeus at that time and his repeated claims the sexual conquests was not a valid way of recruiting follower. Chalk up another disciple to Eros, he had thought.

“You worship me, my love?”

“Oh yes, yes, yes.” Tiffany truly believed Eros a Greek God. True, she was easily led and somewhat gullible, but she really did not think it possible that any man could provide her with the kinds of pleasure she had just experienced.

Eros was about to turn over and take a well-deserved nap, when Tiffany grabbed him on the shoulder and almost violently pulled him back down flat on the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sleep, my dear, I will see you in the morning and we will make love again.”

“Morning, are you kidding, we’re going again.”

Again! No mortal woman had ever wanted more. “What, are you not satisfied?”

Tiffany climbed on top of the Greek Love God and looked deep into his eyes. “There’s only one thing I truly believe in you big stud. You can never have too much of a good thing.”

Eros had been able to come to the party the second time, but when Tiffany still wanted more, Eros was aghast. Not even Aphrodite had wanted to ride the love train three times. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he had it in him, but Tiffany was very beautiful and she had this thing that she did with her tongue, that saw Eros back in the saddle once again.

Surely, that would be it. But no, Tiffany wanted more. And remarkably each time, Eros rose to the challenge, triumphant. He considered it a personal affront that any woman could possibly demand more than he was able to deliver and he was ever so proud that not only was he able to stand up to the challenge, but that each time he’s been able to bring Tiffany to the heights of orgasmic pleasure.

And then she has the nerve to tell him, his form had tapered off.

“You’re a very selfish woman,” Eros said and then rolled over to have a good old fashioned sulk himself.

Tiffany jumped back into bed and kissed Eros on the back of the head. She’d obviously pushed too hard.

“I’m sorry, baby. You were really wonderful, the best ever, really you were. No woman could ask for,” she said.

Now, that was what Eros wanted to here, his chest started to puff up with pride again and his confidence restored itself. and then she added : “Now, you don’t mind if I finish myself off, do you?”

Chapter Three
The first thing Alex noticed when he woke was a rumpling sound underneath his face and a scratchy sensation that felt like was lying on paper. Which was probably because he was. Alex’s entire bed was covered in dollar bills, indeed the entire room was covered in dollar bills. He’d started pulling them out of his pocket as soon as he got into the taxi cab, by the time he got to his hotel room both his trouser pockets were stuffed to overflowing.

He’d sat on his bed, trying to contemplate what had happened. He’d decided there were only two explanations. One he was dreaming, in which case he could fall asleep right here and now and in the morning everything would be back to normal. The other explanation could only be that he’d really met up with a group of Greek Gods tonight and the big boss Zeus had really turned the dollar note in his shirt pocket into a never ending source of cash.

He found the whole dream scenario much more palatable, but what if it was real and what if the never ending dollar note turned into a normal every dollar note when he woke in the morning. No, if this was a dream it was going to take a boring turn because he was going to stay up as long as he possibly could and pull money out of his pocket until he collapsed from exhaustion.

Considering that he hadn’t slept for two days now, Alex was heading towards that point of exhaustion very rapidly. He considered jumping into the shower but didn’t want to take his shirt off, in case that jinxed it and he certainly wasn’t going to get it wet. He turned on the tele but all he could find was religious programs and infomercials which was only accelerating his descent into slumberland.

In the end, he just laid on his back pulling notes as long as he could. He managed two hours and its quite possible to dip your hand in your pocket a hell of a lot of times in two hours. He even got a two-handed action going after a little while. By morning he’d managed to pull more than ten thousand dollars out of his pocket which had made quite a mess of his room.

Alex looked down at the pile of Notes he was lying on and it was blatantly obvious last night had been no dream. Then he had a sudden surge of panic as he realised he’d fallen asleep and the note-pulling routine might have ended. He reached into the pocket and there was another dollar bill. He removed it. Now the real test. Once again he put his hand in his pocket and there was another dollar bill.

You little ripper, he said to himself.

What to do now. Alex was in Las Vegas with an unlimited supply of money, he’d lucked upon. He didn’t have to think too hard. He was going to let his luck ride. He’d take down a couple of thousand and gamble like someone who didn’t care how much money he lost. Last night, he was Alex the loser, today he was Alex the high roller.

Of course, why anyone would see the need to gamble when they had an unlimited supply of money, is another matter. After all, the whole point of gambling is to win money, but why do you need to win money, if you don’t need the money anyway. What kick did billionaires get out of coming to Vegas and winning or losing millions when those millions were chump change in the scheme of things anyway. The point was as lost on Alex as it is on the gambling billionaires.

He scrubbed his face, changed his underwear and swapped his khakis for jeans. He very deliberately put up the do-not disturb sign on the door, it would hardly do for a maid to enter and find the thousands of dollar bills lying all over the room. She may after all, mistake them for the mother of all tips. Then he headed for the tables.

But on the way, he managed to bump into a familiar face. As he passed room 815, trying to close the door behind her very quietly was Tiffany.

“Tiffany?”

Tiffany looked at him without the faintest hint of recognition.

“It’s me, Alex?”

She seemed to be searching through her memory banks like a filing cabinet and she wasn’t having much luck.

“You know, Alex, you had sex with me last night.”

Suddenly, the light went off in Tiffany’s head. “Oh, Alex, hi! Fancy seeing you here.” She hugged him like they were old school buddies. “Look, I’m so sorry about last night. It’s just that I met someone and he’s well…”

“Well, what…”

“Umm, how can I put this. He’s not like other guys.”

“In what way?”

“It’s sort of hard to explain. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What that’s he’s the Greek God of Love, Eros.”

“How did you know?”

Reflecting on this situation at a latter date, Alex was quite pleased at how quickly he’d reacted. Tiffany had left him for dead, now it was time to have some fun.

“Didn’t I mention it last night. I’m a God too.”

“You’re a God?”

“Aha.”

“What you’re here for the convention too? Wow, would you believe that. Two Gods in one night, that’s a record for me. Strange, though because Eros is just the most amazing man in bed, and you were just, well even for a mortal you weren’t that great.”

Alex took the blow to the solar-plexes like a man. Indeed, it was only going to make this game all the sweeter.

“Well, he is a Love God. We’re not all Love Gods you know.”

“Oh right, sure, of course not. What are you God of…”

Umm. This would need to be good. He needed something he was very good at, other wise he’d certainly have trouble pulling it off, but also something impressive, so Tiffany would wonder why the hell she’d chosen the God of Love over him. Except that Alex’s problem was that everything he was ever good at, wasn’t the least bit impressive. In the end, he just had to go with something he was good at.

“Umm. Woodwork, yep, I’m the God of Woodwork. You ain’t even seen someone turn a table leg, until you’ve seen Alex, God of Woodwork turn a table leg.”

He could have killed himself as the words were coming out of his mouth.

“Woodwork, hey. Very interesting, I guess that explains why you weren’t very good at you know what. But I’ll be sure to come to you when I need a table.”

Dumb, dumb, dumb. He had to think fast. He rememberd Dionysus wasn’t just the God of Wine, he was also the God of festivity. “Oh, but that’s not all, of course.” What else could Alex be the God of, that would impress Tiffany and that he could carry off. As he began to think, his hand instinctively went to his breast pocket and there he felt the dollar bill. Of course.

“Money, I’m the God of Money. God of Woodwork and Money, yep that’s what I am.”

Tiffany looked at him disbelievingly. “You don’t dress very well considering you’re the God of Money. I mean you’re still wearing that same ugly shirt you had on last night. Tiffany had the most incredible knack of delivering the most staggering insults without even meaning to. This was Alex’s very favourite shirt and while it was no Armani, it was the most expensive in his wardrobe.

“Well, you know, it wouldn’t do, to just give the game away. If I just went around spending money nilly willy, well someone might think I was a, well. You know..”

“Millionaire,” suggested Tiffany.

“No, a Money God. Then I’d have people asking for money all over the place.”

“Can I have some money?”

“See what I mean.”

“I guess so. But can I have some money. I’ve got none on me and I wanted to get some breakfast before Eros wakes up, so I’m refreshed and ready for him. We had sex six times last night, you know.”

This time, a blow to the forehead. “Sure, oh except I’ve got nothing but this dollar bill on me,” he said leaning over and opening his pocket so Tiffany could see the note.

“You’re the God of Money and you’re only carrying round a dollar bill.”

“Well, you see I can just make it any time I need it, can’t I. That’s the beauty of being a money God.”

“Can you?”

“Of course.” He pulled the dollar bill out and gave it to Tiffany and then he reached in and pulled out another. And another. And another. And another till he’d handed her ten bucks.

“Wow, that was amazing. Except can I have something a little larger.”

“A little larger?”

“Yes, perhaps you could pull out a couple of hundreds or something. After all, it’s not like you’d miss it, being the God of Money and all..”

“Umm, can’t do, unfortunaltey.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you see, I’m not actually the God of all Money. Just some of it.”

“Some of it? Which money then?”

“Umm dollar bills actually.”

Tiffany did nothing to try and hide her dissapointment. “Oh, well I guess it could be worse, you could be the God of Coins, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, the God of Coins, he’s just a big loser.”

“Do you know if the God of Hundred Dollar Notes is here for the convention too, I’d like to meet him.”

“No, I believe I’m the only money God here this year, actually.”

“Do you want to get some breakfast with me? You’re shout, of course, and I’ll keep this if you don’t mind.”

As much as Alex was beginning to realise in his sobre state, that there wasn’t actually very much substance to Tiffany, he was still absolutely blown away by her looks. It was still fair to say that he still had a mighty roger for her.

“That would be great.”

As the two made their way to breakfast, Tiffany of course, did nothing but talk about how great sex with Eros had been. If he’d have known that was going to be the topic of conversation, he’d have skipped the morning eye candy. He was begging her silently to stop and then all of a sudden she did.

“Oh, look here.”

They’d come across an opening to a hallway, where there was a sign “Miracle Marketing: Delegate Registration.”

“Oh, I’m sure Eros said this is the name of the conference. Have you registered yet. I wonder if I can register for Eros, do you think he’d appreciate it, if I registered for him?”

“Umm, I don’t know.”

Tiffany grabbed him by the hand. “Come on, this will be fun. I’ve never seen a God Convention before.”

As Tiffany dragged him down the hallway all he could think about was the embarrassment he was going to have to endure yet again at the hands of this beguiling, yet so damn irritating woman. Of course, he wouldn’t be on the list, he would have to admit to Tiffany he wasn’t really a God and the joke of course would be on him. He didn’t particularly know what he was talking about, he wouldn’t be upset if he never saw Tiffany again, but somehow he really did care not to look like a dickhead again.

“Hi,” Tiffany said to the woman minding the registration booth.

“Hello, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we just want to register for the conference.”

The woman looked the two of them up and down, except she wasn’t looking at them, she seemed to be looking around them, that like she was looking at their auras or something. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t seem very impressed.

“Well, I’m afraid, this is a rather special conference. You need to have pre-registered.”

“Oh yes, yes. We have. Well, I haven’t. I’m not actually a… well, you know, I’m just here to register for my boyfriend, but my friend here is definitely a, well, you know.”

“Look, I’m not actually sure if you’ll be able to register on your boyfriends behalf. Let me check with the event co-ordinator. Sorry, you didn’t say who your boyfriend was?”

“Eros.”

“Excuse me.”

“I said Eros”

You could see the registration woman fighting the desire to burst out in laughter, but as hard as she resisted, it was too much for her and exploded in laughter. After 15 seconds or so of hysterical laughter, she managed to regather her composure. She then picked up the phone, dialled and after a moment or two, whoever was at the other end answered.

“Yes, Monique. This is Raquel on registration. I have someone here who says she is the girlfriend of.. “ She fought to stay in control. “Eros. She wants to know if she can register on his behalf.”

The woman on the other end of the phone also seemingly exploded in laughter and her shrieks clearly emanated through the telephone receiver. Eventually, they subsided and Monique the event co-ordinator said something to Raquel the registration girl, who hung up the phone and turned to Tiffany. “The event co-ordinator will be here in a few moments, she’ll have to handle your request. Now Sir, can I take your name and I’m afraid I’m going to need to see some ID.”

Damn. Alex had decided he was going to just pick a God out of the hat and hope they hadn’t already registered. Now, he was going to have to think on his feet. “Alex Overington,” he said, handing over this drivers license.

“A drivers license?” the woman said condescendingly.

The woman tapped into the computer, examined the screen. “I’m sorry, Sir. You don’t seem to be in the system. Like I said this is a very special conference, you need to have pre-registered.”

Tiffany looked at Alex, Alex looked at Tiffany. He was going to have to try a trick, he’d learnt of his mother. If in doubt, cause a scene. His mother had very firmly believed that if you caused enough of a fuss, made enough noise, that no matter who you were dealing with, would do whatever they could do shut you up and get you out of their hair.

“This is an outrage,” Alex declared at the top of his voice, before slamming his first down at the registration booth. “This is a disgrace, this is a shambles, this is an absolute debacle.”

“Sir, if you could just calm down, the event co-ordinator is on her way down, and she’ll deal with any grievances you have.”

If Alex was going to pull this off, he was going to need the event co-ordiantor to be in damage control the moment she entered.

“I cannot believe this. One would have thought that a conference of this nature, with delegates like ourselves,” he turned around where a line of Gods had formed behind waiting to register. “People like myself, like both of you good sirs,” he said to two bearded gents who looked more like his high-school woodwork teachers than Gods. “Like all of us.. well, you know.. We demand to be treated a little better than this contemptible treatment you have the nerve to subject to me.”

One thing had worked. He’d succeeded in rattling Raquel, the registration girl. She foreshadowed the event co-ordinator coming down here, and this skinny, badly dressed man without whatsoever of a hint of a godly aura, actually proving to be a very important God and her losing her job.

“Look, Sir, let me look in the computer. Let me check it another way. God or prophet?”

“Why, God, of course. Do I look like I’m just a prophet.”

“Yes sir, and you’re the God of what?”

Before Alex could answer him, Tiffany decided to help him out.

”He’s the God of Woodwork,” she said butted in. Personally, Alex was going to go with God of Money, as the Woodwork gig hadn't actually been looked upon too impressively. But maybe, Tiffany had done him a favour, understatement was probably necessary.

Raquel the registration girl tapped into her computer again. “Oh yes, we do have two Gods of Woodwork, actually. Greek or Roman sir?”

“Umm Greek.” Alex figured if he was going to bring on the wrath of a bunch of Gods, he’d go with the Greeks, seeing as though he’d already become a buddy of Zeus.

As Raquel tapped into her computer, one of the men standing behind Alex and Tiffany shouldered his way between them. “Excuse me, Miss, I’m actually the ?, The Greek God of Woodwork.”

Raquel gave Alex a quizzical look. “Greek, did I say Greek. No of course, I’m not Greek, do I look Greek. I’m in such a fluster I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m the other one.”

Of course, as he said that a rather large, weathered hand came down on his shoulder.

“I don’t think so, son, I’m ?, Roman God of Woodwork.”

Bugger. “No, no, I’m not Roman.” Quick, think, think. Raquel at this point was tapping his drivers license non too patiently. “I’m from Sydney, Australia, look it says so on my drivers of license.”

“Oh, so you’re Alex, the Australian God of Woodwork?” Raquel asked. It was going to take some coming back from here. He was going to have to play the race card. Alex’s mother’s, grandmother’s uncle was an Australian Aboriginal. Yet while, she was as white as a freshly laundered sheet, she felt that gave her the right to complain of racial discrimination. Which being white, only seemed to confuse the situation even more and almost always led to her getting what she wanted.

“Yes, I am. This is typical. Just typical. All my immortal existence, us Australian Gods have had to play second fiddle to the Roman Gods, and the Greek Gods, and the Nordic Gods. Just because we’re a minority, and we don’t have fabulous tales of mythology written about us, doesn’t mean that we’re any lesser lords. This is the type of racial intolerance and discrimination, that is tearing at the very fabric of our heavenly realms. You, mam, are godist and I shall have retribution.”

Just as Alex was about to go on with another tirade, Monique the events co-ordinator entered the scene. A perfect blonde bob hair cut and immaculately dressed with a smile that was as insincere as it looked sincere. Again, Alex had succeeded as she was most definitely in damage control mode.

“Sir, if you’ll just calm down. We can get this sorted out, quick smart.”

“This woman dares to claim that I’m not registered for this conference. Indeed, if I did not know better, I would say she doesn’t even believe that I’m a.. well, you know what.”

Raquel was a little worried that her job was now in jeopardy.

“He claims he’s the Aboriginal God of Woodwork. Except, we don’t have no record of any Aboriginal God of Woodwork, in fact there are no Aboriginal Gods at all.”

“Oh, there we go again. We’re a minority, so we mustn’t exist. Turn a blind eye, and hope we go away. Well, I’ll tell you young lady, that this … you know.. is not going to go away. What type of conference are you people running here.”

“And anyway, he’s not just God of Woodwork, he’s also God of Money.. well, dollar bills, anyway,” Tiffany chimed in.

“Excuse me, did you say he was a Money God?” said Monique, who all of a sudden became a little less interested in getting the fruit cake removed without any more drama, and investigating a little deeper to see if indeed he was who he claimed to be.

“Look Sir, obviously there’s been a computer error, so we’ll get this sorted out as quickly as possible. Of course, we need to prove that you’re a God.”

“Well, of course.”

“So, perhaps if you could just perform a little miracle for us, then we can get you registered and of course we’ll do everything we can to make up for the error.”

“A miracle?”

“Yes, a miracle. We are here to market miracles, aren’t we?”

Now, Alex hadn’t been much of a miracle worker before, but then he’d never really had the need before. Now that he needed to, quite remarkably, he felt he had a miracle up his sleeve.

“Well, I’m afraid us humble Aboriginal Gods, don’t have the same range of tricks as your Greeks or Romans.”

“No, Sir, that’s perfectly fine. After all, this conference is about helping the little god, climb the celestial ladder. Just a tiny miracle will do.”

Alex pulled his shirt pocket open and asked Monique what she saw. “A dollar bill. Didn’t you say you were a money God.”

“No, a dollar bill God,” explained Tiffany.

“How many are there?”

“Just one.”

“You can take it.”

Monique took the dollar, half expecting it to turn into a rabbit. It didn’t. It was just a normal, every day dollar bill.

“I’m sorry, Sir, that’s hardly miraculous.”

“Reach in again.”

Monique did as Alex asked. She reached into Alex’ pocket and rummaged around. Nothing.

“There’s nothing, in there.”

Alex panicked, then he remembered this had happened last night as well. As the night went on, he’d had to slow down his money pulling actions because the notes began to replenish more slowly. In the end, the notes were dribbling out and he recalled now, that was what had convinced him to go to bed. He’d just hoped that the notes would get a second wind in the morning.

Alex decided to use the hiccup as a dramatic effect. He clenched his fists together and closed his eyes and began chanting softly “money, money, money.” His voice got a little louder and then louder and then he said in the most impressive deep voice he could muster. “By the power vested in me as the Aboriginal God of Money, let there be money.”

He gestured to Monique to reach into his pocket again and then he prayed. Not to God, or at least the God he’d always used to pray to whenever everything seemed hopeless and he didn’t know what else to do, but to Zeus. “C’mon Zeus, give me one more, at least one more.”

Monique reached in and this time there was something there. She pulled out another dollar bill. Now, Monique, being a Las Vegas local had seen magicians did much more miraculous things then this so-called Aboriginal God. But any trick involving money, was alright was Ok with Monique. This convention was Monique’s idea. While it wasn’t cheap to set up an event for Gods, she thought if anyone was going to be able to fork out top dollar for a convention, surely it would be a bunch of Gods and Prophets. However, she’d bombed out trying to attract the big spending money God, and she had to pay a bomb to get God to give the keynote speech. Indeed, Gods had turned out to be quite the bunch of tight asses, and she’d had to offer substantial discounts to attract a satisfying turn-out. However, she hadn’t come up too short, indeed one-big paying delegate would push the conference well into the black.

She reached in and pulled out another note. And another. Suddenly, Monique was beginning to think this conference could actually make a profit at all.

“Satisfied?”

“Most definitely, Sir. We’d be quite happy to welcome you as a delegate to Miracle Marketing for the New Millenium. The only catch I’m afraid, being so late in the piece is I’m not able to offer you any early bird discounts, on-time discounts or even the latecomers discounts, but then being a money God I’m sure that’s not going to be a problem.”

“No, of course not. That would make the conference how much?”

“One million dollars.”

“One million dollars?”

“That’s right sir, that’s not going to be a problem is, you are as you said, a money god.”

“No, of course, that’s just a lot of dollar bills.” Alex started pulling out the Notes. “This could take some time.”

“Oh, no we don’t expect the money now. Tomorrow will be fine.”

Alex began to think about how many times he would have to stick his hand in his pocket to pull out a million dollars. And indeed he was somewhat worried, that the cash flow was going to start to dry up again. The tables were looking an even better option than they were when he walked out of his room this morning.

“And of course, we’ll make sure that the hotel upgrades you to the presidential suite and your every whim is catered for. Once again, my apologies for the error, but I’m sure we will make it up to you and that you’ll find the conference a thoroughly satisfying experience.”

“Well, that’s a little more like it. Maybe people will learn to take the Aboroginal Gods a little more seriously from now on.” Tiffany was at this point, tugging on Alex’ arm.

“Oh, and my friend here was hoping to register for her..”

“Boyfriend. Yes, Eros, surely you know him,” Tiffany said.

“Oh yes, I know Eros. And you’re his girlfriend?”

“That’s right,” Tiffany said, beeming with pride.

Monique looked at Tiffany with that wide, broad grin on her face that could only have come from having just had the fuck of a lifetime. There was no doubt she’d slept with Eros. Of course, Eros didn’t have girlfriends. No one had yet been able to pin him down to a two-day relationship, never mind being tagged a boyfriend. Monique should know.

“And how long have you and Eros been, well.. an item.”

“Not long.”

“How long?”

“Well, we met last night, but let me tell you, it was no ordinary night.”

“Oh with Eros, no I’m sure, it was no ordinary night, but I’m afraid we’re not able to pass on his registration material to a .. girl, he’d only met last night. Of course, if you had something from Eros to certify that he didn’t mind you picking up his materials.”

“I don’t mind..” came a voice from behind Monique and there was Eros standing bold and proud.

“Eros. How are you?”

“I’m fine Monique, how are you?”

“You two know each other,” asked Tiffany.

“So this is your girlfriend?” said Monique.

Eros nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, your girlfriend.”

Eros looked at Tiffany. He looked at Monique. This was not a good situation.

“Umm, well, yes I guess you could say that.” He looked at Tiffany who didn’t look the least bit satisfied by his answer. “Well, hell yes, of course this is my girlfriend. Have you ever seen a more beautiful woman Monique.” Eros looked at Tiffany, except this time she was beeming. Monique on the other hand was positively scowling.

“Well, I guess your girlfriend doesn’t need to pick up your delegate materials now. So here they are.” She picked up a conference pack and shoved them into Eros’ chest. “Enjoy.” And with that she turned and stomped away.

“Did you two have something going?”

“No, darling, what ever makes you say that?”

“No reason, hey I’ve got an idea, why don’t we head back to the room.”

“I’ve just got up Tiff.”

Tiffany whispered into Eros ear. “Think you can get up again.”

In one action, Eros sweeped up Tiffany his arms, spun and walked back in the direction of the rooms.

I’m guessing that’s a yes, Alex said to himself. He was absolutely green with jealousy, but at this stage he was more concerned with another kind of green. He really didn’t fancy the idea of pulling out a million dollar notes from his shirt, so he figured he had even more reasons to hit the table than ever.

“Sir,” interjected Raquel. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ve already got onto the hotel manager and they’ve upgraded your room to one of the presidential suite. Shall I ask them to collect your belongings and move it up so its ready for you.”

“No, no, no. I’ll move it myself,” Alex said not wanting anyone in his room, while there were thousands of dollars laying all over it.

She handed Alex his conference pack and the key to his new room. “You’ve got a couple of keys there, in case you have any guests.”

Alex could have sworn that smile was a flirting smile. “Guests?”

“Yes, I guess a big important, well, you know, like yourself would have plenty of, well you know, special guests.”

No way, she was flirting with him. A minute ago, she’d though him a loser and now she was trying to get into his pants.

“Maybe you ought to keep one of those key.”

“Oh, Mr..”

“Alex is fine.”

“Alex, I would love to.”

Alex winked at the gorgeous Racquel and as he walked off, he’d never been filled with so much confidence. He was on a roll, like no time before. How could he do anything else but clean up.

Chapter Four
Heda was worried. Her husband Zeus was not well. He’d come home very late last night, drunk, and stinking of beer and cigarettes and he’d collapsed into bed, muttering that you can’t trust anyone anymore and the whole world was full of thieves and liars. What’s more his children were not much better than the rest of them, they were bums all of them. Then he stumbled into bed and he’d instantly fallen asleep.

So she full well expected that come morning, when Zeus finally woke he was going to have one killer of a hangover. But this was more than a hangover. Zeus literally looked like death warmed up. His skin was pale, his eyes dull and when he managed to speak it was the faintest of whispers. The last time, Zeus had lapsed into such ill health, he’d been stupid enough to think he had enough strength to.. well, Heda didn’t want to think about it.

There was a knock on the door. Heda rushed over to it and opened it and there was Athena. All morning she had resisted calling somebody, hoping that Zeus simply had the hangover of all hangovers. That Zeus would shake it off and the sparkle that she loved would return to his eye. But he’d only got worse and worse. Finally, she’d picked up the phone and called Athena, the most reliable of her children. Indeed, while Zeus and Heda had fretted over the behaviour of many of their children, Athena had never disappointed them.

“Mother, is father alright,” said Athena, who immediately rushed to his father’s side. Athena looked down at Zeus. His amazing lifeforce was clearly drained. “Oh god, father, what have you done to yourself.” Athena turned to Heda. “What happened?”

“He came home last night and he was drunk but he didn’t seem sick. Then when I woke this morning, he looked like this.”

“Where did he go last night? Who was he out with?”

“Your father and your brothers and sisters and a few of the other Gods went out to a night club last night,” Heda said.

“Have you called them, yet?” Athena asked.

“No, no, I thought I called you first. Athena you don’t think he…”

“Maybe, mother, he looks as if he has.. but surely he wouldn’t have had the power to do this much damage.”

As Heda got on the phone to contact her other children and any of the other Gods who might have been out with Zeus, Athena knelt down beside her father and cusped his hand in hers. There could be no other explanation for this sudden poor health. Her father had almost certainly performed a miracle last night, and not just an ordinary miracle.

Gods are only as strong as the belief in their divinity. That is what gives a God the power to perform miraculous acts and in doing so establishes their godliness. The more followers and worshippers a God has, the stronger and more fervent their belief in that God, the greater the God’s power and the more strength the God has to perform even more miraculous acts. Of course, it then stands to reason that the fewer followers who worship or believe in a God, the less are his or her powers.

Indeed, many of the Gods attending the conference were barely Gods at all. Many of the ancient Gods, whose base of worshippers had long since died out, had only the believe in themselves, that gave them any Godliness at all. For many Gods, particularly those who had once been powerful Gods, that was generally enough to give them enough power to perform the minorest of miracles, like changing a traffic light from red to green or changing channels on the television without using a remote control. Indeed, the electronic age had been a great boon to many of the less Godly gods as it took very little divinity to interfere with the electronic signals than it did to perform any of the old variety of miracles. For example, while it took a moderately powerful God to perform faith healing on a person, it didn’t take much power at all, to miraculously fix a VCR or a computer. It was that reason, that many of the lesser Gods had gotten into the TV repair business and in more recent times had become network and systems administrators. Getting a faulty computer network connection back up and running was a snitch for even the lowliest of Gods.

[While, the sudden surge of God’s getting into the IT arena has not been good for the IT arena itself. For rather than computers and networks running on logic and mathematics, much of the world’s technology is simply running on divine intervention. The problem with divine intervention is when the God who implemented the fix is having a bad day, starting to doubt their own godly powers, it’s likely to cause all sort of dramas and the problems that were never properly fixed in the first place, of course fall back over. It’s exactly why computers seem to fall over and then suddenly for no apparent reason they start to work again. If you want your corporate network to stay up and running, keeping telling your network admin he’s such a mighty and all powerful God. Your co-workers might think you’re weird, but you’re guranteed never to have computer problems again.]

Which is very important, because the last thing a God wants to do is over exert themselves. Every miracle a God performs drains their Godly powers and indeed their life force. More than one God had miracled themselves to death, by performing miracles that they simply did not have the power to perform.

Generally, Gods were protected from themselves as on most occasions, a God is not able to pull off a miracle that would prove detrimental to one’s health. If a lowly God, feeding only off self belief for example, attempted to walk on water, the only danger to that God’s health would be if he or she couldn’t swim when they sunk mortal-like into the water. They simply wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

The only time, a God could get themselves into trouble was when they experienced a power surge. When a God attracts new believers, they are hit with a surge or godly power. The closer they are to that new believer, the greater the surge of power. At this time, a God could perform a much greater miracle than he or she was otherwise capable of performing.

Of course, the cardinal rule that every God knew to follow was to perform one-off miracles. More on this…

The golden rule when experiencing a power surge was not to perform a repeating miracle, that is a miracle that would make continuing demands on the God’s power. The most dangerous kinds of repetitive miracles is when a God grants a power. Every time, that power is used by the recipient of the miracle, the God’s divinity is drained. As the God becomes less powerful, the power will drain, but if the bearer of the gift continues to try and call on that power, eventually the God’s strength will be fully depleted and he would die.

Athena would like to have come up with another explanation, but it was almost certain her father had granted someone a power last night and that power had been, and probably was still being used. While, the power would not be as strong as it once was, it the person who had been given the power’s belief in, and worship of Zeus continued to grow, it was very possible that her father would die. She had to find the person Zeus had given the power to and convince them not to use it. And if the person refused she would simply have to make it so that the person could not use the power again. And it’s pretty difficult to make use of any power when you’re dead.

It wouldn’t be the first time, Athena had been forced to come to the rescue of her father. He had of course, once been a great God, in fact arguably the greatest of all ancient Gods. For him, even the most demanding of miracles was a stroll in the park. Which made it so much more difficult for him to accept that now, in the age of Christianity, that he had almost no power and indeed the only power he had was his fervent self belief and the belief of the Greek Gods. Collectively, the Greek Gods has just enough power to sustain Mount Olympus, their kingdom, but it mean they had almost no ability to perform miracles on earth. They had them, in fact gone into retirement, continuing to live their godly existence on the Mount and basically giving up on ever having any power on earth again. It was a common theme among the ancient gods, the Roman Gods and the Nordic Gods had all trodden the same path.

Zeus however had a tendency to give in to temptation, as his wife Heda knew full well. So not only was he a remarkably unfaithful god, but he also had a tendency to threaten his own life and indeed the delicate balance that sustained Mount Olympus, by performing outrageous miracles when ever he came to Earth.

[Think up examples of people who have done amazing things that could be explained by this]

It was the only reason, Athena had decided to come to Las Vegas at all. She knew Earth, and particularly Las Vegas was not a safe place for her father. After all, there was no more place full of temptation on the planet than Las Vegas. Athena had no interest in godly marketing and indeed she recognised the conference for what it was, a bloody good opportunity for old gods to catch up and have a bloody big piss up. As far as she knew almost all of the Gods had long since given up any hope of reinvigorating their religions, what was the point, religion was monopoly.

Athena had given up on the whole God thing some ten years ago. What kind of God are you if no one believes in you and you rule over noone but your fellow Gods. She’d looked around Olympus where her parents, her brothers, sisters and relatives tried to pretend that nothing had changed and that they were still mighty powerful creatures and she’d decided it was pathetic. In doing so, her last flicker of self belief extinguished and Athena became mortal. Which was she was happy about. She felt she could make of a difference to the universe as a mortal of earth than as a God presiding in the ivory tower of Olympus.

So she had broken the news to her parents, told them she was returning to Greece and she was going to make a difference to their people even if they no longer believed. Her father had of course been devastated. Athena had always been his favourite and for her to concede their lack of influence, their lack of power, their lack of divineness had been a crushing blow for the old man and indeed since her departure he had wallowed in a state of depression. Indeed, it was a depression that threatened Olympus, if Zeus faith failed, so surely was that of Heda and it would not be long before the ripple of self doubt fuck up Olympus.

She didn’t want Olympus to fade, for it would surely mean the deaths of both Zeus and Heda her were very old and would no doubt be dead within a year if they began to age as mortals. Athena knew there was a danger of this when she decided to leave, but it was something she had to do. She had to move on with her life.

She had returned to Greece where she involved herself in the political system and she rapidly climbed the ladder. However, even on earth as a high ranking member of the political system, she felt frustrated with the bureaucracy and the red tape, that made it near impossible to affect any real change or do any good. She felt she had to be closer to the real power and so she applied for and was given a powerful position in the Greek embassy in Washington. An important commitment had stopped her flying out to be with her family last night. As Athena knelt, holding her father’s hand, she scolded herself for putting earthly matters ahead of her family. This was at least partly her fault, she knew that, and she was going to have to make it right. Even without her godly powers.

There was a knock on the door. Heda had managed to raise both Aphrodite, Dionysus and Ares, all of whom had been at the nightclub till late with Zeus last night. Athena got up and greeted her siblings. She hugged Dionysus warmly. She had never trusted Ares, and indeed, she was uncomfortable that he was there with them at this time.

“Dad has obviously gone and done something stupid again, we have to work out what he did last night to make him feel this way. You were all there at the club with him, last night, did you notice anything, who was he speaking to?”

Ares said he had been drinking with Zeus for much of the night and come 2am had decided to call it quits and head back to the hotel which was true. Dionysus and Aphrodite looked at each somewhat embarrassed. Neither of them had any recollection of how they got home last night and Aphrodite certainly had no idea who the hell the guy, who wasn’t even remotely good looking, laying in bed with her was. They both knew Athena had little liking for the way they behaved, Dionysus for his outragueous drinking and Aphrodite for her loose morals. And although technically they were still Gods and Athena was a mortal, they still somewhat feared their sister, who had always been one of the most powerful and respected Gods in the realm.

“Look Athena, last I saw Dad, he was speaking to Ares. It was a club, you know, I was dancing and Dad was doing his thing. I didn’t even see him leave,” Aphrodite said bashfully.

“Why does that not surprise me.” Athena loved her sister, even if she didn’t think much of her manising, and she realised she was being a bitch, but Dad was ill and she needed one of them to have remember something. “What about you Dionysus.”

“Well, look Athena, it was a like a pretty humongous night, you know, and well, it’s all a bit of a blur, you know.”

Dionysus hadn’t actually made it to his room. He’d got in the lift with one of his drinking buddies who was staying at the same hotel. There was another elderly couple. Dionysus had pressed 11 which was the floor he was staying on, but had gotten out with the elderly couple on floor ten. He instinctively followed the path he’d followed before to his room, which was to turn right at the lift and then head to the end of the corridor and his was the last room on the left. Unfortunately his room key for 1103 wasn’t going to let him into room 1003 so he’d simply slumped to the ground, laid down and fallen asleep. He’d been woken, when the gay couple in room 1003, got up bright and early to make their way down to the hotel gym.

They too, had both had big nights after winning a grand on the tables, before retiring to the rooms for a bit of rumpy pumpy. They looked at Dionysus laying at the foot of their door and each other, both desperately trying to remember if they’d invited this scruffy, hawiian shirt looking guy back to their room.

“We didn’t?”

Ted looked at the Hawiaan shirt again. “I don’t care how drunk I was, Randy, I did not invite that back to the room. You didn’t did you? You are the one who is always going on with the threesome fantasy.”

“Let me assure you Ted, if I was going to have a threesome it would not be someone with hair like that. That boy needs a need a stylist, like I need a [something]”

Ted prodded the passed out figure with his Reebok. “Helllooo, I think someone had a little too much to drink last night and ended up at the wrong ruuuooomm.”

Of all the ways to be woken up after having a big night, bring prodded in the chest while lieing in a totally unfamiliar location is not on the top of the list. Dionsysus blinked a number of times so he could see what the hell was prodding him and he saw a very large Reebok in his front of his face. He the rolled over onto his back where he was then able to make out the two men hovering over the top of him.

“I hate to tell you this friend, but I don’t think you made it back to your room last night,” said Ted.

Dionysus tried to sit up. Every muscle in his body was aching, for the hotel hallway was not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, he managed to sit but he soon realised was a mistake because it awoke the nauseas which was doing very unpleasant things in his belly. Altoghether, too unpleasant things.

Dionysus realised he was going to spew, he was after all more than familiar with this situation. In such a situation, you only need to make a couple of realisations to effectively deal with the problem. Firstly, realise if you’ve woken up in your own bed or somewhere else. If you’re in your own bed, you can escalate the status of the problem to dire, because it means you need to make another decision. Can you make the bathroom. This is a critical decision, because if you decide to go for the bathroom, you better make it. For while its somewhat unpleasant to barf say into the planter that Dionysus had strategically positioned for just such emergencies it’s altogether worse, and a whole lot more difficult to clean up, if you projectile vomit while running down the corridor at a hundred miles an hour. Dionysus had once managed to splatter an entire wall from start to finish with vomit. That had been one bitch of a clean up, but he was also strangely proud of that effort.

If however, you’re not in your bed, or indeed anything you identify as being your own, it’s a much simpler matter. You simply lean away from yourself and barf. In such situations Dionsysus wouldn’t usually aim, but this morning he knew exactly where to place his chunder.

“Oh my god, Ted, he just barfed up on your new Reeboks.”

Ted looked down at his shoes. His beautiful, new $250 pair of Reebok cross-trainers, with a built in device that measured how many steps you have taken so you could connect it up to your PC later and monitor your training progress. In fact, the only thing worse than the sight of the technically splendid, white Reeboks covered in vomit was the smell. Now, Ted had been on the verge anyway. He and Randy had allowed the yummy boy in the Toga to bring them one too many Margaritas at Caesar’s Palace last night. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, the Toga boy kept bringing the drinks and the gay couple kept giving nice tips. While, they were gambling away there early winnings there was no reason for the party to come to an end. The very-straight Toga boy didn’t even mind when Randy pinched him on the ass towards the end of the night, he had after all made a week’s worth of tips from the two.

But, as a result of all those Margarita’s both Ted and Randy were on the edge of barfdom themselves. The smell and the visuals of his vomit clad shoes was too much for Ted, whose stomach involuntarily gave up its pretense of being stable and gave it up all over Randy. Which was of course too much for Randy he returned the favour.

“Oh my god Randy, you just threw up on me and this is my best Tommy sweats.”

“Well you threw up on me first Ted. I told you I didn’t want to come to Las Vegas in the first place, I would have much preferred to be sunning myself in Flordida, but no you had to appease that little gambling bug that’s always noring away at your ear. Don’t you. You knew what Ted I think you have a problem..”

“I have a problem? You agreed to come to Las Vegas, because you thought you’d be able to convince me to take one of those Toga boys back to bed with us.”

“How dare you, you bitch” said Ted as he turned back to the room where they returned to get cleaned up.

Dionysus picked himself up. He was used to vomit, but this was just too much vomit, for even him to deal with. Even more to the point, it wasn’t his vomit. Vomit is like shit. While your own isn’t enough to grose you out, other people’s is just way too much to deal with.

He looked at the doors around him, realised he was on the wrong floor and he’d headed back to his room. He’d just layed back on his bed when he’d got the call from Heda and was told to come right because there was a problem. Like who didn’t have problems, at this time of the morning, he thought.

This wasn’t the time of morning, for example, that one tries to recall exactly what you did last night. Normally, one would try and sleep off a hangover and if the bastard had gone the second time you woke up, you’d try and drown it with a greasy hamburger or even KFC tended to work like a treat.

That was the time, Dionysus would generally try and piece together vague recollections of what he’d gotten up to the previous night. You could deal with such issues with a greasy drumstick in hand. His problem now, was he didn’t have a greasy drumstick in hand and he was having very little luck pulling together a picture of much at all that had happened. It probably had to do with the fact, that he was also trying to will himself not to vomit again in front of his mother and sisters. And his sister was definitely not helping.

“Dionysus, this is fucking important, alright. Dad could die and if Dad dies you can say goodbye to Olympus, you can say goodbye to the very little power you have left and you can say goodbye to your goddamn corporate Amex. And you know what that means Dionysus you’d have to pay for your drinks.”

Dionysus recoiled in horror. The only thing better than alcohol was free alcohol. For some reason, it tastes better, it goes down far more smoothly and it’s just better. Actually, dangerous would be a far better word. Most people, at the very least have to stop drinking when they run out of money. When alcohol is free, there’s absolutely no reason in the world to stop. So more often that not, people don’t until its way too late.

“Ok sis, take a chill pill. No need to go worse case scenario on us all here.” He wasn’t of course talking about Zeus dying or Olympus ceasing to exist, but the end to free alcohol. His mind very slowly started to try and fit together even the smallest pieces of recollection into the jigsaw of Dionysus memory. Except none of the pieces seemed to go together especially any that had anything to do with his father.

“Dionysus, come on, I need you to remember,” Athena prodded.

“Man, I can not work under this kind of intense, mental torture.” Things were not fitting together and even worse, he’d had to take his mind off not vomiting. “Man, I gotta burl” and with that Dionysus bolted to the bathroom and unsuccessfully tried to vomit quietly.

Athena could not hide her frustration. Her father was in danger of dying because her irresponsible siblings were a bunch of drunks and sluts.

“Are you sure you can’t recall anything else, Aphrodite.”

“Look, Athena, I know you think you’re Dad’s special little girl, but I love him just as much you do. If I could remember anything, anything at all, I’d have told you.”

Ares decided it was time to intermediate. “Look, Athena, we all had a pretty good night last night, you’re not going to get anywhere by trying to pressure either Aphrodite or Dionysus to remember anything.”

“One day, someone will explain to me how going out and drinking till you can’t remember anymore, and then having to throw up the entire next day, can possibly be classified as having a ‘good night’. Even if you had a good night, how would you know. It could have been the worst night of your life and you wouldn’t know the difference.”

At that point, Dionysus reappeared. Having just thrown his guts up for a second time, one might expected him to re-emerge somewhat gingerly, when in fact it was just the opposite. Dionysus slid into the room Tom Cruise style in risky business. He put his fists together and moved them in a circle.

“Oh yeh, Dionysus is the king. Who da King. You are Dionysus, you are da king.”

“Did you remember something, Dionysus,” Athena said urgently.

“I do, I do. I remember I was throwing back Tequila laybacks like the God I am, and then the old cheese calls me over and introduces me to this dude he was having a gabfest with.”

“And…” prompted Athena.

“What do you mean, and..”

“Well, who was this person. What did he look like. It’s almost certain this is the guy we have to track down.”

“You want me to remember what the guy looked like. Fuck, sis, do I look like a fucking elephant. I can’t even recognise the women I sleep with, when they wake up next to me the next morning.”

“When was the last time a woman woke up next to you,” Aphrodite said sarcastically. This was a fair point, Dionysus was seldom sobre enough by the end of a night, to convince a woman to return home with him.

“That’s exactly my point, I wouldn’t be able to remember. And you want me to tell you what the guy looked like. You got to remember I’m the Party God and there’s certain expectations a Party God carries around with you, and one of them is to get so written off you’re not expected to be able to remember a stitch the next morning. The fact that I’ve been to tell you this much shows I wasn’t quite on my game.”

The fact that Dionysus seldom remembered that latter part of a night was quite a blessing for the ego of the self-proclaimed Party God. There was a point during the night, when Dionysus’ drinking buddies stopped being amazed by his impressive drinking prowess, his obnoxious and loud behaviour and people decide it’s time to call it a night. At this point, Dionysus limited charm wears very thin and people can’t do enough to avoid, the loud, obnoxious drunk, slurring and proclaiming he can drink anyone under the table. He’d end up trying to work the room, moving among the last, sad pathetic creatures left in the bar, but still at this point he had the appeal of a rattlesnake. He’d end up getting kicked out for harassing the other patrons or drinking by himself until the bar closed, which was the case last night.

However Dionysus memory always chose to forget the part of the night, when he suddenly became a pariah. Instead it recalled vague memories of beautiful, buxom women hanging off him as the crowd chanted his name.

“Dionysus, one you’re not the party god, you’re the God of festivity. And one day you’ll not drink enough and you’re going to remember the way you leave a bar and you’re never going to want to drink again,” Athena said. Like most of the other god’s she had seen Dionysus at his lowest, but no one had ever dared Dionysus the truth. It was likely to ruin his self belief and in doing so would again weaken the Power base that Olympus stood so tentatively on.

“Woah, sis, I know this is a stressful time, but you’re talking like, wild, crazy talk now. Me not want to drink, I’m the God of wine, too, let’s remember. It’s my duty, hell, it’s my life responsibility to drink. And we all know, I am the king.”

“Zeus is the King and if you don’t remember something more, we’re going to be kingless.”

For Ares, that wasn’t an unappealing possibility. Like Athena, he’d grown cynical of the pretense that all was rosy at Olympus. He longed for the days where they were the most powerful beings in the universe. And he thought while Zeus ruled, the Greek Gods would forever be nothing more than pathetic has-beens. Personally, he’d rather go down in a fight, than simply be dismissed as mythology as they were today. If Zeus, wasn’t to pull through this, the Greeks would look to another lead and when that happened Ares was going to make sure he was ready.

Then Dionysus remembered something. It wasn’t much, but it was something and Dionysus knew from past experience that all it took was the tiniest of memories to trigger other larger memories. “Oh, I remember something, hang on. He had hair, he definitely had hair..”

“Oh that will narrow down the field, somewhat,” said Aphrodite dismissively

“No, he had dark hair, definitely dark hair. I remember that for some reason.”

“Ok, now, we’re getting somewhere. Dark hair. Come on Dionysus think.”

Dionysus was a twit, but he meant well. He loved his dad and didn’t want him to die. He thought hard, really hard. Then he suddenly had a flash.
“Oh hang on, now I’ve got something, the guy had a funny accent. I don’t know what kind of accent, but it was definitely an accent, not American like everyone around here.”

“What kind of accent Dionysus,” Aphrodite prodded.

Dionysus thought, but nothing more was coming. He lowered his head and shook it. “I’m sorry.”

Athena hugged Dionysus, which made him feel much better about himself. “That may be enough to save Dad. Everyone we need to get the word out, that we’re looking for a dark haired guy with an accent, and especially to look out for someone who is exhibiting some kind of power.”

“I’ll try and call the others,” said Heda. “Aphrodite, Dionysus can you wander around the casino and see if you can bump into anyone else. We need everybody looking, it’s our only chance to save Zeus.”

Chapter Five
“Can I have your name, sir.”

“Yes, it’s Zeus.”

Racquel tapped the name into her keyboard. She had to admit she was finding it somewhat difficult to concentrate as she was fast counting down the minutes till she could get off work. She planned to head straight back to her place, find her sexiest dress and then she was going to head back to the hotel and use the room key Alex had given her. Raquel was one of the trust few that IBR Conferences trusted to work on its very special conferences. She’d registered all sorts and all times she’d remained totally professional. At times, like at the World Leaders conference it had been tempting to try and make a move on some of the more powerful leaders after all who wouldn’t want to the the wife, or even the mistress, of a president or prime minister. She’d even stayed true to her job at the Hollywood All-star conference. This job paid well when all she had to do was tap a few keys on the computer, hand out materials, keep her mouth shut and act professionally with delegates. But this conference was different. These were Gods. If she could land herself a God, well, who’d need a job.

And as far as Gods went, Alex the Australian money god wasn’t bad looking. She had to admit he didn’t look much like an Australian, he was certainly no Mel Gibson, or Russell Crowe, but he was cute enough and let’s remember this, he was a Money god, even if it was of the smallest of all denominations.

Racquel had seen all sort of Gods go through here. Love gods, gods of this, gods of that, but she thought a money god was probably one of the pick of the bunch. One thing had surprised Racquel. Gods pretty much looked like everyone else. Of course, there were exceptions. That Eros God had just been impossibly beautiful, another had six arms and this guy she was about to register was ridiculously large. What was he, the God of Basketball?

She looked at the screen. “Zeus: Greek God of Gods.”

Ohh, a bigwig. She better put on her best manners.

“Certainly Zeus, can I see your pre-registration card.”

“Yes, of course, you can.”

Raquel had also heard a lot of accents during the day. They had come from all over the world. African gods, European Gods, Asian Gods, but this one was very strange. Indeed, it didn’t sound like an accent at all, it sounds.. well, put on.

Zeus, reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. From that he pulled out the pre-registration card, which was to prove they were in fact, who they said they were.

Racquel looked at the card, checked that it said Zeus and typed in the code on the card which confirmed in the computer that the Greek God of Gods had indeed registered for the conference.

“Thank you, very much Mr. Zeus. Here are your conference materials, tomorrow’s keynote starts at 9am sharp, all the information is in your pack and we hope you get a lot out of Miracle marketing for the New Millenium.”

Chapter Six
“Marketing shmarketing. It’s a big load of doggy doo if you ask me,” boomed the giant of a man. He thumped his massive fist down on the table of the Italian restaurant where he and his peers were eating,and then prepared to launch into his next tirade before realising that although there was more to be said he had just about exhausted his entire vocabularly.

If there is one thing that the little guy can be thankful for, it’s that nature very wisely decided that where she would give to a man in brawn, she would take away in brain. At the very least, she chose to severely hamper that part of the brain used by other men to eloquently phrase their thoughts.

There’s no good reason that men, blessed with size and muscle should generally have the oral ability of a twelve year old struggling to pass fifth form. Yet, one only has to watch post-game interviews on Monday Night Football or an interview with Mike Tyson to realise that somewhere along the way nature decided it was the most equitable solution to ensure that hulky men would have to fight with their fists and not with mouths. And why most of the world’s prime ministers are weedy little runts who would struggle to lift more than their mothers.

This fact of nature is also undebatable evidence that nature is indeed a woman. Had nature been a man, the kind of equity bestowed would have been to give all six foot plus muscular hotties little tiny penises. In fact, small men like to kid themselves that the six foot four hot body with chicks hanging off every limb at the bar does indeed have a very tiny weener. This is of course bullshit. Big men usually have big dicks. Smaller men must get by telling themselves that size doesn’t matter.

Truth be told though there was no way nature was going to dissapoint her sex by having them take home a very aesthetically pleasing piece of meat and then get bitterly disappointed when they eventually got around to opening the package. After all, nature is an artist and she was hardly going to ruin her most beautiful creations by slapping them with an undersized package. No, the dissapointment would have to wait until the beauty opened his mouth.

Mars was a very big man. It should therefore surprise no one that he both had a very big penis and a very small vocabularly. He stood seven foot two and hung a good deal lower than most men. Indeed, he hung rather two low. For while many women might fantastise about huge schlongs when pinch comes to shove the prospect of actually having that thing inside of you becomes a reality, most woman are bound to suddenly develop splitting migraines, that of course, proclude than taking part in sexual intercourse tonight. Or any night.

For a hulking giant like Mars, dripping with testerone, this was not an easy situation to come to terms with. He had a body any other man would die for, but the simple fact was, he couldn’t get laid. Which is hard enough for a mortal who may have to endure fifty or sixty years of sexual unfullfillment, but trying being a celibate, immortal. A celibate, immortal, who produced way too much testostrone for any man to handle. His balls weren’t just blue they were royal blue.

Is it any wonder that Mars was a very angry, young man. Well, not so much of the young, but there was more than enough of the anger to compensate. Of course, anger is not so a bad thing when you’re a god of war and indeed Mars was a very admirable warrior god. Problem, was over the last couple of thousand years there had been very little warring to preside over.

And that was what Mars wanted more than anything. A war. If only he could find the words to express to say so. Eventually, after a rather uncomfortably long pause, where his mind searched slowly through the couple of dozens words that he knew, he came up with:

“Let’s kill em all.”

Quite remarkably, Mar’s incredibly uneloquent expression brought a murmur of agreement from around the table where the rest of the Roman gods, and in some corners there was even a quiet here, here. Quiet, because, Mars was speaking in direct opposition to Jupiter, the Don of all Roman Gods. Jupiter wanted no more wars and indeed for thousands of years, the Roman Gods had lived by a truce that he had brokered with the other heads of the gods, which was to ban religious warring.

Don Jupiter was worried. He felt his power base slipping away. He realised there was much restlessness among the family. The fact that they were longer the most powerful of Gods, let’s speak the truth, they had bugger all power, was not helping the situation. Many in the family, figured the Don had gone soft, which indeed he had. He’d seen how violence had resulted in the fall of the Roman empire and he felt comfortable with the Roman God’s part in life. Don Jupiter had moved into the Casino business some time ago, bankrolling Caesar’s Palace and the Roman Gods had done very well out of that. It kept them in the lifestyle they had become accustomed to, but it didn’t exactly give them what many in the family craved most. Power.

Don Jupiter knew there was some in the family plotting behind his back, so he was thankful that Mars didn’t have the smarts, he just aired his considerable grievances out in the public. That of course, would necessitate a swift rebuke, but the Don much preferred Mars’ way of dealing with issues, rather than the secrets and backstabbing.

“Mars, I bring you, my son, here to sit at my table, to dine, to strategise with the rest of the family and how do you repay me? With disrepect. When you talk of war, you are disrespecting me, you are disrespecting the family and you are disrespecting yourself. Now, may I suggest you sit down and you only open that mouth of yours to stuff it full of linguini.”

Jupiter did his best to show no sign of weakness, however it was not easy. He looked around the table and he realised he no longer instilled fear, nor did he have their undying respect and admiration. Jupiter’s grip on the head of the family was tentative and he knew it. He stared each of the family members down, daring them to stand in opposition. It said much about his position that indeed someone was willing to do it.

It did not surprise the Don, that it was Vulcan who dared question him. He had learnt of him manuevering behind his back for some time now, and now seemed the perfect time for him to begin to move in the open. All the family was together, Mars had already questioned the Don, and there had been a show of support for the position. It was perfect.

“With all due respect, Don, I think there is something to what Mars has to say,” said ?.

Mars hadn’t taken long to stuff his face with Linguine, indeed he’d polished off half a bowl in the ten seconds or so he had been sitting down. He mumbled something imcomprehensible through the linguini, which was only marginally less eloquent than anything else he had said tonight. Mars felt good, he felt vindicated. He felt like more linguini.

Jupiter knew he had to take the offensive. “What do you have us do, Vulcan. Launch a war when we are almost powerless. Risk the comfortable situation we have worked very hard, that I have worked so hard to build for us.”

“With all due respect, Don Jupiter, we’re Roman Gods. Comfortable is not fitting for a Roman God.”

“? you're not looking at reality. War brought about the undoing of the civilisation that worshipped us. That was then, this is today. And now, when we’re almost powerless you think we can war again and return to a position forever lost. You insult my intelligence, you insult your intelligence, you insult the intelligence of the family with such nonsense.”

“Don, think about the opportunity that has been presented to us. All of these Gods, they’re been brought together in our town. They’re haunting our casinos, our bars, our restaurants. They’re not expecting anything because they’re Gods, they all consider themselves untouchable. We could strike with one co-ordinated series of assassinations and take out every God holding considerable levels of power in a single night.”

The worse thing for Jupiter, was Vulcan was right. Never before had so many powerful people been gathered together, with so little security. The conference was supposed to be held in deep secret, but that assumed that the Gods weren’t going to strike at each other.

“Whether it is possible or not, is not the question. This is a new millennium, the old ways they don’t apply any more, it’s time to move on with our new modus operandi.”

“You’re wrong Don. The old ways do apply. We are Roman Gods. You seem to forget that Don. We are not mortals, yet today we live like nothing but lowly mortal scum. We’re Gods and I for one, want to again live like a God. I want to resume my place in this universe that I was destined to hold, to be loved and worshipped like we once were.”

“Sit down, Vulcan”

“I won’t Don, you no longer have my support, you’ve gone soft and you’re not fit to sit at the head of the family any more. I demand Don Jupiter that you step down, so that we the Roman gods can take advantage of this opportunity that fate has bestowed upon us.”

Don Jupiter was not prepared for such outright defiance. He had to regain control of the family, even if it meant at least for the time being, appeasing the hardliners who. The Don stood up, walked around the table and took out a gun and held it to the head of Vulcan.

“You think I’ve gone soft, ?. Would you like me to show you how soft Don Jupiter has gotten. How soft do you think I’ve gotten Vulcan. You disrespect me, without consideration, you put forward yourself as a leader of my family and now you sit there trembling. I can hear your teeth knocking. And so they should, I’m so close to blowing your head to smithereens, you cannot even believe. If it weren’t for the fact, that we own this restaurant and the blood from your exploding head would be almost impossible to get out of the carpet, I would do it. Do you believe that I would do it,”

“I do Don Jupiter, I just ask why can’t you stand up like this for everything we ever lived for.”

The Don put his political hat on. “If there is consensus that my sons believe this is what is best for the family, then it shall be considered. Never let it be said that Don Jupiter is not open to new consideration. ? you may use your second chance wisely, prepare me a plan of attack, tomorrow morning you present it to myself, concierge and we shall decide whether this is a wise course of action.”

“That’s all I ask Don Jupiter.”

The Don looked around the table. It was an oscar winning performance, he saw fear and respect in the eyes of the other Gods. It was a victory, but it was also a loss because he had been forced to entertain ?’s strategy. But at least he had time. Time to figure out why it wouldn’t be a good idea to start a full scale war, that would result in suchdeath and cause such sorrow in the world that he feared it would upset the very balance of the universe.

Chapter Seven

There is very little strategy to most gambling. Most people prefer to rely on luck. Of course, there is no such thing as luck. There is a mother nature, but there is no Lady Luck. Random events are just that. Yet people sit down at a poker machine because it feels lucky, or they bet on their lucky number. The casinos know there is no such thing as luck. They only believe in mathematics. The odds are in their favour and they know if the punters play long enough, the odds will eventually even to pay those who they favour. That is, the casinos.

Alex, however, had a strategy. He’d rushed back to his room and collated together his money. It had taken some time but he’d pulled together 10 piles of 100 dollar bills. It was a lot of bills, but it wasn’t a lot of money. $1000. He needed 1000 times that much money just to pay for the convention. Then Alex began to question why exactly he was entertaining the fact that if he indeed he had a million dollars, why on earth he would spend it on a silly marketing conference. Sure, he liked the presidential suite and he thought it would be kind of cool to hang out with a bunch of Gods for three days but was it really going to be worth a million dollars. He imagined if he had a million dollars, he could buy himself a nice suite, an even nicer car, and then maybe she’d finally consider him worthy.

But Alex had seen to many Las Vegas Gangster movies to think he could just walk out of this situation he’d somehow gotten himself into, without paying his dues. He was put up in one of the best rooms in one of the best hotels in Vegas. They would be watching him, he was sure of, and they would want their million dollars.

Alex had earlier tried pulling more bills out of his pocket and he was most disappointed that they were reappearing with far less frequency than they once had. It seemed pretty much to him a mathematical impossibility that he was going to be able to pull a million dollar bills out of his pocket by tomorrow night at the muddling pace they were reappearing.

He was going to have to gamble. Now, Alex was impulsive. He was prone to act before thinking, but he truly believed his health, if not his life, depended on him making some very smart decisions over the next 24 hours. He needed a strategy and it needed to be a good one. But could he think of one. Not a chance.

He picked up the conference kit he’d been given and fingered through it. He looked at tomorrow’s program which kicked off with the morning Keynote to be given by Lucifer. That should be nothing, if not interesting. Then he came to a sheet given by the hotel about the services that the conference delegates could avail themselves of. At the top was a statement in red and in capitals. Alex read it and thought how ironic it was. It said:

DELEGATES OF MIRACLE MARKETING IN THE NEW MILLENIUM ARE EXPRESSLEY FORBIDDEN FROM GAMBLING IN THIS CASINO. WE ENCOURAGE YOU TO MAKE USE OF ANY OF THE FACILITIES BELOW BUT YOU ARE NOT, WE REPEAT NOT, TO CHANCE YOUR ‘LUCK’ AT ANY OF OUR GAMBLING FACILITIES. WE DO HOWEVER ENCOURAGE YOU TO CHANCE YOUR ‘LUCK’ AT THAT OF OUR COMPETITOR’S CASINOS, IN WHICH CASE WE HOPE YOU HAVE ALL THE ‘LUCK’ THAT THEY DESERVE.

Alex thought this was funny. Casinos generally did everything they could to direct you towards their gambling facilities. Las Vegas Casinos were the only hotels in the world that didn’t have mini-bars. For other hotels, the exhorbitant mini-bar prices were a nice little earner, but in Vegas, they didn’t want you up in your hotel room drinking, they wanted you down in the casino where you might be tempted to gamble. Even in Alex’s presidential suite, while the furnishings were beyond belief, there was no television, no Jacuzzi, no anything that might encourage you to stay. No Casinos, wanted you down on the floor, where you might be tempted to gamble.

Unless of course, you’re a God. Card counters are bad enough, but this casino certainly didn’t want a bunch of people who could feasibly effect the outcome of a, in their favour. Of course, they didn’t mind if you bet with the competition, if its guests were to take buckets of money out of the pockets of rival casinos, they could hardly be bad.

After all, surely a God couldn’t lose. It wouldn’t take much of a miracle to co-erce the wheel to flip from black to red, after all. Would it?

Of course, that was it. Alex had to find himself a God and bet up. He did the calculations.With $1000 it would only take 10 all up bets and he’d be home. 11 and he’d have a million of his own.

Alex looked around his presidential suite, figuring he’d sit around for a while and then head off on his search for a God. Except he very quickly god bored looking at the fine trimmings and antique furnishing and decided he’d head out instead.

Chapter Eight
Vulcan couldn't be happier. Finally, the Don had given him a the opportunity he had longed for. He had given him the approval to draw up battle plans that would result in a town full of Gods being blown away. What Jupiter also didn't realise was that he had just ordered his own death.

Vulcan would certainly go ahead with battle plans but whether Don Jupiter gave him the green light or not to move ahead with the plans mattered not. There would be a massacre and Don Jupiter and all of his supporters would be among the first killed.

Vulcanas in the deluxe sweet at one of the Roman's gods plushest hotel. He had just explained his plan to fellow Roman Gods, Hercules and Tyros. He had not yet convinced them.

“It is the only option I tell you. All Don Jupiter did tonight was calm the rebellion. You don't think that right now he is using that incredible mind of his to formulate a way for his to quell our anger. You don't think right now that he is politicking and winning the support of ?, and ? And ? So that tomorrow when they deny our request for war, they will present a united front that no one will dare stand up to for fear of having their blood washed out of the carpet.”

“But we are Romans, if we were to rule again don't we want to rule as Romans.”

“I tell you, we will never, ever rule again as Roman Gods.”

Dumb and dumber looked at each other and they knew he was right. But, they also knew what ? Was proposing was not only treacherous, it would be almost impossible to pull off and impossibly dangerous.

“But so much can go wrong with your plan, ?” said HERCULES .

Vulcan's plan was to abandon his alliegance to the Roman Gods and start a new order of Gods. Like-minded Gods who ruled via war and violence and terror. ?Vulcan plan was to rule the ultimate police state. Where those that dared rebel were instnat incinerated and the masses would conform to the ideals that were imposed on them.

“What if I said I could guarantee you the support of say the Greek gods.”

“Then I would be willing to listen.”
Vulcan clapped his hand and the door to the suite opened and in walked Ares.

“Ares, my friend, welcome. We've just been formulating the final end of what's left of the Roman empire.”

“Now, that's a plan I'm more than willing to lend my support too,”

Ares sat down and ? Instructed dumber to get him a drink.

“I bring news that will please you, ?”

“I have already all taken care of a large part of my responsibility. Zeus is on his death bed, Athena is no longer a God and without an obvious leader, let me tell you there is no Greek who can stand in our way.”

“Zeus is on his deathbed, this is extraordinary news,” said dumber. “Do tell more.”

“Zeus is a fool. Last night I tricked him into performing a miracle that will now almost certainly kill him. His lifeforce drains by the minute, I do not expect him to see another 24 hours.”

“Excellent and this is exactly what I mean. Our rulers are not what they were, they will lead us to nothing but decay and evenutally death. You know this is the path we are on, Dumb.”

“Aye, I do.”

“So you are with me.”

“I am.”

“And I, so what now.”

“We get more support. We track down every god of war and we win their support. I guarantee they are all as dischanted as we are. Then tomorrow, with the real gods we put our plan into action and we will once again rule the world.”

“We do not have long to win the support, we require.” said Dumb.

“This is true and it is why we must move quickly, go but be clever about it, don't reveal our plan until you are sure we have their support. Spill too much and you'll doom us all.”

Chapter Nine

Jack Casino was having an absolute fuck of a day. In a single morning, his casino has lost more money than it had ever, ever lost before.

“Fuck, what is going on here.”

Jack was looking at a monitor where a ridiculously large gentleman was in the process of “letting it ride” again.

“If he wins this, how much will that make it?”

“Ten million dollars, boss.”

“And he started with how much?”

“I believe it was $20.”

“Nobody is that lucky.”

“His lucks got to run out soon, sir.”

Down on the casino floor, the incredibly successful gambler was mobbed by the most amazing crowd of punters. Despite being engulfed it was still impossible to miss the man who stood a foot taller than anyone else in the throng.

Once again, the giant punter was letting his massively accumulated fortune ride. Jack zoomed the surveilance camera in close on the man and examined his face. He was looking for signs of strain, a bead of sweat and a crinkled forehead but there was nothing. Fuck, there wasn't even delight. Just a simple matter of factness like it was an everyday occurance that you could walk into a casino win 23 straight games of crap and turn a $20 bill into a $10 million.

“Nobody is that cool,” Jack muttered to himself. He turned to his assistant who was tapping away on the keyboard. “You found anything yet.”

“No, nothing. No casino anywhere has even mentioned the guy and it's not like a guy that size is going to go unnoticed or be able to disguise himself.”

The gambler prepared to throw the dice again. Jack instructed the casino operator to zoom in closely on the die and the hand. He wanted to make sure there was absolute no funny business.

“We've checked the dice right?”

“Changed them three times, Sir.”

“Fuck.”

The camera was now focused on the big gamblers fist as he methodically shook the dice. Every throw, he'd shaken the dice three times and then hurled them effortlessly down the table.

“Stay right on the dice.”

The punter let the dice go and the camera guy expertly kept a tight zoom on the dice. The rolled end over end and then “Snake Eyes”.

“Fuck, I can't believe this is happening.”

Jack had seen dice roll thousands of times before, he knew how they twisted and turned, and something just didn't look right about hwo the dice had come to a stop. It looked suspicously like a tampered with dice that flipped over one more than it normally would have.

“Go slow motion on the end of that dice roll.”

The camera zoomed in and frame by frame the dice tumbled over. The last die to stop rolling looked like it was just about to stop on 2 which would have given the punter craps and saved the casino but again, it managed to turn over one more time.

“Stop, go back a few frames,” Jack insisted.

The camera operator shuffled back .”See there is no momentum in that dice there its barely moved the last two frames and then suddenly, look, it picks up speed again and makes the last roll. Dice don't fucking do that.”

“What are you suggesting sir, he's got it on a string or something. Or perhaps mind control?” the assistant joked.

“Until, you can give me a more logical explanation, I'm not ruling anything out,” Jack said. “If there's one thing, I've learnt in this business it's that you never rule out any possibility.”

“What should we do, Sir, let him throw again?”

Jack considered his options. In any other case, he would just let the punter keep going. Eventually, the odds would fall in the casinos favour and the punter would lose everything. The thing was, Jack, despite everything he knew abuot logic and probability just didn't think it was going to happen.

“I'm going down to the floor.”

“No need, Sir, I think he's done.”

Indeed, the giant gambler was pulling up chips. Jack would need to hurry.

“I don't care what you do, but don't let him leave the hotel before I reach him.”

Chapter Ten

Alex had his plan all figured. He would find a god, befriend him and together they would win enough money so as that Alex could pay for the conference and well, why he was here, he may as well win a little extra to tide him over. A million for the conference, a million for Alex. He thought that fair.

It was a brilliant plan. A masterstroke. Ingenious. Well, that is assuming Alex was able to find himself a God.

Alex headed down the strip and wondered what he might be looking for. He figured it wouldn't be too hard to spot a miracle worker, after all the town was supposedly swarming with Gods. He skunked around table looking for a punter who might have gone on an unlikely winning streak. He kept an eye out for anyone performing miracle healing feats. He checked every tatily dressed beared bloke to make sure it wasn't J.C. Himself.

At one stage, he was approached by a dark robed elderly gentleman clutching a bible.

“Do you believe in the Lord Jeses, our saviour?”

“I do, I don't suppose you've seen him around?” Alex asked back.

“Jesus is all knowing, Jesus is all seeing. Jesus is everywhere.”

“Hate to dissapoint you, mate, but I've just about been everywhere and I've not seen him yet.”

“Find our Lord Jesus or you are doomed, infidel.”
“You're not telling me anything, I don't know, buddy. Except it doesn't have to be Jesus, any kind of God or prophet will do me.”

This riled the old chap up significantly.

“I see Satan. I see Satan. Die Satan, die,” he started to scream hysterically.

Alex looked around, but he couldn't see anyone even remotely resembling Satan. No one carried a pitch fork, or had tiny horns.

“Look mate, I've got no time for false visions. If I see JC, I'll send him your way.”

By this time, it had extended well into the afternoon and Alex had walked the length of the Strip. He decided he'd make the Stratosphere his last port of call before he'd head home.

Alex again wondered the tables but was unable to spot anything out of the oridnary. Last night, he hadn't been looking and he had found four gods. Today, he'd managed to find none. Alex thought a little and decided he'd met the four gods in a bar so perhaps that might be the best place to try having exhausted the tables option.

Chapter Eleven

Jill had been instructed to keep the man at the cashier for as long as she could until the casino manager, Jack Casino arrived. Except, the gentleman was getting somewhat agitated and Jill didn't really want to agitate the giant man.

“I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm sure as you will understand that $10 million is an awful lot of money. We're having to retrieve it from our safes, it's not like I keep that amount of money.”

“I want my money or something very bad is going to happen.”

Jill believed the man. She didn't even think that he meant he was going to take one of his giant fists and strike her down. She's been hit before by her ex-husband and although this man was much, much bigger than that dickhead, that would not have scared her. The man scared her because she believed when he said, bad he meant very bad.

The man was looking very restless. Finally, she saw Jack Casino approaching and she breather a deep sigh of relief. She was going to go home as soon as this man was out of her hands and she was going to spend the rest of the night with her loved ones and she was going to cherish it.

Jack walked up behind the giant man.

“Excuse me, Sir, that was quite a run of luck. Congratulations, I don't think I've quite seen anything like it.”

The man peered down at the impeccasbly dressed middle aged manager.

“I know and I'm sure you know, that no body is that lucky. That's my money,” the big man said pointing down to a suitcase the manager had handcuffed to his wrists.

“It's one million dollars. We can provide you with a cheque for the rest.”

“You don't have my ten million dollars then.”

“No, that's an awful lot of cash, sir.”

The giant stood there pondering and then grabbed the case. “This will have to do.” He almost threw Jack Casino unbalanced as the case was still handcuffed to his wrists. This disturbed the giant man.

“If this is my money, why is it handcuffed to you,” he said.

Jack winced in pain, but kept his compusure. “Security of course, Sir, you can't just wonder around a town like this with sum of money without taking precautions.” He undid the handcuffs and gave the giant his case.

“I see. Look, hypothetical question. How much explosives would a million dollars buy.”

“Only about enough to blow up half of Las Vegas.”

“More than enough.”

And with that the big man turned and headed towards the door. Jack chased after him. “Sir, you're cheque, if you'll just wait a moment I can sign it, and then perhaps I thought we could entertain you in our high rollers room. Get to know each other a little better.”

The giant stood there and again, considered his option. “Sign my cheque,” he said.

“Of course and then I'm sure you will let us entertain you.”

“Sign my cheque”

Jack Casino took out his chequebook and signed it. It was the biggest cheque he had ever written. He tore it off and handed it to the big man. For such a large sum of money, it sure was a little tiny slip of paper in the gambler's hand.

“Thank you.” Again, the giant of a man headed towards the door. But just before he got there, he stopped before the last row of poker machines where a little old lady was dropping dimes into a machine.

“Here you are mam,” the giant said as he handed the little old duck the $9 million cheque and then he headed towards the doors. Wih Jack Casino still chasing the giant, two of the door men stood in his road. They had been instructed to block the gambler's exit until Jack Casino gave them permission to let them go, except Jack Casino had not yet given the permission so the gambler was not to be let through.

Except, the giant literally walked straight through the men, bowling them over like they were nine pins in an alley. Sitting on their asses they watched the man leave, looked back to their boss and reached for their holsters.

“Let him go,” Jack Casino said. “Let the bastard go.”

Chapter Twelve

Alex approached the barman and order a Bud. He still didn't like the taste of US beers, but he thought he was slowly growing accustomed to it. Unfortunately, the only Australian beer you could ever get in the US was Fosters and no real Australian would ever drink that.

The barman pulled the beer and delivered it to Alex.

“Can I ask you something. Have you seen anyone acting kind of strange here tonight, for example, might be somebody pulling off the most unbelievable party tricks or doing miraculous things.”

“Is their a magician's conference in town or something. You're like the third person in the last half hour that's asked me that.”

“Really? Who else has asked that.”

“Well there were two guys here before and a women, a real looker asked almost exactly the same question as you too.”

Interesting Alex thought. Perhaps, Alex wasn't the only person in town who had cottoned on to the fact that there were a bunch of divine beings in town and that hooking up with them might be a quick fire way to unimagible riches.

Or perhaps they were gods themselves, trying to hook up with other gods. After all, it would hardly do for divine beings to mix it with mere mortals, would it?

“Any idea where they went to?”

“Well, yeah the woman's over there, working the room. I'm starting to think she may be a prostitute or perhaps just a magician's groupie. If you're a magician, buddy, you might want to try your luck.”

Alex looked over and nearly collapsed from shock. It was her.

Chapter 13

Jack Casino watched as the giant punter walked off with a million of his cash. Things like this just weren't supposed to happen. Casinos won money, they didn't lose them.

But Jack had more important thing in his mind. While losing a million was not good, it would be a damned better result than losing ten million.

He approached the old lady who was still looking at the cheque firstly trying to figure out if its was real and secondly what strange turn of events may have resulted in it being foisted on her.

“Mam, excuse me, I'm so sorry for that but people do have a very sick sense of humour.”

“Excuse me?”

“That gentleman there has been walking around our casino handing out cheques for ridiculous sums of money on counterfeit cheques. It's most embarrassing for us, and let us assure you he will never be allowed to enter this casino again.”

“You're saying this isn't real.”

“Well, of course not, mam, people don't just walk around giving away nine million dollars to strangers, do they.”

“Not in the usual turn of events, no I don't suppose they do.”

“So, if you'd just like to hand the cheque back, I'd like to make up for our embarrassment for a voucher for a free dinner at our wonderful restaurant, ?”

“You want me to give you a nine million dollar cheque and in return you're going to shout me to some free grub.”

“Let's remember, it's a counterfeit cheque.”

“So you say.”

“Mam, I can assure you that cheque is not real.”

The old woman looked at the cheque and noted the signature. She looked at the man's name tag and noted it was one of the same person.

“Seems here you're the very man that signed this cheque.”

“Mam, I can assure you that is nothing like my signature.”

The old woman thought for a second. “Well, show me some identification and we'll see if it's nothing like your signature.”

Jack was starting to get frustrated. There is no way that some silly old duck was going to outthink him – the man voted Las Vegas' top casino manager four out of the last five years. It would have been five out of five, too had it not been for that bloody, rotten Australian billionnairre Kevin Patter who had taking so much out that the casino had failed to make a record profit that year. Jack hated Australians.

It was time for him to get tough.

“Mam, I don't think you understand, you are now in possession of a counterfiet cheque, which, as much as I hate to point this out, makes you a criminal. I'm afraid if you try and leave the casino I'm going to have to inform the police. On the other hand, if you'l just give me the cheque, the hotel will give you a week's free accommodation, complementary means every night you're here and we can all forget this horrible embarrassment.”

The old lady decided Jack wanted this cheque too badly. Even if there was even a slight chance that the cheque was real, she was going to take it.

“I'm sorry, sonny. I'll take my chances. Now if you'll excuse me, I have one son who is a lawyer and another who is a bank manager,” said the lady who didn't have any sons at all. “I'm sure they will be able to clear the situation up.”

With that the little old lady dismounted her stool and headed towards the door. As the old lady hobbled towards the door, he gestured to the door men not to let the little old biddy out. Jack was going to get that cheque back if it killed him.

As the little old lady got to the door, the two door man stepped in front of her to block her passage. As they did, the old chook lifted her walking stick cracked the first door man across the shins with her walking stick and then like a samurai waving a sword, in a single flowing motion bought the stick up in the groin of the second door man. Both men dropped to the ground in pain and the little old lady walked out of the casino.

“I have got to get myself new doormen,” Jack thought to himself.

Chapter 14

Alex stood there looking at her for some time, trying to decide what to do. How ironic it was that he'd fled to Las Vegas to try and get her out of his system and then of all places. He runs into her, here.

She was the love of his life. The oxygen of which he breathed. The blood that coursed through his brains. Without her, he had felt like his life had no meaning, that his existence was pointless. He had contemplated suicide, but every death he had considered seemed altogether too painful or messy. In the end, he'd decided he was just going to head to Las Vegas where he would either obliterate himself or start anew. He didn't even have a preference. He just needed to get her out of his system. For every time he thought of her, his felt like it had been a skewered with a thousand tooth picks.

Alex though he should probably turn around and walk away. No, he should probably run. If he let her back into his mindspace again, he would not be able to cope. For as weird as his last couple of days had been, it had been wonderfully successul in making him forget about her. If he let her back in, he didn't think he'd ever be able to walk away from her and then life really would be too awful to contemplate. Then blowing one's brains out, or jumping off a building, while seeming like terribly messy ways to ends one existence, seemed imminently less painful than not being able to her out of his head.

He tried to turn, but he couldn't. His feet stood rooted to the ground as though he were an ancient tree and they extended hundreds of metres deep into the earth. He couldn't walk away from her. Even if it was a one in a million chance that he could convince her to rethink her decision, he was going to have to chance his hand. This was Las Vegas after all, you were meant to chance your hand – and there were a lot of wedding chapels.

He approached her and stood behind her where she seemed to be questioning a group of English lads who were all looking up lustfully at her, flirting, trying to convince her to sit down with them and have a drink. He actually recognised these lads, because they tried valiantly to crack onto Tiffany at the club last night, but she was too have none of it.

“Athena,” Alex said.

Athena spun around in absolute shock, even before she saw Alex, she knew who it was. She could never forget his deep warm voice and that accent she absolutely adored.

“Oh my god, Alex, what are you doing here.”

“Me, what are you doing here?”

“I'm here on business, what are you doing here?”

“Business, what kind of business.”

“Family business. What are you doing here, Alex.”

Alex considered his position, very carefully. He had two options. One, play it cool. Pretend he too was here on business, that he had a conference to attend and that in no way was he here as a result of the pain and suffering Athena had caused him. Or he could play the guilt card, confess that he was in a state of despair and that he had come to Las Vegas to get totally wasted in an attempt to get her out of her system.

That would not be cool. That would be desperate and stupid.

“I'm trying to forget you, Athena, trying to make the pain I feel in my heart shrink to just a dull ache rather than the piercing pain I feel every time it beats for you,” Alex said with exasperation. The simple truth was he was desperate and when it came to matters of the heart – stupid, too.

“Oh grow up, Alex,” Athena said. She remained cool and unaffected, but truth was she wasn't. She loved Alex almost as much he loved her. Her heart had swelled when he had professed his love, his pain, his longing for her.

“Oy, aren't you the geezer who was all over that stunning redhead last night,” said one of the pommie lads.

“Os it that right,” said Athena, pangs of jealously shooting instantly through her. She tried to disguise it, but she couldn't.

“Aye, that's him. Lucky bastard. And now he's putting the moves on this bird, too.”

“You some kind of god with the women, mate,” said another of the group.

They hadn't been happy that despite their best efforts that Tiffany had rejected them for this skinny Aussie. It was bad enough that they had to be pummelled in the cricket, but to be beaten for a lady's affections was too much. So they took great pride in making it look as bad as possible for Alex.

“Aye, you should have seem 'em. I nearly thought they were going to shag on the dancefloor they were that amorous.”

“I reckon he had his tongue so far down her throat, he could have been drilling for oil.”

“Is this how you try and forget me, is it?” Athena said accusingly to Alex.

“What do you expect, Athena, you tell me you can't be with me anymore, tell me you can't explain it, but if that I love you, I would have to let you go and then you walk out on me, how else am I supposed to move on.”

“I don't begrudge you a future with another woman, Alex, I just thought the healing process might mean it would be more than a couple of weeks before you're out fucking your way around town.”

“It's not like that, Athena..”

“So why else have you come to Las Vegas?”

Alex was screwed. It was exactly like that.

“Didn't you get onto that blonde, too, later in the night.” said one of the lads. It was to quote an English term, bollocks, but they were right enjoying the spot that had put Alex in and so, presumably, the tighter they could make that spot the more enjoyable this episode was going to be.

“No, I was not. Athena, you've got to listen to me. Can we go somewhere and talk.”

“Alex, as much as you think the world revolves around you, it does not. I'm trying to handle a situation that is a matter of life and death and I just cannot deal with this at the same time. Please, just leave me alone. I've said all I want to say, so why don't you find another couple of floosies and you can try your best to forget me again.”

“Athie”

“Alex, go away.”

Athena realised Alex was not going to go away, so she was going to have to. It had fast become obvious to her, that the only remarkable talents the English lads had, were their abilitiy to make lude remarks and drink beer. Admittedly, those were talents the lads were especially proud of, but they weren't exactly godly-given. Athena had to keep looking for her dark haired man with an accent.

And as she turned, she ran into one.

“Excuse me,” said the largish man, with an especially thick Scandinavian accent. “I was wondering if any of you people have seen an quite unusually large gentleman. Chances are he might be up to no good, or playing tricks on people.”

The man stood with another, this one looking a little more typically Scandinavian with long, blonde flowing locks. Strangely, he was carrying a rather large hammer.

“No, I'm sorry I haven't. How long have you gentleman been in town?” Athena asked.

“That is irrelevent at this time, all that matters if you have seen this person or not.”

“No, but please, I'd like to ask you some questions. Where were you last night?”

The men turned to walk away from her, but Athena in a flash of athleticism stepped around them and into her path. Alex always marvelled at Athena's athelticism, he hardly believed she had not been some superstar athlete as she was quite incredibly strong and fast.

“I'm sorry, sirs, but if you could just answer a couple of my questions, after all I did answer yours.”

“Look, woman, you will stand aside, the questions we ask are a matter of life and death and you impede our progress.”

Funny, Alex, thought, there seemed to be many matters of life and death around at present. Alex could add to that, for Alex it was a matter of life and death that he won back Athena, so plucking up every bit of courage he had, he joined Athenas side and attempted to block the progress of the men.

“Look mateys, the lady just has a couple of questions, it won't take a minute, and I'm sure you can then move on looking for this large friend of yours.”

“He's not our friend, he's not your friend,” said the man with the hammer. “He intends to end the world and every second you impede us the more chance he has of succeeding, now get out of our way before I move you myself.”

The English lads were getting kind of excited over this. They hadn't been in a good barney since the footballl season ended, and it was their duty to protect the young lady. They circled the two Scandinavian men.

“Just answer, the ladies questions and nobody'll get hurt, hey geezer,” said one of the lads.

Alex looked at the two large Swedish men and they were considerably irritable. In fact, they looked downright fieresome and Alex had no doubt that they could probably take out all seven or eight of the people circling them. He would have back off, had it not been his desire to prove how chivalrous he was too Athena. He wouldn have backed off very quickly.

As it turned out, the Swedes kept to their promise. The man with the hammer suddenly lifted it above his head swung in around and all of the English lads, Alex and Athena were suddently sent scattered across the floor as if a wind had just blown their off their feet.

The english lads sent table and chair flying as they crashed across the floor while Alex was sent flying across into the bar. He also watched in horror as Athena also went crashing into tables. Alex tried to get up but his body refused, he looked across to the English boys who were also laying like stunned mullets. The Swedish men quickly made their escape they were off immediately and within seconds had dissapeared behind the mass of poker machines. Alex looked over to Athena and asked if she was OK, and suddently much to his surprise, she had already jumped to her feet.

“Did you see which way they went?” Athena asked.

Alex pointed in the general direction, the Swedes had escaped too and Athena was off. Alex tried to follow, but his body was not yet ready for motion. Like the English lads, he lay on the floor trying to compose his head and work out which parts of his body it were that were aching.

By the time, his mind was half coherent, Athena was gone.

Chapter 15

“You don't love me any more do you?”

Any more? Had Eros missed something. When did love come into it? As far as he could tell he and Tiffany had been enjoying some good old fashioned rumpy pumpy - well, lots of good old fashioned rumpy pumpy - and now suddenly he was getting a guilt trip about love.

“Just because I'm not in the mood for another root, does not mean I don't love you,” Eros said.

“So you do love me then,” Tiffany said, looking up from where she was lying on his chest, batting her big beautiful green eyes.

“No I didn't say that.”

“So you are saying you don't love me, anymore.”

“I didn't say that either.”

“So what are you saying, baby.”

Eros wanted to say he was knackered. He wanted to ask Tiffany to pass the remote control, so he could see what kind of sport was on television. He wanted to do anything but have a “relationship talk” about a relationship that as far as he was concerned wasn't really a relationship.

“Look, Tiff, you got to understand something, I'm the Greek god of love.”

“Yes...”

“Well, it means I have a lot of love to give. More love than one woman could possibly handle.”

“I think I've been able to handle it about a dozen times so far over the last 24 hours.”

“Tiff, that was sex, not love.”

“Baby, I was making love, weren't you making love?”

“Of course, Tiff, but there's love and there's love.”

“It's that other woman, isn't it?”

“Other woman? What other woman?”

“That Monique bimbo. The one with the perfect hair and the perfect clothes and the perfect 'I'm so perfect' smile.”

“No, of course, Tiff, she means nothing to me.”

“Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that, sweetheart. I love you too, you know.”

Eros wanted to run but it's kind of hard to run with a woman lying on you. Eros felt, well, trapped.

Chapter 16

Alex was having his own problems as regard to love.

He was still in shock. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to run into Athena in Las Vegas. Las Vegas was the epitome of all that was greed and tackiness, where as his Athena was the personification of all that was noble and good. It just didn't seem right that she was here.

Suddenly all the bad feelings Alex had been going through since they broke up were back. He felt exactly the same as he had for two weeks before he decided to get the hell out of his apartment in Washington. The one across the corridor from where Athena has lived. When they broke up she had also decided to move out. It would be easier for them both, she had told them. Alex had spent hours standing in his doorway, just looking at her door. Hoping, beyond reason, that she would open the door again and invite him into for a coffee just like the first time they had met.

Except, the only thing that emerged from Apartment 203 after Athena left was Bob. Bob was a particularly homophobic garbage collector, with arms thicker than Alex' waist.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Bob had asked, not so politiely.

“Umm, the door, actually,” Alex had replied. He didn't see any point in lying about it.

“I thought to myself the first time I saw you, you were one of those fag boys,” Bob said.

“No, you don't understand.”

“Now listen fag boy,” Bob said interupting and standing over Alex. “If I catch you making eyes at my door way, or waiting for me to come home again, I'm not going to have any hesitation in introducing you to Hate.”

“Who's Hate?”

Bob lifted his clenched fist and just as Alex thought he was about to get bopped, Bob thrust his fist just inched from Alex' nose. Written on each on his fingers were the letter “H”, “A”, “E”, “T”.

“Hate meet fagboy, you may be getting better acquainted.”

“Umm, I hate to tell you this, but hate is spelt wrong.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Hate, it's spelt h – a – t – e”

“Hey?”

“You're fist says ha-et. Is it supposed to say ha-te?”

“No, it's not supposed to say ha-et, it's supposed to spell Hate. I'll fucking kill Killer.”

“Mind, if I see the other fist. I suppose that say's love.”

“No, it doesn't say fucking love. I don't fucking love anything, so why would I get love written on my fist. And anyway it's only three letters so it wouldn't have fit.”

“So what does the other fist day.”

Bob was glad that the fagboy had asked he was very proud of the literary masterpiece enscribed on his left fist.

“Well, if you must know. See, if I hit you with this fist you get hate and then if I clubbed you with the other fist you get this.”

Tattooed onto the other fist were the letter “M” “O” “O” “R”.

“Do you get it. Hate and more hate.”

“Very clever. Except that's spelt wrong too.”

“Fuck.”

“I think what you were looking for was M – O – R – E. That spelling of the word refers to either tying up your boat or a wasteland. Actually, in Shakespeare's time, it referred to a man of colour.”

“You're fucking kidding.”

“No, sorry.”

Bob, stood there examining his fists. His literary masterpiece reduced to a joke, Bob decided it was time for his fists to get back to basics.

“Do you know there's only one thing, I hate more than a fagboy.”

“I bet it's a smart alec fagboy.”

“That's right.”

“And I bet you're thinking that I deserve a good pounding for all the feelings of inadequacies you're trying to work through right now.”

“Fuck oath.”

“Because you've been conditioned to dealing with threatening circumstances by responding with violence.”

“I'm going to beat you to such a pulp.”

“How do you spell pulp.”

“P...U... Hang on, I dont' fucking care how you spell pulp.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Will it involve spelling?”

“No, do you think beating me to a pulp will solve any of your problems.”

“Well...” Bob thought very hard. “It might encourage you to move out and then I wouldn't have no gayboy staring at my door anymore.”

“Is that your problem?”

“It's one of them.”

“OK, now we're getting somewhere. What are your other problems.”

“Well, I'm kind of peeved that I've got spelling mistakes tattooed onto my fists.”

“I thought spelling didn't matter.”

“It don't... but that's generall cos you can just rub out your cock up. These ain't going to be so easy to rub out.”

Bob tried rubbing the tattoos and just as he suspected they didn't rub off. He started to think about all the occassions that he had been sitting in a bar staring at his knuckles and admiring the greatest intellectual thought of his life. He thought about how many times, the people sitting around him had started to giggle or even laugh raucously. At the time, he'd generally suspected someone had just told a really good joke but now he was starting to realise they were laughing at him. Not that they would ever say anything because Bob was well 6'4 and not the type of man you laugh at, to his face. Bob felt like the novelist who had spent his entire life penning every thought and inspiration into what they thought might be the greatest example of modern-day literature only to be told by every publishing house on the block, that it sucked.

“Why do you hate, sorry I didn't catch your name.”

“Bob, it's Bob.”

“Why do you hate Bob.”

“You smart alec fagboy, I know what you're doing. You're doing that psycho stuff on me. You want me to tell you that I never got any love from my father and yeh, sure that's true, and yeh sure it's probably left me mentally scarred and it's the reason I've drifted through life hating any one who's different to me, but know this I'm wise to you.”

“I'm sure you are. That said, I think it's probably a good time for you to find a nice quiet place and do some serious thinking about your life and what your purpose it and how you might want to carry forward. You might also want to start thinking about a tattoo-removal.”

“Or I could just beat you to a pulp.”

“Well, you could but then you'd just have another thing to think about and I think you've got enough on your plate at the moment.”

“You might be right.”

Bob looked at his fists again and then turned around and walked towards his door. Just before he entered, he turned around to Alex. “Just don't let me catch you staring at my door, again.”

“Believe me, I've learned my lesson,” Alex said. That seemed to satisfy Bob. He decided if the smart alec could learn a lesson, he probably could to. He hadn't learned much in his life, except how to fight and how to hate and all it had gotten him were too badly spelt fists.

“And by the way, Alex, said, the tats – they're very clever. You should consider writing, although you might want to invest in some kind of spell checker.”

Writing, Bob thought. Not such a bad idea. And then he opened the door, that had been the centre of the confrontation and dissapeared. Not long after, hysterical weeping had emanted from the room and Alex decided that one of two things was going to happen.

One this was going to be a life changing experience for Bob and he would go on to lead a more fulfilling, thoughful life and actually do good in the world. Or two, he'd decide that really the best way for him to feel better would be to go over to his neighbours apartment, kick down the door and beat the smart alec to a pulp.

Alex decided he wasn't going to stick around to find out. He was going to get out of town and go somewhere he could take his mind off Athena. After all, it was not healthy for anyone to spend hours every day staring at a door. Alex had watched a movie just the other day called Swingers, in which a love-lorn guy ventured off to Las Vegas to get over his ex-girlfriend. It didn't seem like a bad idea and that was how, Alex came to be where he was today.

Of course, right now, he wished he was anywhere but Las Vegas. Because Athena was here and all he wanted to do was forget about Athena.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and kiss her softly and have her tell him that she loved him and they would never be a part again. But as Athena had once more painfully made clear, that wasn't about to happen. So, forgetting would definitely be the next best thing because then he wouldn't have this feeling.

Alex tried to put a finger on exactly what it was he was feeling. It was like a sort of fearful, dreading nausea. It was like he was hollow. Yes that was it, hollow and empty.

Alex knew there was only one course of action. Only one thing could fill that void he was feeling. It was how he dealt with every dark and troublesome period in his life. It was how he got over this and that.

He needed curry. Not just any curry. He needed a very, very hot curry. A curry that would burn him up inside and make him feel like he was breathing fire. And he would eat the curry and he would resist the temptation to wash it down with a glass of anything cold because that was not what eating curry was about.

Curry was about burning. Putting to cinder all of your worries, your fears, your doubts.

If there was a good side to Alex' unfruitful venturing down the Strip earlier in the day, he pretty much knew where everything was and he'd noticed a little Indian restaurant not far away from the Stratosphere, just off a side street from the main drag.

Alex had never had a bad curry. It didnt' matter where he had travelled, and Tim had travelled quite extensively, every Indian restaurant pretty much served up the same standard of food. It was like every Indian chef went through a McDonalds-like training course where they learnt to prepare the same dish the world over.

Alex ate depending on the weight of the world riding on his shoulders. The more worries he had, the hotter the curry. Of course, even when he didn't have a worry in the world, he never stooped to the Butter chicken or a Korma. That wasn't Indian. That was Indian you ate, when you weren't eating Indian. That was Indian for wimps. If you didn't at least feel the temptation to reach for a glass of water, you weren't eating real Indian.

Alex knew what he would be eating today. Vindaloo – the mother of all curries. And he would ask for it to be extra hot.

Alex had a lot of worries so he was going to need a particularly big inferno.

Alex opened the door to the Neon Elephant restaurant. Alex had been to a Blue Elephant, a Fat Elephant and a Mad Elephant restaurant in his time, so he supposed it stood for reason that in Las Vegas it would be the Neon Elephant. Or else the Bankrupt Elephant.

He looked around and noted yet again, that not only did every Indian restaurant serve the same standard food, but almost without exception they shared the same décor. The same tacky Indian symbols – the elephants, the religious dieties and so on.

“Hello, welcome to the Neon Elephant,” said the matra-dee. Except, despite the fact that he
was wearing a turban and traditional Indian garb he wasn't Indian. And his accent was perhaps the worst Indian accent he had ever heard.

“You're not Indian.” This wasn't right. Alex had never, ever been to an Indian restaurant that wasn't run by an authentic Indian, complete with authentic Indian bobbing head. This guy had the bobbing head too, but like the accent it was painfully exaggerated and absolutely anything but authentic.

“Well, good, golly gracious what ever make you say, that. I am Krishna from Bombay and I am here to serve to you the world's best Indian meals.”

That did it. Alex didn't want “world's best”, he wanted “world's same”. He was not going to eat anywhere that was going to ruin decades of absolutely identical dining habits. This was a disruption to Alex's world that he was just not prepared to deal with, right now.

Alex was just about to turn around, go straight back to his hotel room and find out which ever organisation it was that set the standard for Indian restaurants and report this fraud. However, out of the corner of his eye he spotted perhaps the most remarkable thing he had ever seen. It was a man with a trunk.

“Excuse me, is that a man with a trunk sitting over at that table.”

“Well, it does appear that is the case. I think it must be one of the Circus Solei performers.”

Maybe. It might also be the Elephant Man. But then the Elephant Man didn't have four arms.

“Excuse me,” Alex said pushing past the unauthentic Indian matradee.

“Just find a seat anywhere you please,” he said and Alex again winced at just how bad the accent was.

Alex walked up to the man with the trunk. “Excuse me, are you eating alone?”

The trunked gentleman looked up at Alex and spoke with a very broad, and very authentic accent.

“Indeed, I am. Would you like to join me?”

Alex didn't have to be asked twice. If the trunk was fake, it was one hell of a make-up job. He was quite sure, he had found himself a God.

“I'm Alex and you are?”

“Ganesha.”

Bingo.

“You're a Hindu god, aren't you?”

“Yes I am. Are you one of my followers? I must say you don't look very Hindu.”

“Well, no I must admit, I'm not. I do eat a lot of curries, though.”

“That's not a pre-requisite for being Hindu, you know.”

“No, I realise that, I just thought... No, you're right, that was silly. I'm a little awed. I still haven't gotten used to bumping into Gods.”

“We didn't exactly bump into each other. I was eating a meal and you waltzed in and basically invited yourself to eat with me. I imagine you'd meet a fair few Gods with that kind of behaviour.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..”

“No, it's quite alright. I'm glad for the company. There are only four of us here for the ....” Ganesha stopped.

“It's alright, I know about the conference.”

“Yes, well there are only four Hindu gods here, and the other three are Vishnu, Brahma and Shiva. And they always tend to stick together, you know with the whole Holy Trinity thing and all.”

“Oh, of course. Yeh I know all about the Holy Trinity.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“You see in Hindu, while we believe there are hundreds of dieties, we are in fact all simply elements on the one God. The Holy Trinity is the three main aspects of God. Brahman represents , Vishnu is the sustainer and Shiva Is the ?”

“Sounds kind of complicated.”

“This is the afterlife, it's not meant to be a walk in the park.”

“I guess so.”

“Mind if I ask a question?”

“What's with the elephant head?”

“It's my head.”

“Yes, I realise that, but I was wondering how you came to have the head of an elephant.”

“My father chopped my head off and replaced it with an elephant's head.”

“Oh.”

“It's alright, you'd be surprised how useful a trunk can be.”

“Oh, I'm sure it would be. So why did he chop your head off?”

“Well, you see my mother was having a bath and decided she wanted another child so she moulded me out of the dirt from her skin.”

“She moulded you from the dirt from her skin.”

“Didn't I just say that?”

“Yes, of course. Go on.”

“And then once created she asked me to guard the door for her while she finished taking her bath. So I went and guarded the door.”

“Yes..”

“Well, then my father came home... except I didn't know he was my father on account of the fact that I had never met him, had I?”

“I guess these things tend to happen when you get moulded from dirt.”

“I guess so. Anyway, so being a good son, I would let this man in. After all, my mother was taking a bath.”

“Fair call.”

“And so then man; my father Vishnu gets kind of annoyed because someone is trying to stop him from entering his home.”

“Fair call again.”

“And chops my head off.”

“That can't have been pleasant.”

“Well, bit of a shock for someone who has only existed for a couple of hours to suddenly be headless.”

“I imagine so.”

“Anyway, my mother is pissed. She starts screamning that she's going to bring about the downfall of the world if Vishnu doesn't fix up the mess he's created. So my father goes out and first thing he runs into is an elephant. So he chops off its head, puts it on my head and that's how I became the elephant God.”

“Top story.”

“Yes, it always seems to go down a treat at dinner parties.”

“And what are you the God of?”

Ganesha sighed. Just once, he wished to run into someone who wasn't Hindu, who actually knew of his existence. Still, he had already taken a liking to Alex so he continued.

“I'm the remover of obstacles, I bring good luck to those who worship me. I tend to get prayed to before an event, or if someone goes off traveling or so on.”

Alex couldn't believe his luck. He'd found a God who could bring him lucky, he couldn't have done any better if he tried. Krishna, the unauthentic Indian approached the table.

“Excuse me, can I take your order?”

Alex decided he'd give the Neon Elephant a go.

“OK, I guess I'd like the...”

“Can I give you some godly advice,” said Ganesha.

“Shoot”

“Don't order anything that's masquerading as edible.”

“A Coke”, Alex said.

“Always, the Coke. Always they order the Coke.”

“So are you here for the conference?”

Alex thought about this for a second. He'd found a God and now he had to somehow convince that God that he should use whatever divine powers he had to help him win money at the gambling tales. Alex had long ago found that he wasn't all that good at persuasion or ordering people about, but he played the pity card pretty well. And if ever Alex had been pitiful, he was certainly pitiful right now.

“Well, not exactly but sort of.”

“Like this is not exactly Indian food, but sort of.”

“You got it.”

So Alex told Ganesha all about Athena and all about Tiffany and the conference.

“So you see, what I really need is a little help to win a million bucks on the tables.”

“Well, it would be nice to have a friend at the conference. And I'm certainly not about to order dessert. Let me go to the toilet and then we'll go find a nice little casino to fleece.”

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

“My fellow gods of war. I thank you for giving up your time to sit myself and Ares, and to potentially discuss the opportunity to change the course of history from here till eternity. If we choose we can once again be all powerful and all-mighty, but to do so we have to unite. To put aside any differences we may have had in the past and come together for this common cause.”
Vulcan knew very well that the path that he has set upon was incredibly risky and dangerous. If word got out that he was planning to destroy all other gods, well, it’s fair to say, that the rest of the godly realms weren’t going to wanting to see down with him for a cup of tea.

To use Las Vegas parlance, this bet was “all in”.
As such, Vulcan and Ares knew that they had to pick his partners-in-destruction carefully. One word to the wrong person, and it would al come crashing down on top of them.

They had spent the past couple of nights, crusing Las Vegas looking for “disturbances”. Chances are any commotion or aggressive behaviour probably had a war god at the centre of it.

Last night, he had heard about a ruckus at Treasure Island casino. He quickly found one bar, where a lone, solitary Polyneseian man mountainm was quietely sipping on a drink. However, around his them were furniture strewn all over the place. Broken chairs, tables and glasses. Security staff and cleaners hovered near by, but not too near-by, waiting for the man to decide to move on.
A war god for sure.
Vulcan sidlled up to the man, who had limbs like tree trunks.

“Love you work,” Vulcan said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can do as you like, but they seem to have stopped asking me for money, eh bro?”

“It’s an insult, that a war god should ever have to pay. War gods don’t pay, they take what they want.”
“Amen to that, bro,” said the Maori war god.
“Let me introduce myself, I am Vulcan, Roman God of Fire.”
“Tūmatauenga, Maori god of War.”

“So someone gave you a bit of trouble.”

“No trouble, bro.”
Tūmatauenga had walked into the bar, hoping to catch the All Blacks Rugby Match against South Africa. That was about as brutal as things got for him these days. However, he was dismayed to see that there was another funny game with lots of men in helmets and padding seemingly running into each other with no logic or purpose.

It was infact the Patriots versus Cowboys play-off match, and deep into the fourth quarter scores were tied with the Patriots setting up for what-would hopefully be the winning play.

As the game had wound down to a tense finish, a good sized-crowd had assemebled to watch, including a hard-core group of Patriots fans, who were sitting down drinking right in front of the giant screen.

“Tūmatauenga walked in front of the Patrior contingent
“Get out of the way, you moron,” yelled out, one of the braver/more stupid Patriot fans.
Tūmatauenga turned to them. “I’m going to watch the Rugby.”
He turned back, and used his little godly powers to start flipping through the stations, until he found the All Blacks versus Springboks.
At this point, the entire bar was hollering to turn back on the NFL station.
“What the hell did you do,” said the same loud-mouth. He’d packed down a good dozen beers throughout the game, and although he’d probably never seen a bigger man, he figured he had numbers on his side.

“You get our game back on, or things aren’t going to turn out too well for you, buddy,” said the Patiots fan, high on dutch courage.
Tūmatauenga smiled. These were the little moments he lived for these days.

“No, Bro, things aren’t going to work out well for you,” he said leaning down and poking the soft jelly chest of his aggressor.
At this point, the dozen-or-so mates that jelly-chest was with, stood up. Which had a lot more to do with wanting their game back, then standing up for their friend.
Jellly chest was now looking up the Tūmatauenga starting to reconsider just how important the patriots game was. The guy looked like the could probably take everyone in the bar, which is probably because he could. And for all of his bravado, it wasn’t like he was a experienced bar-room brawler. But he had seen movies. So he turned around picked up his chair and swung into the big, broad shoulders of Tūmatauenga.
For it’s part, the chair was quite taken aback by this suddent turn of events. There it had been, minding its own business, supporting the ample backside of the heavier-than-usual patron, when suddenly it was flying through the air. The chair saw what it was headed towards, said its last rites and prepared for the impact.
To his credit, the lard-arse Patriots fan had swung, the chair heavily enough for it crash into the Tūmatauenga’s shoulder and splinter.
As Lard-arse’s body coiled, he realised that this course of action was only going to go one of two ways. He would level the big Poly guy, the game would return to the screen and he’d go down as a legend. It would be a story he’d pull out at every Patriots game, and then some, as to how he’d shown this giant of a beast, what Patriots fans were made at. Or he was going to end up in hospital.

About an hour later, Mrs Lard Arse would get a call asking her to come and visit her husband in Las Vegas hospital.  Tūmatauenga barely noticed the timber of the chair cracking across his frame. Instead, he simply  lifted his head into the air, and a loud, deep laugh that sounded like it had erupted form the depths of a volcanoe. The dozen or so Patriot fans who had stood up behind Lard Arse, looked at their numbers and thought surely no man could pose a threat. Of course, they were right. No man could, but Tūmatauenga was no man.
And so the fight ensued, As a flurry of furniture, firsts and feet pummelled into Tūmatauenga, he simply began swatting away the pathetic men like flies. The sound of broken furniture gave way to the sound of broken bones, and as a dozen or so men lay busted on the floor, those patrons who either a) not drunk or b) had a modicum of intelligence, simply walked away. Some ran.
Security would soon follow. Armed with tasers they attempted to bring the man to the gound, but he just laughed. Each time a little louder, and with a little more joy. Five security guards joined a dozen or so Patriots fans in casualty that night. Eventually. Someone was smart enough to decide that this patron, was probably just better left alone.
The All Blacks won, as they inevitably do, and Tūmatauenga was in the best mood he’d been in for quite some time, so he was more receptive than he’d usually be to this unknown god.
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” said Vulcan. “So much fuss over such little. Remember the days when blood was more plentiful with water. When you would do battle for months on end, winner takes all.3

Tūmatauenga just grunted. That was War God for Yes.

“What if I said to you, there was a way we could return to those days. When people like you and me, had real power and purpose. Would you be interested,”

“Just tell me where to sign, Bro.”

After a number of interactions like that, Jupiter had assembled Mars, Ares, Tūmatauenga, as well as Anhur from Egypt, Hacihman from Japan, and Ku from Hawaii.

Vulcan knew he would need more, but this was a good start.
But first he had to make sure, those present were really on board.
“So let me give you this opportunity,” Vulcan continued. “If you don’t share my vision that us Gods of War should rise up, and re-claim what is ours. If you don’t have the courage to go to war, and risk everything, then I ask that you leave now. For those who stay there will be no turning back.”

The Gods of War around the table, simple communicated as they are want to do. They began grunting and banging the table. They were ready to fight.
Vulcan smiled. He had his generals. It was time to prepare for war


Chapter 18

Ganesha has an elephant's head but sometimes he felt he had an elephant's bowels as well.

“Oh that is not pleasant,” he said to himself quietly.

Just as he was thinking that he was somewhat relieved that no-one else was in the bathroom with him, he heard the door swing open and footsteps followed. Not one set of footsteps but probably two, maybe three.

“Look you little worm, you will tell me what I need to know or I'll rip down this entire friggin restaurant brick by brick.”

“I'm so sorry Sir, I do not know what you are talking about.”

Ganesha heard a thump and he guessed that one of the men had been pushed heavily against the wall.

“Look, you can drop the phony accent. I know exactly who you are and what this place is. I know that you know where I can find what I'm looking for.”

Suddenly the man that had previously spoken in such a broad Indian tongue started speaking as though he'd come straight out of the New York Bronx.

“OK buddy, just watch the Sari? OK, I'm going to trust you. I don't normally do business with people who I haven't been formally introduced to but you seem to know what you want. I warn you though, if you cross me I know people.”

“You know people,” the other very deep voice said almost chuckling.

“Yes, people in high places. People with a lot of power who can do a lot of damage”

The man with the deep voice this time laughed out loud.

“OK, little man just tell me where I can get what I want.”

“You want how much again?”

“Enough to blow up a building. A big building.”

“That's not going to be easy and you want it by when?”

“I need it within 24 hours, 36 hours tops.”

“OK, I'll see what I can do.”
“You won't fail me or you'll not live another day,” the man with the deep voice said. “The money is in the suitcase. I'll be Suite 1204 at the Tropicana.”

“Mind if I ask what your going to do with all that explosive.”

“Do you worship a God?”

“Well, there's that statue of the dude with six arms out in the restaurant.”

“Well, you just may end up finding one of his arms laying among the debris.”

It's probably fair to say that if Ganesha hadn't been sitting on the toilet, he would have shit himself.

Chapter 19

Athena stood over her father. She couldn't remember a day she had felt worse. As it wasn't bad enough that her father was on his deathbed, she had run into Alex and that had not been a pleasant experience.

Athena loved Alex with all her heart. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him and that was a problem.

Marriages between Gods and mortals have never worked. Sure, Gods have always had flings with beautiful mortal creatures but a marriage can just never be. Eighty, ninety years in the life of an immortal is like a day in the life of a human. You can't totally give yourself over to one person when you know your going to have to spend the vast majority of your life living without that person.

It was a pain Athena couldn't bare to imagine. She knew the pain that she felt now, having told Alex that they could never be together, which was worse than any of the scars she had felt on the battlefield, was only going to be magnified a thousand times over if she allowed herself and Alex to build a life together. How much tighter their bond would become through out the good times and the hard times. Their children and their children's children. But then it would all end. Alex would die. And Athena would live while her children's children's children were born and then her children died.

An immortal lifetime without the man who was meant to be by your side, not to mention one's offspring would be too much to bare.

And that was not even starting with actually telling Alex the truth about who she was and who her family was. And she didn't even let herself contemplate the whole introduce the boyfriend to the family routine. No, it would just be so much easier to end it now, before it got too deep, before it meant too much.

What had torn Athena more than anything was realising that for Alex the relationship was already twenty thousand leagues under the sea. It was only when faced with the prospect of losing him, that she really, really saw in his eyes what she meant to him. She saw a level of devotion that she had never ever seen before and when she told him it was over she saw a kind of despair and a hurt she had never seen before, too.

She almost relented. She almost decided that fifty years was better than none. But she had gone too far down the road, it was too late to turn back. Alex was weeping and she kissed him on the forehead and left. And then she wept too.

At that time she felt she could feel no greater pain, but right now she felt so much worse. The only thing that hurt more than seeing the despair in Alex' eye was the thought that the pain had so easily gone away. That he could so soon forget her and move onto the next woman. She knew it was selfish. She knew that she should be happy that he had so easily got on with his life, that he was no longer hurting, but she couldn't help it. She wanted him still to be feeling her sadness.

In fact, more specifically she wanted him to be sharing her sadness. Her sadness for her loss of Alex but also the pain she felt for the state her father was in. All she wanted was to have Alex hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright. Because when Alex told her everything would be alright, as he often did, he had always been correct.

And as she looked upon her father, pale, drawn, lifeless, she just couldn't possibly see how anything was going to be alright.

Chapter 20

“Quick, we've got to get to the Treasure Island hotel,” Ganesha said.

“You make it sound like a matter of life and death,” Alex said.

“It may well be. I need to speak to Vishnu.”

Alex and Ganesha immediately hailed a cab and ordered the driver to take them to the Treasure Island hotel. Upon arrival, Ganesha jumped straight out the cab and marched up the path towards the hotel.

“Is this where your staying.”

“Yes, but more important it's where Vishnu and the other Lords are staying. They will know what to do.”

“Ganesha are you going to tell me what is going on?”

“Not yet.” Then all of a sudden he stopped. “Tell me did you see any men walk out of the toilet just after and just before me.”

“Funny you say that. The restaurant owner seemed to be having quite a heated discussion with this big bloke. And when I say big, I mean big. He must have been seven foot tall.”

“Excellent and you could describe him to Vishnu for me.”

“Sure.”

“Good come with me.”

Ganesha led Alex into the hotel and passed the poker machines and over to the tables. Alex sensed this was not exactly the right time to try and lay a favour on Ganesha, but then Ganesha did need him. Maybe it was exactly the right time. He grabbed the Elephant man on the shoulder.

“Ganesha, the tables. You promised.”

“Alex, there is no time.”

“It will take a minute. We'll play a number on roulette. I'll only need to win twice. Remember this may be a matter of life and death for me too, you know.”

Sure, that was over dramatising Alex situation, but it seemed to work.

Ganesha stopped. “Alright, but let's do it quickly.”

Alex took out a wad of ten thousand dollar notes and slapped them down on the nearest roulette table.

“There's ten thousand dollars, there.”

“We'll need to count them Sir,” said the croupier.

“Sure thing. That's a life-time's worth of tips there.”

“Alex we don't have time.”

“Just give me a minute Ganesha. What number should I bet on.”

“Whatever number your heart tells you. It will be so.”

Eventually the croupier came back and asked Alex how he would like his chips.

“I don't care just put it all on number 19.” It was the number of Athena's apartment.

“Are you sure Sir?”

“Never been more sure in my life.”

Alex was sure. After all, he had a God on his side. He turned to Ganesha who was nerviously shifting his wiehgt from foot to foot. All of a sudden, he didn't seem so sure anymore. Ganesha was distracted. He didn't want to be here. He could make a mistake and Alex would be stuffed.

“Are you alright, Ganesha.”

“No, Alex, I'm far from alright. Would you hurry up, please.”

Alex turned to the wheel where the croupier had declared last bets. Alex' heart started thumping. He looked around to Ganesha once more, who was just looking nervously at the ceiling. That couldn't be a good sign. The least he could be doing was looking at the wheel. How was he going to affect the outcome of the spin if he wasn't looking at the wheel, which by now was starting to slow.

The little ball slid from its place in the middle of the wheel and bounced into a number. 8 and then it hopped out and bumped into 32 and then into 24 before taking a final leap into..

“Black 19,” declared the croupier.

“Yes, yes.” yelled Alex. The crowd around the table gave out a cheer as they realised Alex had just potted himself $340,000. Not quite the million he needed but it was certainly a good start. Alex was congratulated as well wishers patted him on the back. He was sure he'd felt this good before, he just couldn't remember when.

He turned to Ganesha to thank him. The Elephant God had certainly come through for him. Except Ganesha wasn't there. Alex looked around frantically. He still needed Ganesha and Ganesha still needed him. Surely, he wouldn't have left without him. Alex called out: “Ganesha where are you?”

“Ganesha?”

But Ganesha was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 21

“Fuck, this is turning out to be a very, very bad day,” said Jack Casino after being told that another punter had just won $340,000 with a $10,000 bet on the roulette table.

“We've had worse, Sir.”

“Like when?”

“Well, we've not had worse, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

“It was absolutely the wrong thing to say, James. I've got a mind to sack you on the spot. Fuck. So you're saying to me, he walked in, placed one bet of $10,000 on Black 19 and won.”

“That's exactly what happened.”

“These things just don't happen and they don't all happen on the same day. Something is going on and fuck me, I'm going to find out. That bastard hasn't been paid out yet, has he.”

“No, he's waiting to cash his chips now.”

“Can we pay him.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Do we have to pay him.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Well, if we have to pay the little prick I'm going to get some answers first.”

Jack marched down to the Casino floor and he was not in a very good mood. He had lost more money in a day than a Casino typically lost in three months. There is no way, the casino could come back from here to make a profit and as such Jack's chances of taking home Casino manager of the year had walked out of the joint alongside more than $20 million in big wins. What was strangest was the money hadn't been lost to high rollers. It was just people walking in off the street and having extraordinary luck. Funny looking people, too, Jack thought.

This guy didn't look funny looking. He looked pretty much like any other Joe Blow who might blow in off the street. Except this Joe Blow was about to walk out with $340,000 of Jack's money and he was not the least bit happy about it.

“Congratulations, Sir. I'm Jack Casino and I just wanted to personally congratulate you on your tremendous stroke of luck.”

“It was lucky wasn't it,” Alex said.

Fucking great, Jack thought. A fucking Australian. Could his day get any worse.

“Well, you tell me,” said Jack with a wry smile just managing to make it to his lips.

Alex was now very glad he hadn't pressed his luck. He had stood there after losing Ganesha trying to decide if he should try and press his luck. Maybe Ganesha had blessed him so his next bet would win as well. Maybe he could gamble and win all night. But maybe not. But Alex was now glad he had not bet on, not because he doubted whether he would have won or not, but because he had obviously managed to attract the attention of the hotel.

“Super lucky,” Alex said. “That's a life time's worth of tips there and would you believe this. I had a dream that I would walk into a casino and put one bet on Black 19 and it would win. And would you believe it, it did.”

“Tips, hey? What do you do?”

“I'm a bar man – in Washington. Little bar called The Suffolk.”

“A bar man, hey. Not that you're probably be thinking of going back to it now, but we're always looking for good bar man. You know, I had a guy apply last week couldnt' even tell me what was in a Black Russian.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm sure you'd be able to tell me what was in a Black Russian.”

“Of course. I am a barman after all.”

“Excellent. So what's in a Black Russian.”

Fuck. Alex tried to think. An ex-girlfriend of his in London used to drink them but he'd never ever watched what they used to put in them. He was pretty sure it ws Vodka but that was all he could recall.

“You wouldn't believe it, but my head is spinning so much I just can't recall. Vodka of course, but oh this is so embarassing... I'd be sacked on the spot, if this had ever happened to me at work.”

Got you, you little prick. Jack absolutely excelled in catching people out in lying and he took great delight in doing so. He was quite sure that if he'd wanted to, he could have made a great lawyer. “I'm sure you would,” Jack said. “Look, I'd like you to come with me, it's going to take a little while to get that sum of money made up and I'd like to shout you a drink while we wait. Let's make it a Black Russion, why don't we?”

“Hell, why not,” said Alex, who was starting to feel decidely nervious. He had good reason.

On the way to Jack's office, he had quizzed the man who claimed his name was Alex constantly and the fucker was definitely hiding something. Jack knew when someone was hiding something. He had a sixth sense for it. In fact, Jack could generally tell when anyone was up to no good. They say women have good intuition, well no woman alive had intuition like Jack and he absolutely knew Alex had something to hide. Something very big to hide.

Jack sat Alex down. He'd decided after a bunch of subtle questioning, that surprise was going to be the best form of attack. Whatever it was Alex was hiding, he was keeping close to his chest and not likely to reveal with any subtle prodding. Jack was going to have to knock it out of him.

He walked over to where Alex was sitting and leant over him, bring his face only inches away from Alex. And then he gave it two him. With both barrels.

“Look, you little Aussie mother fucker. I know and you know that you've cheated the casino out of this money. We've got the tapes, you must know that. But you know what, the last fucking thing I want is to have spent hours in front of a video machine and then get locked into a time consuming fucking court case after the police bust your ass, so I'm going to throw you a lifeline. You confess now, tell me what the fuck you and your mates have been up to and I'll let you go. Fuck, you can even take the fucking money. Option number two, is I will find out what the fuck is going on around here and I will make you so sorry that you ever even heard the name of this fucking casino.”

Jack suddenly back off. Alex was scared stiff. It had worked.

“So what's it going to be?”

Alex had suspected the casino manager was suspicious but he hadn't seen the tirade coming.

“Look, I've done nothing wrong.”

Jack went back on the attack. “I don't give a fuck. I just want to know what's going on, you crooked piece of fucking shit.”

Alex sat back and thought. He really had done nothing wrong. There was no rule any where about not asking a God for help. Fuck, people did it thousands of time, every day. Alex just happened to have very good connections. So what right, did this jack ass casino manager have to get stuck into him. Absolutely none.

“Look, you miserable cock head. I won that money fair and square and if I don't see it in the next minute, I'm going straight to the Nevada gaming authority and I'm going to tell them every last detail of this meeting and things could get a little uncomfortable for yourself.”

Alex had noticed the Casino Manager of the Year awards on Jack's desk. “You sure as fuck won't be winning any more of those.”

Jack knew he'd lost. He'd bluffed and his bluff had been called. It was time to fold and fast.

“Steady on, Sir. No need to use that kind of language. You'll have to excuse my little tirade, we've had some very unsavioury types go through here, trying all sorts of things, we just had to make sure, you're win was legitimate and you'll be happy to know I'm absolutely assured of your integrity. So I'm sorry if things got a little heated there, but we've all got our jobs to do, haven't we. Infact, to make it up for you, why don't you have a lobster dinner on the house tonight.”

“I'd just like my money,” said Alex.

“Of course.” Jack pushed the intercom money. “Is the gentleman's money ready?”

“It is Mr. Casino.”

“Well then bring it in, what are you waiting for.”

“I thought you said, don't bring it in until...”

Jack quickly let go off the intercom. “Ha, like I said, impossible to find good help anywhere these days.”

The door opened and Jack's off-sider James brought in the suitcase full on money.

“Here we go Sir. Your money $340,000. Don't go spending it all at once.”

“I'll do what I fucking please with it,” said Alex who wasn't buying any of the fake charm. “Have a good day,” he said before marching himself out the door.

If there was one thing Jack hated more than a smart ass, it was a smart ass walking out of his casino with a shitload of money. And if there was one thing Jack hated more than a smart ass walking out of his casino with a shitload money it was a smart ass Australian walking out of his casino with a shitload of money.

“I'm going to find out what fucking stunt you pulled here tonight and I'm going to bust your ass all the way back down under.”

DAY THREE

Chapter 22

Alex walked down to the convention room somewhat hesitantly. He was definetly feeling like a fraud which probably had something to do with the fact that he was, indeed, a fraud.

How would he, little Aussie Alex go trying to pass himself as a God. Sure, so far he'd done pretty well getting on famously with Gods. Zeus had taken to him and so too had Ganesha. He'd also done pretty well passing himself off as a God to people like Tiffany and Monique and Rachael on registration. However, he figured it was going to be a whole different story trying to mix with a league of Gods as equals.

However, before he had to deal with that, he would have to get through registration.

“Good morning, Mr. Overington. I hope you enjoyed your stay in the presidential suite.”

“Well, yes, it was quite comfortable. Not a lot to do, though.”

“All the more time for you to pull out a million or so of your famous dollar bills,” Monique said, the same insincere smile not moving from her lips. She was still very sceptical that this man, who didn't seem to have a hint of a godly aura was actually a God. Sure, he'd been able to make dollar bills appear somewhat miraculously from his pocket but any magician worth his salt would be able to do that. She noted that Alex was nervously shifting from one foot to the other. There was no way he had the money. If he thought he was going to bluff his way past Monique, he had another thing coming.

“You've got to understand, Miss...”

“Shirvington.”

“You've got to understand Miss Shirvington, it takes a lot of time to pull a million dollar bills.” Monique again noticed that Alex was looking around him as though he was expecting an assassin to jump out any second and put a bullet through his head. What did he think Monique was? Head of the mafia or something?

Perhaps that was actually it. After all, they were in Las Vegas, perhaps the guy had seen too many gangster movies. Maybe, Alex Overington really did believe if he didn't come up with the money, she was going to have a horse head delivered to his bed the next morning.

Which was of course, ridiculously. Monique ran an events company. The world's biggest, more powerful events company, but an events company, nethertheless. Yes, she could probably get the company's lawyers to slap a gigantic writ on him for non-payment of fees, but even that was unlikely. This was one of those conferences that the lawyers turned a blind eye to. In fact, only those directly involved with the event would even acknowledge its existence.

What Monique couldn't work out, though, was that if Alex was so scared of the consequences of not paying, why was he here. Wouldn't he just have got the hell out of here? Unless, he only had some of the money?

“That's understandable, Mr. Overington. Never let it be said that the Blah blah events company is not an understanding company.” And then just to keep the illusion going. “Up to a point, of course.”

“Of course, of course,” Alex said. He hoisted his suitcase up onto the registration table and opened it. “It's $330,000. It's all I could manage at such short notice.”

Monique was delighted. This was more than enough to put the event into profit. Hell, it was more than any other delegate had paid. Perhaps, the Australian really was a God? Momentarily, the insincere smile was replaced by one of absolute delight. It was a rare thing for Monique.

Now if only she could get some more money out of him, she might actually meet or even beat her budget and then she'd be able to go back to the managers at Blah blah who had described the event as ridiculous. She'd be inline for much greater things, if she could pull this one off. She quickly replaced the smile with a frown.

“Oh, is that all. Mr. Overington you dissapoint me.” She thought she'd push it a little further. “Worse than that, you dissapoint the firm.” And she let her eyes wander over the convention centre as if to indicate that 'the firm' had eyes all over the place. She was kind of enjoying this. It took her back to her days when she was the lead in her class' drama production in high school.

“I'm so sorry, Ms Shirvington, if you could just give me another day, I'll be able to get you all of the money.”

“Oh, I hope so Mr. Overington. For your sake, I hope so,” she said, with a look of insincere concern for his future.

However, she didn't want to push it too far or else the Australian money god might want to skip town and so she quickly put her cheery insincere smile back on.

“So go through. I hear Lucifer has an absolute killer keynote for everyone this morning and he's about to start so you should hurry.”

Alex breathed a sigh of relief. He'd gotten away from it. He walked through to where the various Gods and prophets were nibbling on biscuits and sipping on coffee. Alex wondered what great issues Gods would be discussing between each other, so he kept an ear out as he passed by the various conversations.

“It was definitely the best lapdance I ever had...”

“I can't believe the braves are 8 and zero...”

“She left me and she's able to take me for everything I've got, how does that work?”

Alex hated walking into these situations. Everybody had already formed small group conversations and it just wasn't polite to suddenly butt oneselve's into such a dialogue. No, the only option in a circumstance like this was to find someone looking just as uncomfortable as you and form your own small group conversation.

And there standing in the corner was another person looking just as uncomfortable as Alex.

Alex approached the man, who broke into a smile as he realised that somebody was actually approaching him to chat.

“Hi, I'm Alex,” said Alex, thrusting out a hand to greet the God. Alex had decided if he was going to fork over a million dollars to attend this conference, he was going to try and meet as many Gods as he possibly could. After all, it wasn't everyday you got the opportunity to network with divine beings.

“Ay, I'm Ogma. How you be doing today?” the God said in a deep Irish accent.

“I'm great, yourself?”

“I'm grand. Looking forward to the keynote.”

“Should be interesting?”

“Ay, this is public speaking it's always interesting, even when it isn't interesting.”

This befuddled Alex. He generally found it to be exactly the opposite. He'd met many people who you could sit down with and they could tell you a great yarn, but then when they got onto a stage even though they said exactly the same thing in exactly the same way, it was dead boring.

Alex had always read reports from conferences where it said such and such speaker was an entertaining and interesting speaker, but the fact was in most cases conference speakers were quite simply, dead boring. Which kind of made Alex wonder again, why he'd just given $340,000 away for the priviledge of attending another conference.

“So, I'm assuming from your accent that you're Irish?”

“Ay, I'm Ogma the Irish God of Eloquence.”

“Great to meet, you Ogma I'm Alex, the Australian God of Dollar Bills.”

“The Australian God of Dollar Bills?”

“That's right.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Excuse me?”

Alex was stunned. He hadn't expected his act would be quite that see through.

“There was once an Australian God
Who's powers were kind of odd
For he ruled over dollar bills
Which was a very strange skill
Because Aussies use coins not a wad.”

“Excuse me?”

“May I suggest 'I beg your pardon?' as an alternative expression of credulity. You already said excuse me and I think you'll find you get a lot more impact if you try and mix up your phrasing.”

“Your saying I'm not an God?”

“I concur that poem was not my greatest effort, but I would have thought the meaning was more than evident. You Australians don't even use dollar bills, you have dollar coins. Therefore it would seem highly unlikely that there would be a god of Australian dollar bills. And that's before we even start on the fact that Australia's mythology stems from its aboriginal history and I'm quite sure that no ancient aboriginal ever paid for anything with a dollar bill. The entire pretense is simply implausible.”

Alex thought about what Ogma had said and he was absolutely right.

“Bugger,” Alex said. He'd meant to say it to himself but it had sort of slipped from his lips.

“Don't worry, though, I'm not about to turn you in as an imposter,” Ogma said.

“I'd be forever indebted.”

“There once was a God who was exposed
As nothing more than ...”

“I would have thought the limerick was a little base for a so-called God of Eloquence.”

“Well, as God of Eloquence, I'm also God of writers, public speaking and of course poetry. And please, remember I am Irish.”

“Oh of course.”

A bell rang and the doors opened and people started to file into the convention site.

“So Alex, Imposter Australian God of Dollar Bills shall we go see what the Dark Prince has to say.”

“I think we should.”

“You know I hear his annunciation is quite brilliant.”

“Never heard it said, myself.”

Alex and Ogma Filed into the dark auditorium. On the stage in front of the many seats there was a lecturn in front of a large black curtain. Alex had been to too many of these conventions before and he presumed the black curtain was hiding something that would soon be revealed.

The many gods slowly filed in the auditorium and once seated a spotlight shined down onto the lecturn. Walking out onto stage, a middle aged gentleman in khaki pants and polo shirt walked out.

“Hello, Gods and Prophets,” the man said as he reached the lecturn. “I'm Joe Event and I'm managing director of Blah Blah Events Company.”

Joe Event paused. He actually figured he had the whole public speaking routine down pat and he found that if you paused after introducing yourself invariably you got a round of applause. Except, he'd chosen the wrong crowd. There was no way a group of Gods would ever applaud a lowly mortal. Even a mortal who owned a Ferrari, a Beverly Hills mansion and who recently was on the Cover of Forbes magazine.

Unfortunatley, Joe Event was so used to addressing people who believed that anyone who owned a Ferrari, a Beverly Hills mansion and who was recently on the cover of Forbes magazine deserved a round of applause for simply announcing who they were, that he didn't quite know how to handle the silence that followed. So he paused a little longer and the Gods responded by staying silent for a little longer. By now the silence had crossed over into that period of time where it could only be described as an “uncomfortable silence.” Joe Event knew enough about public speaking to know that any moment now, it would become an “embarrassing silence” so he went onwards.

Ogma nudged Alex. “Not a good start,” he whispered. Alex hoped to hell that Ogma was not going to give an ongoing critique of the public speaking abilities.

“This is perhaps the most prestigious conference ever held in the history of the universe. In the past, we're run conference for the world's most powerful businessmen and women, we've established events for the most famous of celebrities and we've hosted conferences attended by many of the world's heads of states.”

“Yet, never before, in all of history am I aware of any conference that has been held for Gods, Goddesses and Prophets. I believe that this is the most powerful group of beings ever grouped together at a single location.”

“Much better,” Ogma whispered to Alex. “He's playing to the crowd's ego, that's a good technique.”

Alex liked Ogma but he had already started formulating how he might find another seat.

“I realise you're not gathered to hear me, so soon I'll turn the floor over to your first keynote speaker – the very famous, or should I say infamous, Satan, prince of darkness. However, I would like to point out that in your conference kits you will find a feedback sheet. If you could please rate the various sessions and provide any useful feedback so that we can put on an even superior event for you in future centuries it would be very much appreciated.”

Alex had never filled out a feedback sheet in his life. He had never known anyone he had ever filled out a feedback sheet. Yet he had never known a conference not to include a feedback sheet.

“So again, I'm Joe Event, don't hesitate to see myself or any of the staff if you have any problems. Enjoy the conference.”

Joe stood there and waited for his round of applause. Again, silence. By this time, he had learnt his lesson and he quickly turned and marched off the stage, swearing he'd never do another conference for these ungrateful bastards again.

“That guy really needs to work on his timing and develop a deeper awareness of his audience,” Ogma whispered to Alex.

Alex hadn't heard a word the guy had said. He'd been formulating various ways of getting the hell away from Ogma. He'd just about decided he was going to excuse himself to go to the toilet, but he really didn't want to miss any of the keynote. So he decided, he should just be direct.

“Ogma, would you shut the fuck up.”

“I was critiquing again, wasn't I?”

“Yes.” Ogma knew he had a problem. As the God of Eloquence, he felt it was his duty to point out anything that was, well, less than eloquent. The only problem was, very few people outside aging English teachers shared Ogma's concern for the most effective and proper use of languages. Indeed, so annoying was this habit, that a number of celtic wars had erupted over it. There was the Battle of I Before E Except After C as well as the Great War of The Split Infinitive.

In fact, Ogma's fellow Irish Gods and followers got so sick of being plunged into battle over Ogma's unrelenting nit picking over language, that ?, the Irish God of ? Had finally sat Ogma down.

“We need to have a talk Ogma,” said ?.

“Sure, you name the language.”

“Ogma, I don't know if you realise it, but you tend to have a tendency to correct other people's speech.”

“Well, ?, surely if something is worth saying, it's worth saying properly.”

“Ogma, I'm only going to say this to you, one time. So please listen. Shut the fuck up.”

Ogma actually considered shut the fuck up to be quite an eloquent expression. Short, concise and expressive. So when Alex used the very same expression, his estimation in the eyes of Ogma went up considerably.

Of course, Alex did not realise this. And he had closed his eyes and was getting reading for a bolt of lightening to come down and turn him to ashes. He thought there were probably ways of dealing with Gods and probably telling them to shut the fuck up, was not one of them. Except no bolt of lightening was thrown at Alex, instead Ogma just said sorry and proceeded to shut the fuck up.

Momentarily, Alex could hear nothing but complete silence. Which might have prompted Alex to question whether or not you can hear silence and if you can isn't silence by definition not silent. However, before his mind was tempted to try and ponder some absurb philosophical discussion, the conference room was suddenly filled with the sound of a number of very, very loud guitars.

The curtain dropped and there on stage was an ultra hard core death metal band playing some very loud, very heavy death metal. All of the musicians wore black complete with black t-shirt with some kind of satanist symol. All had long hair which hung over their faces as they studied the fretboard of their guitars as they frantically riffed.

As they played, a lone figure started to descend from the ceiling. It was most definitely Lucifer, or at least a representation of Lucifer. The figure was also dressed in black with a cape, horns and had huge wings from which Alex could clearly see that wires were slowly letting the figure drop to the stage. Alex found this somewhat dissapointing. For while, he appreciated the showmanship, he would have thought the dark prince could have at least flown down from the ceilings without the use of wires.

The devil finally planted his feet on the stage in the middle of the musicians, where upon he grabbed the microphone and roared. He wasn't a particularly chilling roar, Alex thought. Alex had heard better roars from the neightbourhood death metal band that played a few garages up from his house in Washington.

Then Lucifer proceeded to chant in his most evil voice, which Alex notes didn't sound very evil at all. “You've got to market or die, you've got to market or die, you've got to market or die, you've got to market or die.”

He roared again, which seemed to be the symbol for the musicians to go ballastic. The guitarists and bass players began smashing up their instruments and the drummer put his foot through the bass before proceeding to knock over the cymbals and the rest of the drums. Satan reached behind him and pulled out from a container what appeared to be a bat. He
bit it's head off and then proceeded to spit blood across the stage. Except, none of it was particularly horrifying or offensive, rather it all appeared somewhat comical.

By this time, the music had stopped, all except for a prolonged screech of feedback. This was primarily because there were no longer any instruments left to play because they had all been smashed up. The sound guy then presumably cut the feedback as the musos left the stage and the devily figure was left alone in front of the microphone.

“I am Lucifer,” he roared. “And I'm here to present you with two options.” Lucifer then held up one finger “Market” and then the other “or die.”

He paused. Just long enough to let the words have maximum effect but not long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

“Very impressive,” Ogma said to Alex, before realising he'd begun critiquing again. “Oops, sorry, slipped out.”.

Chapter 23

“Welcome to the first ever Marketing Miracles convention,” Lucifer said, returning to his normal speaking voice which was kind of high-pitched and non-threatening. Certainly, the last adjective you would have applied to it was evil.

“It really is a great pleasure for me to be able to address all of you this morning because I think I have some really strong messages for you to take home with you.”

“Before we do that, however, I think the first thing we need to do is break down some preconceptions.”

“The first is the belief that I'm a great death metal singer. I think my performance showed that while it's a bit of a passtime of mine, my band is best left in the garage.”

“Amen to that,” cried out the conference's first heckler and the gods laughed in appreciation. Lucifer laughed too

“Don't worry we're not about to release a single anytime soon. More importantly though, I've been talking to you a lot of you guys before the convention at a few of the bars and godly hangouts (Alex wanted to know why no-one had told him about the godly hangouts) and the one message that kept coming through to me was 'Why are we here?'. 'What is the point?', 'Isn't religion a monopoly?'

“Well, I think I am living proof that that just isn't so. Sure, “you know who” has done an all-mighty job of expanding the reach of his religion and I know he has won over a lot of your own followers, but the important thing for you to realise is that the game is not over.”

“Look at me. Who am I? Just a fallen angel. I wasn't like many of you great gods, who were born into powerful godly families and blessed with great gifts and powers. Yet, my followers grow by the day. Our beliefs are at the centre of many great modern cultural movements, the most obvious of which is metal music.”

“I'm not standing here, though, because I enjoy boasting. I really believe the success that I have had in growing Satanism can be had by all of you and I tell you this because I believe competition can only be healthy for all of us.”

Ask any company boss whether they believe in competition and, without question, you get an unequivocal endorsement of the benefits of competition and how it is the foundation of capitalism and therefore a free and just democratic society. Funny then, Alex thought how so much of capitalist action is directed towards removing competition. Companies take each other, get locked into price or marketing wars, or take legal action generally with the express aim of taking out the competition. The paradox is that capitalism is an economic model driven on the basis of competing until there is no competition. Or at least, little enough competition so that you can settle on some nice solid margins and profits.

“What have I done that perhaps your organisation can do more of. I'll say this without hesitation. It's all about marketing. Without marketing, you can have the greatest religion in the world, but if nobody knows about it, if you can't sell it then you're on the fast train to self-worship.”

“I know this is primarily a marketing conference, so you're going to hear from a lot of speakers who are going to come at you with a lot of contemporary ideas and strategies for improving your religion. However, before you listen to them, I urge you to go back to the basics. Just for a moment, let's go back to marketing 101 and what did we learn.”

“I've got three letters for you. U – S – P. Of course, you all know what USP stands for, right?”

Satan stepped into the crowd. He was big on audience-interaction and Ogma nodded appreciately as he did so. Except as he did so, he realised he may have made a mistake because as he looked at the faces looking up at him, they were all totally blank. Fuck, did not one of these Gods even know the most basic of marketing acronyms. No wonder they were all going down the drain, Satan thought.

Finally, Satan found one smiling face, whose look on his face clearly indicated he knew the answer. “Yes, sir, you can remember way back to Marketing 101, can't you?”

“Is it the United Postal Service?” said the God, who sounded Mayan.

“No, that would be UPS. That's a good one, Sir. Of course, USP refers to your Unique Selling Proposition.” Satan headed back up to the stage. He sensed this was going to be one of those gigs where it was safer to preach from afar then getting down and dirty.

“Unique Selling Proposition for those who haven't yet done your marketing basics,” said Satan and just about every audience member realised that at this point they were being addressed, “means what is it that distinguishes your product, your offering, so your religion stands apart from the rest of the competition.”

“You know who the competition is, you know what values it preaches, what promises it makes, so you need to differentiate yourself. You need to give the punters some reason for choosing you over the competition.”

“He offers white, so we market black. He preaches sex within the realms of marriage, so we preach sex with whoever or whatever you want. He spread his message via choirs, so we use death metal.”

“What we're doing Gods and Goddesses is differentiating our product. We're creating an alternative to the disillusioned, giving them choice and ultimately isn't that what everybody is after. Choice.”

“The problem is, you can't all of course be diametrically opposed to him, like I've done, because I like to think we've got that part of the market sown up, but you have to find your own differentiations. Your own Unique Selling Proposition.”

Satan decided he'd be brave and venture down into the audience again. He walked up to a little Chinese man sitting in the front row.

“And what's your name, Sir?”

“Ling Peo Su.”

“And you're the God of what, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I, Chinese God of Toilet.”

“OK, OK. Now I bet there are a lot of you feeling sympathy for poor Ling Peo Su. Thinking that being the God of Toilets is a pretty “crappy” position to hold.”

“Well, let me suggest to you nothing could be further than the truth. Now, I don't know about you guys, but sitting on the bog isn't always a pleasant experience. Think of those days where you just can't seem to budge the block-up, or those days where it feels like you're crapping bricks.”

“Hell, let's think of all those poor mortal sods who are bent over a toilet bowl right now, puking up their guts. What are they saying? I bet a fair portion of them are saying 'Oh my god'.

“Well why aren't they saying 'Oh my Ling Peo Su'.? I'll tell you why because Ling Peo Su hasn't been out their marketing himself, he hasn't been out there pushing his USP, that if you pray to Ling Peo Su he'll ease your bowells, he'll settle your stomach, he'll make the crapper a distinctly pleasurable experience.”

“Because do you think He cares about his follower's dunny experiences. Hell, do you think I care? No, that's not our business, but it's got to be yours Ling. You've got to define your USP and then market the bejezus out of it.”

“Let me ask you another question? How much marketing have you done Ling Peo Su.”

“I rely preddy much on word of mouth.”

“Get real Ling, word of mouth does not cut it these days, without an expansive marketing presence. You've got to get out and there market yourself. You've got to think about your marketing mediums and how you can best reach your audience.”

“And you've got so much at your disposal these days. It wasn't like the old days where we had to rely on some prehistoric cave man, sticking his finger in some ocre and finger painting a tribute to us. These days we've got television, we've got radio, we've got newspapers, magazines and of course the Internet. We're talking interactive, one-to-one marketing vehicles all at your disposal.”

“Ling, think of this. A guerilla-marketing campaign targetting public toilets. Grafitti on toilet doors. “Ling Peo Su feels your pain.” “Want relief? Pray to Ling Peo Su”. Buddy, the possibilities are endless.”

The devil then returned to the stage.

“Now, I sense there a few doubting thomases out there, asking themselves what I'm doing here? Why am I, here to help you.”

“As I said before competition benefits everyone. The point is there is no light without dark. Do you think he would attract nearly as many followers if there wasn't the fear that Satan was going to take your soul. We need more choice.”

“The other feeling I'm getting from you people is that you don't know how to start, your still struggling to come to terms with all this marketing talk. Well, that's what your here for, to learn from some of the best in the business.”

“And of course, if you're still struggling, you can give me a call. On top of the successful Satanism religion we run and the many highly successful occults we've branched out into, Lucifer Corp is proud to announce a new extension of our brand – Black Marketing. No matter what your religion, we'll sit down with you and formulate an integrated, end-to-end marketing and communications solutions that will have your followers banging down your doors. You can find us on the internet at www.lucifercorp.com/blackmarketing or call our friendly sales consultants at our 24 hour call centre on 1800 batshead..”

“So remember people...”

And with that the heavy guitars came back into action and Lucifer screamed again “Market of die” before fireworks exploded over the stage and the dark prince dissapeared behind a puff of smoke.

The Gods applauded mightily, not because they liked Lucifer's speech but because like every mortal on earth, they liked fireworks. Everybody likes fireworks. Which kind of made Lu Seo Ping, the Chinese God of Fireworks think he was onto a good thing. “Lu Seo Ping: Put more fireworks into your life”, he thought.

As the smoke died down, Joe Event came back onto the stage.

“Thank you, Ladies and gentleman. Let's all give another big round of applause to Lucifer, prince of darkness.”

Once again, the Gods stayed silent. The fireworks had finished and they had already applauded them once. Thee was no need for a reprise.

Again, Joe Event stood there in silence, cursing every ungrateful bastard in the room. He had a right mind to tell the hotel to not serve biscuits and coffees during the break.

“I'm sure you'll all agree that was a very dynamic and informative talk by Lucifer. Now we're about to break but before I do so, I have a message from an Indian gentleman asking that if anyone knew the whereabouts of a God called Ganesha, they said you can't miss him for the trunk, or had even been with over the past 24 hours could they please find them over by the registration

Chapter

Alex was, to put it bluntly, shitting himself. As far as he was concerned, he’d already rubbed the mafia up the wrong way and now he’d gone and upset a couple of powerful Indian gods.

He’d asked Ogma if he could come along for support, although he realised if he had upset the wrong kind of God that having a God who could spin out limericks at will was not going to be all that handy. Still, any God was better than none.

“Ogma, do you know anything about Indian gods?”

“A little. There’s the holy trinity. Brahma, the creator; Vishnu, the preserver. And Shiva, the destroyer.”

“Let’s pray to God it’s not Shiva then.”

“Which God?”

“Good point. All of them.”

“Well, if your going to do some praying, I’d be quite grateful if you could say a prayer to me”, Ogma said. “I could do with a pick me up.”

Hell, couldn’t do any harm.

“Dear godly Ogma, please don’t let it be Shiva waiting at registration for me.”

As they approached the registration, there was indeed an Indian gentleman waiting hopefully that someone could provide them with information on the missing Ganesha.

“Excuse me, we were told that if anyone had been with Ganesha, to come and see you.”

“Yes, yes, tell me what you know of Ganesha this instant or I will make your head explode, reach inside where your neck should be and pull out your heart”.

“You’re Shiva, aren’t you?” said Alex, before turning to Ogma. “Last time, I pray to you, mate”.

“Sorry! If it helps I can lighten the mood with a witty, yet meaningful rhyming couplet?”

“I’ll be right, thanks.”

Alex turned back to Shiva and his companion.

“I was with Ganesha yesterday. We were at a really bad Indian restaurant and then he got very panicked and told me he had to go back to your hotel, as he had something really important that he needed to tell you. One minute, he was beside me, and the next he was just gone.”

“Where was this  restaurant,” Shiva demanded. “Tell me immediately or I will pull out our fingernails and use them to scoop out your eyeballs. “

“No need for that.I want to help.  Ganesha was very kind to me. It's called the Blue elephant, not from from the stratosphere.”

“I must go,” said the Indian destroyer God.  “If I find out you have been misleading me I will… .”  In his panicked state, he struggled to  think of an appropriate torture.

“I get it,  I get it. It won’t be pleasant, “ interjected Alex, saving Shiva the trouble. “I will help look,  September if  I can find him back at your hotel. “

And with that Shiva grunted and left Alex hurriedly.