I guess I must have looked silly standing there staring at the entrance, like I was afraid to go through the front doors. It was true, though. I didn't really want to go in there. Not at all.
The huge sign in front of the place didn't do much to ease my mind. Below the massive "Sidewinder Casino" logo and the usual blurbs about big winners and huge jackpots, there was a picture of a buxom, scantily clad woman lying astride a giant deck of cards. She was holding a huge red die and smiling provocatively.
Unfortunately, as I knew all to well, it wasn't just an ad. It was a true life photo of what could be found inside.
I sighed and stepped forward, pushing my way through the doors and into the lobby. From what I could see, the Sidewinder looked just like any of the dozens of other casinos on the Strip, with the same flashing lights, the colorful arrays of one-armed bandits, and the constant barrage of shouts and cheers from excited gamblers. It didn't look like anything special, even though I already knew otherwise.
Like most modern casinos, the Sidewinder had more than just gambling facilities. It had theaters, bowling alleys, racquetball courts, child care, entertainment centers, and even a driving range. It also had bars...lots and lots of bars. As anyone who's been to Vegas knows, you get free drinks while you're gambling. The idea is to keep you at the table, and of course, to get you a little tipsy so you lose some of your inhibitions. A drunk gambler is more likely to be loose with his cash, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, as soon as I approached one of the bars, I saw what made the Sidewinder so unique. Like all casinos, it employed a variety of scantily clad ladies as cocktail girls. Here, the outfits were black leotards overlaid with a colorful red and gold bustier designed to overemphasize the wearer's assets. They also included extremely dark pantyhose and a pair of cowboy boots in keeping with the casino's Western style.
I frowned, looking over one of the waitresses as she passed by in the skimpy outfit. I was immediately annoyed at how much cleavage she displayed and how high the costume rode up on her backside. After all, if everything went well, I was going to be wearing one of those things in short order. You see, my assignment was to get a job working here, and since I already knew I met all the qualifications, I expected to be hired before the day was out.
It wasn't the outfit that really grabbed my attention, though. It was the girl wearing it. She wasn't all that unusual, really. Kind of pretty, with short black hair and a trim, fit body that looked quite good in the low-cut costume. What was surprising was her height. She was only about two feet tall.
Yep, that's right, two feet tall. You heard me correctly. I'd seen the ads, of course, and pictures too, but nothing actually prepared me for seeing a miniature person in the flesh.
Of course, she wasn't that size naturally. This was no midget on parade. It was a real, normal woman, proportioned exactly like you'd expect, except that everything about her was one-third the usual scale.
The explanation for this was simple, really. For a ridiculous amount of money, the Sidewinder Casino had licensed a miniaturization machine from the government. The experimental devices were still strictly regulated, and installing one here at the casino had been something of an experiment by both parties. Judging from the number of people in attendance, it was an experiment that was proving highly successful.
As I stood there watching the tiny waitress pick her way through the crowd, I shook my head in wonder. She was carrying a normal-sized tray with two drinks perched precariously on top, and despite the fact that people had to look down to even see her, she had no trouble making her way to the roulette table. There, she cheerfully called out to two of the gamblers, who reached down and took their drinks carefully. They both then placed a chip on the plate, eliciting a beaming smile from the miniature waitress, who slipped away into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
Even though the casino had been using shrunken cocktail girls for almost a year now, the novelty of tiny people serving drinks had not yet worn off entirely. Several patrons, including myself, were staring at the passing ladies in undisguised, open-mouthed amazement. For me, the feeling was much more pronounced, because I was here hoping to join them.
I must be nuts, I thought to myself.
My interview wasn't for fifteen more minutes, and I wanted to be right on time, so I wandered around for a bit, trying to get used to the idea of people being so small. In truth, I really wanted to distract myself, because I didn't relish the thought of being shrunk. I'd been worried about it ever since I got this assignment, and seeing that two-foot-high girl passing by had not done anything to make me feel any better.
I don't gamble as a rule, so mostly I just watched the action. In the old days, slot machines were simple affairs, but today they offered many varieties of games, some of them actually involving some measure of skill instead of a simple pull of a handle. Of course, the odds were always in the favor of the house, but much less so if a player knew what he or she was doing.
As I meandered through the casino, I came to some of the more traditional games, including a craps table. I paused to watch the action, trying to remember what I knew about craps, and then stopped dead in my tracks. I suppose my eyes must have popped almost completely out of my head, as I was completely unprepared for what I saw.
I had thought the miniaturizing thing stopped with the cocktail waitresses, but I was wrong. Running around on the table were a half-dozen lovely young women who each couldn't have been more than six inches tall!
I moved closer to get a better look, totally amazed. The tiny girls were wearing the same costumes as I'd seen on the waitress, except they had on more practical low-heeled ankle boots. Considering how much running around the ladies had to do, that made a great deal of sense. High heels would have been completely inappropriate.
As I watched, my mouth dangling open in amazement, the women took turns dashing around the table, recovering dice and carrying them back to the shooter on tiny trays. They moved quickly, scampering about like little mice, staying out of the way of each shot and weaving through the stacks of chips with practiced skill. For their efforts they were occasionally rewarded with a tip. Between runs to fetch dice, they rolled their prizes over to a marked slot in the table, where the chips quickly vanished from sight.
After a few minutes of watching this display, I realized a couple of things. First, the tiny dice girls were making a killing on tips. Some of the chips they rolled to their corners were in denominations of twenty dollars or more. One of the ladies, an attractive and buxom blonde who seemed to be one gambler's personal favorite, racked up hundreds of dollars in the scant moments I watched her cavort around on the tabletop.
The girls were also in top shape, I thought to myself. When it was their turn to fetch the dice, they had to run half the length of the table--no small accomplishment for a six-inch-high woman--pick up the obviously heavy-looking dice, balance them on a tray, and then hurry back to the shooter. This took much more time than a full-sized croupier would have required, but the patrons didn't seem to mind. I guess if they wanted a faster moving game, there were plenty of other casinos they could have visited.
The final thing I realized was that I had to be completely insane. The thought of being shrunk to that size made me shiver with fear. Being a two-foot high cocktail waitress would be bad enough, but only six inches, where I'd have to run around on a craps table, dodging dice and rolling giant chips into a slot? No way!
I couldn't imagine myself doing anything like that, so I turned around and walked back out of the casino. By the time I got to the front door, I actually convinced myself I was going to quit. At the curb, though, I stopped myself and sat down to think. Being outside in the fresh, warm air let me clear my head.
It wouldn't be so bad, I tried to convince myself. It would just take some getting used to. I already knew I was going to be shrunk as part of this job, and it was only while on duty, not all the time. Besides, the girls I'd seen seemed happy and cheerful, probably because of the tips they were getting. That wasn't a factor for me, though. I wasn't in this for the money. Working here was my assignment, nothing more.
Hey, that reminds me. I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? Sorry about that. My name is Kate McLeary, and believe it or not, I'm with the FBI. Put simply, I was here to investigate some unexplained disappearances among the staff of the Sidewinder Casino. To this point, we hadn't had much luck tracking down the four missing girls, all of whom were working here the last time they were seen by friends or family. We also suspected several other disappearances in the area were related, but couldn't be sure with the scant evidence we had available.
Anyway, I was going undercover, as you might have already guessed. A false identity had already been created for me, and I'd submitted an application for employment earlier in the week. The final interview was probably just a formality.
Oh, and just so we can avoid some confusion later, I went by the name "Ashley Robinson" for this assignment. In fact, since I don't do much talking with the home office, you probably won't hear my real name much in this story.
Unfortunately for me, I'm considered rather good-looking, so the kind folks at the Bureau decided I was the best one for this particular duty. I happen to have a lot of field experience, and of course, they knew I'd look good in one of the skimpy cocktail outfits. Not surprisingly, there aren't a lot of FBI agents that meet these qualifications, so I got stuck with it by default. Well, with any luck, nobody in my department would ever get a look at me in one of those costumes, or I'd never live down the embarrassment.
I sat on the curb for several minutes, mulling over my options. There really were only two: give up and leave, or go back in and do the interview. If I just left without even trying, I was sure to get a reprimand, maybe even a suspension. Besides, this was an important case, especially since it was possible the controversial miniaturizing machine might be involved. Local cops had so far gotten nowhere on the investigation, and since the government-provided miniaturizer was under suspicion, they were within their rights to call us Feds for help.
With a sigh I stood up and headed back into the casino. I had no choice but to try, I thought to myself. Maybe if I did a crappy job on the interview, they'd give me the boot, and that would be that.
However, it didn't take long for that hope to be dashed. When I got to the manager's office, he introduced himself as Bob Mathias, then made me do a quick pirouette. Though I was only wearing a pair of unflattering blue jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt, he didn't hesitate at all. "Beautiful," he said simply. "Congratulations, you're hired. Beth, let's get our new employee into her uniform."
And that was how I joined the staff of the SW Casino.