Spring Festival: a new beginning.

Skeleton in the Closet

Las Vegas, present day.
Two figures glided through the halls of the city's largest casino. The loud human tide threatened to sweep a couple downstream, but an unremarkable-looking little man navigated this turmoil with ease and grace, not letting go of his companion's hand and occasionally greeting acquaintances with a nod of his head. Finally, they stopped at the beginning of a dim gallery. Somewhere in the distance, the roar of thousands of voices could still be heard, but here there was not a soul. The companion leaned against the cool wall with relief:
— Boss, I thought we had seen everything already. Unless we missed some mouse holes.
The boss looked quite unassuming. A dry, bony, wiry little man with low-set brows and a smug smirk. Envious people whispered that he was dishonest. However, this did not correspond to reality — everyone in the casino without exception respected him, and he acted as a guarantor for any matter. Despite his outward prickliness, a kind greenish light never faded in the depths of his eyes.
— Tired already? — the boss smiled slightly with the corners of his lips. — We are almost finished. Only the last, yet most important thing remains: "The Heart of the Casino."
The heart beckoned with something mysterious, and the companion hurried after the boss down the corridor. The path wound between metal sheets leaning against the walls, which looked at least 25 years old, and ended in a spiral staircase. The companions descended cautiously, brushing away invisible webs in the gloom with their sleeves until they hit a massive carved door.
— Here, — the boss snapped curtly and fumbled with the keys.
The door gave way reluctantly and creaked unpleasanty, announcing the arrival of guests. A blast of hot, stale air wafted from inside. Dim light was visible somewhere in the distance. Overcoming his fear, the companion stepped forward and slammed his head hard against the doorframe.
— It'll heal by the wedding, — the boss noted philosophically and went first.
It turned out that the light came from an old desk lamp, which could probably be sold for good money in an antique shop. An elderly man sat at the table writing something. His prickly beard stuck out stubbornly and had obviously not seen a comb recently.
— It's been a while since you visited. Five years, probably — taking a break from his activity, he rewarded the newcomer with a caustic comment.
— I had... business, Frank, — the boss replied, slightly embarrassed.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Frank Adams
Professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a world-renowned scientist. Infiltrated the prison himself to study prisoners from within. Subsequently went wild and did not want to leave this place. A pragmatist to the core. He even took the surname Adams so that he could be first in line for food in the dining hall.
— Meet Frank, this is Georgy Petrovich.
— By any chance, is he the brother of that famous basketball player? — the bearded man stared questioningly at the boss.
— No, he's just from the state of Georgia. He will visit occasionally.
— I see, — Frank replied and immersed himself in his writing again.

— Yes, this is indeed the heart of our casino, — the boss whispered as they walked further down the corridor, — here are the workshops for producing playing cards. Every day we produce about 300,000 decks. Everything we don't use ourselves, we sell. Good money, by the way.
The production rooms greeted the newcomers with the smell of plastic and fresh paint. On the bare walls, without wallpaper, various hooks and hangers were nailed here and there. The floor was heavily littered; it seemed that a broom had completely forgotten the way to these parts. Two people worked on the first conveyor — a pale-faced youth and a mustachioed man.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner James Brown
Possessor of a rare phenomenon related to the orientation of the head in space during sleep. Every evening, before going to bed, he asks other prisoners where east is and turns his bed with the headboard in that direction. Prisoners joke about him and point in different directions every time. Nevertheless, the head still turns in the right direction during sleep.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Rizvan "The Russian" Tabasaransky
Son of immigrants from Russia. Sharp-tongued and fond of fighting. Served in the First Cavalry Division of the USA. Possesses an explosive temperament and a magnificent mustache.
— Is he definitely Russian? — Georgy clarified just in case. — The surname is somewhat suspicious.
— Absolutely certain. That's what all the prisoners say.
— I see, — the companion scratched his forehead and decided to change the subject. — And this trash... is there any staff here, cleaners or something?
— Our only staff member is Miss Monteiro. And here she is.
At that same second, a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman materialized before them as if from thin air. She was very attractive; one could say that even the uniform suited her.
excerpt from personal file
employee Caroline Monteiro
An authoritative warden of Latin American origin. Considers herself one of the prisoners. In her free time, she paints pictures, as she feels compassion for other prisoners and wishes to brighten their harsh existence somehow. The prisoners do not appreciate art, but they still watch it regularly, as it allows them to slack off from work.
— Miss Monteiro, meet Georgy Petrovich.
— And that suits us perfectly, — the embarrassed Georgy muttered and blushed.
The warden rewarded him with a chilling gaze and replied in a tone that cut off all further questions:
— Noted.
To the left of the corridor were some storage rooms, while from the right side came the smell of a public restroom. Georgy even winced:
— These prisoners live in terrible unsanitary conditions. I can already imagine plumbing that my grandmother used and rusty washbasins on the walls.
— How should I put it, — the boss lowered his voice. — Actually, this isn't related to the prisoners. Some time ago we started sending disgraced players from the casino here... well, for preventive purposes. We even allocated a separate room for this. And they just sit in there, with nowhere to go, having set up a latrine right in the middle. The prisoners were disgusted at first, but then they also started coming in to relieve themselves.
Next, the pair hurried to inspect the lounges. The boss explained that most of the time prisoners play cards in their free time. But if there are boiled eggs left over from lunch, they sometimes play "eggs." Georgy never managed to find out what the game was about because they encountered a man in the doorway.
— I've come up with a new game, do you want to play with me? — he asked and smiled.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Charles "Pythagoras" McLaren
Games master. Multiple baccarat champion. Other prisoners have even become afraid to play with him for some time. When the games end, he starts inventing his own.
— And what game is it? — Georgy was a bit taken aback.
— I called it "love." The rules are very simple...
— Sorry, buddy, we don't have time, we must continue inspecting the prison.
— Well, here we go again... I've already offered everyone, and no one even wants to try.
— This isn't a prison, it's a crypt! — a brutal-looking man intervened in the conversation and pointed his hand at a pile of chicken bones in the corner.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Harry Forster
Suffers from kleptomania. This is a rare disease expressed as a person's desire to steal and hide the loot in a crypt. Considers himself unique. However, this is not so: even in the Middle Ages, many robbers worshipped such people, who significantly eased the process of searching for hidden valuables.
The boss only shrugged and walked past. Suddenly, a long quacking sounded from the corner. Georgy was surprised — could they really manage to keep a bird in this strange place? However, the bird turned out to be just another strange guy. He wore a long wig on his bald skull. Occasionally he hissed from the corner and quacked like a goose.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Edward Morton
A former school teacher. You could talk to him before, but then he suffered a mental breakdown. Now he only occasionally quacks from the corner. Out of old habit, he constantly lectures everyone around him, although no one has taken him seriously for a long time.
— Where have I ended up? — Georgy thought. — I would say this is a cabinet of curiosities, if I knew what that was.
Another prisoner they met was wildly rolling his eyes and waving some scrap of paper right in Georgy's face.
— We are going on a quest for the Golden Fleece! I am Jason! And this is a map! A map, see? — he almost started screaming.
— Calm down, calm down, buddy. Yesterday Captain Flint, today already Jason?
— You understand nothing! — the prisoner would not be silenced. — I drew it myself, based on historical documents. Today we are closer to the treasures than ever. I believe, just a little more!
excerpt from personal file
prisoner Thomas "Roger" Remington
A passionate lover of treasures, a romantic traveler. Knows thousands of pirate legends, personally visited Cocos Island. Spent many years searching for Atlantis, but ended his journey more earthbound, in one of the Las Vegas casinos.
— Boss, my head already hurts from them, — Georgy winced, — Maybe I'll just study the documents of those I didn't meet personally?
The boss had no choice but to simply throw up his hands and give in.
Finally, they visited one unusual place. Prisoners occasionally looked in here, but at the moment there was not a soul. It was a giant hall, cluttered from top to bottom with all sorts of junk. Paintings of semi-naked courtesans, barely covered by strips of transparent fabric, were hung on the walls. A narrow path led through rows of trash somewhere into the distance, as the boss explained, toward an altar.
— Let's not disturb this sacred place, — he said in a whisper and walked away.

But still, one question continued to haunt Georgy Petrovich. At the exit, he stopped, caught the boss by the sleeve, and looked him straight in the eyes.
— So why did you call this disgusting place the heart of the casino?
— You didn't understand anything at all. Players come, lose everything, and leave. But these people will be here always. They are not prisoners; they have long since become part of this place. And as long as the heart beats, the casino will live.

Appendices.
excerpt from personal file
prisoner John Weber
Always dreamed of rising above others. And to some extent he even succeeded with the help of a bottle of a certain blue liquid. However, libations do not make him better; they only make others worse in his eyes. And that, agree, is two very different things.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Sage "Decembrist" Smith
Led a revolt against the American president and was exiled to this prison. His wife bravely followed him. However, she didn't make it to the prison, which gave rise to many dirty rumors. Allegedly, Sage has already led a revolt several times, and this is just an original way to get rid of another wife.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Wayne Moore
Vivid visions of distant lands come to him in his sleep, and every evening he shares them with other prisoners. He is considered crazy, but they still listen to these amazing stories with pleasure.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Bob Hale
In the past, he worked as a sheriff in Texas, but then became a master of all kinds of footwear. He sewed elegant boots for the warden, so she turns a blind eye to his small misdemeanors. And he can repair something for other prisoners as it wears out.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Danny "Buddha" Johnson
Reached the second degree of enlightenment. Constantly meditates in the lotus position. Nothing is known about his flaws, as he hardly speaks, only occasionally dropping wise phrases. He understands all religions without exception and knows much about nirvana. Multiple winner of the spiritual mentor contest.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Tom Lohan
Founder of the "Church of Universal Salvation" sect, author of the theory of interdimensional apocalypse. Believes that all sinners should be purified by burning at the stake. Possesses an angelic appearance, but rage boils inside him as soon as sinful deeds are mentioned.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Peter Sargent
Retired US Army Captain. A straightforward and unprincipled soldier. Demands unquestioning obedience to orders from those around him. Superstitious. Never deals with banks and does not gamble in casinos.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Kevin Price
An intelligent man from a well-to-do family. Very cunning. Being a completely teetotal person, he always fought for the rights of drunkards, just in case he or one of his family members gets dead drunk.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Jim Buckley
A few years ago he served his sentence in this prison and even achieved some heights in the local hierarchy. But for his brilliant mind, he was drafted by the Ministry of Defense to work at a secret rocket plant.

excerpt from personal file
prisoner Steve Baker
Local authority. Serving his second term. Even the warden is afraid of him, and other prisoners often turn to him to resolve disputes.

excerpt from security service report
Prisoners sometimes tell of a strange man in a mask. However, no such person has ever been on our records. According to eyewitness accounts, he occasionally appears in the rooms and just stands there without saying a word, then disappears without a trace. He never shows his face, but his presence makes the soul feel warmer.

Cast:
Boss —
Georgy Petrovich — obviously, Georgy Petrovich
Frank Adams —
James Brown —
Rizvan Tabasaransky —
Caroline Monteiro —
Charles McLaren —
Harry Forster —
Edward Morton —
Thomas Remington —
John Weber —
Sage Smith —
Wayne Moore —
Bob Hale —
Danny Johnson —
Tom Lohan —
Peter Sargent —
Kevin Price —
Jim Buckley —
Steve Baker —
Man in the mask —