“Is he going to their revue or burlesque or something? Is this a prank?” I was blathering. ere was no telling how twisted Ford was at the moment. e man put his arm around him and they turned their backs to us. ey were plotting . Huxley and I froze like neanderthals in the middle of the path. “Where's the restaurant?” he demanded now. “I thought he said there was a steakhouse? Dammit!” Ford and his new friend turned around. “Guys, guys!” he shouted, as if embarrassed for us. "Let me introduce myself," said the man. "My name is Ross and this is my steakhouse. We're too full in the diner tonight but you're welcome to come get a drink at the bar -- or sit and stay awhile!" He continued on about some perfor- mances… but the words were still forming in my head. Comedian? is is a steakhouse? Ross? His jacket shone hard enough to be ablaze, his midnight-blue shirt collar, so jagged it became a scarf of daggers. Try not to scare the man, I thought. Before I knew it we were agreeing to follow him. But where? at galley door? e door in the corner, at the end of the wall mural, looked like it went to a kitchen. Not just any kitchen, “Where's the steakhouse?” “ is IS the steakhouse!”
Zip Line. ose are people ying overhead. Not jumping to their deaths…. Overcome by pulverizing waves, I followed the other two blindly, through a random restaurant and deep into the belly of the Linq Hotel. Still searching for mystic steak. Maybe we were on the wrong side of the street. Or holding the phone upside down. So we backtracked and tried another trail… Until at some point we realized we were only a stone's throw from the same place we’d eaten the night before – Guy Fieri’s, hot delicious garbage – and the exit, just 20 feet further. “Where is it?” Huxley asked. “It’s not Guy Fieri’s is it ? We’re not trying to go back to Guy Fieri’s, right? ” But Ford wasn’t with us. “Dude, where is he?” Oh shit. We spotted him on the casino oor. He’d diverted into the cheap slots and was chatting it up with a bald, bearded man in his mid-50’s who wore a retro, bright red sequined dinner jacket. Behind them, a technicolor wall 20 feet tall read 'Disco Show'. But there was no entrance. No… nothing. He was going o-script. is was all an act. No. Wait. is WAS an act. Ford was trying to fool us. He was scheming with this man to play us like a couple of rubes… make us believe there’s steak . “What's he doing there?” I asked,
112 MARCH/APRIL 2026
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