These are snippets from the original FLIPKA which give some insight into the character of Doug Hyman, or, as he would prefer to be called: The King of Vegas.
Wealthy, powerful men are rarely beauties but Hyman took the cake. His publicity shots were posted all over Vegas. Yes, he’d had too much work done on his face, and yes, he wore an obnoxious toupee but to see him in person was such a shock that I spent most of our first meeting wondering where he hid his tail.
Now Hyman wasn’t a stupid man. Impatient, yes. Self-centered, yes. A bully used to getting his way, definitely. But stupid, no. I caught his eye and said. “Really? Does that make any logical sense?”
He turned to glare at the setting sun, a move that caused every other living creature in the vicinity to freeze. How odd to have so much power that your quiet inspires fear in others, I thought as I studied his Caesarian profile: hawkish nose and sunken eyes, skin reflecting the copper sunlight like an ancient Roman coin.
“Butters, stop analyzing me! I feel like I’m in a damned X-ray machine.”
“Not everyone is always thinking about you. Tell me, when did Meredith disappear?”
“Yes, but you were thinking about me. I could feel it. I got that ESP shit. How do you think I got to where I am?” he said, as one of his men tried desperately to whisper in his ear. “Yes. I know what bloody time it is!”
“Did I happen to mention the numbskulls working down in the caves? They have guns.”
“Listen, I’m not sending you up there alone this time, if that’s what you mean.”
Sending me back there? Surely, he had to be joking. “Mr. Hyman, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast. I have … what did you call it Doc … well, basically short-term amnesia and you’re sending me back up there to find your daughter?”
“Are you listening to me, Butters? I never repeat myself. Besides Creamo here,” he said, indicating a blockish fellow with sandy-gray hair and silver mustache, “will have your back. He’s a real detective—you just talk to the psycho, and you know, do your voodoo-shrink stuff.”
The psycho? What the hell was he talking about?
Arguing was useless. I tried and the doctor tried but to no avail. I was bundled up and hustled out of that hospital faster than a healthy newborn and shoved into a waiting limo.
Saying nothing in particular 