Vaya Con Dios

Diego – or Chico by his friends – hadn’t lived his best life and found himself mixed up with the wrong crowd ever since he’d moved to Las Vegas. He struggled finding work – or good work – and quickly ended up on the streets with a group of thirty-something vagrants and outlaws, but he called them friends. He had never gained status with said friends nor had he risen in the ranks. He was mostly reduced to driving everyone else around in a vehicle that he first had to steal.

On a most recent occasion, Diego had been preparing to steal a vehicle in front of The Stratosphere and behind the adjacent hotel. Vehicles parked there were usually towed, so he quite often had an easy time stealing one. It was just before dusk and raining unusually hard for Las Vegas. As he opened the car door, something crashed through the roof of the car just to his right.

He quickly realized that it was a person – a body had apparently fallen from the observation deck of The Stratosphere. It was the tallest structure in Las Vegas, so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to take the suicide dive there, but he thought it was odd that the person was wearing a parachute that hadn’t deployed. It was common however, for thrill seekers to intentionally parachute from the top. Fear quickly consumed him, and he drove off.

He drove about ten minutes out of the city and pulled off to the side of the road. The incident had shaken him so badly that he contemplated driving off and into the sunset, but he quickly shrugged that urge knowing he’d just stolen the car. The image of the body was etched in his mind. It was horribly mangled and disfigured causing him to assess how far of a fall it must’ve been. He concluded that it was probably some three-hundred fifty meters.

He flashed back to several events in his own life where he’d realized his own fear of heights and how it had paralyzed him. He was quickly overcome with anxiety and found himself on his knees beside the car choking up remnants of his last meal.

Once he regained his composure, he continued on the road to the compound where he met up with the rest of his friends.

He declined to eat and sat listening to the instructions for their next assault on the city, which was scheduled for four o’clock in the a.m. the following Sunday. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able muster the courage for another assault – or any future assault for that matter. Finally, the anxiety was too much for him to bear.

The team meeting had just ended, and he began to share his experience, describing in detail what he had witnessed and how it affected him. Not surprisingly, it was met with laughing and ridicule.

“Awe, you hear amigos? Chico feels bad,” shouted El Guapo, the leader and possibly the ugliest man Diego had ever met.

“Si, where’s the crying rag?” someone else commented.

Everybody laughed.

In his defense, Diego tried to backtrack on his comments, but it was futile. He knew he never should’ve said anything.

El Guapo suggested, “Perhaps it wasn’t a suicide and just an accident. Maybe someone killed him and threw him over the edge. Eh, Chico?”

“Si, or maybe it was made to look like an accident,” someone else commented.

“I don’t know, I was just wondering what it must’ve been like to fall from such a height. You know that building is high,” Diego interjected.

“Maybe you like to find out?” someone else commented.

“No way, I’m afraid of heights. Ain’t no way you’ll catch me up there.”

“Maybe you wrong, Chico,” El Guapo said with an evil grin.

“Si, it’s going to be our first stop this morning,” someone else commented.

Everybody laughed, again.

With that, the meeting broke up and everyone went their separate ways.

On the following Sunday, at approximately three o’clock in the a.m., everyone had begun preparing for the scheduled assault on the city. Diego made sure the car was gassed up and started the car. Everyone then began loading the trunk with the items needed for the job.

As instructed, Diego drove to The Stratosphere near the back entrance and coincidentally near where he’d witnessed the body the previous week. Everyone exited the car except Diego, but he was soon called out of the car at the order of El Guapo, “Come and meet my cousin Javier, he works here.”

Javier was waiting outside the back entrance and escorted everyone inside after meeting Diego. They all walked briskly to the service elevator and entered. Javier inserted his key and pressed the button leading to the very top of The Stratosphere. It was at that point Diego began to feel uncomfortable and before he knew it, two of his friends were restraining him while a third tied his legs together at the ankles.

El Guapo took the parachute he brought and secured it to Diego’s back and whispered, “You ready for some fun? Eh, Chico?”

El Guapo then tied Diego’s hands behind his back.

Javier jumped in, “Anyone ever pulled the cord yet?”

“No,” El Guapo said with confidence.

Diego found himself begging for mercy. He was sweating and his heart was racing uncontrollably. He had begun to slump toward the floor, but he was being held up by two others.

The fearful moment came as the elevator doors opened. The sun was just below the horizon and was casting morning’s first light across the city. As Diego’s brain processed the sheer height of the building, the reality of the situation, and the idea of being pushed over the edge, he became paralyzed while being dragged to the edge. He closed his eyes, but it wasn’t much help. He felt helpless, defeated, and nauseated.

El Guapo began speaking, “Well, Chico this is it. We’re three-hundred fifty meters up. That’s about a ten second fall. What you gotta do is clear…you need to pull the rip cord in plenty of time or you smash into the ground, or car, or whatever. Oh yeah, we’ve shortened the rip cord.”

Then El Guapo leaned over and whispered, “You should free your hands first. Eh, Chico?”

Diego could only muster the words, “No, no, no.”

Now standing, El Guapo continued, “Don’t worry, you’ll have some extra time because we’re gonna hang you upside down by your feet from a pole. The more you squirm the more you slip off the pole and the more time you ain’t got. If you like to end it sooner, then you kick your feet off the pole. You got it, Chico?”

Diego had blacked out and El Guapo slapped his face, “Chico? You hear me? There’s one other thing. You won’t be able to hang upside down too long before your organs crush your lungs. How do you want to die? Eh?”

Diego begged again in a muffled voice, “No, don’t do this.”

El Guapo backed away and gave the signal. Four other men grabbed Diego and hoisted him up and over the rail and to the outside edge while two others slid the steel pipe through Diego’s ankles and secured it to the building at the other end.

Diego hung limp. He’d blacked out again.

“Let’s go boys,” El Guapo ordered and then shouted out, “Vaya con dios, Chico.”

El Guapo and crew arrived on the ground floor and exited the building. Looking up, they could still see Diego hanging there. They piled in the car and drove off.

During that time, Diego had regained consciousness and had begun assessing his situation. He opened his eyes briefly to the see the sun just beginning to poke above the horizon. He was facing outward from the building and began feeling around for the rip cord. Being upside down was not helpful because it shifted the parachute further from his hands and out of his reach.

He felt he couldn’t kick his feet forward – initiating his fall – and then hope to find the rip cord in time. He decided his only option was to get his hands free, find the rip cord, then kick forward. And then he remembered what El Guapo whispered, “You should free your hands first.”

His breathing had already become labored, and his time was running out. He began twisting his wrists back and forth – right wrist in then left wrist in then both in – to loosen the rope enough to get one hand free. He was methodical in his motion to reduce risk of making any mistake and at the same time conserving every ounce of energy remaining. He had lost all concept of where he was and had become laser-focused on the freeing his hands.

He approximated that he’d been upside down for ten minutes and began to feel as if he couldn’t take in much oxygen. To make matters worse, the contents of his stomach had begun to seep into his mouth, which made him choke and spit. He felt stomach acid in his sinuses and burning in his eyes as the acid dripped and ran up his face.

And then, as if he needed anything more to break his spirit, he remembered something else El Guapo told him, “…we’ve shortened the rip cord.” The thought occurred to him that perhaps there was no rip cord.

He aligned his wrists and could feel they’d loosened slightly. In seconds, he’d freed his left hand and began feeling for the rip cord. Success, he’d found it. He kicked his feet forward and began his free fall and tumbling end over end. With eyes wide open, he tried desperately to get his bearing and while counting. One-thousand one, one-thousand two, one-thousand three and just as he felt upright, he yanked the rip cord.

His body jerked. He threw his head back and saw the parachute open above his head. There was a slight breeze, which was pushing him in the direction of a side street. His anxiety had dissipated, his fear had dissipated, and he’d begun to weep in relief.

Wiping his eyes, he took it all in – his surroundings, the view – as he slowly spiraled down.

Realizing he’d never parachuted before, he crashed into the side of a parking garage and fell about ten feet to the street, which was more of an alley. He never felt a thing and quickly rose to his feet. He unhooked the parachute and walked the few feet to the side street and in view of The Stratosphere. With arms raised, he yelled out, “Adios, amigo.”

Diego and El Guapo never crossed paths again.