Mike war der Chauffeur in Las Vegas. Weiße Limousine, Anzug und Krawatte, abends vor dem Golden Nugget an der Fremont Street, wenn die Lichter der Stadt sich im Lack spiegeln.
Mike fuhr, wohin man ihn bat: zum Flughafen, zum Hoover Dam, am Abend vielleicht zu Sinatra. Was die Gäste ihm auf der Fahrt erzählten, blieb bei ihm. Er gehört zu den Menschen, die Rene begleitet haben.
aus dem Roman „Der Armentisch“
Let’s go for a ride,
let’s go for a ride.
The door is open wide,
I’ll take you there tonight.
Let’s go for a ride,
through the Vegas lights.
I’m Mike, your driver tonight.
White limousine, my suit and tie,
Fremont lights against the sky.
Outside the Nugget, here I stand,
your evening’s in good hands.
Let’s go for a ride,
let’s go for a ride.
The door is open wide,
I’ll take you there tonight.
Let’s go for a ride,
through the Vegas lights.
I’m Mike, your driver tonight.
Some climb in with cash to spare,
some just sink into the chair.
Tell me where you want to go,
what you tell me, no one knows.
Airport Monday, Hoover Dam,
Sinatra tonight? I’m your man.
Take your time, I’ll wait for you.
Just say the word, we’re rolling through.
Let’s go for a ride,
let’s go for a ride.
The door is open wide,
I’ll take you there tonight.
Let’s go for a ride,
through the Vegas lights.
I’m Mike, your driver tonight.