Man out of Time, Max Steingrout, like Icarus, flew too close to the sun.
The Nevada Gaming Commission believed him to be the mob-connected lynchpin responsible for manipulating the outcome of hundreds, if not thousands, of college and professional basketball games.
In reality, the mob rode Steingrout like a painted show pony.
Although too much drinking, smoking, drugging, and whoring had taken their toll, he could still read the writing on the wall.
He fled south of the border.
Upon his return to Las Vegas, Max the Junkie had lost his nerve, his mind, and his soul.
He became the mark for the tourists, junkies, pimps and prostitutes he once so proudly preyed upon.
Faces were the same but the names had changed, perhaps to protect the innocent.
Max knew there were no innocents.
For money, he wandered The Strip in a methadone fog forcing escort brochures into the hands of unsuspecting old ladies and wide-eyed children.
