Cookie Sullivan was my gal back in '42. Vivacious and blond, she lit up any room she entered. Why she chose me to be her guy, I haven't the slightest idea. I wasn't the top gun in the organization; that was Al "The Mobster" Malone. I was just another mutt in his gang.

Back then Vegas was a hopping little town. Gambling and money laundering went hand in hand so setting up shop where casinos were a dime a dozen only made sense. We came out in the spring of that year. Things had gotten hot back in Jersey and the fuzz were coming down strong on us. It was either go to jail or hightail it out of Atlantic City; we hightailed it all the way to Vegas.

Sinking most of his loot into a casino, Big Al Malone set up his business as usual. He didn't give a hoot whether he did it in Jersey or Nevada--it was all the same to him. Cookie came with the joint. She was a showgirl. All feathers and stockings, she entertained the schmucks at the tables while we fleeced them for all they were worth. It drove me crazy to watch her flirt and tease with that red boa tickle, but I kept my cool. Al didn't like us to pop off and start a ruckus over little things. He wanted to keep the cops out of the joint.

I fell for Cookie hard. She was the world to me. When the day was done, she dropped the act and the Brooklyn accent. To me she was little Margaret Miller from Ft. Nob, Kansas--a little farm girl who left the corn fields behind to make it big in Hollywood. She didn't get any further than Vegas.

Fortune favored us for a few years until the Feds put their noses into our business. How they found out was beyond me. The night we were raided was the night I meant to propose to Cookie. I had the ring and my "Will you marry me" speech all ready when the front doors blew open and the coppers charged in, machine guns in hand. We did our best to hold our own by firing back into the fray. When the smoke cleared, Al "The Mobster" Malone was lying beneath the craps table in a pool of blood. He died the way he lived. Cookie was gone too as beautiful dead as alive.

Alcatraz Island ain't so bad once you get used to it. I can spend my days (and nights) dreaming of Cookie Sullivan. It helps me make it through the day.