"Where's the Drai-mobile?" Cy asks, standing at Wynn's valet parking, moments before Drai's limo pulls up. The 1993 Lincoln stretch is tricked out with a suede roof, wood trim, a bumping sound system, and a high-def TV—the customization a birthday present from the Twins. It's a fine ride for a Wednesday-evening jaunt to LAX.

After passing through that club and another, Wasted Space, a new spot at the Hard Rock, the brothers leap back into the limo with three blondes. Jesse has been avoiding alcohol tonight—running a finger across his throat each time someone offers him some.

As the limo rolls toward Las Vegas Boulevard, he and Cy strike up a debate about whom Drai favors more, eventually agreeing on Jesse. The thought hangs in the air for all of one beat before Cy counters, "Yeah? But I get more pussy." Drai beams. Jesse looks amused. Before anyone can reply to this assertion, Cy surveys the back seat. "Who's dated more of the girls in this car?" he asks. "I've gone out with all of them."

The group arrives at Spearmint Rhino, and their booth is quickly swarmed by a posse of strippers. Cy hands one $20 to go away. When her face sags in disappointment, he gestures toward a girl from the limo. "Give her the most outrageous lap dance I've ever seen," he says.

The stripper mounts Cy's friend, who puts up no resistance. Before long, she's making out with a guy in a corner booth.

The following day, looking a little worse for wear, Cy sits in the huge living room of his brother's home facing a large sixties-style painting of his mother. Hunched over his cell, he's firing off messages. "I'm sending out apology texts; sorry, sorry, sorry," he says. Come nightfall, his penance complete, he puts on an ivory-colored suit and gets back to business at Tryst. The club is so packed that Drai feels compelled to surrender his beloved front-and-center booth to an elderly Middle Eastern man, who enjoys a dance from a trio of off-duty strippers. In the world of the Waits twins, the customer is always the first priority.