Charlie considered that a moment, then dismissed it as girl stuff. “Doubt her grandpa would allow an elopement, anyway.”
They took in the busy scene, and decided to play on the machines in front. The clamor of hushed conversation, mixed with the plethora of gaming machine noise stirred the senses and made Denice’s horseshoe kind of tingle.
Charlie pointed out, “Look there’s the old bird, The Colonel, surrounded by peroxide.”
“That is so disgusting,” said Denice. “He’s got to be at least 80. And the casino tramps flutter around him like it’s a military payday. Jesus.”
Charlie never got in trouble keeping his mouth shut, so he said, “Larry sells him a sack of dope most every weekend, a little something to attract the humming birds.”
“That is so gross,” said Denice, making a sour face. “He freakin’ smells bad.”
“Hey, whatever blows your skirt up.”
“What the hell does that mean, Charlie David DeVille?”
Ah-ooh. The big three. As given by his mama. Think fast.
“Means he’s a pig,” said Charlie. “The worst kind, baby. An old lecher. Preying on the…”
“Put a cork in it,” Denice interrupted in disgust.
“Love you, Pumkin.”
Denice stuck out her hand, palm up in his face, and said, “Just sponsor my gambling, or you’ll never have enough wind to blow this skirt up.”
If you can’t talk your way out, then buy your way out. “I’d like to introduce you to my buddy, Benjamin Franklin,” said Charlie, as he handed Denice a hundred-dollar bill.
There’s a game called Wheel of Fortune. It’s a dollar one-armed bandit that has a progressive tally and a loud, screaming feature that consists of a raspy-voiced broad who shouts, “Wheel! Of! Fortune!” when the machine hits a pay line. Then a giant mechanical wheel turns above you, and stops on a bonus dollar figure of up to $1,000. In the past, there have been huge progressive winners on these machines to the tune of $1.2 million. In the early days of the Acorn these payouts almost broke the bank. That oversight has since been rectified.
Sitting at a very exciting row of these machines was a solemn Charlie and a smiling Denice.
Denice turned around to survey the room and unexpectedly came eye-to-eye with Valentino. She jumped with a start. “Holy crap, Val, you scared me to death.”
Valentino’s beady little white eyes drifted side-to-side like his ears were playing the old Pong video game with them. “Good evening, Denice.” He tipped his fedora, complete with checkered headband.
Charlie was momentarily blinded by the Casino lights glaring off Valentino’s small, shiny, bald head. “What’s with the trench-coat, Val?”
“I’m not really supposed to be in here,” he replied.
The Pink Panther theme rattled around inside Charlie’s head. “Okay. You’re kinda creeping me out, Val.”
Denice handed Valentino a twenty-dollar bill. “Your favorite machine is open, right over there.” She pointed across the casino floor.
“Thanks, doll.”
“Oh, come on,” chided Charlie to the old man. “Tell me you didn’t just say, ‘Thanks, doll.’ Really, Val. Really.”
Valentino leaned in close to Charlie and whispered, “Disguise is all about staying in good character. I’m on the down low.”
Valentino’s breath smelled like a combination of curried tuna, clove cigarettes, and Mentos. Charlie gagged a little and changed the subject. “Seen Larry?”
“Heard he’s hanging at Sycuan, looking after his sister. Nobody’s seen him on the mountain since Dick Rod proved what an asshole he was.” He then turned his attention to Denice, and in a normal tone said, “Thanks, Dee, for the twenty.” He tipped his hat again and vanished into the crowd like Harry Houdini.
Charlie looked at Denice, “Where’d he go?”
“Who cares? He’s really creepy sometimes.”
“What’s that crap about a disguise, and being on the down low? He’s so short he’s got no choice but to be on the down low.”
“That’s why I never wear a skirt around him,” Denice deadpanned. “I hope he was dressed under that freaky trench-coat.”
“Ew. Thanks for that eyelid movie,” scolded Charlie sarcastically.
“Notice he never took his hands out of his pockets?”
Charlie returned the visual favor. “Probably cut the pockets out.”
Dee chuckled. “Ugh. Now I need a shower.”
-- -- --
The good thing about truck stop casinos is that they have excellent, huge, and extremely hot showers available for only two dollars. The customer pays to get through the first door that opens into a hallway, with three doors on each side, six showers altogether. Very private and very clean, and a good place to scrub the creepy Valentino aura off.
Charlie, never one to pass up naked time with Denice, picked up on the “I need a shower” comment and without skipping a beat said, “Let’s do it in the...er, I mean take a shower.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. We got bags in the Blazer. I can scrub your back for you. Not like Nea’s shower, there’s room to, um, you know. For both of us.”
“Shower and a late dinner. Sounds fantastic.”
Back on track, from zero to hero, thought Charlie. “Words cannot express my love.”
“And a two dollar shower can?” asked Denice skeptically.
“You can bet your horseshoe.”
“You ain’t touchin’ my shoe.”
Charlie looked at his beautiful woman and said, “That’s the thing about horseshoes, baby. You only gotta get close to score points.”
-- -- --
Nothing makes a person feel lucky like a good orgasm, that’s why they call it getting lucky. Walking out of the showers, through the truck stop, and onto the casino floor, Charlie and Denice felt refreshed and lucky. They strolled into the Acorn Café with big, goofy smiles on their faces.
Charlie lit a cigarette for Denice and said, “I’m a happy guy.”
“Me, too.”
“Nope, just got a real good look. You are not a guy.”
Their regular server, Sherry, came to the table, “Hey, guys.”
“Hi, Sherry. By the way, I just checked. She’s not a guy,” Charlie said, pointing to his wife.
“Funny, Chuck.”
“Don’t call me Chuck, I’ll have you know I go by Stud Muffin now, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Sherry, don’t let this stud rattle your cage. He’s hungry. Let’s get a steak in him. His testosterone will subside.”
Sherry thought about that momentarily, and said, “What if he doesn’t eat meat? Like, you know, a vegetarian.”
“Then we assume there’s something very wrong with him, and we’ll help him work through it. Like any vegetarian, it’s not their fault they’re handicapped.”
Charlie chimed in, “I am a carnivore, and to prove it I’ll have a raw rib eye and three as-yet-not-born baby chickens. And mother’s milk from a cow.”
Denice looked up from her menu and said, “Me, too, but cook my steak and no mother’s milk for me, from any animal, thank you.”
Sherry stuck the pencil in her ponytail and headed to the kitchen, saying “You guys are so, like, weird.”
During dinner they ate and talked about nothing of importance, keeping an eye peeled for Inspector Valentino, in case he thought to join them. Not that they didn’t want to feed him, but the trench-coat thing was just creepy. And the smell of curry tuna made Charlie throw up a little in his mouth.
About 4:00 a.m., which was about an hour before the casino audit time, Charlie and Denice sat down at a bank of triple diamond Keno machines. The desktop-type machines were lined up four in a row, back to back, eight altogether. T
he video display screens were set at a slight angle to diffuse light, and were 18” x 24” square. Oh, and they accepted nickels, dimes, quarters, and dollar bills – and paid tickets and gold tokens that represented one dollar. The odds varied with the amount of numbers picked.
The designers of this particular Keno game located the Max Bet button conveniently so that your forearm would easily and unknowingly push it.
In this case, Charlie put twenty dollars in after lighting a cigarette and setting his drink where he would not knock it over. He was losing steadily and was down to his last five dollars. He looked at Denice and complained about it. So being the sweetheart she was, she stuffed a gold coin in his machine and smiled. “There ya go, handsome.”
Charlie’s forearm accidentally hit Max Bet on dimes for five dollars. All five dollars. That’s when it happened. Provenance. Divine intervention. The Keno game subtracted five dollars and for some unknown reason 22 balls hit 22 numbers, none of which were Charlie’s. But the machine promptly put six dollars back on the credit line.
“Holy shit. Did you see that?”
“Yeah. What’s the deal?”
Charlie whispered, “Shhh, not so loud. Give me a coin, please.”
Denice handed Charlie a coin, and Charlie put in another twenty. Now the machine was loaded with twenty-six dollars total. He hit the Max Bet button, and dropped in the coin at the same time he pushed Play Max Bet. The machine subtracted five dollars. Won nothing, but put six dollars back on. He had bet five dollars, lost, and now had twenty-seven dollars on the machine.
Angels were singing in his head.
He looked over at Denice, and said, “SWEET!”
He tried it again, but his timing was off. The machine did not put the five back on. He looked at her again and said, “Glitch in the program.”
He tried again, this time his timing was perfect. The only difference was he hit six numbers on Max Bet for $700, and five dollars.
Denise whispered to Charlie, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!”
Both sat very still and very quiet for a moment while they processed this new information, and the ramifications of what they’d just witnessed. Charlie murmured, “Holy shit. We can’t lose.”
Charlie hit the button with no coin, and the game played normally. He hit three out of eight for even money. He tried it on a quarter, and then on a dollar. It only malfunctioned on dimes.
“Try yours.” Charlie said.
Denice switched to dimes. She hit the Max Bet button and dropped in a gold dollar. They both watched as Denice’s machine spent five dollars, lost, and credited the pay line with six dollars. They looked at one another with a smile and each had their second orgasm of the evening.
“Do not let anyone see what you’re doing,” instructed Charlie.
It was a foregone conclusion that they were going to milk this like a cash cow. The duo played slowly at first. For any win under $200 the machine would pay in coins. The buckets were stacking up under their feet. Dee’s machine was out of coins after 15 minutes, and Charlie’s within a half an hour. The cashier runners were enjoying fat tips as they cashed-out for paper tickets under $1,200. Any hit over that was considered a jackpot and would immediately draw attention, not only from the staff and cameras, but from the other players as well. It was hard not to draw attention when you could not lose.
Charlie ordered coffee for both himself and Denice. When the coffee arrived, he lit her a smoke and one for himself. He then ran a couple full buckets to the cashier cage and sat back down, giving Denice her half.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“Twelve thousand, I think.”
“I’ve got about $10,500.”
“We should go. Audits about to start.”
“Okay.”
He took a long pull on his smoke, blew out a long plume of smoke toward the ceiling, and took the last dregs of his coffee in one long swallow. He then said to Denice, “Let’s smack down a couple more times, and then we’ll go see Nea.”
His smile was devious and knowing, the kind you present to your opponent when you beat them soundly and completely.
Then the horseshoe, not to be outdone, chimed in. BADA-BING! Seven out of ten on a Max Bet, which yielded $8,800. BAM! They hit their cash out buttons at the same time. It was 3:48 a.m. Twelve minutes to audit. A good time to saddle up and skedaddle.
Denice signed the tax forms for the jackpot, and then they quickly made the rounds, giving hundred dollar bills to every cashier, runner, waitress, and even the cashier at the truck stop store, on the way out the back door. “Thanks for the shower,” he said to the cashier. The guy stood there staring at the one-hundred-dollar bills in his hands.
-- -- --
Charlie accelerated the K-5 up the steep incline towards the top of the grade shouting, “I am the king and you are the queen!”
“You bet your ass.”
“What do you suppose the legal ramifications are?”
“It’s gambling. They took a risk putting that game on the floor,” reasoned Denice.
“Yeah, but there is a sign that says, ‘Malfunction voids all play.’”
“That’s not a malfunction. I think that’s for when the power goes out or you spill your drink on the buttons,” said Denice, as she counted, putting together stacks of one thousand dollars on the seat and floorboard.
“So what you’re sayin’, cuteness, is that a program error is their fault?”
Dee replied, “I would think so. They must have approved it at some point. Some kind of game certification.”
“Kinda screws up the odds being in favor of the house.”
“Not if you don’t play dimes.”
“Bingo.”
“Keno.”
Charlie looked over at his lovely wife surrounded by money. “Got a chubby, right now.”
“Little moist myself.”
They were quiet for a moment; the only sound was the rumble of the motor and Dee counting, “...eight hundred, nine hundred, one thousand.”
Charlie turned right onto Highway 67 exit/Lake Hodges Road, and followed it into Lakeside. He then turned right, onto San Vicente and the rodeo grounds, and on up the mountain to Barona Indian reservation. Denice looked at Charlie as they began the climb up the mountain. With complete disbelief she gave Charlie the total of her tally: “$31,400.”
“Yahoo and thank you, Jesus!” shouted Charlie.
Denice smiled. “It’s good zombie.”
“What?”
“Good zombie, that’s what Corn Hole calls things like that, good or bad zombie.”
“Kinda spooky, babe.”
“It’s the mountain, the Mother Spirit and how she perceives your presence. And whether good things happen to you.”
“Well. Whatever, we figured it out.”
Denice was very serious now, and when she was sure she had her husband’s attention. She said, “No, Charlie. It was not an accident. We did not figure out SHIT. I dropped in a coin as a joke, and you accidentally hit Max Bet with your elbow like a dumb-ass, you said so yourself, and that seems like good zombie to me.”
They were quiet again for a moment while both came to terms with this new hypothesis. Never ever discount The Supernatural, unless you’re one hundred percent positive it’s false. Just because you can’t see it, does not mean it’s not there.
Denice continued, “Mother Earth must be respected and praised for her gifts.”
Charlie was solemn now after pondering this for a bit. “I was scared the whole time, thinking casino cops were going to come out of the woodwork,” he finally admitted.
“You see what I mean?”
“We have to get a room. Stash the cash, and go back, maybe tomorrow. Definitely before the weekend crowds.”
&nbs
p; “Okay, but now we need to think of how we’re going to give some back,” Denice declared. “Do something good. I feel strongly about this, honey.”
Charlie said, “I’ll go with the flow, Pumkin, whatever you think. I’m not one to piss off the Mountain Spirits. Too spooky.”
Denice may not have been too far off the mark.
Strange things happen in and around the reservation, for that matter all over the mountain. The legends persist from the days of settlers, and their caravans of covered wagons coming up the Butterfield Stagecoach Road. To the smugglers and smuggled that perished here, to the Indians forced onto this land, Mother Earth giveth and she taketh away. Who really knows how the score is ultimately settled?
-- -- --
Pulling in to Barona at 5:00 a.m., valet parking was a breeze, even though it was now Friday. They were provided a room immediately, an advantage of tipping big – employees remember your face, not just your Platinum card.
They loaded the electronic safe and Denice looked over her shoulder at Charlie. “Hey. We should call Elwood. Take him with us, he needs honeymoon money.”
“That’s a good idea.” Then Charlie changed the subject. “We need to have a plan of attack. They’re gonna get wise if they haven’t already.”
“Weekends. Not good,” Denice responded. “Too many customers and lots of staff.”
“We hit the perfect timeframe. Midweek and two in the morning.”
Denice programmed the digital lock with a four-digit pin, shut the safe, handed $500 to Charlie, put $500 in her bra, and patted her breast. “Ammo,” she said softly.
“Big golden bullets. Let’s go kill ‘em.”
THE LIST TO DO, DON’T FORGET
Chapter 28
Denice badly needed to make a to-do list. For her, making a list and checking items off brought normalcy to their otherwise, stressful lives. People to call, things to do, reminders, shopping lists. It represented progress and stability of some sort.
First on the list, celebratory lobster tails, and the best was served at Anthony’s Fish Grotto. Of the two locations, Mount Helix and the Embarcadero, the Embarcadero was by far the best in ambience. The entire restaurant hung over the water, right next to the 110-foot, three-mast Ironside Maritime Museum, which by the way was as haunted as the Whaley Mansion in Presidio Park. If you’ve never been to either of these museums, do not go at night. Or you’ll have to bring adult diapers.
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