by Nancy Adams
At the final table we enjoyed ourselves. I ordered some more drinks and found myself drunk for the first time since Cuba, Charlie sticking to the Diet Cokes all night—good boy! Again the gamblers were silent and, again, they were shit! It wasn’t long before we were forty grand to the good with over an hour to go on our schedule. I realized that this was our sign to leave. With a gleeful smile and a nod of the head, I signaled to Charlie that it was time we cashed in, and the grin that shone from his face showed me just how much he’d enjoyed himself. That grin stretching right across his mouth filled me with absolute ecstasy, and I couldn’t help grinning all over, myself. We walked away from the table like two legends, shoulders bent back, heads held high, winking at everyone as we strolled past. Charlie’s cane made him look somehow bigger than he was, and I later found out from his mom that he’d been practicing his walk with it all week leading up to the casino.
When we reached the counter, they exchanged our chips for cash with enthusiastic smiles on their faces, and, although I did have a little look around to see that security weren’t making their way to us, I sensed that we were home and dry. We’d taken the money that we needed and hadn’t been greedy enough to give ourselves away. By losing lots of petty, little hands and winning on the big ones, we’d made it look more like luck than anything else, and the girl at the counter had congratulated us when she’d finally bagged our money up for us. It was then that we smiled, thanked her for a beautiful evening, and walked out the front, the doorman tipping his hat and opening the big old door for us, Charlie cheekily placing a hundred-dollar bill in the guy’s top pocket, to which he was much obliged.
We waited two blocks before we allowed ourselves the pleasure of a euphoric embrace and several catcalls to the moon, it now being midnight.
“We fucking did it,” Charlie was crying out.
“You did it, kid,” I put back to him. “I was just happy to have been a part and gotten to watch you.”
He let go and did a little bow in front of me.
“No, I mean it,” I said joyously. “You were absolutely awesome tonight. You did it right all the way.”
“It kinda helps when you haven’t got those creeps breathing down your neck.”
“No creeps, just Paul and Dave, and Molly and Samuel. Good people.”
Charlie took the package of money from his inside pocket, stuffed full with hundred-dollar bills, and handed it to me.
“Seven grand of it’s yours,” I stated to him. “I only need thirty-three.”
“No, have it all. I don’t need it. The thrill of being in there with you and winning the money was enough for me. All I want is the memory.”
“And the memory will always be ours, bud.”
I shot out my hand and he took it heartily, to which I grabbed ahold of him again, embracing him warmly and, caught on a tide of my own exuberance, kissed his cheek. This time the plan had come off. No broken bones. No violent escape. No discovery of our ruse. We’d gotten away scot-free and had done it ripping off my father in the process. With my college money safely in my jacket pocket and feeling taller than I had for a very long time, we hailed a cab—no need for the bus when you’ve a spare seven grand—and went off to Charlie’s place high on the buzz of the evening, the two of us chatting incessantly about the night’s victory the whole way back.
SARAH
I was awoken by Josh rocking my shoulder. Upon opening my drowsy eyes, I was surprised to see him dressed in his suit rather than his grubby work clothes.
“Hey, baby,” he cooed softly.
“What time is it?”
“It’s just before one.”
“How come you’re home so early? And why are you dressed like that?”
“Sit up. I got something to show you.”
Rubbing my eyes, I sat myself up in bed and he sat himself down on the end. On his face he wore an extensive grin and appeared extremely pleased about something.
“Baby, close your eyes,” he softly commanded.
“I’ve only just opened them, and now you want me to close them again?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I groaned, doing as he said.
All of a sudden I felt something fall on me, making me wince slightly, and, when I opened my eyes, I saw hundred-dollar bills scattered everywhere on myself and the bed. The sight of them shocked me to such an extent that I thought I must be dreaming still, one of those odd lucid dreams.
“I must still be asleep,” I remarked, and was about to turn back over when he stopped me.
“No, this is no dream. It’s real. In one week’s time, I’m going back to college. I’m going back and in another year, I’ve got a college education and there ain’t a damn thing in the world that’s gonna stop us.”
I opened my eyes wide at this point and glanced around the room, on the lookout for anything surreal that might further suggest I was dreaming. But everything appeared as it should and I began to be even further dismayed by the money, as well as his suit.
“Where did it all come from?” I asked in alarm, my gaze fixed upon the leaves of cash covering the bed. Then fixing my eyes on Josh, I added, “You didn’t rob someone did you?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Did you steal it at work?”
He frowned at me.
“Really?” he let out, a hint of indignation strangling his otherwise happy tone. “How come you gotta think I stole it?”
“Because you went off to work today and unless they’ve paid you the next year and a half in salary, I can't think of anything else.”
“What would you say if I told you I won it?”
“At what?”
“At a casino.”
“I guess I’d wonder why you were at a casino when you were supposed to be at work.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be at work. Instead, I went to the casino and won my college money.”
“How did you get the stake money?”
“I borrowed five hundred dollars from Charlie.”
“You earned all this from five hundred dollars.”
“Yep.”
I was amazed. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t condone gambling in any form, but I certainly don’t begrudge someone playing the house and winning. It’s just the fact that someone very rarely does and mostly ends up broke that I hate; that it’s a dead road cheating people through hope and false promise. But then, as a wave of joy permeated through me, a pang of something else stuck out a hand and grabbed my ankles, pulling me into a terrible foreboding.
“You said Charlie,” I went.
“Yeah, so what?”
“So Charlie gave you the money.”
“Yeah.”
“And did he come too?”
His grin dropped a little.
“Yeah,” he let out in a sheepish tone.
“And Charlie counts cards,” I put to him.
“Well…not exactly…He…Well, that's to say…”
“You both cheated, didn’t you? Charlie counted cards tonight, didn't he?”
His face went red and he averted his blue eyes from me.
With head bowed, he let out in a light whisper, “You could call it that…But I was—”
“Josh!” I exclaimed, interrupting his rabbling defense. “You cheated a casino. Was it an official one, or one of those backroom shindigs that you used to love?”
“No, it was a real casino.”
“But Charlie’s only nineteen. The state doesn’t allow anyone under the age of twenty-one to gamble.”
“He had a fake ID.”
“You made him get a fake ID and made him gamble for you?”
“No,” he burst out, raising his eyes to me. “It was all his idea, I swear.”
“Okay, whoever came up with the scam it doesn’t matter. But as a lawyer, I’d just like to inform you that you both broke the law tonight by committing fraud. You defrauded a business for which you can both get up to seven years in prison.”
“But we di
dn’t get caught.”
“That doesn’t make it legal! That just makes you lucky. You both risked everything.”
“There was no risk; it was my old man’s place. He would’ve never prosecuted if we had of gotten caught.”
“Really!?” I couldn’t help throwing back in his face.
“Yeah.”
“Your father strikes me as the type of guy that would throw you to the wolves if it suited him. I certainly wouldn’t be so casual about him protecting you from this.”
“Hey! My old man may be a lot of things, but he wouldn’t be so callous as to send his only child to jail.”
I was seething. Really seething. Since I’d found out that his father was pulling the plug on his college finances, I’d held this glimmer of an inner fear that he’d do something stupid to try and get ahold of the money. Josh had something of the independent spirit, the alpha male bravado, about him. The ‘he who dares’ attitude. I’d been scared that he’d do something illegal in order to fast-track his life, to defy his father and get back to college.
“We can’t keep it,” I uttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said: we can't keep it.”
“Why!?”
“It’s illegal money for one thing. And immoral for another.”
“Ugh! This is why I kept it secret from you: your morality. Isn’t it just as immoral for the casino to rip all those people off? It’s a huge fix. Everyone knows that. We were just giving them a little of their own medicine was all. And doesn’t my father owe me this money anyway?”
“No one owes anyone anything; it’s about getting it yourself.”
“I did get it! We went in there and took it from them nice and slow. We walked out with no more than what we needed, we weren’t greedy. We could have been. If we had wanted it, we could’ve walked outta that place millionaires at their expense. But we didn’t, because we didn’t want to be greedy.”
“Only because you didn’t want to make it too obvious. Isn't that true?”
“Yeah,” he slowly exhaled, his face having completely lost its former glaze of glory.
“It wasn’t a lack of greed that stopped you; it was criminal premeditation!”
I fixed my eyes on him for some time while he sat with a look on his face that can be described as the look on a young boy who’s just been caught smoking a cigarette by his mother.
“Charlie offered,” he said guiltily, “and I thought it was a good idea. It may have been criminal, but it hurts no one.”
“It could have hurt me,” I put to him. “I could have woken up tomorrow morning wondering where you were while you sat in a jail cell. Charlie too. Both me and Mrs. Hodge deprived of our loves because of their innate stupidity; their dumb male pride.”
“But this money,” Josh began imploringly, picking up a handful and bringing it up to my eyes, as though that would do the trick. “This money means so much. It brings us so much. I say goodbye to that shitty job and go back to college next week. Next week, Sarah, not in a year or even more.”
“But you committed a crime to get there. You cheated. If I let this go, then what next? You want a better car, so you out and steal it? You get bored of cheap clothes and this tiny apartment, so you start dealing drugs or committing break-ins to get it? If I allow you to step over the line this once, then what will be next?”
“I wouldn’t do any of that stuff. I did this for us. For us.”
“Then why didn’t you consult me first? If this was for us, then why wasn’t it between us?”
“Please, Sarah, I wanted to go back to college and make you proud of me now, not in the distant future.”
“I am proud of you, you idiot. I’m proud every day you get up and go to that horrible place knowing you hate it. I would have been proud of you every single day for however long it took you to raise the money to go back to college. But this? This doesn’t make me proud of you, it makes me mad, ashamed even.”
“You’re ashamed of me!?” he uttered, his face pursing up into a severe frown.
I was angry, and the rage inside of me carried me along like a crowd-surfer.
“Yes,” I said into his face. “And I want you to go back to that casino and give this money back to them.”
“This isn’t a Dior dress, Sarah. I can’t just walk in there and say, ‘Hey! Me and my buddy were in here earlier and we accidentally defrauded you of forty grand. Here's the money back. Sorry.’ I can't do that.”
“You don't have to explain all of your fraudulent behavior, just give it back to them.”
“I can't believe you,” he said in an aggrieved tone, his voice raising up into the crescendo of a shout. “You want me to slave away at that fucking warehouse for the next year—”
“It doesn’t have to be there. You can find a better job.”
“Like what, huh? Working at a fucking Walmart or serving coffee in some coffee shop, getting by on shitty tips and even shittier treatment?”
“Many people do that every day and they don’t complain.”
“Well, I would. I’d complain. It would grind me down just as much as the warehouse. At least there you don’t have to deal with people. Having to serve people makes me sick.”
My nose curled as something erupted inside of me. I lurched forward and for the second time in my life I hit him across the cheek.
“You spoiled little brat,” I screamed at him.
It was then that next-door banged on the wall. But I didn't care, I was too incensed.
“You spoiled child,” I went on. “You know what? I’m glad your father took your privilege away from you.”
“Like he did from you too,” he retorted in an acidic tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, before my old man removed the shirt from your father’s back, you were just as much a spoiled brat as me. I saw the look on you when you were on the yacht or in my dad’s luxury apartment, the way you wriggled your toes in the plush of the carpet. I saw the look on you when we went horse riding. You’re just getting on my back because you’ve forgotten what it’s like to win. You’ve had fifteen more years to know what it’s like to be a loser. Well, tonight I won; whether I cheated or not, doesn't matter. I won, and that’s all that counts. Winning.”
“You sound just like your father.”
He bolted up from the bed, the fires of his anger burning through his expression, jaw taut, teeth clenched, eyeballs glowing with wrath.
“Fuck you!” he spat at me before grabbing a handful of money and storming out of the apartment, leaving me to sit in a contemplative mood upon the bed, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains and the echo of the slamming door ringing in my ears.
JOSH
An atomic bomb was going off in my head, its huge mushroom-cloud of anger expanding in me as I stomped away from the apartment along the dimly lit sidewalk and into the night. The furious bomb’s components consisted of: Sarah comparing me to my father, a man I’d longed to disassociate myself from since childhood; the fact that her morality and blind obedience to the law had wrecked my ecstatic mood at having won the money, bursting my balloon and sending me crashing down to the earth; coupled with the fact that she was sure to expect me to hand the money over and ruin my return to college on the basis of her ethics; and that that would mean spending God knows how much longer breaking my back, being talked down to like a piece of shit, getting covered in filth, and all for a crummy wage that barely amounted to a night on the town every week. But the final component, the one that viciously writhed underneath the rest and acted as a catalyst for my wrathful explosion, that component was my sexual frustration. It was this that spread through everything else and decimated my mind.
Having walked for what must have been at least an hour, I finally found what I was looking for: an avenue of neon bar signs that glittered in the night’s sky like stars of the street. Some old instinct told me to ignore the first bar I came across, so instead I continued until I re
ached one that was on the corner of an intersection. Even though it was well after one, the place was still packed tight with revelers, some band playing shitty covers of eighties hits making noise in a corner, clusters of people dancing around their edge, the rest of the bar wasted and swaying about the place. Women’s screams and giggles, male guffawing, smashed glasses and a hundred dead-end conversations all mixed in with the din of the band.
I ignored everyone and sidled my way through the knots of drunken people until I reached the bar, immediately calling over the barmaid, ordering two bottles of Coors and two shots of tequila. I paid the bill with a hundred-dollar bill, all I had, and the barmaid shot me a suspicious eye, but soon returned with my order and change. I slammed the tequilas back one after the other and then took my beers over to one of those shelf-like tables that always surround tall pillars in bars. I thumped my beers down on the ledge, before dumping myself down on the stool. At first, all I did was watch the piece of column in front of me and swig at my beers, the first one rapidly, the second a little slower, the oily tequila twisting my stomach a little. But soon I wanted a smoke, and, turning around, stopped this plump blonde wearing ripped jean-shorts several sizes too small, her thick pink thighs ballooning out of them like badly packed ham, and a Metallica t-shirt covering her gargantuan breasts. Of course, it wasn’t her looks that interested me; it was the smoke in her mouth.
“Hey there,” I started.
“Hey, honey,” she said back in a smarmy tone, her voluptuous eyes swallowing me whole as they scanned me up and down, her face melting into lustful pose.
“Can I grab a smoke off’ve ya?” I asked in my best downtown accent.