Ride the Lucky

by Kendric Neal

  She nodded and smiled and the Aussie got up. Two women who'd been playing Punto Banco came over to him immediately. They were both stunners in every sense of the word, but Neely's eyes flashed back to Cara—warm girl, natural beauty, the telling difference being that she was radiant and the Aussie's women were not. Lingering under their bright eyes and gleaming smiles were boredom and coldness. These two weren't in Cara's and Rowdy's league—they looked like porcelain dolls, all the beauty on the outside. Still, they paid the Aussie the deference he needed and he wrapped an arm around each waist and bid goodbye to all. Neely knew it must be killing him to leave after their showdown, but the man didn't want to face him across the table after that. It wasn't the money, Neely doubted it had made a dent, it was the sting. He was also the type of man Neely wanted to make sure he didn't run into later. Wealthy or not, he still had the stink of the oilfields on him and would be as likely as not to take a swing at him if the opportunity arose.

  The rest of the table issued a sigh of relief and play resumed at a more subdued pace. Neely took a sip of his tea as Cara wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief, a strangely intimate motion that made Neely wonder what other tender mercies she might be of a mood to bestow. There it was, if he'd lost he'd be leaving now, not just the Emerald Room but the casino as well, Vegas too, tapped out and with his tail between his legs. Cara would be sitting next to someone else and Neely would be forgotten. The flip of a card determined his present and future, and he loved it.

  “That was amazing,” Cara whispered in his ear.

  “You know what they say. Better lucky than good.” Neely wanted to believe there was vindication in that, that good, humble, God-fearing men won in the end, but he'd seen too many nights where it was the biggest dick at the table who walked away with the pot. “If luck were a lady, would she look like you?” he asked.

  “Maybe to you.”

  Neely looked up and saw the Belgian man looking at him studiously. The man had continued to intrigue him as the game had progressed, as he played with intelligence and composure, folding often, refusing to get lured into pots when he didn't like the odds. When he'd bet high, he'd had the hands to back them and had won four or five very large pots. His careful maneuvering had worked to his advantage as well, as he'd played the opposite of Neely's usual strategy. Instead of establishing the bluff early, he had not been caught in a bluff at all. After his second big pot he had forced many other players out whenever he went high, and Neely knew the odds were that some of those pots now were bluffs indeed. He was unreadable and methodical but unpredictable; Neely watched him as keenly now as he watched Neely, as they came to dominate the table.

  The man had seen Neely dismantle the Aussie with no visible reaction. He had opted out in the second betting round despite showing a pair of Kings. There was a realm of poker player that Neely dared to consider himself a part of, the ones who knew the odds, who knew the game, who knew the rhythms and where they fit into them, but who also relied on gut instinct, and let it, when necessary, trump all other considerations. Long before the current streak, Neely had noted at times he could guess correctly what other players had and it wasn't any kind of tell he relied on but something purely intangible. He could feel it. He felt the way the game was going, the emotional tug and pull as each player experienced his own highs and lows, and Neely sometimes flaunted convention and bet by it. He wasn't always right, but there were nights when he was on top of it and it led to sizable winnings. He likened it to bull riding, you knew you couldn't stay on long, but you could tune yourself to the wild rhythms of the bull and take whatever he gave you. If you believed in yourself during those terrifying moments, you experienced a euphoria like nothing else.

  Neely recognized it in the Belgian and he in him. The Belgian's wife was sitting next to him now. In the casinos, and certainly at Naccahaw, non-players weren't allowed to take seats, but the rules were different in the Emerald Room. If you were going to drop a quarter of a million or more, it seemed only right your wife or girlfriend or husband could be by your side. After all, that was part of the fun, wasn't it? And now that it was getting late, there was less demand for a seat at a table where million dollar stacks weren't uncommon.

  Neely felt Cara squeeze his hand. A wife or girlfriend might have suggested stepping away after cleaning up on the Aussie, but like Cara said, she was working. Her job was the opposite. Her job was to keep him at the table as long as possible. All night, if need be. Until he went bust, with any luck. He had no illusions then—she would slip into the night, a smile, a lingering touch, then she'd be gone. He didn't have time to be concerned about it, he enjoyed her sitting next to him, the warmth of her leg pressing against his, her sweet breath whispering in his ear, the odor of her perfume mixed with the fresh lime in her gimlet and the clean, young smell of her skin. It emboldened him, which it was intended to do, but what her boss didn't know was that emboldening a lucky streak the likes of which Neely Thomas was surfing was certainly not in the casino's best interests.

  Neely signaled to the waitress and this time ordered a martini, Grey Goose VX, which is what he always did when he was ready to get serious. It wasn't yet midnight, he was up $600K for the weekend already, and he had a woman by his side he knew he'd be making love to later if he only kept winning. Losing didn't occur to him, though he still held out faint hope it might happen. This could still be a morality tale with a happy ending, perhaps he'd pay his penance and move on. He didn't believe it, though…he felt he was finally facing the truth. The Belgian was Mephistopheles, Neely was caught between Heaven & Hell and this was his moment of judgment. He'd sold his soul that day on the highway, the day he'd won the ancient tree lottery and the innocent boy had been the sacrifice. Neely had taken his animal spirit and transformed it into a lucky streak the likes of which hasn't had a play on Earth since the days of the Greek gods and their tireless meddling in the affairs of men…

  If this was what Fate had in store for him, he sure as hell wasn't going to run. He could scamper back to his room, try to hide his winnings, try to pretend it wasn't happening and lose himself in drink, but that wasn't going to be his way. He was a guy who went for broke. It's what got him Hope, it's what got him his career, he thrived on risk and tonight's atmosphere was so rich with it he felt a rush that flushed his whole body with endorphins. All or nothing now. He'd have it no other way.

  He and the Belgian nodded to each other. It was their acknowledgment that it was their game now and both men doubted anyone at the table would disagree. Cara reached under the table and squeezed Neely's knee. He didn't think it was in a professional capacity either, he thought she'd sensed all of what he was feeling and was caught up in the heat of the battle. What must this job be like for a girl like her? So young and suddenly thrown into an environment full of so much money, so much power, and all the sharks that went with it. He preferred not to think about it, he'd rather she just be his Cara for the night. That's what you paid for, wasn't it? With a girl like her? You paid for the fantasy that she was just yours. She was Rowdy plus one, she was the next level up, the illusion with blurred lines, too blurred for comfort. She was his girl now, it had moved beyond fantasy. As long as he was in this room, as long as he had money, as long as he was winning, Cara was his girl, signed, sealed, and delivered.

  The two men took the measure of each other over the next hour and a half. Their game was careful and deliberate, and neither forced a showdown. Neely was expecting one, but the Belgian seemed hesitant to take him on. Instead they played conservatively, letting the other players' fortunes rise and fall as the game moved with the vicissitudes of the winds and no clear hand at the helm. The Spanish woman quit, disgusted, and went clanking off alone with her jewelry. A very young Indian gentleman won several large pots, largely through attrition, before flitting off to another table to lose most of it loudly at Baccarat. A 400-lb Hawaiian man with a stunning and much younger girlfriend joined the game and his buoyant mood was a refreshing addition to
the now serious atmosphere. He drank half a dozen Mai-Tais and bet freely, losing steadily, but then winning a $100K pot with a pair of threes, which made the whole table laugh, including himself. He wasn't a great player but he was fun to be around and seemed to be a man so comfortable in his own skin he put everyone else at ease.

  Although Neely was glad he joined in, it changed the flow of play dramatically. Neely had been thinking of stepping away and spending the rest of the night with Cara; the stalemate with the Belgian grown tedious and, although both men watched their stacks grow steadily, it was becoming routine and not quite worth the effort. Now things were different, especially after a middle-aged Kuwaiti woman joined the table and began engaging the Hawaiian man in head-to-head combat whenever either of them had two pair or better. The pots grew too large too quickly and Neely and the Belgian found themselves folding regularly. The Kuwaiti woman had a man with her, young and extremely handsome, also Middle-Eastern, and he often leaned in and whispered advice to her. She seemed to take his opinion seriously and bet accordingly, but it soon became clear he bet her money far too freely. Neely suspected she was married to money, too long neglected and caught up in the thrall of this handsome younger man who imperiled her judgment. It created an opportunity for the table though, as she seemed to have unlimited reserves and she grew more distracted as their little tête-à-tête turned into a distastefully public mating dance. She won two large pots in a row, delighting the both of them, and her betting grew even bolder. Neely took the next pot, outbluffing her, and it was the Belgian's turn next as he won a $145,000 pot on the strength of a Jack high.

  The Hawaiian was feeling left out, his pretty young girlfriend growing bored, and Neely sensed an opportunity on the next round when he was dealt a King and Jack of Spades down, a 10 of Spades up. He stayed on the strength of the King and Jack, but was pleasantly surprised when his next two up were a 7 of Hearts and Ace of Spades. That gave him a decent shot at a flush, possibly even a straight flush, with the remaining cards to be dealt. The Hawaiian man opened with $150,000 and Neely was surprised to see the Belgian man call. The Kuwaiti woman consulted her confidante, but she tossed in her plaques in a way that made Neely think $150,000 was the kind of money she dropped on a shopping trip. Neely's next up was a 10 of Diamonds which gave him a pair, but he felt a curious sensation as he looked at his cards and the faces around the table. He had a shot at not just a flush, and not just a straight flush, but a Royal Flush, the best hand in poker, and something so rare he'd never even seen one. Not without wild cards and gimmicks, anyway. It wasn't something worth betting a lot of money on, though, the odds were too long. A flush or three 10's, however, had a reasonable chance, but he had a feeling he'd need better to beat the Belgian. It was the better that worried him—he had a shot at the flush if he caught another Spade, but if the Belgian was sitting on a Full House even that wouldn't be enough. He felt it in his stomach when the Belgian not only called the Hawaiian but raised him $200,000. The Kuwaiti woman clucked at that but after one quick look at her compatriot, she called and they shared a conspiratorial smile that Neely took to be inspired by the sex they were going to have. Some folks were like that, their betting, their gambling, had more to do with stimulation than winning, and while Neely may have understood it, he had nothing but contempt for it. There was a time and a place for everything, those lines shouldn't be crossed. The Hawaiian was the wild card now…he could be betting on nothing, just to have something to do, or could already have a straight as he had a 3, 5, 6 and 7 showing.

  This was it, and it wasn't climactic. This was the moment when the portal was passed with no turning back, and he didn't hesitate. He wouldn't have stayed, simple as that, in any other game, in his old life, in his solid, reasoned gambling days, this was dangerous territory to enter with only two 10's to guard him. He called anyway, and before he could stop himself raised $200,000. He wanted to drive out the Belgian if it was a weak trip he was nursing, but the man surprised him and called. That was bad, that was very bad indeed, that made the Full House a certainty. The Hawaiian and the Kuwaiti woman both followed suit, no surprise to Neely, but the Kuwaiti woman shocked them all by raising another $350,000. The Hawaiian man's girlfriend gasped, while Cara dug her nails into Neely's knee. Neely saw the Kuwaiti woman's cheeks flush pink, enjoying the sudden shock and attention. She seemed like a woman too long neglected who was now showily getting drunk on it. Her male appendage couldn't help himself, he kissed her ear, which turned into a wholly inappropriate lick the rest of the table tried but failed to ignore. Her blush deepened and she grasped his hand tighter, and Neely prayed he wouldn't have to witness anything worse before they stumbled drunkenly to their room later.

  Neely called, as did the Hawaiian and the Belgian. For the first time Neely felt dampness down his spine. What had he gotten himself into? What had started as a lark had turned into a final showdown. He had only tested the waters because he knew there was easy money changing hands, he had completely abandoned his usual mode of play and found himself wholly committed to a pair of 10's and an outside shot at something that still might not be good enough. The betting he was seeing told him somebody's got something, now modified to everybody's got something, and he'd made the beginner's error in over-committing to nothing but vague promises. What had he always said? It was arrogance that lost. It was underestimating the competition. The Hawaiian and the Kuwaiti woman had lulled him, he had grown bolder, classic mistake, the one that led to his epic losing streak in the first place and kept him there until all the money was gone. Jess had already taken the SATs and hit a 1290 on the first go. That was a wake-up call, he'd been thinking he still had time, but mature, ambitious girls with 1290s were sought after for Early Admission and that pushed all the deadlines up. , , , and here he was with all the money it would take to send her anywhere she wanted up for grabs to a fat Hawaiian pedophile and the neglected wife of some philandering oil sheik. And, oh Neely, don't forget the shrewd eyes of the Belgian across the table, who seemed to not notice the others but continued to focus on Neely alone.

  Neely sighed silently and Cara felt it, giving him a look of concern. She had his hand wrapped in hers by now, their journey one taken together, though he knew that wasn't true, her hand might be ungrasping his in a minute or less. Neely was showing too much, his mistake was playing on his face and while the others may have been oblivious, the Belgian certainly wasn't. He was watching raptly, giving nothing away himself. Neely feigned a cough, took a sip of his tea, and squeezed Cara's hand back. She reached over with her other and squeezed his arm and for the life of him, Neely couldn't imagine life without her. Goddamn, he thought. Goddamn, Vegas was dangerous. It took him this long to see what others saw right away, this place was frigging dangerous, this place was a minefield. No matter what happened at the tables, win big or lose small, you could lose yourself here and never know it was happening until it was too late.

  They waited as the last card was dealt. In slow motion, it seemed, though maybe the dealer drew it out, seeing as there was almost four million dollars in the pot by now. Other gamblers in the room had gathered, hearing the whispers of what was going on, and this was it, wasn't it? This was Vegas in all her glory. This was what they had all come for. To watch a man win, to watch a man die. Backs were broken at tables like this, lives lost even if the shell went on clocking in and going to work another 40 years, they never outlived the hand that destroyed them.

  Neely stared, then blinked. It had never really occurred to him he'd lose, the streak had been too strong, the old woman's whisper had propped him up through everything. But another round was left, he had to pull himself together. He relaxed his grip on Cara's hand and knew it was the clincher. He knew the effect of that movement played silently on her face and wasn't lost on the Belgian. The next round topped $1.6, bringing the pot to five and a half. The Hawaiian tipped a Full House, Jacks and 7's. The Kuwaiti woman laid down a 2 and 5 of Diamonds, she'd hit the Flush, dammit, and the Belgian revealed his t
wo hole cards were Sevens, giving him 4 of a kind. Neely set his down slowly, knowing the effect it would have on the crowd, dreading it, feeling sick to the point of puking… The Queen of Spades. Straight complete, and all in beautiful Spades. He'd hit the Royal Flush. Unbelievable.

  He took Cara home.

  He hadn't asked, it was just assumed. They were a couple, everything about it felt right and familiar, as though, somehow, money could buy this. Not sex, not companionship, but couplehood. They made love like well-tuned lovers—not a tryst, not an assignation, not a reward. It was beautiful, lonely, sensuous, easy and heartbreaking—better even than Rowdy and that had just about destroyed him. It was the lovemaking of two people whose lives were entwined, who were one for all eternity and couldn't hold onto that fleeting bliss without a glimpse of their own mortalities. Oneness tinged with fear, a thousand regrets and the painful ache of loneliness…too lovely to hold onto, too tenuous to grasp, there just long enough to feel its whispered breath against one cheek.

  He'd only been with a professional once in his life, at his old college roommate's bachelor party. It was excitingly sordid, he was exceptionally drunk and although he had no regrets afterwards, he hadn't sought out a similar experience since. Now, two nights in a row, Rowdy and Cara, and there had been nothing naughty, sinful or sordid about either of them. Neely spun it every way he could and kept coming back to the fact he was having the time of his life even though that was wrong on every level he could think of. He had a wife back home who did love him, genuinely love him, but here he was in a suite at a Vegas casino—gambling and partying like a rock star because a random run of cards had gone his way.