by Mia Caldwell
When they got to the part about gamblers doing what they do to punish themselves, Antonio felt like he was punched in the gut. That was so him – gambling recklessly because he was angry with himself.
After they finished the book the individual members, around a dozen, each took time for their therapies. Since there was a newcomer the topic was ‘What brought you here?’
The first person to share was Elbow Patches. He had a great life, with a wife, children, a business, and a home, but he’d always felt like something was missing, and he started gambling, Casino’s, roulette was his drug of choice. At first, it made him feel great, and he’d won, but then when his luck ran out, he found that he had to go back and try and recoup his losses. Eventually, he embezzled money from his wife’s pension, stole from his children’s education accounts, and funneled money from his business to pay for his gambling.
“I was lucky I wasn’t sent to prison. My wife left me, took the kids, and my business was liquidated, and the money went to pay my creditors. But, I still wasn’t ready to quit, I hadn’t hit my rock bottom yet.”
A cell phone alarm went off. “I’ll wrap this up. That was eight years ago. My ex-wife talks to me now, and I have a relationship with my kids. But, the best thing I got from coming into this program and quitting gambling was peace of mind. My life is better, because I don’t gamble. Welcome, Tony, I hope you hear something today that gives you hope, that you too can stop gambling.”
The next several people shared, some with less time without gambling, one person who’d gambled only the other day and was, in his own words, a chronic relapser. The stories all had a similar theme. Some people became addicted or compulsive about their gambling and did it even though it was clearly ruining their lives. Step One, several people cited, was to admit powerlessness over gambling, and that your life had become unmanageable.
Antonio had his arms crossed much of the time.
He hadn’t lost a wife, business or home. Of course he didn’t have a wife or business, he was just a little behind on his lease payments. He’d gone through his entire paycheck even though it was huge compared to most people. Was he a compulsive gambler? Was he, as that book had said, a ‘very sick person’?
No, he told himself. He was just a little reckless. He’d made some mistakes, but he could control this.
Antonio felt himself wavering between wanting to relate to what the others were saying about their gambling experiences and wanting to separate himself from these ‘very sick people’.
When the break was called, he got up and headed out.
“Where you going?” asked Elbow Patches.
“I just need a smoke.”
“See you back here in ten minutes then, Tony.”
Antonio nodded and hurried to get out of the room before someone else approached to ask him what he thought of the meeting so far.
When he got to the front he stopped in his tracks. Joan was standing near the bottom of the steps, twenty feet away, speaking to some man. He didn’t like the way the man was talking to her – leaning into her, touching her arm, coming onto her.
Antonio’s eyes clouded with little green spots. He caught a glimpse of Joan’s face. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but he could tell she wasn’t happy speaking to the guy. Her expression was pinched and impatient and she kept looking up the road, her body language clear.
Antonio decided that he could begin repairing the damage he’d already done to Joan by rescuing her from dweeb who obviously didn’t have a clue that Joan wanted nothing to do with him. Before he could move she detached herself from the man and starting walking away.
He started to go after her, but stopped when a police car drove by and he saw that the dweeb was flagging it down and pointing to his Maserati.
“Shit,” Antonio said, realizing he had parked illegally again. He realized something else too – maybe the police had been looking for the car that had broken out of impound before they’d had a chance to lock it behind the gate. If that was the case then they might have more than just traffic tickets and impound fees in mind. They might have a warrant for his arrest!
He hurried back towards the GA room, ducking inside.
“I thought you’d left us,” Elbow Patches said as Antonio walked by him on his way to the kitchen to hide.
“Sorry, got tied up on a call,” Antonio lied.
A moment later the two police officers walked by and Antonio watched them surreptitiously from the kitchen. They looked inside, smiled and nodded at the members, then walked on. Antonio assumed they were checking the restrooms and was glad he hadn’t considered hiding in there. He busied himself at the coffee station, waiting for the police to pass by again, and felt relieved as the two policemen walked past the room and the sound of their boots echoed down the hall.
Elbow Patches restarted the meeting while Antonio was still in the kitchen.
“Pablo? Why don’t you share next and we’ll ask Tony the twenty questions once he’s had a chance to settle back in.” He repeated his request in Spanish and everyone nodded. Pablo went to the podium and started to share, but stopped and looked to the door after a few words. Antonio cowered back into the kitchen, hiding from whoever Pablo was looking at.
A few moments later one of the members got up to close the door and the group was quiet as they all listened to the sound of two pairs of boots receding down the hall.
Antonio let out his breath in the silence.
“That’s one of the best things about not gambling anymore. I no longer have a heart attack anytime a policeman pulls up behind me, or comes within twenty feet.” Pablo said.
Everyone in the room started busting up at that and Antonio felt a sudden kinship with the group as he too began to laugh.
A few minutes later Pablo wrapped up his share. “That’s it for me,” he said and he sat down. “Your turn, Tony.”
Uncomfortable about standing at the podium, Antonio reluctantly entered the room but went to his seat instead.
“That’s okay, Tony, you can answer from there. It’s painless and we’ve all done it,” said Elbow Patches.
Pablo had the honors of asking Antonio the twenty questions of GA which were designed to self-test if a person had a problem with compulsive or uncontrollable gambling.
Antonio was honest with his answers as he could be, lying only about having broken the law, or that gambling had affected his reputation or ambition, or that he’d ever considered killing himself.
In the end, he’d answered yes to the majority of the questions.
They asked him to read out loud a short sentence at the end of the page. He read it in Spanish and understood the meaning. “Most compulsive gamblers will answer yes to at least seven of these questions.”
Everyone in the room said “Welcome,” as he finished the sentence, and despite an initial urge to get away from these other people with real gambling problems he felt a rush of peace wash over him. He was home.
“Now it’s your turn Tony. Why don’t you tell us what brought you here?”
Antonio shared but he didn’t say too much, admitting only that his gambling was getting out of hand recently, and that even though he knew he should stop he kept finding himself back in a poker game or at a casino. He added a few words about how much he appreciated hearing everyone else’s stories at the end.
“Keep coming back,” several of the members said when he finished. After the meeting he was approached by Elbow Patches and several others, each of them saying that they were glad to have him and that the meetings would help him, there was hope on the horizon.
Antonio felt as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders as he walked back to his hotel.
He had a lot of things to worry about - his car, maybe getting arrested for stopping an impound in progress, Joan... But somehow he felt as if he could handle it all if he just didn’t gamble.
It scared him to think that he’d seriously considered taking his winnings and trying to win more, even though there would
be barely anything left after he paid off his bookie, his hotel bill and the cost of getting his car out of impound, assuming the police had towed it away for real this time.
What if they locked him out of his apartment?
What if he couldn’t get his car back?
Antonio realized that he’d been thinking only about his financial stresses as he sat during the first half of the meeting, but, after answering yes to so many of those questions, and after sharing about how he gambled even when he didn’t want to, he realized just how insane it would be for him to take that money and go anywhere near a gambling establishment.
How would he handle it, if he ended up broke?
With his car in impound, and no money to get it out he couldn’t even go back to Plan A and sell the damn thing. He’d have no possible way to pay the mob his outstanding loan payment, short of robbing a bank.
Was he nuts? He’d have to be, to even consider taking such risks.
He couldn’t expect his new godfather to bail him out like he’d originally considered, not with his fiance blaming him for Joan’s arrest.
It occurred to him, that if Joan was arrested, at least she hadn’t been retained. That was good news.
Getting back to the debate in his head, Antonio decided he would not gamble.
He’d do the right thing and hang onto the money he had. He’d get his car out, pay off the mob on Monday and deal with his other problems as they came up.
Thinking about all that money he left under the bed, made him anxious. What if the housekeeping staff came across it while vacuuming? Had he even remembered to put up the do-not-disturb sign?
He risked spending the last of his pocket money, and hailed a cab.
On the cab ride back to the hotel he fantasized about what his life would be like if he could break his addiction to gambling. Once he got his car out of the impound he’d sell it and use the money to get caught back up on his rent and his tabs at the clubs. Then he could cancel his lease, close out his tabs and move into a more modest residence. He could put his money into some safe investments and stop trying to live like an international playboy. He’d buy a nice, but far cheaper car. Maybe after he’d gotten his life together he could try to patch up things with Joan. This time, he’d do right by her.
He was feeling hope for the first time in a long time as he stepped out of the cab and walked into the lobby. It faded quickly when two men in suits stood and walked towards him. He recognized the thugs who’d cracked his ribs in the empty lot and instinctively bolted to the elevator, jumping inside and slamming his fingers on the close-door button. A thick hand thrust through the gap, stopping the closing doors. The two thugs stepped inside, smiling maliciously at him.
“What do you want?” Antonio said, as his body tense.
“We hear you made a killing up at a poker game in the hills last night.” said the thug with vocal skills. “The boss thinks you should pay him now, in case you get any ideas about risking your money on another bet.”
Antonio’s chest, which had been heaving with anxiety, managed to settle down. This was great news. He’d hand over the money, no temptation, and be able to get on with his new gambling-free life. “Great, gentlemen, I’m happy to pay now. Saves me the trip later.”
“Now we’re talking,” said the talking thug. “Glad you’re listening to reason.”
Antonio could see light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe he’d never would have to gamble again. Maybe he could be like Elbow Patches, happy because he wasn’t gambling and hadn’t gambled for years and years.
He thought about his car and what it might cost to get it out. There would be plenty of money left over for that after he paid the ten thousand, and with the cash out of his hands, he wouldn’t be tempted to go back to that poker game and double his money. But he wasn’t sure he could trust these thugs to just take the ten thousand he owed. He wanted to get into his room first and pull out the correct change, and not let them know just how much he had.
In the hallway, he took out his key.
“Give me a minute?”
“I don’t think so,” they said and they followed him into his room.
Antonio knew that plan was unlikely to succeed so he tried to think of another distraction that might work. He took his time, making a deal out of removing his tattered overcoat and laying it over a chair.
“Stop stalling,” said the thug with vocal chords, and the other thug made a threatening lunge for Antonio, then stopped short and showed him a gold capped tooth.
Antonio sighed.
“It’s under the bed,” he said. Maybe he could open the bag, pull out the right amount of cash, and then leave the rest of the bag behind – that might work.
He got on the floor and swept his arm under the bed, fingers reaching for the bag. He couldn’t feel it. He bent down lower and stretched his arm, and still, he couldn’t feel it.
Tendrils of sweat broke out on the back of his neck and his heart began to race.
“What’s taking you so long?” said the talking thug.
He ducked his head down just to be sure, then stared in disbelief at the empty space, occupied only by dust bunnies. His bag of money was gone.
“It’s not here,” Antonio said miserably.
“What?” said the thug, and a second later Antonio was pulled roughly to his feet. The silent thug waited for a signal from the talking thug, which he apparently received, because a second later Antonio took a hard punch in his gut.
“Wait, I made a mistake,” Antonio said, coughing as he held out his hands and backed away.
“You’re damn right you made a mistake.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I forgot where I put it. I remember now, I took it to my car. Whoosh, I almost had a heart attack. Too much alcohol last night. Sorry, gentlemen.”
Silent thug looked like he wanted to hit Antonio anyhow, but talking thug held up his hand.
Antonio blew out a breath.
“Follow me to my car, gentlemen,” Antonio said as he moved around the unhappy thug towards the door. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, but before the other men could come out he pulled the door shut and sprinted towards the stairs as fast as he could. They were out in the hallway a second later, shouting for him to stop, but Antonio wasn’t the star forward for AC Milan because he was slow. Despite sore ribs and a massive bruise in his gut, he rocketed down the stairs three steps at a time. He’d gone down three flights before they even came into the stairwell. Their shouts and footsteps echoed in the contained space, but Antonio kept going.
A bullet whizzed by his head, blowing his hat off. The bullet ricocheted off the metal rail and slammed into the concrete wall, sending a shower of dust in the air. Antonio covered his mouth and nose, squinting his eyes, but didn’t stop moving. When he got to the next level, he lunged for the door to the hall. Before he could open it a second shot rang out. He heard the talking thug yelling at the trigger-happy thug. “Don’t kill him, he’s no good to us, dead” he shouted in Italian.
Once on the new floor Antonio made a beeline for the bank of elevators, and thanked God when the door was open. He pressed the down button and prayed that the elevator would arrive at the lobby level before the thugs could make their way down.
He lunged out of the elevator the second it opened, running into a cart full of luggage and toppling it over. People yelled and the bellboy cursed, but Antonio didn’t stop.
He flew out into the front of the building, trying to think what to do next.
“Cab?” asked a doorman, moving towards him. Antonio noticed that there were several cabs waiting in line. The sounds of a fresh upheaval in the lobby and of approaching sirens made up his mind. “Si, a cab, por favor.”
The man blew his whistle and a cab drove up just as two police cars screeched to a halt at the curb behind it. Antonio kept his head down and let himself into the back seat, motioning for the cab driver to get back inside. “Where to?” asked the cabby. “The airport. And hurry
, I’m late for a flight,” Antonio shouted, hoping that the cabby wouldn’t linger, curious about the police and what might be going on at the hotel. He also hoped that if the thugs were in the lobby looking for him they’d have second thoughts about chasing after him with police storming the building.
As the cab began to move out of the turnabout, Antonio turned in his seat to watch just in case. No sign of the two thugs. He sat back and let out a breath. He was alive they hadn’t beaten him to a pulp, that was good, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He hadn’t left his money in his car. He’d left it under the bed, and the fact that it wasn’t there meant only one thing. Vince had broken back into his room and had stolen all of his money, that dirty rat.
“I changed my mind about the airport,” Antonio said.
“Fine, by me.”
“Is there a casino nearby?”
“There are several. What kind of action are you looking for?”
“Which one has roulette?”
“They all do, but the table at the Casino Poblenou has the best payout. If you like American and French Roulette – that’s where I’d go first.”
“Great, take me there,” Antonio said, hoping it wouldn’t be far.
The cab took him away from the heart of the city and into the old industrial district, El Poblenou. The area was home to factories and smokestacks belching smoke into the sky. It reminded Antonio uncomfortably of where he’d been taken by Dante Bissacco’s thugs the previous day. He was grateful to see the sparkling casino rise up before him.
He suddenly remembered something.
He let out a yelp of relief as he found a lump in his inside coat pocket. The money he’d stashed from the bag before stuffing it under the bed. He’d completely forgotten about. He counted it out. Just over two hundred Euro.
If he didn’t find Vince maybe he could check out the action in the poker room, before trying to track down Vince at the next casino. He hadn’t intended on ever gambling again, but this was an emergency.