“The woman was her mother!” Randy roared. “She bought the flowers as a birthday present!” A laugh like someone squeezing a mouse in a vice came out and his belly shook.
Alex made the “Aha!” face and hoped it could be dropped now. Randy loosened his tie another inch, picked up his drink with his stubby fingers and drained the tumbler, sucking out the last of the golden liquid through the ice. He let a cube slide into his mouth and chewed. He then rattled the remaining ice to get the bartenders attention.
Why am I here? thought Alex and the words drained him of what little strength he had left. He had only finished half of his Stella and he already felt fuzzy. It wasn’t from the beer, though. It was from the lightness in his wallet again. He couldn’t believe he lost so much so quickly. The real problem, though, the thing that rapped on the inside of his brain, was that he was making very stupid bets lately.
He stared at the tiny bubbles rising to the surface of his drink, each of them like the dollars that rose to the surface of his wallet and then popped.
The bartender came over and Randy pushed his glass toward him. He looked over at Alex and scowled.
“You’re a bit slow today, pal,” he said. There was no animosity in the words, but Alex hated it when Randy called him pal. Alex shook his head and the bartender lifted Randy’s glass and left.
This had been a slowly growing social getaway for both of them, a little time to unwind after work, but it had morphed into something much more than that. There was a time when they would have grimaced and walked away from the tables when they were only a hundred down. That was a bit too steep back then. They would settle in the casino bar and shoot the shit for another hour or so, taking in their complimentary drinks and laughing. It seemed so much more casual back then.
They both worked at Gunther Realty and were modestly successful, bringing in commissions that kept the company happy and occasionally getting bonuses for the larger sales that they generated. Randy was Alex’s mentor when he first started. Unasked to do so, he took Alex under his large and flabby wing and guided him through the mean streets of the real estate industry of Atlantic City.
Alex liked Randy, at least at first. He was loud and always laughing too hard at his own jokes but he never meant any harm by it. Everyone in the office eventually became the butt of one of his jokes. Alex took it as a compliment when it was his turn, as if he had been asked to join an exclusive club.
They locked up their desks, packed their briefcases and headed out. They lived only a few blocks from each other so it became an early habit to ride together and take turns at the wheel, whichever car they took.
Their route took them past the small stores that were hanging by a thread, the junked out apartment buildings and the fast food joints that seemed to have more lives than a cat. They were only one of a couple of places that never died in a town like Atlantic City: fast food places and bars.
“People gotta eat and drink,” Randy would say.
The casinos were a bit different. They would always be casinos, but the names might change. So, though they may change identities, even themes (like the Wild, Wild, West or the really silly one that was supposed to be the French quarter), they would always have gambling because there was always hope. The brass ring was there for everybody to reach for.
Randy was the first one to suggest that they stop by for some quick tables or something.
When Alex tried to beg off, Randy shook his head. “You have to get to know the casinos if you’re going to work in this town, it’s like its life blood. If you want to understand the people that live here, or the people that want to live here, then you to must understand the casinos. They’re the heart of this town. Have been for a long time and almost everything here relates in someway to the casinos.”
That first night they broke even more or less Alex was amazed that almost two hours had passed since they hit the casino floor. Cocktail waitresses in feathered costumes strutted through the aisles of slot machines balancing trays of drinks. It was a time warp.
On the drive home, Randy said, “That’s why there are no clocks in there, pal, or windows. Complete isolation, like one of those chambers that keeps out all the light and the sound-”
“Sensory Deprivation chamber?” Alex asked. He could still hear the cacophony of the bells and voices in the casino.
“That’s it!” Randy exclaimed and wheezed out his mouse-like laugh.
As the months passed, Randy and he had come to an understanding that Friday nights would be spent at the casinos.
The urge to go to the casinos became like a fly buzzing around old food, no matter how much you waved it away it came back again. He had heard that gambling was a disease and he began to truly believe it. People aren’t born gamblers, though it may seem so. No, it can be caught late in life just like diabetes or cancer or herpes.
So now they both sat at a bar drinking whiskey and beer on the house because it was what you did and what you got when you lost a lot of money, the casino comped you for the little things so you couldn’t see the big picture.
Randy’s drink came and he immediately dove in, taking a long sip and then letting a subtle shiver run through his body. A sound came out of his throat which was not quite a belch and not exactly a hiccup.
Alex took another sip of his beer. He didn’t really want it, but he certainly didn’t want it to go to waste. He had lost enough tonight. He tried to think of how many beers he would have to drink to make up his lost money tonight and the thought made him woozy for a moment. He lost way too much.
Beth was gone, maybe for good. She said she was going to stay with her mother for a while to sort things out but he knew what that meant when translated properly. Fortunately they didn’t have any kids but they used to talk about it. That seemed like forever ago.
“Jeez, the bear really ate you tonight, huh?” Randy said and rolled his glass with his fingers. “How much?”
“I don’t know, something like five hundred.”
Randy whistled, making a wet sound. “Well, don’t feel too bad. I lost that much before, not recently, mind you, but it happens.”
“I can’t afford this,” Alex said and shook his head.
“Ah, it’s a bad patch,” Randy said and waved his fat hand dismissively, “just a bad patch.”
Alex had the strong urge to punch Randy right then but it wasn’t Randy’s fault that he woke every morning thinking about how much he might be able to lose that day. It wasn’t breakfast or a cup of coffee for Alex Shirra. Oh, no.
Still, Randy was the one who introduced him to the bug, the gambling gnat that hovered around his eyes and dodged his feeble attempts to drive it away.
“It’s more than a bad patch, Rand,” Alex said. “Beth left me and-”
“When did she leave?” Randy asked, suddenly turning to him.
“A couple of days ago…I didn’t want to talk about it then.”
Randy had a genuine look of concern in his eyes, but it soon faded and was replaced by a sloppy, whisky-laced grin. “Let me guess, she went to stay with her mother, right?”
“Yeah,” Alex answered, feeling uncomfortably childish under Randy’s gaze.
“Ah, she’ll be back,” Randy said and drained his glass. “That storyline is straight out of the Honeymooners or something, pal. A woman says that only when she wants you to follow her and beg her to take you back.”
Alex wasn’t so sure. The look in Beth’s eyes had gotten more and more distant, as if someone had come along and brushed a glaze over them. Her eyes were now simply two orbs in her head that sensed the world around her, a world in which he was becoming a smaller and smaller part of.
“C’mon, Lucky, you got money to win back. I’ll help you do it.”
Alex stayed in his stool. A tear streaked down to his jaw line. He was crying for Beth, crying for what he might never get back, and, maybe most selfishly, he was crying for himself. He was becoming a caricature: the weeping gambler sitting in a casino bar who l
ost his wife and soon his house. How many movies and TV shows had been made from that storyline?
“Oh, hey,” Randy said and moved closer, so that he could speak in a lower tone, maybe make them both feel as if they were all alone. “Look, if she really wanted to leave, she wouldn’t have told you where she was going, right? She woulda just took off and never said a word, right?”
Alex wiped his cheek and blinked. It made a bit of sense. There must be still something there if she bothered to tell him where to look for her.
He slowly nodded and Randy’s smile broadened.
“C’mon, sitting here in this place and crying over things isn’t going to help anything. Even a drunk gambler knows that,” he said and coughed into his hand. He took Alex by the shoulder and helped him from his seat and tossed a tip on the bar.
The lights and sounds were somehow comforting to Alex. It smoothed over the rough patches he was feeling while counting the bubbles in his Stella.
He followed his usual route toward the Roulette wheel while Randy separated and was soon lost in the crowd that surrounded the blackjack tables.
Another hour spent and another hour of losing. Alex cursed and slammed his hand down at the conclusion of every spin. The ball never ended up where he needed it to be. He could have pocketfuls of rabbit feet and be wearing a silver horseshoe around his neck and it wouldn’t matter. It was one of those nights.
Randy came over and watched. His skin was a bit gray and his blue eyes were still swimming in whiskey. He bumped up against Alex and let out a slow belch.
“We should go,” he said. “I just dropped another hundred or so back there,” he said and jammed his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah, we should,” Alex agreed, but he dreaded going back out to where it was quiet again, to where he would have the opportunity to think about everything. He thought that maybe he would just go home, uncork a bottle and climb in. “Bad patch, eh?”
Randy turned slowly to him, a little wobbly at the knees. “Smart ass,” he said and chuckled.
They made there way out the front glass doors of the casino, out to the boardwalk. The welcoming, slightly tangy scent of the ocean filled Alex’s nostrils and he closed his eyes, taking it in.
Even if the world all around me is shit right now, the ocean still smells great.
They crossed the boards and Randy used the railing to steady himself and looked at the reflection of the moon playing on the ocean, broken into a million glowing shards. It was chilly and a steady breeze had rolled in with the evening tide. He looked down at the waves and noticed that they had marched pretty far up the beach, nearly splashing under the boardwalk.
Alex pulled his jacket tightly around his chest and zipped it up. “C’mon, it’s cold out here. I want to get home. The parking garage is that way,” he said and pointed.
Randy continued to stare dully out at the water and Alex noticed that his face had changed. The muscles in his chubby cheeks had tired and they looked as if they had been siphoned, hanging like emptying sack on the sides of his face.
“Why? What exactly are you heading home to?” he asked. He breathed in as if to say something else but then paused and let it out in a long sigh. “Neither of us is going home to much, eh?”
Alex paused, irritated that this line of conversation had to start now, when he was broke and tired. He could see, though, that Randy not going anywhere right now. His feet were planted and he still had his hands gripped tightly around the railing. The waves thundered underneath them.
“Well, you got a wife to go home to,” Alex said.
Randy snorted, “Yeah, one who’s fuckin’ the mailman or someone.” He shook his head.
“Look, I don’t have that. I know it’s gotta be hard, but what we’ve been doing isn’t helping things, you know?”
“Whattya mean?” Randy asked, his speech a bit slurred.
“All I know is that things have been going bad since I’ve been coming here,” Alex said and waved his hand toward the other casinos on the boardwalk, “to these places.”
Randy turned to look at the buildings that sat like giants along the shore.
Alex continued, “I was never a gambler before but I sure as shit am one now and it’s been nothing but trouble, man. My wife’s gone and I might lose my house. Jesus, Rand, I lost seven hundred dollars tonight.”
“And I lost four hunderd,” Randy said, stumbling on the last word.
Alex put his arm around his shoulder. “I can’t do it anymore. I gotta get help or I’ll never stop. What was it you said one time? They don’t build these places off the winners?”
Randy seemed to consider this. His eyes were red-rimmed and even in the chill it looked like he was sweating making his hair stick to his scalp, but he nodded. He looked again toward the towers with their bright lights and flashing signs.
“Let’s go home,” he said solidly and turned.
They walked diagonally across the boards toward the concrete mouth that was the entrance to the garage.
Then Randy suddenly stopped.
“Hey-” he said and walked quickly back to the edge of the boardwalk. Alex slowed his steps and let out an exasperated sound. He was tired.
Then he saw what it was that Randy was walking towards, at least he thought he saw what it was. It looked like a black leather wallet sitting near the edge of the boards, mutely illuminated by the orange yellow lights atop the lamp posts.
“Hey, my man! Looks like our luck has changed already,” Randy said and reached for it.
Alex began walking over and started to say, “You know, if it’s got any ID in it we should-”
The wallet suddenly slid to the side of the boardwalk and fell out of sight. Alex at first thought that the breeze blew it off but there was a problem with that. The wind was certainly not strong enough to lift a wallet and it was blowing away from the ocean while the wallet slid toward it.
“Cocksucker!” Randy yelled and then followed it with a squeaky chuckle as he turned back to Alex, his hands on his knees and his cheeks flushed pink. Alex just looked at him, trying to figure out what had just happened. He slowly walked to the edge.
Randy’s face then lit up. His eyes were still pink, but they wider and seemed more aware. He nodded and pursed his lips.
“What?” Alex asked and then turned back to the water and looked down. It was about ten feet down to the beach and the foam of the waves looked ghostly against the black water. A strong smell rose to him and it reminded him of an old fish market. Hell, it reminded him of an abandoned fish market.
“The old prank, you know,” Randy said and stood up. He leaned in closer and spoke in a low tone, “You tie a piece of string to a dollar bill and pull it as soon as someone asshole bends over to pick it up. Shit, they’ve been doing that for years. I’ve seen it in movies and all, you know?” He paused and smiled again. “I guess these kids got wise and figured they’d use a wallet instead. I mean, who’s gonna bother to reach for a dollar right? You can’t even lay a bet with that.” He placed his hands on his hips, then smiled and shook his head.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly letting a devilish smile take the place of the earlier, more admiring one. “You want to give these little pricks a real scare?”
Alex waited, still picturing the wallet defying the elements and moving against the wind before it dropped out of sight. It made sense. What else could make a wallet move like that? But why would a bunch of kids, assuming that was what they were, spend a Wednesday night below the boards waiting to pull a stupid prank like this one, especially with the tide coming in strong?
These thoughts entered and left, and he watched as Randy reached down and pulled the cuff of his pants leg up. Alex blinked a couple of times before he recognized the mini black holster and the small silver pistol.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
“It’s a ham sandwich,” Randy snorted. “What the hell does it look like?” He checked around before pulling it loose. His stubby fingers and
pink, pudgy fist made it look tiny. “It’s just a twenty-two, nothing much.”
“I never knew you carried a gun,” Alex said disapprovingly.
“Sorry, honey, I guess I should have told you,” Randy answered. ‘There’s a lot about me that you might not know.” He winked after that. “You know, the place where the two of us do business, this city,” he said and looked around, “it might not be a bad thing for you to have one too. I can hook you up with one if you’d like.”
Alex shook his head and put his hands out. “Exactly what do you plan on doing with that?”
“Scare the little bastards, that’s all.”
“Look,” Alex said, “we’ve both had too much to drink and maybe it’s not such a good idea, you know? I mean, I thought about it and what if it’s not kids down there, but some tough mother fuckers waiting to roll you?”
Randy thought about it but then grinned again. “It’s kids, trust me. I used to play stupid pranks on shoobees when I was a kid,” Randy said. Shoobees, Randy had explained years ago, were people who came down to the shore for the day, and it was always meant as an insult. “They just don’t know that I’m not a stupid shoobee.”
Before Alex could continue the argument Randy giggled and jogged to the stairs that led to the beach. The pounding of the waves suddenly sounded monstrous to Alex and he took a few steps and then stopped, unsure of what to do. Randy climbed down and vanished.
Jesus, what if there are kids down there and he shoots one? He looked around, not sure exactly what he was looking for. If a patrol car came along, would he stop it and tell them what his drunk and armed friend was doing on the beach? What if something happens and he didn’t say anything?
He decided it didn’t matter as he looked down the boardwalk, there wasn’t anyone around anyway. The Camelot was the northern most casino in the city and it was pretty quiet this late at night, especially off season.
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