Headlock

by Adam Berlin

  We worked. I focused on the cards. The count went to plus four. I pressed my finger into his back. He started playing his system again. Bet two hundred. Won. Bet four hundred. Won. Bet eight hundred. Won. Bet sixteen hundred. Won. His hand hesitated. He pulled the chips away from the circle. Bet two hundred. Won. I saw his jaw tighten. He had been feeling for a hunch. He would have won. If only.

  We worked. I was so tired I was in a kind of zone, a place where athletes can do no wrong. Pitch no-hitters. Pass through defenders. Shoot three-pointers. See the pin before it happens. If only.

  We worked. Gary asked me the time. We went to the buffet. He didn’t get any dessert and he forgot to leave the waiter a tip. On the escalator back to the casino Tia asked me how bad it was. I told her it was bad. She said Gary looked terrible. I told her he had stamina. She asked how long I thought we would be staying in Vegas and the escalator flattened out and I said I didn’t know.

  Gary found a table. I closed my eyes. The shuffle. I opened my eyes. The cards came and I counted. One after another. After another.

  I heard his voice behind me, behind Tia.

  “Have you joined the group?”

  “Do I know you?” she said.

  “Not yet. I just want to get in line. Gary Rose is a popular man.”

  Some people at the table turned around but Gary stayed on the cards and I stayed on the count. We had to play perfectly. I felt Tia’s hand against my back. Blue waited for the game to run out and then stood next to me, looked me over, his eyes calm and rested behind the blue sunglasses. He wore a sport jacket with one button buttoned to conceal whatever he packed to do his work. I checked to see if there was a bulge. A Louisville Slugger. An Adirondack. Maybe he used an aluminum bat. I didn’t see anything.

  “Cuts,” Blue said.

  He smiled. The dimple cut his cheek. He leaned into Gary and I shifted my weight.

  “How’s it going, Gary Rose? Have you put the buffets out of business yet?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Five fourteen,” I said.

  “I still have seven hours.”

  “Six and change,” Blue said. “That’s always the way with you weasels. Down to the wire. I shouldn’t complain, right? If there wasn’t a wire I’d be out of a job.”

  “Lucky you,” I said.

  “Hey there, kid.”

  Blue put his arm around Gary’s shoulder and smiled at the rest of the table. He leaned in closer to Gary.

  “I’m just checking in,” Blue said. “You have quite a little following. Who’s the beautiful girl?”

  “One of my apostles. Give me some room.”

  “Some room? You don’t think you take up enough room?”

  “I need to concentrate.”

  “If it wasn’t for my good graces you’d be in a wheelchair right now, you fat fuck.”

  I was watching Blue’s head. I could push it down, throw him off balance, get hold of a leg. He stood up straight and looked me in the eye. He moved closer and put his mouth near my ear.

  “Not this time, kid. You’ll only make it worse for Gary Rose.”

  Blue stood back and smiled at the rest of the table, shook his head like Can you believe my buddies are getting sore just because the cards aren’t coming out right.

  “I love this big guy,” Blue said for their benefit, put his hand on Gary’s shoulder, left it there for Gary, to let Gary know he could keep it there.

  I shifted my weight on the casino floor and the feeling moved away from the pin but not all away.

  “We’re here for the medical convention,” Blue said to the table. “Supply side. My big friend here is the best designer of wheelchairs in the business. I hope all of you walk straight the rest of your lives, but should something happen you’d be smart to consider our product instead of the competition’s. Even he can sit comfortably in one.”

  The dealer dealt. I counted. Pressed Gary once.

  “Still the spectator,” Blue said.

  I didn’t say anything. I kept the count.

  “You’re in on this too,” he said.

  I rubbed my free hand over Gary’s back but not for a minus sign.

  “Is that one of your syllogisms, Blue?”

  “It’s not a syllogism, kid. It just is.”

  “Sunny in here, Blue?”

  “The two of you are hurting my eyes. It’s a good thing the girl is around.”

  “Good thing. Do you just have bad taste when it comes to glasses or are you going blind?”

  “My eyes are fine. For instance, I can see the day is almost up. I can see Mr. Gary Rose. I can see you. Nice uniform, by the way. When I’m done with you, you can change the tires on my car.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “I’ll be staying with you the rest of the day.”

  “It’s a free country. Just give us some room.”

  “Us. Team sports. Do you really want to use that word and connect yourself to him?”

  “I do. Give us some room.”

  Blue laughed too loud, then stopped laughing.

  “You force me to draw such logical conclusions.”

  If I had been in a bar, if I had seen my eyes in the mirror, if I was alone, if Tia wasn’t next to me, if I wasn’t here for Gary, I would have taken him down. The dealer dealt. The shoe ended. Gary stood up.

  “You’re not leaving are you?” Blue said. “Or is it time for your third lunch?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Gary said.

  “I could have told you that. You still have money to play with?”

  “Plenty of money.”

  “Pay me the plenty you owe and I’ll give you two all the room you need.”

  Gary’s bloodshot eyes stayed on Blue.

  “I didn’t think so,” Blue said. “Down to the fucking wire like my pop psychology old man. You disgust me, Gary Rose. Play on. A deal’s a deal, right? One minute into Sunday. I’m just keeping an eye on you so I don’t have to hunt you down at the last minute. The airports get busy around the holidays and I’ve got a flight to catch.”

  Gary stood there. Blue stood there. Face to face. A fun-house reflection. The fat mirror. They were connected by money owed. If only he could put his hand in his pocket, take out the money, move his small hand to the mirror as Blue reflected that motion, moved his hand to the mirror, took the money. If only.

  Gary turned and started walking. I followed him. Tia followed me. Blue followed us. It was a hot desert day outside the casino and the sun hurt my eyes. My body was tired. The sun made the mica in the sidewalk glitter and created waves of heat over the pavement in the distance, farther down the strip. Blue was probably happy to take a walk to relieve his boredom. He’d probably stayed inside his air-conditioned hotel room catching up on sleep and swinging his bat, practice makes perfect.

  The lion in front of the MGM took the sunlight full in the face, didn’t turn, didn’t flinch. We walked into the air-conditioning. In front Dorothy stood on the yellow brick road with her friends and Toto her little dog too. The Wicked Witch of the West straddled her broom waiting to swoop in. Behind them was the Emerald Forest. The kids would forget about the heat and the boredom and look at the four unlikely friends and the scary witch and the too green forest not dense enough to hide in and then Daddy would excuse himself and buy some chips. We walked around the display and into the playing area that was brighter than Bally’s with carpeting full of colorful swirls. There were plenty of blackjack tables. Gary sat down at a hundred-dollar-minimum table and I stood behind Gary. Tia stood behind me. Blue was around somewhere. I didn’t waste my energy looking for him. His job was to be around. Gary’s job was to play but there was nothing playful about it. People played ball. People played parts. People didn’t play gambling. Not real gamblers waiting for real streaks. I didn’t play wrestling. The dealer was shuffling the cards with the MGM logo but it was all the same. Bally’s. Caesars. The Luxor. MGM. A blackjack table was a blackjack table. Gary turned around.

&n
bsp; “I’ve won some good money here before. Maybe we need a change of scenery. The MGM Grand is where they hold all the big fights.”

  “I saw the posters.”

  “Don’t let that sick fuck distract you.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Keep the faith,” Gary said. “Positive attitude. We can win.”

  “Keep the faith,” I said, repeating his words, like sure, like great, like hit, like stick, like up card, like down card, like cut card, a whole new vocabulary since I’d stepped into his Jaguar, left the garage where I didn’t have to use many words, just got in and out of cars, pocketed tips, said quiet thank-yous, stood around, the only sounds street sounds and car sounds, a gunned engine, the ripple of a pulled parking brake, the time clock punching minutes. If he kept the faith, if he kept saying he could win, then he could keep playing. If I kept saying Grandpa had done everything for the family then maybe I’d believe it too but I already knew I didn’t.

  The dealer fit the cards into the shoe and Gary bet two black chips.

  Hours went by. He would ask me the time and I would tell him the time. Gary hunched lower and lower, the days of gambling and the days of driving pressing his back. Between shoes Gary looked around. His shirt was soaked through. Dealers were changed and changed again, a procession of manicures, clapping their hands before they left the table and opening their hands for all to see. No chips here. Nothing taken. Gary lost four hands in a row, won one hand, lost five hands in a row, slammed his fist on the table.

  He stood up. He started walking. We followed him. All the tables were full. The ringing didn’t stop. A siren went off somewhere, MGM’s way of letting everyone know that jackpots could be won. Gary asked me the time. He looked like he was about to go down. He found a seat at another table. We worked through the shoes. Won some. Lost some. He stood up, walked around the tables, looked over the dealers, tried to feel a streak about to happen. He sat at one table, moved on, sat at another. He pulled to twenty. The dealer pulled to twenty-one. He pulled to twenty again. The dealer beat him with another twenty-one and Gary slammed his fist on the table. His back was bent. He worked himself out of the seat. He picked up the seat, moved it aside so he could get away from the table, set the seat down. He asked me the time. I told him it was almost ten and caught myself. I was also tired. I looked at the second hand, stuttering, shaky, and I told him it was four minutes to ten. He cashed in his chips.

  “You see him anywhere?” Gary said.

  “No.”

  “Let’s go back to Bally’s. We put in our time there. It’s time for our streak.”

  Along the Las Vegas strip Gary walked more quickly than I’d ever seen him walk, more forward, less side to side, his small hands swinging. There was no point in making small talk. I stayed a few feet behind Gary. Tia’s plastic shopping bag with her Denny’s uniform touched my leg. I saw myself getting into the Nova, the driver’s seat, Tia in the passenger seat, Gary in the back, able to stretch his large body out and rest, the three of us driving west into the sunset and leaving it all behind, the lights and noise and people and just driving to the water like that was our destination, just a drive from New York to California, coast to coast, ocean to ocean, something to do, killing time for the fun of it without implications. I watched his foot slip off the curb at the crosswalk. Gary fell.

  I ran to him. He had a cut on his forehead. I spread my feet and lifted him to a sitting position. He dusted off his hands and checked to see if they were skinned. Tia reached into her bag, took a napkin from the pocket of her uniform, pressed it against Gary’s head, wiped at the cut, looked at it.

  “It’s not deep,” she said.

  “Thanks. Help me up, Dess.”

  I took one arm and Tia took the other and we stood Gary up. He looked more embarrassed than hurt. He was exhausted. Blue walked by, looked at Gary, shook his head and the dimple started to cut his cheek.

  “Via Dolor Vegas. No street like it in America.”

  He walked on.

  “Forget him,” Gary said.

  Gary pressed the napkin against his head and tried to make a joke out of it. He asked Tia if she was always prepared to set a table at a moment’s notice and if she kept anything else in the bag besides napkins, silverware maybe, a dessert tray. We walked. I looked down the strip at each casino trying to outdo the next. The more lights, the more action inside. The more action, the more money. Bally’s was actually the quietest looking casino. It was a tall building that could pass for an office, squared and plain and mostly glass like the buildings on the Avenue of the Americas.

  We went inside. It was all too familiar. I could be blind and still make it to the blackjack tables. Gary went into the bathroom to wash the cut on his forehead. I waited outside with Tia.

  “He’s beat up,” I said.

  “So are you.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Vegas,” Tia said and there was no faith in her voice.

  “Las Vegas. The city where everything is possible. What a fucking joke.”

  “Remember that.”

  I looked at her. Blue eyes with explosions of gray.

  “I remember.”

  “Good.”

  We stood there. I was aware of people passing by, of casino noise, of cool air, but I felt alone with her.

  “I have to stay with him.”

  “That man with the sunglasses is dangerous. I can see it in his eyes behind those glasses.”

  “We can be dangerous too.”

  “You’re not like he is.”

  “I’ve done some things.”

  “I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re not like him.”

  “If only.”

  “If only what?”

  “If only I was different I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have been the one Gary asked to come along. But I was the one. He chose me.”

  A steady bell went off mixed with screams of joy.

  “Somebody won,” Tia said.

  Gary came out of the bathroom. There were two bandages across his forehead. He smelled of cologne sprayed under his arms.

  “Now or never,” Gary said.

  He found an end seat at the farthest table and we fell into line. Gary placed his hundred-dollar bills on the table and received the chips. He asked the time. I told him. The count went to plus eight. Gary bet a thousand. Won. Bet another thousand. Won again. Bet two thousand. Won. Bet two thousand. Lost. The count evened out but Gary kept the two-thousand-dollar bets going. He rubbed at his forehead, checked his hand for blood. He asked the time. It was eleven-thirty. Exactly. He started to bet four thousand dollars a hand. Four red-and-white chips. A lighter red than the five-dollar reds. He pulled to nineteens and twenties. He busted on fifteen, pulled an eight when the dealer had a ten showing. He doubled down on eleven, eight thousand dollars in the circle. He lost. He asked the time. I told him. Fourteen minutes to twelve. I heard Blue laugh behind me, drawn out and too loud. I felt the weight of Gary and the weight of my past. I felt the weight on me, felt the impending pin, felt the panic and I shifted my weight and it wasn’t just me and I forced myself to take Blue’s laugh.

  Gary sat up straight. He told the dealer he might want to play over the ten-thousand-dollar table limit. The dealer looked at the pit boss and the pit boss picked up the phone. The other players at the table waited patiently. It was worth it, someone was going to bet big, over the limit big, the kind of bet that made for an impressive story after the question was asked and answered. How did you do? A story about a fat man who bet it all. The pit boss hung up the phone and nodded his head.

  Gary stood. He pulled all the bills out of his pocket, placed them on the table, put the red-and-white chips and the remaining black chips onto the bills. Check change. The dealer counted out the money, stacked and restacked the chips. The pit boss watched. The dealer took six chips from the stack farthest to his right, the ones worth five thousand dollars, and slid them to Gary. I wondered if they had a different weight. Gary w
orked himself into the seat and placed two gray chips in the circle, a ten-thousand-dollar bet. The dealer dealt. Gary stuck at eighteen. The dealer flipped his bottom card. He had twenty. He pulled away Gary’s chips and fit them into the farthest stack with a silver dollar on top. Gary bet ten thousand dollars again. He pulled to twenty-one. The dealer took the chips from the holder and stacked them against Gary’s chips. Gary bet ten thousand. The dealer busted and stacked two more gray chips against Gary’s chips. Gary asked the time. I told him. He asked for the watch. I took it off my wrist and put it on the felt in front of him, the green bringing out the watch like a velvet backdrop in a jewelry store display case, highlighting the stuttering second hand. Gary bet twenty thousand. He got a ten and then an ace. Blackjack. The dealer slid over thirty thousand dollars. Six gray chips. Gary bet twenty thousand on the next hand. He stuck on nineteen. The dealer had twenty.

  The second hand stuttered and started. It was almost midnight. Two minutes. People crowded around the table to see the action. I listened to the clicking sound as Gary stacked and restacked the gray chips in his small hands. He owed twice what he had in front of him. There weren’t many cards left in the shoe and the count was even. I put both my hands on Gary’s back and Gary turned to me. A look just for me.

  He slid all ten chips into the circle. All those miles, all those days, down to a stack of gray chips. Gary tipped the dealer the four black chips. He didn’t place it as part of the bet, the tip contingent on winning. The dealer looked at the pit boss. The pit boss nodded. The dealer wished Gary good luck and dropped the black chips into the slot.

  “Batter up,” Blue said.

  People turned around and then looked back to Gary.

  The dealer dealt the cards. First cards for the players. Gary was the last to receive. A ten. The dealer kept his first card down, dealt the second cards. Gary got a six. The dealer dealt himself his up card. A seven. The count was zero. I stood there, my finger not moving against Gary’s back. The other players made their decisions. I counted the cards coming out. The count stayed the same. I stood there. Gary had a sixteen. The dealer had a seven showing. The hand that separated the men from the boys Gary had said in the car. It was a hard play to make. Very hard when the stakes were high. The stakes were high.