Strings

by Dickson, Allison M.

  Good luck avoiding them casinos, old man.

  That’s exactly what he intended to do.

  First, though, he needed to do something about his appearance. Since striking out on his own, he hadn’t done much more than shave off his mustache and pick up a pair of dark sunglasses to hide his face. He couldn’t get away with that forever. He had to be able to hide in plain sight, become a new man. Not look like he was trying to disguise himself.

  After a quick check in the room’s phonebook, he found a barber up the street and decided to pay a visit. Maybe take care of his hair and ask a few questions in the process. Barbers were good for information. Their mouths were often busier than their clippers. He walked down a few blocks, keeping to himself. The areas surrounding Atlantic City had never been much to write home about, but it was at its ugliest during the daytime, when the sunlight highlighted all the blemishes. The cracked and littered sidewalks, potholes in the streets, convenience stores with bars on the windows and clerks behind bulletproof glass. Groups of dealers, addicts, and the perpetually broke and unemployed congregated on the corners, catcalling the prettier ladies who walked by. Ramón didn’t feel like he stuck out too much in this hood. He used to be one of them and he could still walk the walk. No one bothered him.

  He spotted the striped barber pole, the brightest thing on this stretch, and walked through the door. A black man with wiry gray hair, gold rimmed spectacles, and a white smock put down his newspaper and stood up.

  “Afternoon. What’ll it be?”

  Ramón removed his hat, running his hand through his mop of salt and pepper hair. “I’m on vacation and looking for a change. Take it all off.”

  The man raised his gray caterpillar eyebrows. “Mister, it’s the middle of October. You sure about that?”

  Ramón hung up his coat and climbed into the leather barber’s chair. “Oh yeah. I earned my chrome dome card many years ago.”

  “You a crazy old fool, but it takes one to know one, I guess.” The barber fastened an apron around Ramón’s neck and fired up his clippers. The insectile buzz gave Ramón a chill. He paused with the clippers hovering over the back of his head. “Last chance to take it all back.”

  “I don’t believe in take-backs, my friend.”

  Ramón watched years of his life disappear as clumps of hair fell to his shoulders and down the front of his apron. He saw the white twisted scar from a beer bottle Maria had broken over his head after a nasty fight, not long before she died. He saw the angry punk who had driven her to do it, too. The punk was older now, more wrinkled. His face was a little rounder, his neck and jowls beginning to sag, age spots dotting his forehead, but the eyes hadn’t changed a bit and that made all those other things irrelevant. Now his old self was exposed again like a bad nerve. He just hoped he was a little smarter this time.

  The barber switched off the clippers. “That close enough for you, or do you want to take it all the way down to clean flesh?”

  Ramón had originally planned to finish the shaving himself, but what the hell. He was already here. Besides, he needed a little more time to talk to the man. “Let’s do the full treatment. Head and face, hot towel, the whole nine.”

  The old barber cackled. “When you here to gamble, it’s best to go all in.” He went to a little metal chest and pulled out two steaming white towels. After leaning Ramón back in the chair, he applied them to Ramón’s face and freshly shaved head. The warmth made him sigh, and a moderately sized boulder rolled off his back, at least for now.

  “I haven’t been out this way in years,” Ramón said after a couple minutes. “Lots of new casinos.”

  “The buildins change, but it’s still just money changin’ hands. I don’t pay it much mind these days. It’s a rich man’s game.”

  “How about that new Blue Diamond resort, though? Looks more Vegas than AC.”

  “That you right about. Fella who owns it is a Mr. Inner-City Charity Man. Folks ’round here love Mr. Rosen, but if you ask me, someone that squeaky clean is probably dirtier than a barnyard pig. I been around long enough to see a lot of ’em come and go. They suck this place dry and then move out west somewhere.”

  The barber peeled off the hot towels and applied warm shave cream to Ramón’s face and neck with a brush, moving in smooth circular motions. “It’s too early to tell what this Rosen fella gonna do with this place. I hear ’bout all sorts of plans in the works. He bought up a few failed properties and got to work building that resort. New construction happening all over the place with his name on it. Apparently he’s into all that fancy internet stuff, too, even built him a casino in China. Bet you dollars to donuts that’s where his real money’s at. They all in with the Chinese nowadays. The whole makin’ friends with the local brown folk is just a front.”

  Ramón tried not to grin, especially since the old man was gliding a cutthroat razor along his chin with well-practiced speed and grace, but there was undoubtedly truth to all of it. You don’t go into the gambling business because you’re an altruist at heart.

  “He ever come in here?” Ramón asked. He figured he already knew the answer to that question. Men like Rosen enjoy the view of the slums best from the top floor. But it was just a way to keep the conversation going, see what other nuggets he could dig up.

  “Actually, yeah, he did come in here once. About two years ago, it was. I just wasn’t in here that day. I had myself a nasty case of kidney stones and my son was fillin’ in for me. He met Mr. Rosen. Shook his hand and even gave him a free neck trim.”

  “You don’t say?” Ramón was genuinely surprised.

  “Yessir. Guess it was just his way of tryin’ to rub elbows. Make sure us common folk are smilin’ when he comes back to knock down a few more city blocks so he can build another palace where he can hire us to wash the toilets.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.”

  “Yeah, well, my boy got a fifty dollar tip for removing a few hairs from the man’s neck. He took his lady out for a nice supper, and she was happy ’bout that. That’s how they get us in the end. We take the little scraps they throw at us and we become their friends for life. Like dogs.”

  “So does that mean I don’t have to tip you?”

  The barber laughed. “Shoot, I guess you got me there.” He was nearly done with the job. Ramón’s newly shorn head was gleaming. “That’s one nasty scar you got here. Been in many bar fights?”

  “You could say that.”

  He finished up, wiping the little streaks of shaving cream off Ramón’s face and neck with a damp towel. Then he applied a nice aftershave and removed the apron, giving Ramón’s neck and shoulders a good cleaning with his horsehair brush.

  “Well, did I do like you wanted? Make you a new man?”

  Ramón grinned at the new reflection of his old self. “It’s a full transformation.”

  ***

  With no conscious decision to do so, he passed the motel after leaving the barbershop and took a cross street toward the boardwalk. He decided to leave off his hat, and the brisk October sea air whipped around his freshly bald scalp like a cold tongue. It made him feel alert, vibrant. The boardwalk was a lively tourist attraction, at least during the summer months when heady smells of roasted nuts and hot dogs mingled with the ocean breeze and couples strolled by hand in hand, browsing at the many cheap souvenir trinkets on sale.

  But now, with October slowly giving way to November, it felt cold and lonely. Forlorn. Without any nighttime neon to give them life, the storefronts looked cheap and fake, the casinos resembling something that would fall like foam and cardboard replicas if the wind blew hard enough. All the outdoor cafes had been shuttered for the year, and only the most popular food vendors remained open, hocking their wares to passersby. Visitors stayed holed up inside the resorts to avoid the chill, fattening the pockets of the casino owners. At night, this place would become even more unsavory as the prostitutes and dealers and purse-snatchers began their shifts. It was common knowledge that even in the be
st of times, it was never a good idea to head outside after dark.

  Ramón saw the cold silver and glass exterior of the Blue Diamond well before he reached it. The casino was easily the largest building on the strip, dwarfing long-standing giants like Trump Plaza and the Taj Mahal. Its modern curves and swoops made it look even more out of place, like someone had plucked it out of the year 2020 and plopped it here among all the relics with their hard corners and dirty concrete.

  Ramón didn’t have to meet Benny Rosen to know the man was both vain and ridiculous. Perhaps even insane, like Jonny Spank said. Not unlike the man he was currently trying to escape.

  Just leave now, old man. Don’t dick around with this weasel. Find your own way. You don’t have to leave the country. Just head west. New Mexico, California. This country is big enough to lose yourself in forever.

  No. It wouldn’t be far enough. His redemption and his peace lay in the land of his grandfathers. He’d come to believe the soil of this place was cursed, and the suitcase of cash currently resting beneath the bed of his motel room had been set before him for a reason: to carry his ass to Baja. The Cassinis would find him eventually if he didn’t take proper measures, and if Jonny Spank had been right about Benny Rosen having a bone to pick with Victor, this was the place he needed to be. Doing business with a Cassini rival was the only assurance he had to make sure this would go right.

  He just hoped the man wouldn’t ask for too much money. Ramón knew of guys way back in the day who could erase a person. New name, new numbers, new everything. He didn’t know any of them personally. The people who could do it lived so far off the grid you had to climb a phone tree about six numbers high before you could get the guy who could get the guy. Usually the fee was five figures, but Ramón estimated it would be six these days. Hopefully Rosen could hook him up with such a person. He’d even pay a little extra for it to happen quicker. Half his loot would be more than enough south of the border.

  Time to move, old man. You came all this way. Don’t pussy out now.

  “Right.” Ramón took one more deep breath and stepped into the sea of lights, hope, and loss known as the Blue Diamond Resort.

  He hated casinos. Most real gamblers did, the way most people hated coming into work on Monday. To folks like him, gambling was no recreational pleasure. It was a sworn duty to please the luck gods by any means necessary. The blinging chinging chaos of a gambling floor was the rock in the pipe, the snick of the lighter, the first inhale, the initial rush, the inevitable burnout, and the crushing self-loathing bringing you full circle for another ride on the crazy train. And that was before you even bought your chips.

  He’d stepped out of the cold and into a web of possibility, where every jingle of every machine, every molecule of sweat and smoke, every click of every chip, every roll of dice was connected, and each person’s outcome, win or lose, was an essential stepping stone to his victory. The gods were hovering over this place, waiting to anoint some lucky loser a Winner, and he wanted so much to be that crowned recipient, but he wasn’t here to gamble, no matter how strong the tug. He had a mission.

  C’mon, old man! Just one game, a few chips. A little scratch for your little itch.

  He could all but hear the shuffling decks, feel the cards’ slick coating as he rubbed them together, flicked them and fanned them, the secret and sensual foreplay before laying them down on a bed of soft green felt. Fully spread, the goddess would reveal her sweet secrets to all who watched, hoping she might be the fairest of them all so she could shower him with praise and riches. The pull of his long buried habit was so strong, he was certain no time had passed since the day he gave it all up and put on the driver’s cap for the Madam. All he had to do was run a hand over his freshly shaved head to strengthen the illusion of those corrupt years, when the metaphorical lady in his hand was more important than the one he left at home every night to wonder if there would be money for Alejandro’s lunch in the morning.

  Then he remembered he only had a few bucks in his pocket, having taken only a little spending money from the suitcase before he left. Just enough for a haircut and maybe some lunch, and after going big at the barber, he didn’t even really have enough left for that. He’d thought ahead to this very moment, when temptation would give way to his downfall and dash his renaissance into a million pieces.

  A well-defined path meandered through the jungle of games to the reservation area on the other side, and he walked quickly, head down, not acknowledging the scrawny old ladies holding vigil at the slots, or a showy dealer fanning out a few decks in front of astonished tourists who were obviously on their first trip to America’s Playground. He would not give the slightest nod to the clatter of the white marble bouncing around the roulette wheel, the enthusiastic request of a man asking his girlfriend to blow on his dice for luck, the warbling bell signaling that a rare bulimic poker machine was ready to vomit up a small glut of gold coins. All of these sensations passed through him like meaningless phantoms as he forced his eyes to remain on the red and orange carpet with big blue harlequins serving as a tacky artistic representation of the casino’s name.

  And the sweat trickling down his temples and his back right now? Just a little warm in here, that’s all.

  He stepped onto the blue marble floor of the front lobby with a huff, like a kid who had just reached the “safe spot” in a game of tag. He goggled at the glass cathedral ceilings that soared high overhead, the enormous LED chandeliers dangling from them looked like strange spacecraft, but were at closer inspection more blue diamonds. All the fixtures, as well as the reservation counter, were chrome and brushed steel, adding to the ultra modern feel of the place. It was, at first glance, like a building one would find in the most chic part of Manhattan, but something about it reminded Ramón of a whore wearing too much makeup. It was too ornate. The fake plants, the gaudy twisted metal sculpture sitting just inside the door, the strange aliens-meets-Ancient Egypt paintings on the walls. All of it felt too obnoxious to be anything more than kitsch.

  He was about to head toward the reservation desk to ask for Rosen when he saw something that sent him stumbling backward a few steps in shock. The Madam, dressed head to toe in her standard black—black dress, black coat of some indeterminate species of fur, black hat, shoes, purse—hair blazing like an acetylene torch, was walking toward the building. Ramón noticed something new about her, though: her left eye was covered with a black eye patch, making her look like the world’s classiest bandit. She walked through one of the enormous revolving doors and into the Blue Diamond, her nose pointed high, gait sturdy and direct like she owned the place. She even tipped one of the receptionists a brief wave and a thin smile without slowing her stride.

  Although she likely wouldn’t have recognized him at first glance, he ducked behind a fake palm tree, watching her glide toward the bank of elevators at the far end, oblivious.

  Alive, goddamn it. The bitch was alive. And she was here of all places.

  She hadn’t gotten away unscathed, though. The eye patch wasn’t the only clue. That same side of her face looked mottled, as if from terrible acne. She’d likely gone to great lengths to cover it with makeup, but the damage was still visible. He’d done that, and despite his disappointment at this new development, seeing her wounds filled him with a certain measure of pride. He could still smell the smoke and her burnt flesh from that night only a couple weeks ago. He could hear her screams, even over the ringing in his ears caused by the deafening report of the pistol in such a confined space.

  If only he’d been able to aim a little to the left. Her whole face might have been gone.

  But his pride at roughing up his old boss did nothing to change the facts. His current plan was in the shitter. They were both here presumably to see the same person, and this realization filled him with an almost immeasurable despair and rage.

  You don’t know for sure she’s here to see Rosen. Maybe she’s having herself a little holiday.

  He almost laughed in spit
e of himself. Right. Two times he’d had to escort the woman down here over the years for minor business errands, and she didn’t even want to get out of the car. AC to a racist, elitist bitch like the Madam was like an outhouse to a germophobe. Something of major importance brought her down here to Benny Rosen’s casino. She was doing some kind of deal with him. Maybe it was even something separate from Victor. It was common knowledge to those who ran in the Cassini circle that the two of them regularly butted heads. Ramón had heard all sorts of other rumors about them too, some of them too sick to be true, but he knew the money from Ballas was going toward something big. Something that would allow her to do some sort of family power grab. With Rosen in her corner, the Madam’s little pipedream might just have a chance of happening.

  And did he really want to be around when that happened?

  He waited for the bitch’s elevator door to close before he stepped out from behind the palm. Leave. Get the hell out of here before someone spots you, old man. She might be here with someone both of you know.

  That was doubtful. Maybe she had a new driver now, but if she was down here behind Victor’s back, it was more likely she’d found a more anonymous way here. No, he wasn’t going to leave just yet. He was tired of running. He wanted to leave, yes. Wanted to be away from this place so bad he could taste it. But he would leave of his own accord, when he was good and goddamn ready. There was a tavern just inside the lobby called The Nile. Ramón decided he could do with a few drinks and ambled inside.

  It was early enough in the day that most of the seats at the bar were empty. He took the one on the far end and waited for the bartender to come down his way. It had been a long time since he took a drink. Alcohol had never been too big of a devil for him by itself. It was the thing the booze made him want to do he had to worry about. He started folding a cocktail napkin into a little airplane.