Written by Porter Staples – (Mature Theme) – Ned ordered another Black Jack on the rocks. He savored it, from the smell of the fumes in his nose to the painful jolt of pleasure as the liquid rolled into his stomach. In the wake of the cascade, his muscles melted and he relaxed, not realizing until then how tense he had been. Realizing how tense he had been was followed by a fresh wave of frustration at the reason for the tension. He was in the best poker game he’d seen in months and he couldn’t catch a hand.
He was at a table with six other men. Two were young kids who didn’t have a clue. Four were commercial real estate developers from Dallas who had flown up together in a private plane. They were celebrating a closing on a shopping mall the day before in which each had made almost a million dollars. They were all drunk, playing every hand and raising most bets, showing their contempt for the thousands of dollars they were losing. One of the kids was winning a hundred grand and the other one was way ahead.
Ned couldn’t catch a hand and now he’d dribbled away enough of his money so he didn’t have enough to play a big hand. He could handle that, but first he had to catch something to play.
Ned regretfully finished his drink as a new hand was being dealt. His down card was a king. That was promising. His stomach flipped when his up card was a beautiful king of hearts, his favorite card in the deck. He carefully checked his demeanor so as not to give anything away. It hardly mattered, since these guys wouldn’t notice anything if he stood up and waved a rebel flag.
He made his standard high card bet of fifty dollars, double the ante, reminding himself that he had to take it easy so he didn’t run out of money. One Texan raised and four other players called. Ned was still high after the third card and threw a hundred dollar chip in the pot. The Texan raised again. Only one player folded. Ned realized at this rate he wouldn’t be able to finish the hand. His heart sank – this hand could get him out of trouble all over town. He opened up to a thought that had been knocking on his mind for a while. He had in his coat pocket an envelope containing twenty-five grand. It belonged to Angel D’Angelo, a man least like an angel as anyone Ned knew. He had not wanted to be a courier, but he was reduced to doing anything for a buck. Angel’s face swam before his eyes. and he shivered. Losing this money would be his death, swift and certain.
But this was too good. He would have to take the risk.
Ned paired his deuce on the fourth card and bet two thousand. One more player folded but the pot was getting just about right.
On the last card a Texan paired a six and bet eighteen thousand, almost exactly what Ned had left. This was perfect – until the Texan showed him the third six. Ned collapsed back into his chair and had to restrain himself from punching the Texan when he started the old line, “The saddest word from tongue or pen, I’m sorry, sir, you cannot win.”
Anger was quickly replaced by fear when he realized the enormity of what he had done. He stumbled out of the casino. The cold night desert air revived him enough so his will to survive surfaced. He walked down the Strip just as the sun was coming up. His only hope was to get out of town fast. He knew Angel would hear about this in a matter of hours. Vegas had no secrets. A car came around a corner. Ned tried to hide his face, and then tried to look like he wasn’t trying to hide. He only succeeded in looking guilty.
As he was walking to catch a bus out of town, trying to figure his best odds, he passed a gas station. He was momentarily taken by a scene at the station – an old VW bus with two hippie chicks getting gas. All it needs is some flower stickers on the side, he snickered to himself. He almost laughed out loud when he saw several discolored places showing a stem and three petals.
Reality crashed back and he continued past the scene. Then he had an inspiration. He turned back, walked up to the driver just getting in.
“Excuse me, ma’m.” Ned was all polite little boy. “But my aunt’s funeral is being held today over in Boulder City and I could sure use a ride over there.”
The driver didn’t look friendly. “Sorry, we’re going north on 83.”
Ned thanked her anyway, turned away a few steps, then came hurrying back, all excited little boy. “My sister lives in Monroe. Wait a second while I call her to be sure she’ll still be there.”
Without waiting for a reply, Ned went to a phone booth and jiggled some coins around and “called” his sister. He came out of the booth. They’d waited – hot damn!
The driver shook him awake. “This is your exit.”
Ned had fallen asleep almost as soon as he settled in the back seat. He was too flat out to come up with another story. “Look lady. There are some bad characters trying to hurt me. Let me ride with you a while more. I swear I won’t be a problem.”
“What?” The driver exploded.
The other woman spoke for the first time. “Aw, come on, Shelley. Let’s give him a ride. He looks harmless enough.”
The driver muttered “jerk”, then turned to Ned. “I have a .354 under my seat. If you try anything, I swear I’ll blow your stupid head off.”
Ned grinned at the other woman. “Hippies have changed.” He slept again and dreamed of a small boy, lost in a garden.
Ned awoke, the sun was high in the sky and they were high in the mountains. He felt liberated and excited. He’d dodged a bullet by a narrow margin and the fear had flipped into aliveness. He hadn’t appreciated the beauty of the world and the pleasure of just being alive for a long time.
He started talking to the women. The driver was clearly unfriendly, but the other woman, Rain, was open and funny. Ned asked if they had any alcohol. Rain said no, but she was about to roll a joint if he wanted to join her. Ned didn’t like pot; it made him think too much, but anything was better than nothing.
“OK, if you will come back here to smoke it.”
She squeezed between the seats and sat beside him. After several tokes, he realized this was not like the pot he had smoked a few times, years before. This was powerful, demanding, seductive. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t felt for years.
Rain was watching him. “Pretty good weed, isn’t it?”
“If this is the weed, I would hate to see the rose.”
This struck both as hilarious. They laughed until their stomachs ached. One would start to relax, see the other helpless with laughter and start laughing all over again. They finally collapsed into each other. As they touched, the electricity jolted Ned. He melted into Rain. She pulled him in like the desert soaks in a rainfall. She paused only to pull the curtain closed to the front seat.
“You’re still angry at Preston.” It was statement, not a question. It was the first thing Shelley had said since Rain climbed back into the front seat.
“If he wants to fool around with every teenybopper that comes to the farm, there is no reason I can’t do the same.”
“You could at least be a little more discriminating.”
Rain was genuinely surprised. “That is one of the coolest guys I have ever met.”
It was Shelley’s turn to be surprised. “That is the biggest jerk you have ever met.”
“What do you do to make money, Ned?” Preston was seated at the head of a battered old wooden table along with twelve other disheveled looking hippies.
“I’m a gambler, but I ain’t made much money at it lately.”
Preston’s attitude continued to be insufferable. “I’m a bit of a gambler myself.”
Ned looked around with disdain. “I guess you don’t make money at it either.”
One of the youngest women at the table, a dewy teenager, replied with an awe that grated Ned. “Oh no, Preston wins all the time. That’s how we bought our farm.”
Ned was interested in spite of himself. “What’s your game?”
“I like blackjack, but sometimes I play craps.”
Ned’s disdain returned. “That’s a sucker’s game.”
Preston’s demeanor changed, he became a seductive snake oil salesman. Everyone noticed the change except Ned. “I use a technique that wins almost every time. It’s very simple. I could teach it too you, if you like.”
Ned was suddenly alert and very interested. Someone down the table barely suppressed a laugh. Ned didn’t notice.
“What’s the technique?”
Preston was the insufferable know-it-all again. “I’ll get a deck of cards and show you in the morning.”
Ned knew it was her before the door knob turned.
She opened the door and came inside. “Get dressed and come with me.”
Ned hurriedly complied. They were outside, almost to the bus, when he stopped. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to the bus station in North Fork.”
“I’m supposed to meet with Preston in the morning.”
“Preston knows about us and is trying to mess you up.”
Ned thought about the possibilities, knew he could handle anything Preston could throw at him. He turned around. “I’m going back to bed. Why don’t you join me?”
After the breakfast dishes were cleared, Preston led Ned to a small bedroom, with a bed, two chairs and a table Ned wouldn’t have bothered taking to Goodwill.
Preston held a new pack of cards. “Every gambler knows that luck runs in cycles. You’ll go for weeks and lose everything you try, then suddenly you can’t lose at anything. There are cycles within cycles. You have got to learn to spot the cycles and then you must have ironclad discipline.”
Preston paused.
Ned couldn’t resist the question. “Why discipline?”
Preston smiled slightly. “Because you must act in a way that is counter-intuitive.” Preston didn’t have to see the look of confusion on Ned’s face to know this didn’t sink in. He tried again. “You must act in a way that is the opposite of the way you want to act. Most people want to double up and catch up when they’re losing and hold back and protect their winnings when they are ahead.”
Ned could relate to this and nodded slightly.
Preston continued. “To get the most out of riding the cycles, you must do the opposite. When you are in a losing cycle, you must cut back the bet or quit altogether. When you’re winning, you must open up and take risks.”
Ned’s comprehension was obvious.
Preston opened the box of Bicycles, discarded the dead cards, expertly shuffled three times, and slid the deck to Ned. “Deal me a hand.”
Preston was grating cabbage for cole slaw. He braced himself when Rain came into the kitchen and walked toward him.
“What happened to him?”
Preston continued to grate, didn’t look up at her. “I dropped him off at the bus station.”
Rain sat down, unconsciously picked up a carrot and a paring knife and began to slice. “Did he understand?”
Preston appeared to be answering the cabbage. “He got the big picture. Whether he can actually pull it off is anybody’s guess.”
Rain also addressed her vegetable, but the look on her face indicated it was rotten. “Anything that happens to him will be your responsibility.”
Sergeant Middleton shined a flashlight into the wreck. The car was a brand new Cadillac, just the car he’d have if he could hit the jackpot. Both people inside were crushed. The telephone pole had crumpled the hood and pushed the engine into the front seat. The smell of the alcohol was mixed with the gasoline and engine oil and burned rubber smells. The woman was naked and the man’s pants were around his ankles. The sergeant called for an ambulance, then started filling out the accident report. When he got to blank for the cause of the accident, he wrote, “attempting the impossible.”
