I had decided to do it: to cheat. To steal. I am not proud of that but you do the math: shitty job, angry girlfriend, newborn child. Therefore I was looking for the guy whose idea the scam was by the name of Dave Torcek. He told me to find him at Emerald Downs in the suites above the grandstand, he claimed to own a one-eyed horse there named Fuzzy Wabbit.<\/p>\n
I took along the Mumbler. His suspension had ended two weeks earlier and he was dealing blackjack again, the only game he knew. All the regulars hated him.<\/p>\n
I stopped by his empty game on my way to break. \u201cBruce, you want to help we with a little project I got cooking? It\u2019s this Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I couldn\u2019t. You know, I go…\u00a0there\u2019s my sister…\u00a0and Saturdays\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I cut him off like everyone did. \u201cIt\u2019s at the Downs. We could stop at Muckleshoot.\u201d<\/p>\n
He thought about it. \u201cUh-huh. Yeah, it\u2019s not a badl because I got paid. Well, we all got… I shouldn\u2019t, that\u2019s for damn sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Mumbler always smelled like onions. Nobody in his right mind would want him around, but he stood six foot four, weighed maybe two-eighty, and I thought it would be to my advantage to have him along if things happened to get ugly.<\/p>\n
That Saturday we stopped at Muckleshoot Indian Casino. The Mumbler sidled up to a craps table and I walked around hoping to run into C.C.\u2014or Ceci, I guess. Who knows? She plays at both clubs, the one who gets drunk and calls me her husband.<\/p>\n
\u201cPavlo and I are married.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, how nice that is,\u201d said the woman seated next to her.<\/p>\n
This was the night we first met. I was mucking chips on Roulette 5. \u201cI have never seen this woman in my life,\u201d I said honestly, raising my eyes. I took her all in. There were three other strangers on the game.<\/p>\n
\u201cPavlo is my husband and he fucks me like we are chimpanzees!\u201d she howled.<\/p>\n
When the game cleared, I got her number. \u201cOne thing,\u201d I said. \u201cYou got to stop yelling you\u2019re my wife, it\u2019s going to get me in trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPavlo is my husband and we fuck like chimpanzees!\u201d she hollered again. They don\u2019t throw you out for anything in that place. You could take a dump in the middle of a pit, but as long as you\u2019ve got money.<\/p>\n
At first I didn\u2019t call her. She had a face like a horse. But she had a body like a horse also, a real thoroughbred if you know what I mean, speaking of races, which resulted in some unforgettable dreams. When I finally did call her, it was from the bathroom while Della was in the kitchen making sloppy joes, ignoring the baby. I used my lowest voice. The baby\u2019s bawling, with two doors between us, sounded like the quiet rasping of a file on metal.<\/p>\n
\n
C.C. had been at the casino the night before but had disappeared. I was in a cranky mood when I got there because the alternator had gone out on my \u201998 Escort forcing me to beg for a ride from my neighbor, Match, who was awaiting trial on charges of mayhem and felonious assault. I was late, and when you\u2019re late you lose your craps assignment. You have to deal some shit game like pai gow all night\u2014or worse, blackjack. The guy with no name set the tone early on BJ 25. He wore the same clothes every day\u2014black sneakers, a yellow windbreaker\u2014and chewed gum with a toothpick in his mouth while smoking. We nicknamed him Paddles because of his big hands. \u201cSpank me hard!\u201d was his way of asking for a hit.<\/p>\n
Later the Jordanian I always trounce showed up, and I cleaned him out. When I took his last chip, he banged his head against a supporting column. \u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d he said, fighting back tears. \u201cKill myself?\u201d<\/p>\n
I did, actually. And would have minded even less if my last player that night did himself in also. A big fat guy. He played four hours and won over twenty-five grand and never said a word and never tipped a dollar. I was so frustrated I slammed my fist into a locker on break and, the next morning, periodically stood up to bark at the attendant in the emergency room during the four hours they kept me there waiting.<\/p>\n
\n
I couldn\u2019t find C.C. at Muckleshoot. I don\u2019t know why I wanted to see her again. The one time we hooked up, she\u2019d agreed to meet me when I got off work, at 3 a.m. She said she had a bike and suggested we go to her place. It was pouring rain. I thought she meant a motorcycle but it turned out to be an actual bike, with pedals.<\/p>\n
It isn\u2019t easy to control a bicycle with another person on the seat, not for anyone older than seven. I was struggling to balance when a man slowed up alongside us and began shouting into the rain. I couldn\u2019t understand a word of it.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know this guy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said sharply. \u201cYou better lose him.\u201d<\/p>\n
This guy was driving a Camaro. We were driving a Schwinn. I finally figured out what he was saying, he was shouting the same thing over and over:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never said \u2018Goodbye, forever!\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
At some point my companion answered him with a shrill, \u201cGoodbye, asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d he responded, even more agitated. \u201cYou have to say \u2018Goodbye, forever!\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
You might be surprised to learn that C.C. did know him. If you guessed he was an ex-lover\u2014bingo! You win the pot. It went on like that until I did lose him, which I am proud to relate even now. I swerved into an alley, cut unsteadily across a church lawn. Of course he knew where we were headed. When we arrived at her building, he was parked across the street. He marched our way squealing the same pitiful line.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never said \u2018Goodbye, forever!\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
She wouldn\u2019t say it. Not those exact words he demanded. Finally, I said it: \u201cHey\u2014buddy. Goodbye forever.\u201d Very calmly.<\/p>\n
For some reason that didn\u2019t satisfy him. He never looked my way. He was scrawny, possibly 40 or 45, nervous, with multiple tattoos. I calculated a low likelihood of some Rambo Special Forces\u2013type shit in his stock of abuse and delirium. No visible weapons. I didn\u2019t relish the idea, but if it came to a fight, I figured I could handle him.<\/p>\n
It so happened I didn\u2019t need to find out. After one last \u201cGoodbye forever\u201d and one more defiant \u201cGoodbye asshole\u201d from C.C., she unlocked the vestibule door. I followed her in and the cuck stayed behind. He just stood there in the rain like he was waiting for absolution.<\/p>\n
Her apartment must have been 105 degrees. \u201cIt\u2019s good for the plants,\u201d she explained, of which there were hundreds. She turned on the television and went into the bathroom while I sat on the bed. A movie was on called The Serpent and the Rainbow; it played the whole time I was there.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou still dressed?\u201d she said when she came out of the bathroom naked.<\/p>\n
We were going at it when the phone rang. Her landline had an old-fashioned handset. I begged her not to answer but she ignored me. Guess who it was?<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to say, \u2018Goodbye forever!\u2019\u201d His stale, muffled ultimatum sounded like a plea from a gagged hostage.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoodbye, asshole!\u201d she brayed before getting back to business. But instead of hanging up she let the receiver hang over the bedstand. She really belted it out for the guy\u2019s benefit after that, a Grammy-worthy performance. Lady Gaga singing the National Anthem. In the middle of it, as I witnessed reflected in the closet-door mirror, the imprisoned protagonist in the movie, who had been strapped to a chair, got a nail driven through his scrotum.<\/p>\n
\n
The night the guy won all that money without tipping, one additional player sat on my game afterward, a man alone wearing a bespoke suit with gray around his temples, who smelled like a bourbon cask. I guessed from his ID, because his name ended in vili, that he was Georgian. I knew that Stalin, that mad butcher of millions, was Georgian, that his birthname had been Jughashvili.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t believe what I see, Pavlo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shuffled chips between beautifully manicured fingers and placed his bets with no evident concern for the outcome, picking them from his stacks at random and replacing them out of reflex or habit.<\/p>\n
\u201cWomen? I had them all. Most beautiful women all over the world.\u201d He waved an arm to emphasize the breadth of his good fortune. \u201cMonaco, Hong Kong, Odessa\u2014everywhere. Money? Eh. How much money does a man need?\u201d<\/p>\n
I was having trouble sympathizing. Me in my uniform of black polyester pants and oversized white shirt with yellow suspenders. My throbbing hand ached. I\u2019d been on my feet for hours.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow wonderful Russia was under communism,\u201d he recalled wistfully. \u201cHow miserable since reforms.\u201d<\/p>\n
He gave me that, at least, a way to appreciate the absurdity of his malaise. Consolation, I suppose, for depriving me of that momentary thrill I otherwise would have had each time I snatched away his losing bets, by making clear how little to him it mattered.<\/p>\n
\n
The scam with Dave Torcek was simple: I would tip him off to my hole card. The casino was the first in our state after legalization, and they were pretty lax about procedures. Instead of an electronic reader, the blackjack dealers visually checked their hole cards, so they knew, and therefore could tip off the players with the right signal and motivation, whether the best strategy was to take a hit or stand pat. I came to the racetrack to suggest a verbal cue that couldn\u2019t be caught on camera. Torcek had implied he\u2019d provide me the right motivation.<\/p>\n
When he\u2019d first started showing up, he would try to get me to cheat by using an ambiguous hand signal. His motion looked the same for both a hit and a stay, a rapid fluttering, like an involuntary tremor. That way he was letting me decide, hoping I would choose in his favor based on what I knew to be my hand. When it became clear I wouldn\u2019t help him, he started tipping bigger, but I am not stupid. I wasn\u2019t about to risk my job for five-dollar tips shared by all the dealers. Eventually he suggested we meet so he could sweeten the deal.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, you\u2019re going be a pussy.\u201d He said that one night after giving me the option of dropping or betting one of his tips. For a change, I decided to drop it.<\/p>\n
\u201cLots of places I can gamble,\u201d I said. \u201cHere I\u2019m working.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSmart, huh? Ever go to the racetrack?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnce in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI happen to know how a smart dealer could make a little extra dough on the side. No\u2014a lot of extra.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m listening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah? Who else is listening? They got recording devices around here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never know in these joints.\u201d<\/p>\n
He told me where to find him, but in the grandstand they steered me upstairs, and upstairs a freakishly large bald man guarded the door, whose elaborate fake directions culminated\u2014a bit crudely, I thought\u2014with a suggestion that I go slap the wink in one of the stable stalls.<\/p>\n
Somewhere along the line I lost the Mumbler. Downstairs I read the sheets and got in line at one of the windows, where the hunched-over old woman in front of me quavered, \u201cMy mother was a butcher! … Who knew? … You got a cigarette? \u2026 You crazy.\u201d I dropped my last double sawbuck on a nag named Town Drunk, the money I\u2019d promised the girlfriend I would use to buy diapers.<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\n
Back at the casino the fat guy had returned who\u2019d won all that money. I was already in a rotten mood because the pit boss, Gary, was running hot when I arrived. He\u2019d spent the previous hour taping together a torn-up hundred-dollar bill that Seasick Sam had scattered into a dice layout with the exaggerated two-handed motion of a man passing a medicine ball, the point being to prove to the crew how little he cared about the two grand he\u2019d just dropped. We called him Seasick because he threw up once in a baccarat pit and we knew he\u2019d owned a yacht at one time, before the Feds seized in civil forfeiture.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t ever walk away from me again, you piece a shit.\u201d Gary at his finest. \u201cJust kidding,\u201d he added sinisterly.<\/p>\n
Fat Man sat down on my game almost immediately. Players like to return to the same dealer when they win. About thirty minutes later, things were going about the same as earlier in the week: him winning steadily, not tipping, never acknowledging my presence. Finally, I decided I wasn\u2019t going to take another night of this crap. They could go ahead and fire me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, pal, it\u2019s customary to tip once in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t respond. He motioned for a hit, and won. I paid him but I wasn\u2019t about to let it go at that.<\/p>\n
\u201cD\u2019you hear me? You. Fatty. It\u2019s customary to tip.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now he looked up. He unwrapped a stick of gum from the pack next to his chips and folded it into his mouth while I started shuffling.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want a tip?\u201d he said finally.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m dealing you nothing but winners this week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA friend of mine died on Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBoo hoo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI went to the funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat am I supposed to say to that? Sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA good friend. He liked to gamble. Dice mostly. Some cards. He owned a restaurant called The Blue Nile. Maybe you been there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s all gone. He lost everything. Wife, restaurant, retirement\u2014everything. When this guy won, he was the happiest son-of-a-bitch you ever seen. Chicks, drugs. He\u2019s hugging waitresses, he\u2019s buying drinks, throwing money around to you shitheads. When he lost, just the opposite. About a year ago he tried to kill himself. That didn\u2019t work out. The good news is, he went into rehab and got his life back together. Finds a job as a restaurant manager. Good salary, corporate\u2014a hundred K. Best of all, no more gambling. He buys a condo in Bellevue and somehow things are going good for him for a change. To be honest, for the first time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI love a happy ending.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA few months ago he buys himself this parakeet. A green and yellow thing, very beautiful. The cage is hanging on his balcony. Son-of-a-bitch repeats everything you say. Last week my friend is out there, he wants to change the feeder or something but the chair he stands on to reach the cage has this broken leg, see. So my friend, he pulls out another chair, only this one has those roller things on the legs… what do you call them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCasters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight. While he\u2019s reaching up to bring down this cage, the chair starts rolling. It rolls right up to the railing and he tumbles over the edge. Twelve floors. When the police arrive, they find this parakeet squawking. Over and over he\u2019s repeating my friend\u2019s last words: \u2018Holy shit! Holy shiiiiii\u2014!\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
The people at the table next to us looked over because he\u2019d imitated this parakeet pretty loudly. I finished shuffling and dealt a couple hands before responding. Finally, I said, \u201cIs that it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, idiot, that\u2019s not it. There\u2019s a moral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
He split nines against my six but I drew to a 21 and he lost both hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t buy a parakeet,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the moral? Don\u2019t buy a parakeet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the moral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t buy a parakeet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your tip.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s my tip?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your tip.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t buy a parakeet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCorrect.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I had decided to do it: to cheat. To steal. I am not proud of that but you do the math: shitty job, angry girlfriend, newborn child. Therefore I was looking for the guy whose idea the scam was by the name of Dave Torcek.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21536,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21043","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-corey-mertes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21043","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21043"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21043\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21537,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21043\/revisions\/21537"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21536"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21043"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21043"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21043"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}