The Last Risk

Well, that was the last risk she was going to take. Quit while you’re ahead. Or, in this case, quit before all is lost.

Ginnie cashed in the few chips she had left after Black 33 hadn’t hit.

The cashier barely glanced at her and pushed ten dollars across the counter. She had been so sure that number was going to save her. It hadn’t been a bad night, but the trend had been steadily down. This had happened before and, when the hunch came to put nearly everything on Black 33, she’d gone with it. It felt right; it felt like a sure thing. That wheel had been so hot she wondered that everyone didn’t step away from it.

The next bus wasn’t leaving for another hour and a half. Ginnie lit a smoke. Ruth would be happy. She didn’t approve of these trips to the reservation to gamble although she’d never say so. Ginnie knew. She sighed and stretched, looked up to the ceiling.

“I’m real sorry to bother you, miss, but I just need another three bucks for a bus ticket. Can you help me out?”

This skuzzy Indian kid looked like he hadn’t had a shower lately. But he also had this calm, steady gaze. He knew she was going to say no and that was ok.

“What’s your name?” Ginnie shook out one of her last cigarettes.

“Israel. Thanks, miss.” He settled back into the molded plastic chair, but didn’t ask for a light, just tucked the smoke behind his ear.

“The tickets are always for round trips.” She didn’t look over at him.

“Yeah, well when I say I’m hungry, people either say no or go and buy me a sandwich.”

“So?”

“I want a shortie of Thunderbird.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d lie.” Ginnie cocked her cigarette to avoid getting smoke in her eyes, and handed the kid a fin.

“Thanks a lot, miss.”

She watched him walk into the duty free store. He was really short. How old was he anyway? Old enough, apparently, because a couple of minutes later he came out with a small brown bag. He nodded as he passed. She nodded and stubbed out her smoke. What the hell; she still had her lucky fifty left. That fifty meant she never walked out completely busted, but she could feel it. The luck was there.

It was practically screaming at her.

She checked her watch. Plenty of time. She stretched and went back into the casino, passing the old lady robots at the slots and headed for the roulette table. Some suckers thought they had control at 21 or, God forbid, baccarat, but Ginnie knew it was in the hands of fate. All it took was the ability to read the luck. Yep, there it was, that sweet tingle up the back of her neck. She’d never risked her lucky fifty before and she could tell that fate approved.

When she pushed that fifty across the counter to the cashier, she wasn’t surprised that the tingle stretched down her spine and up into the curve of her head. Oh yeah, and to think she’d almost walked away from the luck.

Maybe it sounded crazy, but Ginnie could read roulette wheels. She could tell which one was hot. She never rushed it. Standing back, she scanned the scene quietly, picking up the vibe. There was always one wheel that attracted a larger crowd, but that wasn’t usually the hot one. Sometimes, though, it was and tonight it was the crowded wheel. She waited. Yepper. That was the one.

She was just making her move when something caught her eye. That Indian kid was standing between the two cooler wheels. He shifted his eyes to the left. She didn’t know what this kid’s deal was, but she could feel the heat pouring off that crowded wheel and that’s where she was going. She just caught a glimpse of him shrugging before she pushed her way into the crowd and placed her bet. Fifty on Red 18.

Sometimes she dreamt about roulette wheels spinning. In her dreams, they whirled and spun forever with the absolute certainty that the ball would land right on her number. Now the wheel went into motion, the colors and number blurred and the luck tingle had spread down her arms. This was a beautifully balanced wheel; perfect suspension and it slowed with smooth grace. The tingle intensified to the point to where it almost hurt. Slowing. Yeah, it really did hurt, especially down her left arm.

Slower. She felt a little sick. It was weird, she couldn’t quite get enough air into her. Slower. Now the ball was clicking from slot to slot. Here it came. Red 18. Click. Click. She tried to swallow. She wasn’t going to be sick here, was she? The nausea rose and then, with malice, the ball clicked into and out of Red 18.

“Don’t try to move. How many fingers do you see?”

What did he ask? Ginnie squinted, but that hurt.

“Three.”

“Good. Look, we think you had a minor cardio infarction, a little heart attack. Your nephew here has your things and is coming along to the hospital.”

Nephew? Ginnie reared up as best she could against the restraints.

“It’s ok, Aunt Ginnie, you got nothing to worry about.”

Butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth of the Indian kid, he was that cool standing there with her bag and hat. It was right at the front of her mouth to say something, to spit and sputter. But, oh Jesus, everything was just too much trouble. The hiss of the oxygen mask over her face was comforting as the EMT’s man-handled her stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

The kid, what was his name? Israel, clambered into the back and hunkered down next to her. He even reached over and held her hand. She was surprised when she didn’t snatch it away from him. Didn’t even try. Just laid there and let her hand be held. How could she have been so, so wrong? She’d never read a wheel so completely wrong in her life.

Those EMTs must have loaded her up with some primo stuff. Gingerly, she felt around inside of herself. Somewhere she’d read that your heart is way down below where you think it is, that it’s down near your stomach. Nothing seemed to hurt there, although there was one spot that felt weirdly caved in. She was about to ask about that when she remembered Ruth. Oh hell! She twisted around to the EMT crouched nearby, monitoring the gizmos attached to her. He frowned and shook his head.

“We’ll take care of whatever it is when we get to the hospital. You really have to relax.”

At the hospital, Ginnie wound up in a freshly made up bed with her bag and hat on the chair next to it and no sign of her “nephew”. Nurses circled her, running new tubes into her and plugging her into new machines. Just as the hubbub was dying down and the new wave of dope was hitting her, one of the machines went apeshit.

“She’s crashing!”

And it all started again. Ginnie lost track of what was going where. There sure were a lot of people in this room. No one was panicking though, so Ginnie just calmly floated on up to the ceiling. It was kind of like watching TV, although seeing her own pinched, chalky face in the bed was disturbing. Looking through walls turned out to be about the easiest thing in the world to do. How had she never bothered to do this before? One wall or ten or seventy, no difference. She could see Israel, sitting out in the waiting room, gnawing at a hangnail. The kid looked really worried. Odd. She could see Ruth picking up the phone and, oh wasn’t the look on her face just priceless?

Ouch! Damn that hurt. Weighed down by meat, bones and blood again, Ginnie peered up at the surrounding faces. Jesus, it was like they were at a conference table; this was just another day at work for these folks. It was reassuring and annoying at the same time.

“We’re good.”

“Someone tell the nephew she’s stabilized.”

“That Indian is her nephew?”

“That’s what he said.”

“What did she say?”

“Get real. You, Gloria, don’t leave this one unattended. She’s stable, but only just.”

Ginnie didn’t hear any response from Gloria, but hoped she was giving that bossy fuck the finger. I’ll give you stable. It would have been nice to float back up to the ceiling, but now that just felt like work. No one tells you that heart attacks, even minor ones, are exhausting. The room was quiet now except for the machine beeps.

Sleep, that would be nice.

Behind closed eyes, Ginnie kept replaying that terrible moment when the ball lifted out of Red 18. Over and over, in slow motion, there went thousands of dollars, bloop and gone.

“Shhhh, you got to get out of here.”

Her eyes flew open. That Indian kid was leaning over her, his fingers to her lips to shush her. Beyond astonished, she watched him nimbly detach her from the various tubes and machines. Clearly this was another entertaining, little hallucination, like floating up to the ceiling. As such, why not just go along with it? She sat up, rubbing her arm and then her chest. Felt fine. It wasn’t even surprising that good old Gloria didn’t look up from her People magazine.

The kid mimed silence and took her hand. She almost expected that they’d fly up through the roof. But the linoleum under her bare feet was cold and she didn’t feel capable of flight. Clumsy, dropping things, not caring much that Israel was getting quite the peep show, Ginnie managed to get dressed.

Nothing further was said and out they went into the deserted hallway. Down at the nurses’ station, heads remained bent. Ginnie frowned at Israel who just kept moving, looking back to make sure she was with him. The security guard turned and walked away just as they hit the front lobby. It was balmy out, a great night for a walk and that was good, because flying didn’t seem to be on tonight’s schedule.

“You were right about that wheel. It was the hot one.” Israel seemed more at ease out here.

“Huh?” Ginnie was still focused on that spot that had just about killed her earlier and missed this.

“That wheel, the one that dumped you, it was the hot one. I think I know what went wrong.”

“Ok, kid, hold up now.” Ginnie stopped and found a rock some bit off the road to sit on. “You got to tell me what is going on here. I mean, I know this is some kind of dream or something, but how do you know about that heat?”

“Are you kidding? You, what? You think you’re the only one can read the luck?” Israel joined her on the rock and offered her a smoke.

“Who the hell are you anyway?” Ginnie leaned forward for the light and pulled the sweetest damned lungful ever of smoke into her.

“You feel ok?” Israel perched on the rock next to her and accepted the lit cigarette. “ I waited as long as I could.”

“Fine, right. I get it. It’s a dream so nothing is gonna make sense.”

It was warm for a desert night and quiet. Creepy quiet. The desert was never quiet. Ginnie took her smoke back from the kid.

“So. Am I dead?” The smoke felt like it was filling living lungs.

“Oh fuck yeah. You been dead for years. Come on, we got ground to cover.”

Israel got off the rock and cut out into the desert. Ginnie killed the butt. What was she gonna do? Sit here all night?

As they moved away from the hospital, the town and the hump of light, the night sky spread and flexed its hundred thousand stars. Out there somewhere, a lone something hooted. The sand here was more dust than grit. Ginnie would have liked to walk barefoot, but had to work to keep up with Israel. As if scripted, a full, fat moon rose. The sterile light was tricky, both brilliant and concealing, so that the odd rock or scrubby bits took on fantastical shapes until Ginnie was nearly on top of them.

Slowly the dust gave way to gravel and rocks, slowing Ginnie, but not Israel. He’d glance over his shoulder occasionally and make a show of slowing down some, but as soon as she caught up, he’d pick up the pace and leave her behind again. They rubber-banded like this through the night as the moon rose higher and shrank, pouring off an even brighter, more confusing light.

Ginnie was out of breath and getting crabby when she thought she saw something odd up ahead. Given how sneaky the light was out here, she didn’t give it a lot of thought until they walked right up to what looked like a vast field of red. Israel didn’t pause, but Ginnie stood there for a couple of seconds on plain old desert dirt with her toes right next to a die-straight line of red. The kid was going to leave her behind this time, so she stepped onto the red and picked up her pace.

The ground here was smoother and she found herself speeding up. Speeding up freakishly. Her legs felt like they were blurring as she barreled along behind Israel. In a wink, the kid vanished, but before she could panic, he reappeared on the other side of some huge depression. In one exhilarating instant, she hit the edge of the depression and went into a series of somersaults that popped her out on the other side. She wanted to laugh, but she was moving so fast now that the wind blew the laugh right back into her mouth.

She could have predicted it, but when the enormous field of black appeared, it was shocking. Again, an absolutely knife sharp border between the black and the red, and off she tore. She was trusting that Israel was up there somewhere, but had to focus her attention on what her legs were doing. Sure enough, the next vast depression appeared and over she went, ass over banana bag. And just that fast, she was on her feet and tearing towards the next field of red. It seemed impossible that she could move any faster, but of course she did. In fact, she moved so fast that each field began to bleed into the next and those knife clean borders blurred.

Ginnie was hitting each depression harder and flying higher out the other side, catching glimpses of that hard, hard moon but unable to slow down and figure anything out. And then she felt it: the heat. The luck. Any panic that was edging up from her brain stem was gone and she drove ahead across the wheel with complete abandon. Red 18 was up there and this time, God damn it, she was going to nail that fucker.

She zipped through several more flashing red and black fields, flexing her power and narrowing her range. As gravity took over, her certainty faltered. It took real concentration to stay in the path of the luck. It was getting really hot, too. Oh she knew it. This time it was for sure. All she had to do was focus. How many more? The heat was pulling her into a tighter ball so she was hitting each hole harder in spite of the slowing wheel. She smashed into Black 33 like one of those rocket cars they run out in Death Valley, gritting what she had to grit. Red 1, Black 20, Red 14.

She reached down into that caved in place that had let her down earlier. Come on, bitch. I know you’re there. Black 31, Red 9. There. She had it. She hit Black 22 with absolute control, pulling back just enough so that she felt the tiniest tremble at the lip of Red 18 and, plop, fell into the hole. And stayed there. HA! Fuck you, luck!

The great whoosh of euphoria mingled with laughter as the heat vanished and there was Gloria looking all worried. Ginnie wanted to reassure her, but found she couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe. The caved in place had lost its last supporting strut. She could feel it. So this is what everyone’s so freaked out about, hmmm.

Death. Nothing to it.

Back to the ceiling and there was Israel, just outside her room, lighting a smoke and nodding.

Nice to know that, when it came right down to it, she really could read the luck.