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The bright, flashing lights lit the casino as a diverse crowd of people played the slots. The bells and sirens of the machines were barely audible over the chatter of the crowd. A young man with brown hair sat on a stool near a blackjack table, awaiting the dealer. His black suit-jacket hung slightly open over a plain white shirt and crumpled black tie. The man looked around and smiled. The Golden MGM Lion covered everything in the casino; the ceiling, the floors, the walls, the gift shop counter, even the employees. The dealer finally arrived and the waiting gamblers clapped quietly. The dealer straightened his green visor over his young face, he was probably twenty, twenty-five at most, and brushed a fleck of dust off his red vest, branded with the Lion. He pulled a deck of cards from under the table and broke the plastic seal. Then he spread them face up on the green felt table and snapped them back into his hand. He began to shuffle, hand over hand, hand over hand, spread, flip, snap, and then hand over hand again. After two minutes of shuffling, he spread the deck face up on the table once more. The cards were evenly mixed, and completely random. He snapped them back into his hand and let them fall to rest in his palm. The cards zipped together as he did so, the sound was as sweet as music for a gambler. The dealer set the pile onto a small white square traced out on the felt, and spread his hands.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the game is single deck Blackjack, standard rules; dealer must hit on sixteen and stand on seventeen.” He ran his hand across a bronze plaque inset on the felt; it was a list of the rules of blackjack. “Now… Who’s ready to play?”
The game commences and many leave the table with much less money than before. Only one player had remained there since the beginning. It was the young man with the brown hair. Finally, after losing two thousand dollars, he sadly stood up and made his way through the ocean of people and to the empty elevator. He pressed the button for the third floor and leaned casually against the back of the small box. As the elevator rose, cheery music filled the air and after a three minute trip, it stopped as the door opened. The man stepped out of the elevator and headed down the long hallway, carpeted with a diamond pattern of green and scarlet, to his hotel room. He opened the door and took in the room; it was small, but not too small. There were two beds covered with the same diamond pattern as the carpet to his left, and a desk with a small lamp to his right. Straight ahead was the television, and above were the two incandescent bulbs in their flower shaped shells. The man looked to his right and cast a smile to the woman sitting there. She flicked her long scarlet hair over her shoulder and straightened an old red t-shirt that she wore with a pair of faded blue jeans. As she turned to face the man, he could see that her stunning face was filled with the glow that only those in their mid-twenties possessed as her eyes twinkled.
“It’s going as planned,” he looked around the room, “Where’s that letter I wrote?”
The woman set down a deck of MGM Grand cards and smiled, “You had it mailed two days ago, remember?”
The man ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath of relief. “Good. I was hoping I had done that.”
Captain Allan Jones stood tall just outside his new cabin on the United States Carrier Regan. Dressed in his whites, with all his ribbons pinned and his medals hung, he was an impressive sight, and at the young age of twenty-seven, he looked just like one of the men in a recruitment poster. He smiled as his crew worked diligently on the deck below. An ensign hurried by with the month’s mail call. After a few more steps the new officer skidded to a halt and turned on his heels.
“Sir!” His hand swept up in a salute as the bag of mail fell to the deck. “I have a letter for you, Sir.”
Allan gave a return salute and took the offered envelope. “Carry on.” The ensign scurried away to finish his duties as Allan looked at his mail. Judging by the chicken scratch handwriting, it was from his brother. He checked the return address, Vegas. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and turned back to his cabin. Closing the door behind him, he regarded his room, as he always did. It was small, but not cramped. The bed to his right was pushed into the corner to save space and his foot locker was beneath it. His desk was to his left and cluttered with papers. After switching on the lamp above his desk, his only real source of light other than the small window on his door, he sat down on his bed and ripped open the letter. The three pages inside were typed, thank god; he wouldn’t have to read his little brother’s script.
Dear AJ,
Sorry that we haven’t been in touch, I know that we’ve liked hearing from each other every now and then, but I’ve been busy and apparently, so have you. I saw that article in the paper, the one with the picture of you standing on the Flight Deck of your new ship. Congrats on your promotion to Captain. Have you been finding pleasure, searching the world for treasure, just like the Village People said? Just messing with you. How’s the commission going? Is there any chance you’ll see service in that Japan conflict? If you do, launch a mortar for me and give ‘em hell.
So after I graduated college, I took off for Vegas, mainly because I got a teaching job there. It’s a pretty sweet gig; and after a rough patch, I’ve got a nice way of supplementing my income. Actually, it’s more like our income. I met someone about a month ago, and it’s getting pretty serious.
When I met her, it was night time outside the Bellagio, and I was almost completely out of money. I was leaning against that famous fountain out front; you know, that one from Ocean’s Eleven. Anywho, I was leaning against that fountain, staring up at the sky. It was pointless, I know, the lights in Vegas are too damn bright to see any stars. I looked around, down at the street where the Luxor, the Mirage, and the Grand were hidden from my view, but I knew they were there. It was pretty damn empty. None but the desperate would be out at this ungodly hour. I was out here because all of them were the same. All of the casinos. They sucked out my money like vampires bleeding a victim dry. Only two other people were out around the fountain. One was a businessman, drunk I wagered, by his stumbling gait. The other was Gwen. The first thing I noticed about Gwen was her hair. It was red as a velvet rope. It hung behind her like a scarlet curtain, reaching down to her waist, where she had a blue silk sash tied around her silver evening dress. She was holding a very small frozen margarita covered with salt in her hand, and as she walked past me, one of her high heels snapped. She stumbled towards me, but managed to regain her balance. Her margarita, however, sloshed down the front of my shirt. And that drink was cold as hell. She gasped and stumbled over an apology, and that was when I noticed her eyes; they were beautiful. Two almonds on her face, filled with two dazzling emerald stars.
“It’s ok…” I stammered, “at least now I have a drink.” She smiled and laughed. “I’m Gwen. Gwen Black.” I nodded and gave a small bow, “Evan Jones.” She looked around the fountain, at the Casino. “You from around here?” I shook my head, “No, I’m from Chicago, but I do teach at that highschool just off the Strip.” She smiled, “Oh. I’m from Portland. Came here for a little fun about a month ago, and then decided to stay.” I nodded over to the Bellagio, “And how’s your luck been?” She shook her head, “Lady Luck comes and goes. Mostly goes.” I chuckled, “Same here. Hey, you want to get a drink?”
Gwen smiled, “Sure. But you should probably change first.” She pointed at the stain on my shirt, and I felt the chill for the first time since it had spilled. Being with her had seemed to dispel the cold. I grimaced, “Yeah. Tell you what; I’ll meet you in the Mirage’s Oasis Lounge in about ten minutes.” She nodded, picked up her broken heel, and took off her shoes. “I’ll be waiting.”
I went back to my room and changed out of the wet button-down white shirt I had been wearing and into an identical one, then headed to the Oasis Lounge. The desert theme was everywhere; there was a sandbox in the center of the floor, and electric palm trees lit the lounge with red and white light. Gwen was sitting at a table near the door, and as I sat down, she pointed over to the bar where a lone bartender stood, cleaning out a glass with a rag. “Servers are gone. We have to talk to him directly.” I nodded and we both stood. as we walked over to the bar, the bartender looked up, “Can I get you anything?” He was wearing a black shirt with black pants, had a towel over one shoulder, and a pencil behind his ear, he looked like the cliché of a barman. Gwen nodded, “Can I have an Appletini?” I raised my eyebrow, “Isn’t that kind of a weak drink?” She nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t want to really drink in front of someone I just met.” I shrugged, “Try me.”
Gwen turned back to the barman, who was listening to our conversation with an amused smile on his face. “A dry martini,” she said, “in a deep champagne goblet. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?” The barman nodded. “Uh… yeah…” I smiled. Any fan of James Bond would recognize that order. “I’ll just have a White Sunset, thanks.” When the bartender had given us our drinks and we had headed back to the table, I chuckled. “So, a fan of the Bond films?” Gwen laughed and nodded, “Yeah. The books were better, though.”
Aftre some small talk, I eventualy found out her full name was Gwendolyn Persephone Black, and she found out mine was Evan Walter Jones. Then I pulled a deck of cards from my pocket and showed her that trick where I draw on the card with my finger. You remember our physics teacher, Mr. Kulesza? Well, he was right. Women love magic.
Allan sighed, after their physics teacher had taught Evan a magic trick, which was probably the only thing he actually got out of the course, Evan had spent his summers learning slight-of-hand and illusions, and now it had finally paid off. He set the page he had just read on top of the previous page to his right, picked up the last sheet of paper, and began to read.
So after one of my tricks, Gwen commented that I must be a whiz at Blackjack. That’s when my brain kicked into action. I had thought up the perfect plan to make money. Gwen would get a job at the casino a few days before I checked in, working at the gift shop. I would play the tables as horribly as possible for a day or two, losing a few thousand dollars. Then, I’d complain. I’d quietly suggest the casino’s cards were fixed, different than the ones they sell to the public. This would guarantee a visit from the pit boss. I would suggest playing with a deck of the house brand, bought from the gift shop, where Gwen would happen to be working. At this point, one of two things would happen; the pit boss would agree to use the deck, or he wouldn’t. We’ve found that most casinos agree, hoping to avoid trouble. So I’d buy a deck from the shop, but in place of one of the normal decks, Gwen would hand me a special deck. One that she and I had marked with one of those calligraphy pens. Then I’d play with the top of my game. We’d rake in the cash like autumn leaves. Gwen was kind of skeptical at first, but after we worked the Mirage, she was all for it. Anyway, we worked the Mirage first; we made a nice fifty grand, and then realized we could only do this so often. The Mirage knew us, and if the Mirage knew, so would Excalibur; they were owned by the same people. So Gwen and I took a small vacation. To Monte Carlo. We came home with two point three million dollars more than we left with. That’s right, AJ, your little brother’s a millionaire. Eat it.
Allan choked on the candy bar he was eating, What!? No way! He re-read the last couple of lines. If that was true, it was amazing. He found his place and continued reading.
Gwen has persuaded me to end it so we can enjoy our wealth, and so I get back to my real job, you know, teaching, so after we hit the Grand, we’re done. At least for now. The rush I’ve had has been amazing. Remember in Scholastic Bowl when we stole the leftover refreshments from other schools? Multiply that feeling by a thousand. When you’re sitting on that stool under the flashing lights, amid the bells and sirens of the game machines, staring across a verdant field of felt at the pit boss, who’s dealing you cards that you know without even flipping them over, it’s bliss. Bliss. A tingling rushes down your neck, your palms begin to sweat, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing when the house busts. It’s one hell of a feeling.
Anyway, congrats again on the promotion. When you get your leave time, look us up; we live just west of the Strip. Gwen wants to meet you, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.
Stay safe,
Evan
Allan folded the pages and slipped them back into the envelope. He was going to look them up. He wanted to find out if his brother was telling the truth. Then he shook his head and muttered quietly, “Right. He’s a millionaire with a gorgeous girlfriend. I call bull.”
Evan Jones was losing, and he knew it. He had lost five thousand dollars and in the process of doing so, his black suit-jacket had opened slightly open over a plain white shirt and his smooth black tie had crumpled. A waitress in a clichéd vest and skirt brought over a drink complements of the house; they wanted to keep him there, to keep winning his money. But he had other plans. Smiling inwardly, he took the drink, set it beside him, and made the motion for the dealer to deal. The dealer straightened his green visor over his young face, brushed a fleck of dust off his red vest, branded with the Golden MGM Lion, then smiled and dealt out the cards. Evan took a glance at his new hand, a Queen of clubs, and a King of diamonds. Twenty. He stayed. The dealer flipped over a ten of spades to join his four of hearts. Fourteen. He hit a two of clubs, sixteen, then hit again. The five of hearts, twenty-one. Evan looked down at the finely carved felt-covered table and read the engraving for the thousandth time; Dealer must hit on sixteen and stay on seventeen. “I want a new deck.”
The dealer looked up, “Pardon?”
Evan glared up at him. “I want a new deck. And a new dealer.”
The dealer frowned. “I just broke this one ten minutes ago.”
Evan repeated his request, louder this time. “I want a new deck.”
The pit boss seemed to step out of thin air, as always, “Do we have a problem?” He asked, his hands clenching behind the brown suit that covered his large body. His nose was flat and bent, as if someone had smashed his face into a wall, and his eyes were a light blue that stood out against his dark bronze skin.
The dealer shook his head. “He wants a new deck, but I just broke this one ten minutes ago.”
Evan spoke up, “Seems to me there are a lot of fives in your deck.”
The pit boss grimaced. “Spread ‘em.” The dealer fanned out the cards face up on the table, then snapped them back into his hand.
The pit boss sighed, “Whatever. Break a new one”
The dealer looked up, “What?”
The pit boss growled. “Do it.”
Evan spoke up again. “It doesn’t make any difference. They all come from the same place.”
The pit boss truly snarled now, his pearl white teeth glaring out from his dark mouth. “What? I just agreed to what you asked!”
Evan shrugged. “I’m just saying that all your cards might be giving you more than the house edge.”
He held up a deck of the house brand. “I bought these at the Casino shop an hour ago. Let’s use them.”
The dealer laughed. “Can’t do that. Who knows what you’ve done to ‘em.”
The pit boss nodded. “He’s right. No one saw you buy them; no one knows what you’ve done to them. If you bought them now, that would be different.”
Evan smiled. “Fine. Let’s do that.”
The pit boss frowned “You can’t be serious.”
Evan looked up, “You just said it would be fine… And I’d hate to think that the cards you sell are different than the ones you use…”
The pit boss frowned again, he could either agree to lay a game with a deck from the shop, or he could refuse, and lose hundreds of gamblers from the resulting suspicion. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Evan led the pit boss over to the shop and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. “One deck, please.” He said to the red-haired girl behind the counter. She popped her gum and handed him a deck of cards with a Golden Lion on the back. “Here ya go.” Evan handed the deck to the pit boss, who led him back to the table. The boss himself broke the plastic band around the cards and shuffled thoroughly.
An hour later, Evan had won eighteen thousand dollars. The pit boss sighed and looked over at the dealer. “It’s been an hour, break a new deck.” Then he looked over at Evan. “As for you,” he whispered, “don’t let me see you causing another stir of any sort.”
Evan nodded. “Don’t worry. You won’t see me again.” He downed the White Sunset that was sitting beside him and headed to his room. He closed the door behind him and smiled to the girl sitting at the desk on his right, she was folding a black MGM employee apron. “Thirteen thousand net.”
Gwen smiled back and brushed her red hair out of her face. “Awesome.”
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