The Quarter   

      

Ruddy, rancid, bright-eyed Bill slept in a field of broken glass, broken promises and broken dreams a short ways east of the old, downtown Las Vegas casinos with others like himself; displaced, forlorn and adrift with rare, faint glimmers of hope.

A sleeping bag, a red kerchief, a sliver of soap, a toothbrush, two pants, two shirts, three mismatched socks, an Army surplus jacket, an occasionally-used Trojan and a 1976 Bicentennial Edition Scotch-Taped-in-the-Right-Places Playboy magazine were his entire possessions. 

Hulking, morose Fred, his best and only friend, slept near Bill and they shared food from a shelter. They did not stay there at night. Too many miscreants. 

Bill and Fred shared everything; food, magazines, clothes, the Trojan, and women. They had found only one of those. Wilma was somewhere between 40 and 75 with snaggly, sprouty hair; red on the ends, black further down, and bone gray at the roots. Her teeth had mostly rotted away, with three on top and four on the bottom, and tough enough to chew rocks. She gave them a fine case of crabs. 

The men seldom found money. When they did, they made an oath to share it evenly. On a warming July morning, Bill decided to go toward the downtown casinos . The farthest ones east in Las Vegas,  a few hundred steps away.

After stuffing some stale pizza crust into his mouth, Bill made his way past the drifters and whores and drunks along the sidewalk. First he saw the elegant, Victorian-style Main Street Station casino with its ornate doors and stained-glass windows. He watched the optimists going in and the defeated spirits flushing out. Then he saw it!

A coin rolled toward him down the sidewalk. It spun and wobbled as he bent to retrieve it. Probably a nickel, he thought, or a dime. A dime was best. Easier to split with Fred.

But no, it was a quarter! A quarter. A nice find, but not enough to actually buy anything. And too hard to split evenly. Bill examined it, and polished it and bit it. 1999. Not rare or anything. Might as well stick it into a slot machine, he thought. But where?

The Four Queens? Fitzgerald’s? The Lady Luck? No, those were unlucky for him. He’d try the El Cortez. He won five dollars there once.  The El Cortez, where all the world’s crust and slime find its final home. Where all good luck goes to die, and bad luck goes to live. 

Only the worst Las Vegas losers, or the uninitiated, went to the El Cortez. Smoke infused the air and every patron’s eyes were red and lost as they coughed in the oppressive dinginess. Most of the slot machines took nickels and quarters. Three greasy quarter ones stood near the bathroom. No one was there.

This is it, thought Bill. A sign. Fate. He eeny-meeny-miney-moed once, twice, finally picking the center one. Jaws was the theme song. Appropriately. 

He pulled the quarter from his right front pocket, stared hard at it, giving it some extra 

luck. He dropped it into the omnivorous machine.

The lever did not work the first or second try. He would cash in and try another one. Simple. No, this is the one, he thought. A feeling. Las Vegas was built on hunches and feelings, he knew. This was different. A button to the right said “Spin Reels”.  Humming the Jaws theme,  Bill pushed it. It worked.  He looked at the jackpot symbols. Three sharks.   

The wheels spun, and a shark stopped on the first one. More spins, more, and a second shark magically appeared. Now, the fatal, agonizing, tempting one, spun on in the third column, and for the first time in years, a jackpot hit in the El Cortez!

The lights that were not burned out flashed, the Jaws theme bu-bu-BU-BUH, crescendoed,  and the numbers increased. 100 . . 200 . . 500 . . 1,000 . . 2,000 . . . 5,000 . . 10,000. 10,000 what? Bill wondered. It was 10,000 quarters. That’s . . . $2500! The arthritic, the emaciated, and the pulchritudinous and alcohol-saturated, played on, inert and unaffected, smoke billowing from their lips.

“My my my,” Bill mumbled. “$2500. Me and Fred’s gonna have a good night.”

The manager came over, gave Bill a limp handshake, and led him to a vacant-eyed cashier.

“Hundreds?” she asked.

“Sure, what the hell,” said Bill. “What-the-hell,” smiling at nothing in particular.

Counting the bills, the cashier mumbled “Good luck,” and Bill, feeling charitable, told her to keep one. He wanted to see her smile. She almost did.

As Bill turned to walk out, he saw twisted and gnarled Eddie, from the field, and gave him a $20 bill. 

“Spread that around,” Bill said. “Get some wine and a new pizza.” Eddie smiled widely.

Another step toward the door, and Bill noticed some people in a smoke-clogged room with a sign over its entrance. “POKER ROOM”.  There’s a real game in there, thought Bill. Men and women hunched over tables like buzzards over a dead cat, as they played Texas Hold ‘Em.

I heard of that.  Texas Hold ‘Em. I used to play poker. I can try that, thought Bill. 

Bill walked under the sign and the card room manager scowled at him as if were a grub. 

“Can I play?” asked Bill.

“Forty dollar buy in.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Forty dollars. Gotta buy forty dollars worth of chips.” 

“Got any openings?” asked Bill.

“Not at the dollar tables,” the man dismissively stated.

“Any other ones? I got some new money.”

“How much?”

“Oh . . enough.”

“Damn pipe dreamer,”mumbled the man.

“There’s seats at the table stakes Hold ‘Em game.”

“Table stakes? What’s that?”

“You can bet whatever’s on the table. In the pot.”

Bill thought for a while, then said, “OK, I’ll play.”

“Hundred dollar buy-in.”

“Uh, here’s the cash. I got cash money,” said Bill.

Bill took his chips to a table of six people. Four men. Two women. A sunglasses-wearing, sour-looking, gaunt man smoked a hand-rolled cigarette, ashes ready to fall. He had most of the chips. One smoked a cheap cigar, one ate beef jerky with his gums. The other one listened to some lost,  throbbing tune on his headphones. The women were diametrically opposite. One never stopped talking. And weighed about 40 pounds and sucked on a filterless Camel. The other resembled Jabba the Hutt and grunted. And slobbered.

“Dollar small blind, two in the big one,” the dealer told Bill. That meant the person left of the Button,  a white chip which 

traveled clockwise around the table after every deal, had to pay a dollar. The person to his left paid two. Those were the blinds. 

“Costs a dollar,” the dealer told Bill.

The dealer dealt the first two cards to each player. Bill got a red four and black six. He would play smart. Watch close. Stay only when he had something good. He tossed in his cards. 

Four people stayed, including sunglasses man and cigar man and both women. The emaciated one yammered incessantly, then paused for a fraction of a second to say, “Five. I bet Five.”

Everyone else called her bet. The dealer turned the Flop, face up. Two aces and a deuce.

Sunglass man blew a smoke ring and rasped, “Twenty.”

Everyone called. Yammering woman paused a beat, then called.

Then the Turn came out. Another deuce.

Sunglass man snorted, “How much in there?”

“Hundred and three,” responded the dealer.

“Then hundred three it is. Wish it was more,” he snorted,  blowing another smoke ring.

Everyone threw in their cards, and the smarmy, smoky man showed two worthless cards, a three and a seven. 

“I got cher mon-ay. Yer mon-ay,” he cackled, through yellowish-brown teeth.

I’ll remember that, noted Bill. A bluffer. With money.

Bill folded his cards on most of the next few hands.  He 

stayed once until the River, and did not get the card he needed, so folded that one. On the next hand, the yammering woman raised $50 on Fourth Street, then yammered about her fourth and fifth husbands. Jabba the Hutt tossed her cards and the snorting man snorted again, blew a smoke ring and raised $100. Yammering woman hesitated, cussed her sixth husband, and called the bet. The River came and Yammerer thought a while and bet $20. She had $150 left. Smoking man blew another ring and raised $150.

“Gonna cost ya,” he smirked. And snorted.

The woman mumbled about her worthless Goddamn seventh husband, looked at her chips, and tossed in her cards.

Sunglass Snorting Man stacked his chips into another pile and said “I got cher mo-nay. I got cher mo-nay,”and flashed a four and a nine of different suits. Another bluff.

Bill noticed that when Snorting Man snorted and blew smoke rings, he was bluffing, and no other time. He was pretty sure of that. Bill considered himself a keen observer of liars.

It was 2 o’clock now, someone said. I have time, Bill thought. I’ll just play until about 3 o’clock, then I’ll show Fred what I got. Won’t he be surprised?  3 o’clock. Long enough.

More hands were dealt, and Bill won one with three Kings; a really good hand in Hold ‘Em. He hit the third King on the River and bet $50 and everyone folded.  

He lost a few other hands, and had almost the same as when he started; a little less than $3,000 and some Spicy Bloody Marys from Lola, a haggard-looking collagen-lipped, breast-implanted floozy.

It was almost 3 o’clock, the cards were sour, and Snorting Man had bluffed two more times and his stack of chips grew.

One more hand, Bill promised himself. One more.

A deuce and a seven came,  in two different suits.  Worst 

hand in poker. Bill tossed it in. Another hand. Still nothing. One more. One, and that’s it. A red five and a black ten came. Dime Store. Bill threw in $10 hoping for a good flop. The three cards yielded no help. That’s enough, thought Bill. Time to go. Won’t Fred have a stroke when he sees what I brung him? OK, it was just after 3 o’clock. He’d go until 3:15 and that was it.  Definitely it.

More hands were dealt with no good cards to stay on. The dealer’s wristwatch read 3:15.  Just one more.  This is it,  decided Bill. He looked at his cards and Holy Smokes, it was a good thing 

he stayed. Two black Kings. Snorting Man bet $10 and blew a smoke ring. Cigar man, Jabba and Bill called. The Queen of Diamonds, 10 of Hearts and King of Diamonds flopped. This is good, thought Bill. A sign. Three Kings. Like on the other hand I won. But I’ll act on-chalant, he thought.

Snorting Man snorted and blew another smoke ring and bet $50. Jabba the Hutt called and Cigar Man folded and Bill stayed, thinking maybe he should raise the bet. But that might give it away. No, he would just call. Fourth Street came and the Queen of Hearts turned. A full house. Kings and Queens. Gotta slow down my breathing and appear calm, he thought. 

Snorting Man leaned back and snorted some more and blew two smoke rings and bet $500.

I’ll play it slow, thought Bill. Get him on the River. Bill just called. Jabba the Hutt folded.

The dealer turned over the River card. The King of Hearts. The Elvis song and the Jaws theme both went off in Bill’s head. The jackpot. The King of Hearts. Four Kings. Gotta keep cool, he thought. Real cool. Think about something ugly. Wilma. 

That’s good, thought Bill. Four Kings. Nobody can have four Aces. Queen and King of Diamonds,  10 of Hearts, and the King and Queen of Hearts. All red. Why did that smoke ringin’ bluffin’ bastard stay this long? Queens? Aces? I hope it was two Queens. That’d give him four Queens. Or maybe a flush or an inside straight. Why else would he stay?  Bluffin’ rat monkey.

Snorting Man checked this time. Maybe he knows what I got, worried Bill. Hope I don’t give it away. I tried to be on-chalant. How much should I bet? I want to get him back for all his bluffin’ and bad attitudin’,  he thought. Bill bet $1,000.

Snorting Man hesitated,  blew two smoke rings and raised $2,000. $2,000,  that’s all I’ve got, thought Bill.  But in a minute I’ll have way more ‘n that. Bill shoved in all his chips. 

“How‘d you like these?” he asked, showing two black Kings. “Four of ‘em. And an Ace,” he said with a big smile, and started to drag in all the chips. The mountain of chips.

Snorting Man blew smoke and snorted and said, “Ain’t good enough.” He turned over the Ace and Jack of Hearts.

God damn! thought Bill. Bastard shouldna stayed and was bluffin’ like hell and got boar hog lucky on the River! The Ace of Hearts!  A Royal Flush. Ubnoxious lucky sonva bitch!

“I got cher mo-nay,” he gloated again, leaning back, blowing a big smoke ring. “All yer mo-nay. I’m the king,” he smirked, and snorted and laughed like a crow.

Looking down at the empty felt in front of him, Bill stared in disbelief. Pushing himself away from the table, a clock flashed before his imagination. 3 o’clock. I was gonna quit at 3 o’clock, he lamented. Or 3:15. But it was too late for that.

“Yer mo-nayy!”

Staring straight ahead for a while, Bill grabbed his Bloody Mary, sucked the last of it down, and whacked Snorting Man across the side of his gaunt, bony face. 

“You got that too, Fuckweed!  Now sue me!”

Snorting Man moaned and bled and hunched over his chips and everyone applauded. Bill tried brushing the wrinkles from his pants, held his head high, and headed toward the door. And wouldn’t you know that just inside it was a quarter on the floor. A quarter! Imagine that, thought Bill. But what can you really do with a quarter?  And it’s too hard to split with Fred.

As Bill bent to pick up the coin, a voice behind him declared, “Appears it’s  your lucky day.” Bill turned to a man dressed in a rumpled,  stained red jacket with the name tag saying “Ralph Ed. Poker Room Pit Boss.”

“I was lucky for a good while today.  Maybe I’ll put this quarter into the Jaws machine and get lucky again,” said Bill.

“No, I mean it’s your real lucky day. Wichita Jack was cheatin’.  All day. Went to get a Camel and an Ace come out of the pack. Ace of Spades. There was two more in there. Diamonds and Clubs. Ace of Hearts was missin’.  He snuck it in the game. Probly did it all day. We’ll check on the camera on the ceiling. If it’s workin’. Don’t matter. He was cheatin’ anyway. Tijuana Wanda ‘bout shot him before we took away her Derringer.”

“She that skinny one never stops talkin’?” asked Bill. 

Ralph Ed nodded. Bill tried to comprehend the situation. 

“So now what?”he asked.

“You won. You won the pot. ‘Bout $10,000. Everybody else is splittin’ up the rest of his chips. They’re leadin’ his dumb ass away in handcuffs. See? He can play poker with the boys in the Clark County jail for a little while.” Bill was numb.

“Come back over to the table. Hurry up. Yer rich.”

Bill’s mind reeled. $10,000. They’d have a hell of a party down at the field, he thought.  For Eddie and Houston Willie and Flat Head John and Fuzzy Kintner. And the rest. And buy 100 bottles of Ripple and 100 pizzas. And give everyone 10 shiny silver coins. And buy sleeping bags and tents for everyone. Maybe get Wilma a tooth. And a new Trojan. 

A good time was had in the field, and the Ripple flowed. When it was all over, and Bill had given away as much as he could, he had 10 silver coins, like everyone else. That was all. After a little sleep he might try the same machines in the same casinos, and maybe get lucky again. Maybe. It did not matter, he thought. He had been to the end of the rainbow.