Faites Vos Jeux

"Ladies and Gentlemen, place your bets."

Dave's new job as a financial planner was a miracle. When the market dropped and Johnny came in, that all changed. Johnny represented Mr. Gianouli, the firm’s biggest client, a man for whom the market doesn’t drop. Now their lives rode on the black thirteen.

They pushed Dave into the trunk of a car. Christa went to Vegas. Johnny schooled her on roulette and how to act like she knew her way around a casino, not easy at Caesars. The place was a literal maze.

The croupier called "Red checks for a woman in red, ma'am?" as she walked by. Christa considered running, but after a nod and a look from those dead eyes she slid into the chair, grateful to be off her feet in the Louboutin dupes. The shoes might do more harm than Johnny.

The first two thousand bet hit on black eight like they said. Somewhere in a warehouse at home Dave's odds improved.

Christa pushes a stack of red chips and the orange ten thousand dollar chip forward and calls "Thirteen straight up, p-please." Forty-seven thousand dollars. More than she has ever had. She pulls her hand back and lays it atop her other hand. The players at the table glare. A bet on thirteen could sour the action.

The croupier spins the wheel. "No more bets. Round she goes."

She fights the urge to pull at the straps on the cheap dress. Johnny ran the fitting like he was rigging a decoy. The tailors at Varvatos don't pin nylon, but nobody dares to tell Johnny that. The seam itches and makes her sweat. Three bets, then she can limp out in these cheap shoes. Eight minutes to McCarran, then she's home.

The sound of the ivorine ball rolling reminds her of the traffic on ninety-five back home. Her dilated eyes make everything more crisp. The Adderall they gave her to stay sharp. She's heard they also pump oxygen to the floor.

The ball slides down the side, clack, thwip, snick, rattling, seeking a home on the wheel.

The dealer looked at her, pushing the chips towards her. "Another play?" She moved half the take to bet on odds. The double zero took the 35k. Johnny claimed that would keep the pit bosses complacent. A pretty woman has a big win then gives it back.

The ball catches the red nine, rattles, then bounces out and back around again.

Christa's heart leaps. The bet has to hit. She pushes her hair back, clearing the beads of sweat. She starts to rub her eye, feels a false eyelash lifting and stops. Folds her hands again. Thirteen comes up the way Johnny said, or they’re out of luck.

The ball settles. The croupier lays his left hand on the wheel and with his right picks up the dolly, placing it on the winner.

"Thirty-six red! Red thirty-six!"

For Dave and Christa the market drops for the last time.