This is for my son, for when you’re ready to know the truth. I’ve kept these secrets quiet for too long. Let’s start after a drug deal went bad. That’s where everything began falling apart.
I was in the back seat of Shooter’s cream-colored Impala, even though no one was riding shotgun. It was especially hot that day, even for Reno. The tires seemed to bleed onto the pavement. Shooter’s car had that familiar smell of stale blunts and cracked leather.
‘Of course I’m ready.’ He’d been on his cell phone ever since he’d picked me up. ‘You sure it’s him?’ He pulled out a snub-nosed revolver from the glovebox.
He’d called me about twenty minutes prior and, in a dark mutter, said they’d found the guy who stole my money. “Our money” was how he put it.
‘Are you ready?’ Shooter asked. I opened my mouth and almost replied before realizing he wasn’t talking to me. Shooter talked on the phone like everyone was in on the conversation.
My heart was thumping hard as I ran through the possibilities of what came next. When I got the news that I was ripped off, the first thing I did was calculate how long I could keep my ability in check. After that: vengeance.
‘I got my boy Tony with me… Tony.’
I squirmed in my seat at the sound of my name. The voice on the other end didn’t like what he’d heard. I was an unknown. Another variable.
‘Muthafucker, he’s in it too,’ Shooter said. ‘Keep watching. Call me back if he leaves.’ He hung up and looked at me in the rearview, still holding the gun low. ‘You ever shoot one of these?’
I stared at it. Shooter’s real name was Tracy, but no one’s supposed to know that. Thinking about his real name helped calm me down, giving me a quiet edge when Shooter got all more-gangsta-than-thou.
Here’s the truth: It was lonely growing up as a black kid in a tiny town in northern Wisconsin. My mom took a job on Polaris’s engineering team and the two of us left Chicago when I was four. It was in Siren where I came home crying from kindergarten. The teacher had said something about “your people.” But Mom wouldn’t hear nothing about it. She told me it was a safe school away from the guns. She hated guns and never let me go near them, which made me even more of an outcast, living in rural Wisconsin. So no, I had never even held a gun before.
‘I can figure it out,’ I said.
Shooter slanted his eyes at me, barely giving the road attention. ‘You sure? I can drop you off,’ he said.
I stopped bouncing my knee. ‘It’s my money,’ I said.
Shooter set the gun on the front seat.
‘Dude screwed a lot of people, not just you. My brother’s still in County cuz a him.’
‘I need this shit for work, understand?’ I said, clenching my fists. ‘You said this guy was legit. Said our other guy was charging too much. If I’m dropping money, I expect a product.’
‘Shit. I didn’t realize I had Tony Montana in the back seat.’ Shooter’s laugh was slow and grim. ‘You make bank at the casino, I thought. Poker or something?’
‘Something like that,’ I said. I looked out the window. The cement outside refracted the light and rattled my brain, even through the tinted glass.
‘Something like that. Yeah,’ Shooter repeated. I saw him eye the gun on the passenger-seat. ‘I didn’t pick you up so you could get your money back.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
Shooter made another casual turn. The beat to “All Eyez on Me” kicked on. His ringtone.
‘Ay yo. Wassup?’ Shooter’s tone changed. Lighter, friendlier. ‘Where?’ he said. ‘Okay, five minutes. I got Tony with me… Oh, we’re taking care of some stuff. Okay, I’ll see you in a second.’ He tossed his phone next to the gun. ‘Evie says hi. Gotta pick her and Insyte up at the bus. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Evie?’ I said, leaning forward. The A/C hit my face. It was refreshing despite its barnyard odor. I was suddenly excited for a different reason.
We pulled up to a hollowed out concrete shell with a bench. Shooter looked at me.
‘Hop in front, fool. Why you sit back there anyways?’
‘Thought you were my Uber,’ I said.
Shooter laughed. When he meant it, his laugh made you feel good. I hopped out and the bright heat bodied me. I opened the passenger door and saw it. I froze. Maybe this was an elaborate hoax to get my prints on the gun. Shooter saw me and put the thing in the glovebox.
‘You know who you sound like when you laugh?’ I asked as I slammed the door.
‘Muthafucka, you white?’
‘What?’
‘Only white people say I sound like Eddie Murphy.’
‘Well…’ I cracked a smile.
‘I knew it. I knew there was something suspicious about you.’ Shooter wagged his finger.
A bus pulled up and squeaked to stop. A little boy jumped out followed by his mom. Evie had a large purse over her shoulder. She took off her sunglasses and squinted at the car. I caught her eyes in the sideview mirror and she looked away. You and your mother got in the backseat.
‘Hurry up, we losing A/C. How was daycare, little bro?’ Shooter asked as he adjusted the rearview mirror to look at his son.
‘Aight.’ Your voice was soft. You looked out the window as the bleached sidewalk started to roll by.
‘Aight? That’s it?’
‘Leave him alone,’ Evie said. I could feel her gaze burning the side of my face. I stared at the glovebox.
‘Leave him alone? I’m just asking how his day is.’ Shooter moved the rearview to Evie.
‘And he said aight.’
Shooter backhanded me in my arm. I shrugged.
‘Hey Evie, guess who Tone-bone thinks I sound like.’
‘Eddie Murphy,’ she said without missing a beat. Shooter’s shoulders dropped as he shook his head in disbelief.
‘Man… He ain’t even white.’ Shooter then eyed me. ‘Wait. You ain’t, is you?’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘No.’ I felt my cheeks flush. ‘I am black, black as they come.’
‘Black as they come. You an undercover brother.’
‘You stupid,’ Evie said and poked Shooter on his neck with her long, perfectly red nails. We were all laughing. Shooter pulled into a Burger King. I pulled out my debit card and bought everyone’s meal. No vengeance on that day.
I know, I know. A little anticlimactic, right? But I wanted to introduce you to your real father. You say you don’t remember him, but I think you do. Next, I’m going to introduce you to Lenny, the old man who recognized my ability and got me my job at the Diamond Casino.
‘Casinos are superstitious places,’ Lenny said to me. He was on one of his tangents again. ‘The house can have all the math in the world, but that’s not their real edge. Say a blackjack dealer has a lower payout than the average dealer. We’ll do everything in our power to keep him unlucky. Throw salt over shoulders while speaking ill of the dead, break a mirror and open an umbrella indoors while walking under a ladder: whatever.’
I listened as we walked down the back halls of the casino.
‘Sadly, it never lasts, the Odds, in the end, always even out. Un-Lucky dealers become regular-Luck dealers because the Odds demand it. Then one day, the impossible happens. You listening, Anthony? A magical dealer comes along and not only defies the Odds, he spits right in His face. The Casino, they get worried, see, they don’t know what to do with a dealer like this. They get cagey. We don’t want to jinx this golden goose, they think, but at the same time, a dealer like you is impossible. Think about it, Anthony. If you can defy the rules, what’s that mean for their system? Their stream of income? They want to cradle you, hold you like a little bird in their palm and coddle you.’ He cupped his imaginary bird with both hands. ‘Know why? It ain’t love. It’s fear. They want to hold on to you tight enough so you can’t get away, but gently enough so you are nice and cozy. But if that bird were to bite…’ Lenny made a squishing noise between his two cupped hands. We entered the surveillance room.
I granted him a stoic nod.
He continued: ‘Casinos can act like they ain’t superstitious. Odds are reliable. Science, dependable. The Diamond has microchips in every card. We know a deck’s order and can bust a major play with these self-shuffling machines. Luck, on the other hand, she’s many things, but dependable? Forget it, kid – like tickling a whore’s titty. Odds may pay the bills, Anthony, but Luck, we pray to her. She’s our god, our religion. You are an insult to that religion.’
I fingered the eyedropper in my pocket, my secret weapon. Today was the day I was going to ask for a raise. I remained silent as Lenny proceeded with his soliloquy.
‘Superstition has no place mingling with the pious forces of Law and Order.’ Lenny raised his hands in mock reverence. ‘You, Anthony, are not illegal, but you also can’t exist, understand? To truly make what you do illegal would force governments to acknowledge something that should not exist.’
‘Okay,’ I said. What else was there to say?
‘And don’t forget,’ Lenny continued, ‘it was me who found you. I cultivated you, made you blossom. You were a tourist once, some wayward traveler on one of them self-destructive searches for himself. Old Lenny offered you a job. Gave you a home. You can’t put a price on a home. Don’t get greedy. You more than anyone knows what happens when people get greedy.’
Somehow he knew my intention. I guess today wasn’t the day to ask for a raise.
We stood in the surveillance room looking over the dozens of monitors. A guard sat in a chair, pretending not to listen to us. I looked at Lenny, seeing if he was done. His face was as old and wretched as this town. He wasn’t born, I figured, just a byproduct of Reno. A caricature of a wiseguy. If you pulled him too far from the city limits, he’d wither into dust. I couldn’t help but look up to him though, even if he was full of shit 90% of the time.
Lenny pointed to monitor 17 and giggled. It was one of his marks from the other night. Lenny’s “marks” were straight men who’d perform homosexual acts to get out of a bind. And in this town, there was no shortage of desperate men. But I was focused on monitor 6: some very weird colors.
‘You look tired,’ Lenny said to me. He rested his hands on the shoulders of the security guard and massaged gently. The poor guy’s eyes went wide and his back stiffened.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been here and not seen you working,’ I replied.
‘Yeah, well.’ Lenny scratched at the rim of his nostril. ‘There are secrets to being in more places than one. I myself am sleeping right now, you’re speaking to my astral projection.’
‘You work while you sleep?’ I said. ‘That’s sad.’
‘What’s sad is a passionless person, you cretin.’ Lenny said. His voice was always parched, gravelly and ragged. ‘Your talent, your mystical ability to throw people off their game, it’s a marvel, Anthony. Truly impressive.’ Lenny kissed the tips of fingers. He then put his long arms on top of my shoulders and faced me. ‘Our talents lead us to our passions, and our passions are where we belong, our home.’
I followed as Lenny strode down the concrete hallway toward the casino floor. Lenny’s slender body hunched as he walked, more so than when we first met five prior. The city was pulling him back in, reclaiming him.
‘And your passion?’ I asked, egging him on.
‘You disappoint me with that jive.’ Lenny’s deeply lined face crinkled into itself. ‘This casino, Anthony.’ He raised his hands up as his answer. ‘This town. All a temple to my passion.’ He pushed open a set of double doors. The sounds of the casino washed against me like a brutal wave. Lenny seemed to be reinvigorated by the chaos, like he was breathing in fresh air.
‘You may not believe me,’ he said, ‘but this town is alive. Physically – breathing and shitting – alive. Eating. Eating. Eating. And it’s our job,’ he jabbed me in the chest with an old finger, ‘to keep Her sated.’
I let the din of slots roll over me as we weaved through the floor. Each machine whispered a secret, a language only I could comprehend. We stopped next to an Egyptian-themed slot with a scooter-bound granny tapping at it like a zombie.
‘Tell me what you see,’ Lenny said. It was the same thing he said to me at the start of every shift, the first thing he asked when he first met me. I closed my eyes.
I looked underneath my eyelids. Outlines began to appear. Sparks of color, creeping shadows. ‘Excitement,’ I said. ‘Which is a form of Lust, a craving for a change of fortune always just around the bend. Greed. Waste. Excess. Luck.’
‘Beautifully said, my boy.’ Lenny straightened his red blazer. ‘It’s a sacrifice. All a sacrifice.’
‘To the thing living in the city,’ I said, testing.
‘It is the city, wise ass. Maybe someday She’ll show herself to you.’ Lenny wetted his cracked lips.
‘Do the owners get to? Meet her?’ I could never fully tell when Lenny was being sincere, so I had made a practice of playing along, because he’d dish the most beautiful bullshit in return. He was definitely in a mood that day because his cup flowethed over.
‘The owners?’ He scoffed. ‘Of this ghost ship? They’re a revolving door, Anthony. Invisible hands. Boardroom stooges with tight ties and tighter assholes. Some,’ he lifted his finger, ‘might have an inkling. Maybe, but they know to not get too close. Owners need to remain separate. Out of principle. Can’t fraternize with the subordinates. People like me, people like you,’ he loosened his bow-tie, ‘we manage their chattel. We’re not meant to own. It’s no disgrace to say it. We’re house #####rs.’
‘Lenny, you’re white.’ I had spent so much time with this man that nothing out of his mouth shocked me anymore. Maybe I should’ve been upset, but there was something endearing about his brash, ludic honesty.
‘To them, we’re all #####rs. Now go start with the roulette tables, they need some tending.’
‘Nametag on or off?’ I asked, walking backward.
‘Oh, let’s start with it off.’ He winked and tossed me a black chip. I palmed it and headed off to those strange colors I had noticed on monitor 6.
So that’s Lenny. Should he be canceled? Yes. One thousand times, yes. But then again, I should too. We’ll get to that. First, let me describe my ability.
On my way to the roulette tables I dropped a bit of solution into each eye. Instantly the casino became liquid, like it was wrapped in cellophane, all connected on glistening strands of spiderweb. The first time I dosed at the Diamond I was trapped in that crystalline web. Tentacles grew from the floor and wrapped around me. I thought I was going mad. There was a warmth guiding me. Certain threads refracted the light in odd hues. I tugged on one and a slot machine hit a jackpot. I pulled another and a warm glow enveloping a suave man rolling craps dissipated. It took a while, but it became a language only I could read. And with practice, I could also write.
Five years in, I was a spider. Before I could even see the roulette tables, I could feel the color emanating from the area, a hot, pulsating green, pale and tacky. Something wasn’t right. I rounded the block of poker machines and saw a lone player at the table causing the imbalance, a golden-orange with sharp edges to it. The tentacles seemed repulsed by his aura. He had about twenty grand in sloppy stacks of black and green chips. An absurd amount at a $15 minimum table. I could tell he wasn’t a cheater, but his Luck was out of line. It was my job to balance it. The tentacles just needed a little coaxing to get their confidence back, that’s all.
‘Devil’s money. I got the devil’s money,’ the man sang to no one in a light tune. He had on baggy jeans and a loose-fitting button-up patterned with tiny whales.
‘Mind if I come in?’ I asked.
‘Plenty of room. How you doing today?’ The man said without looking up. He seemed happy to talk to someone, but tired. His eyes were red and he smelled like stale weed.
‘Good, good. You?’
‘Blessed, as always,’ he said.
I liked that answer. But I felt off-balanced, threatened even.
‘Name’s Tony,’ I said.
‘Uh…’ The man stammered for a moment as he placed his chips on some numbers. He finished his betting. ‘Trace. Nice to meet you.’
‘Doing well?’ I asked, leaning into his orange. It was like a moving geode. All I needed to do was divert the concentration of this guy, make him self-conscious. I gazed at his chips, showing I was impressed, but also hoping to trigger a possessive response. Luck disliked anyone trying to cage her.
‘Devil’s money.’ Trace said and started slamming more chips onto the betting table, leaving sloppy stacks on numbers wherever opaque tentacles began to poke through the table, smashing them back like a whack-a-mole.
I couldn’t believe it. Could he see what I could see? There was no way. I took out a few of my own five-dollar chips and started placing them right on top of Trace’s. He stopped betting and looked at me as I put a chip on every single one of his bets.
The edges of the orange prism softened. When you want to make a player change their behavior, the first step is to make them overtly aware of their actions. Mimicry is good for this, lowers a person’s defenses, makes it easy for the tentacles to grab hold.
‘I could use some of that devil’s money,’ I said.
Trace laughed. He had a big wide gap in his front teeth. His laugh was warm and sounded familiar. The tentacles recoiled at the sound.
‘I dig it. Okay. Let’s go for a ride.’ Trace’s phone rang as the croupier shot the marble down its terminal vortex. ‘Whaddup?’ He said loudly. ‘Guess. Ha! Yeah, I’m still here. You think I still be here if I wasn’t? Okay. Okay. I’ll leave soon. Love you.’ He hung up and looked at me. The croupier waived her hand over the table indicating no more bets. ‘You got a woman?’ he asked.
‘Nah…’ My cheeks flushed. ‘Too busy.’ The orange glow seemed to harden and wobble, encroaching into my own space. It wasn’t a bad feeling.
‘I got a baby,’ Trace said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘Ten months old.’ The white marble hopped around and landed on 27. He’d just won three grand. He pumped his fist and said in a half song, ‘Devil’s money.’
I tried singing it back, ‘Devil’s money.’
Trace cracked up at that. His laugh was irksome and beguiling and I couldn’t place why it sounded so familiar.
‘I gotta roll. It’s been real,’ Trace said.
‘But…’ I dropped my shoulders. ‘Come on, one more. I can’t do this on my own.’ I smiled. It was a genuine smile, therefore persuasive. My smile had a kind of mischief in it that let me get away with more than I should.
Trace pinched his nostrils closed and furrowed his brow.
I felt my own tendrils leaving my body, like ink. Their color was different from that of the table’s, a rich ultraviolet. I rubbed the dirty felt on the table like a dog’s belly.
‘Okay, one more.’ Trace started placing his chips down, only greens this time, less frequent, less confident.
I followed suit, putting my chips on top, repressing a grin. It was a rush entrapping players in their own greed.
‘You from here?’ Trace asked.
‘Is anyone?’ I rubbed my lower back and stretched. ‘You mean how long I been stuck here? From Wisconsin originally,’ I said. ‘Been here about five years. You?’
‘Chicago, then Minneapolis, then Chicago, then Minneapolis, then Boy’s Town, then Minneapolis, then LA, then Oakland, now here. I guess.’
‘Impressive.’
‘Puerto Rican women.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Be careful. I got me baby now. Ten months old.’ He showed me a photo on his oversized phone. The baby looked just like him, only with fairer skin. The marble dropped on 33; he’d hit again. Something wasn’t right. I frowned.
‘What’s wrong?’ Trace said. ‘Too much devil money for you?’
I caught myself and forced a smile. ‘I try to be careful with ill-gotten money. Makes me nervous,’ I said. ‘Why you call it that?’
Trace smiled, beguiling in its own right. ‘Oh, just shouldn’t have it in the first place.’
‘Rob a bank?’
‘Nah.’ He waved his hand to dismiss the notion. ‘Nothin crazy. I just help people find things.’ He started to absently put down his chips on some numbers.
‘I see.’ I put my chips on top again.
‘What are you gonna do without me?’ Trace asked.
‘Should I be worried? Seems like you can’t get rid of this loot if you try.’
He hit a corner bet. What the hell was going on?
Trace started putting thicker stacks of chips down. This time, I didn’t put mine on top. I didn’t place them anywhere. Trace looked at me and raised an eyebrow. The croupier launched the ball. I took a deep breath, watching, waiting. I scanned the board and saw a golden worm-like tentacle creeping up on the 1. ‘No more bets please,’ said the croupier and I slammed my black chip on the glowing appendage. The ball bounced and bounced, much longer than usual. It landed on 1.
‘Damn, son,’ Trace said.
‘I think it’s time for you to get out of here,’ I replied. I didn’t want him to lose.
‘I think you’re right.’ He grabbed his chips. ‘You have a blessed day.’
I stared at the wheel. A maelstrom. I noticed more little white worms poking up from the table, checking if it was safe to come out. ‘It’s safe,’ I said.
‘Excuse me?’ The croupier tilted her head.
I looked over my shoulder. Trace was at the cashier line. I made my way over.
‘Cashing out too?’ Trace said.
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ I scanned the space; no one else was near except for the two old ladies in their Rascal scooters. I took a breath. ‘You said you can find things…’
He faced me but eyed the exit. ‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I’m always lookin for a little something.’ I stuck my hands in my pockets.
‘I’m not a pimp, if that’s what you want. But maybe I should be.’ He laughed.
‘No.’ I leaned in close and talked out the side of my mouth. ‘I’m a bit of a hobbyist, a chef, looking for some ingredients. I’m working on a new recipe and my source has dried up.’
‘Ooh, you an enlightened fool. Most bustas I know into dro. H, yay, I can do. Might need to make a trip out to the Bay. I’d need some details. And how much? Need to be worth my while if I do.’
‘It’d be worth your while. I have a list.’
‘What was your name again?’ he asked. ‘My friends call me Shooter.’
If you hadn’t pieced it together, that was the first time I met your biological father. But now, I’ll thicken the plot. By the time you were three, I was sleeping with your mom. Yeah, I’m garbage. But Shooter wasn’t exactly a good role model either. And it’s not like he was faithful to your mother. That doesn’t excuse what happened to him, but I think that’s why I let it.
Remember how I was ripped off? We eventually found the guy… and, well, I’ll just focus on the aftermath. Long story short, I was in a bad place.
Lenny was standing outside the doors where we usually met, picking at his teeth with a deli toothpick. I had been hiding in a motel for over a week and he had finally convinced me to come back in. It was as I feared: with each step in the Casino, I felt healthier, saner.
‘Tell me what you see,’ Lenny said.
I inhaled. There was burnt plastic in the air, like the inside of over-heated circuitry. ‘Sacrifice. Just like you say, Len.’
‘But why?’ Lenny looked directly at me. ‘Why do they play when they know they’re going to lose?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, Len. Why don’t you break it down for me.’
‘Trouble at the roulette table,’ Lenny said. He lifted his hand to stop any objection. ‘Trust me, kid. Get a little work done. Cool this sniper off. You’ll feel better. You’ll see.’
I walked the old path through slot machines. Tentacles glowed hot green. Shades of former people roamed about. Aimless souls, completely consumed by this place.
I noticed a familiar color at the tables. I stopped. There he was. Just like when we first met. Only he looked halfway into shadow. His eyes were bloodshot and he had nearly a hundred grand in front of him. Shooter looked up and saw me.
‘There he is,’ he said, cracking a tired smile. I been looking for you.’
‘I’ve been sick,’ I said.
‘Sick.’ Shooter rocked his head in tiny affirmation. His eyes were bloodshot. Electric veins flashed in his aura.
‘Shooter, man, you okay? You don’t look so hot.’
‘Fine. Fine. You try standing here for two days straight.’
‘I’m sure they’d comp you a hotel,’ I said.
‘They did. But I got to get rid of this devil money first. Half this yours anyway.’
‘That ain’t mine.’ I lifted my hands.
‘Afraid so.’ Shooter started to straighten the stacks of chips. ‘Some people concerned about you disappearing like you did… after you took part. When you don’t share in the devil’s money, people start to worry.’
I hissed through gritted teeth, ‘I don’t want any of that. You can keep my part.’
Shooter pushed five thousand dollars on a column. A one-in-three chance. I hesitated, looked behind me, then put a hundred on top of Shooter’s chips.
‘Like old times, yeah.’ Shooter looked at me direct in the eyes and then rolled his gaze to the table. ‘They keep trying to move me to a different table,’ he said. ‘Say I be more comfortable with the high rollers. I tell ‘em I’m good right here. Raised the maximum for me least.’
The marble landed. It didn’t hit. Shooter slowly put his weight back on the stool. ‘Can’t win em all.’
‘You’re still up, right? What you start with?’
‘Ten. But it don’t matter. I’ll get it back. But you bet first.’
I observed the table. Fat maggots left trails of effervescent ooze – except around 8. I put a chip on 23. Shooter grabbed my wrist and squeezed.
‘Like you mean it,’ he said.
I held Shooter’s dead gaze for a moment. I let out a breath and put the chip on the 8. Shooter smacked a grand on top of it.
‘Police stopped by,’ Shooter said. My ears immediately started to ring, muting all other noise. ‘Pigs asked some questions about a missing friend of ours.’ He spoke in a low mumble. It was the only thing I could hear, like we were in a tunnel. ‘Now I got people askin about you. They want to know where you been. As I’m the only one who knows you, they ask if I trust you.’
The marble landed on 8 and neither of us cared.
‘I tell em, Tone-bone? He’s my busta. I take a bullet for that busta. Even if he a smug little bitch sometimes.’
A dead chill ran through me. My breath was being chopped by the thump of my heart.
‘Then I start to think. I start to wonder,’ Shooter said.
‘Shooter—’ I began.
Shooter spoke over me, ‘I wonder what he does in his time off. So I look for him.’ His gaze had a darkness to it that I’d never seen before. ‘I check his work. I check his pad. He’s not around. So, I think, just maybe I check my girl’s line. I pay the bill for it, so it couldn’t hurt to check… And I see just what kind of busta I deal with all these years. I see this and I start to wonder if a busta will fuck your bitch, your baby’s mamma, he ain’t far from fucking you.’
I tried saying, ‘I didn’t,’ but all I could do was wheeze.
Shooter grabbed my side and squeezed a chunk of flesh, forcing me back into the stool. He leaned in. His breath was sour.
‘You didn’t what? Fuck my woman?’
‘No. I mean, not that,’ I said, ‘I didn’t… say nothin.’
‘So you did? Come on. Let’s go for a ride.’
Shooter showed me a flash of dark metal at his waist. The gun. The next thing, a large man with no neck was there, bearhugging Shooter. The gun fell to the carpet with muted fanfare. Lenny picked it up and put it into his red coat pocket.
…
‘Tracy Anderson.’ Lenny read from Shooter’s ID. We were in a room, windowless and metallic – one I had never seen before. Lenny had put a key into the freight elevator and we went to a basement level I didn’t know existed. The whole place smelled like a musky steam-room. I was a statue in the corner, keeping my eyes at the legs of the metal table between me and Shooter. He was zip-tied to a weird chair. The hindlegs were bolted to the floor and Shooter’s arms were bound behind him. ‘So sorry about the eye. We’ll see about some ice.’
I lifted my gaze to find Shooter’s good eye staring right back at me. His left eye was bulging like a moldy peach. Lenny flicked the ID onto the table; it spun three, four times, then stopped. Lenny rested his hands on Shooter’s shoulders – his crooked fingers caressed Shooter’s glistening jugular. Its pulse was noticeably active. The chorus of breaths the three of us made in that room bled into one deep and hungry moan.
‘You ever notice the carpet around here?’ Lenny said, looming behind Shooter. He massaged tiny circles on Shooter’s shoulders with the tips of his old fingers. ‘No one ever notices the carpet. The most tremendous in Nevada. I’m not even sure your friend Anthony knows this, but each and every square has a unique symbol on it.’
Your friend? I had never mentioned Shooter to Lenny.
‘Did you know that, Anthony?’ Lenny asked. I said nothing. ‘The Diamond’s floor is like a novel no one knows how to read. Can you imagine the care that was put into such a detail? Just to be walked on. Somehow that fact makes it more special to me, you know? That it’s meant to be stepped on all over.’
‘I can’t feel my fingers,’ Shooter said. A drop of blood splattered on the floor behind the chair.
‘We’ll see about your zip-ties, but Tracy, you did pull a gun on my employee of the month.’
Lenny moved in front of Shooter and sat on the table. His feet dangled just off the floor.
‘Wasn’t gonna use it,’ Shooter said through a clenched jaw. ‘Tryna scare him.’
‘Did it work?’ Lenny looked at me and winked. ‘Were you scared?’ He turned back to Shooter and leaned next to his ear. ‘Why would you try to scare him?’ he whispered.
‘I thought we was ####as,’ Shooter said, looking at me.
I watched a few more drops of blood from Shooter’s bound wrists hit the floor behind the chair. There was something queasy about this room.
‘Him?’ Lenny pointed at me with a thumb over his shoulder. ‘No, Anthony’s my ####a.’
‘Fuck you old man. Call the police. I’m gonna sue you fucks.’ Lenny put his hand on Shooter’s scalp and ran his fingers through his short hair. ‘Fuck you!’ Shooter snapped his head out of Lenny’s claw.
‘Tracy, Tracy, Tracy. Use your head!’ Lenny knocked the top of Shooter’s skull with his knuckle. ‘Look around you. Do you see any cameras here? Have you seen a single camera since we got off the elevator? Something tells me you’re the kind of guy who’d notice that sort of thing.’
I scanned the pale metal walls and ceilings. No seams, not even a spot for a hidden camera. That’s when I noticed my ability was muted. That room somehow quieted the lifeforce of the casino. It made me feel carsick. There was always some activity from my periphery, even when I wasn’t dosing. I had grown accustomed to it, every white-toothed advertisement, dirty cab exhaust pipes, laundromat slots, mists of the city ascending from the sewer-grates.
‘This is my favorite part,’ Lenny said to me. He plopped onto Shooter’s lap, straddling him. Shooter squirmed.
‘You have a choice, Tracy. I’m going to lay it out for you simply. Option one.’ He lifted a finger. ‘You don’t suck my cock.’
‘Fuck this shit,’ Shooter said.
Lenny put his finger over Shooter’s lips. Shooter closed his mouth and heaved a long breath from his nose. Lenny pulled his one finger from Shooter’s mouth and then put two fingers back on his lips. ‘Option two. You guessed it. You suck my cock.’
‘Aw, fuck this. Fuck you. Tony, get me outta here. Tony!’
I opened my mouth to speak but it felt like the room was losing oxygen.
‘Ahh-ah-ah, let me finish, Tracy,’ Lenny said. ‘You need to know what happens next. You comfortable? I’m not hurting you, am I? No? Say you take option two, we’ll excuse our pal Tony here and you and me take care of business, badda-bing, and you’ll be on your merry way, no questions asked, no harms, no fouls, evens and stevens…’ Lenny lifted his fingers off of Shooter’s lips and brushed the puffy eye-socket with the tender backs of his fingers.
I had to get out of there. But I did nothing.
‘Following me?’ Lenny went on. ‘Option one… is a gamble! I might let you go. Same as option two. Maybe I give you all your winnings back. Or, Tracy, maybe I make a phone call to the Sheriff. He’s a good friend of mine. Loves my calls. I’m sure there’s a case or two he’d like to discuss. Leave the matter with the pigs. I bet that gun has an interesting story. Maybe I have some tough guys come in and make hamburger out of your other eye. Hmm? Maybe I’m feeling nice. Maybe I get a whore to come in here, your choice, your style, whatever gets you going, Tracy, and I have her suck you off.’ Lenny laughed. It was a giddy and disturbing laugh I had never heard from him. ‘Or you can take option two, the sure thing, and walk.’ He leaned in and ever so lightly put his lips on the Shooter’s bruised eye.
‘Fucking fruit!’
‘Lenny,’ I managed to choke out.
Lenny unstraddled Shooter and turned to me. ‘It’s okay. We’re just having fun,’ he said.
Shooter struggled against his zip-tie bonds. The trickle of blood intensified. The breathing of the room quickened.
Lenny’s knees cracked as he squatted down. He put his hand on Shooter’s thigh and whispered, ‘What if I suck yours?’ Lenny made two little legs out of his fingers and started to tip-toe up Shooter’s leg. ‘Fear, Tracy, is a very peculiar beast. We all react in unique ways. Interestingly, a small subset of people become sexually aroused when they’re afraid. I’m curious if you’re in that group.
‘Tony, please…’ Shooter said.
Lenny’s hand meandered upward. ‘I just had a funny thought!’ he said. ‘What if you’re afraid of getting turned on?’ Lenny laughed again, but it wasn’t giddy that time, it was cold. I could feel the pulse of Shooter’s jugular echoing off the walls. Lenny’s fingers stopped at Shooter’s inner thigh. He looked up at Shooter. ‘What’s this?’ His fingers start to press gently at Shooter’s crotch. ‘Oh my, Tracy. What is this?’ His fingers press a little harder, quicker.
Shooter closed his eye. ‘Oh God please, no.’
‘Afraid, Tracy? Afraid you’re getting excited? Mmmm. I can feel it, Tracy. You want me to suck your cock, don’t you? You’re a little fruit. You want me to suck that big cock of yours, fruit?’
‘Lenny!’ I said.
‘It’s his call!’
‘Fuck you, old man. Gonna fuckin kill you.’
Lenny put his hands on Shooter’s knees and used them as support to stand upright. ‘We’re at the buzzer, Tracy. Time to decide,’ he said.
‘Just let me go.’
‘Is that option two you’re taking?’
‘Fuck no. Fuck you. I bite anything off. I fucking promise you.’
‘You sure, Tracy? No take-backs.’
‘You won’t do shit. Tony, help,’ Shooter said.
‘Time to decide, Tracy,’ said Lenny.
‘Tony, please.’ The drops of blood connected to make a small pool underneath the chair.
‘Three seconds…’
‘Tony, get me out of here.’
‘Two…’
‘Please…’
‘One…’
‘I won’t… Fuck you, bitch. I won’t.’
Lenny looked at me with a satisfied, full smile. His mouth was a black pit with a green circus inside.
‘I knew he’d say no.’ He started to massage Shooter’s chest. ‘I was hoping you’d say that, Tracy.’
‘Lenny… what’s going on?’ I had to stop it but I hadn’t moved from my corner.
Lenny walked toward me. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.
I stepped aside and saw what Lenny was reaching for: a red switch, almost resembling a fire alarm lever. Lenny pulled it. Behind Shooter’s chair a trapdoor swung open. A dry, translucent mist radiated from below. The room’s breathing became excited; a thumping pulse vibrated the walls. I noticed the hind legs of the chair weren’t just bolted to the ground – they were on a hinge.
‘The fuck,’ Shooter said, struggling to look behind him.
‘You see it?’ Lenny asked. ‘Option one!’
I crept closer, drawn to a motion underneath the trapdoor, something fleshy and opaque. Massive and glowing. Ghastly intestines tugged on an assembly. I heard moans and whispers.
‘No— the fuck is— I’m sorry.’ Shooter tried to stand and the zip-ties ripped into his wrists. ‘Lenny, I’m sorry. I’ll suck your dick, Lenny. I promise.’
‘Too late, Tracy. You had your chance.’ Lenny grabbed the chair and started to tip it back, slowly. Shooter screamed and flailed as if in a straightjacket.
‘The fuck is that? I got a son! Please. I got a baby boy, he’s everything to me. Please. Tony! Tony! No!’ His voice raised in pitch as Lenny lowered the chair. ‘No! Please!’
I’d like to say this is where I stopped this madness, but I was transfixed. Somehow I knew this was the Truth. A phosphorus pink mist reached for Shooter through the trapdoor, churning like waves in a pot, turning into the shape of hands before spilling away. Lenny was clearly relishing the slow tip of the chair backwards. I saw green steam leaking out of Lenny and embrace with the substance below. His physical form became faint. Lenny looked at me and smiled. He had no skin. It was a skull smiling at me.
‘I’m sorry. Please, no! Fuck you!’ Shooter screamed.
A green snake-like thing wrapped around the chair leg. It pulled but Lenny didn’t let go, like someone tugging with a dog’s meat. More tendrils latched to the chair. I could hear a voice, no, many voices, call out. A strand wrapped around Shooter’s neck and slid into his mouth. Shooter made a gurgling cry. He convulsed, like the chair was electric, back arched about to snap.
‘Lenny! This ain’t right, man.’ I said. Maybe I didn’t. I was drawn in by what was below. The breathing from underneath liquified my bones. Whispers like rocks strewn about on a frozen lake.
‘It’s a sacrifice, Anthony!’ Lenny smirked, a parched desert on his lips.
The tendrils whined and ripped at Shooter. Lenny let go and the chair swung down into the pit. I heard both of Shooter’s shoulders snap. His hands were still zip-tied to the chair. His body was twisted in ways it shouldn’t. I inched closer to the trapdoor. A river of hot, visceral light flowed over my old friend. A disconcertingly high-pitched scream came from Shooter and then I heard echoes of satisfied moans before the chair swung back into its upright position and the hatch slammed shut.
I fell to my ass in a daze. ‘It’s not right… It’s not right.’ My heart was tingling. I wanted to cry. No, that’s not true. I’m not sure what I wanted.
‘It’s what you wanted,’ Lenny said. ‘He’s out of the way.’
‘Not like this,’ I said.
‘You don’t need to run away to have her. She’s yours.’
No words escaped me. Lenny closed his eyes and nodded with deep reverence.
‘The more you sacrifice, the more you gain.’
‘But—’
Lenny shushed me. ‘That boy needs a father now. Don’t abandon him like your daddy did. He was afraid of having a home. Are you, Tone-bone? Because you’re home now.’