I know what I need to do next, the one thing I haven’t done yet. Slots.
I head into the busy little aisles, watching people hitting buttons and cranking handles. Lots of different kinds of machines and games. Some are simple, others are not. Some people have really parked themselves, set up with food, drink, and ashtrays. They stare into their screens with enough effort to break down a billion-dollar tax return.
I don’t want anything that complicated. I’m here to have fun. As I spin around, I catch sight of some brightly animated tits.
I head over to the little machine, decorated with busy mermaids. They all have blue tails, red smiles, and huge racks. This looks like fun.
I hit a few buttons and start to play. It takes a moment to get into it, and I decide I want to get three golden mermaids. Top score.
For the first few minutes, I start to get bored at the shimmering mermaids and their accessories. I think I’ll head back over to dice. Gambling is better with other drunk people.
I pull one more chip out of my pocket—which is full of them—and lock it in, pushing the button.
I get up from my seat, pausing to see the result, just for kicks.
And there she is. Three golden mermaids.
With a ridiculous yell, I stick my hands under the flying chips. What did I say about lady luck following me everywhere I go? I just can’t lose.
A couple of people nearby see the flying chips and start picking them up. I laugh out loud, watching them scramble behind the machines.
“Here you go!” I yell as loud as I can, hurling fistfuls at them. People leap off their stools, jumping to the ground to grab the flying chips. I laugh so hard I have to sit down, getting hit by the pieces still spewing out of the machine.
I have no idea how much I’ve won, but those are ten-thousand-dollar chips making an avalanche here.
I fill my hands again, sniggering as I stand up. People are still hurrying over and looking down, flinging themselves to the floor when they see the loose chips. I hurl a few handfuls more, filling my hands and then tossing them into the crowd.
Right up the back, I see my security guy running up. I’m surprised he’s eager to get in on this—haven’t I paid him enough today?
To my surprise, he pulls a face, jerking his hand back and forth in front of his neck. Slasher motion. Stop. Why? I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I want that fucker to bring me a drink.
I lean over, grabbing another handful of chips and tossing them high. New people running upstart tripping over the people already on the floor. I’m laughing so hard I almost fall off my stool. To my surprise, a firm hand steadies me, pushing my weight back against the machine.
“You alright there, sir?”
“Yes, I am, thank you. No, wait. I need a drink. Tequila. Quick as you like. Oh, and don’t forget to address me as ‘My Lord.’ I thought you guys were briefed on this.”
“We were, indeed, Mr. Lord, your majesty.” His tone is hard, and I realize he still hasn’t let go of my arm. His grip is quite firm.
I swing my feet towards the floor, trying to turn towards him and ask who the fuck he thinks he is when he yanks me straight.
“Hey!”
“I suggest you come quietly, Mr. Lord. You don’t want this on your Instagram account. Or do you? I don’t know shit about those things.”
“What the fuck is going on—” Finally, I blink my eyes into some kind of focus. The blue of the uniform finally registers.
“Oh, shit. Look, guys, this is all just a misunderstanding. You’ll see I—”
“Cuff him.”
“Shit! Shit! No!”
The big, tall guy grips my arm and spins me around, slapping on the cuffs. I feel my rage rising in my guts, but I don’t speak a word. I’m saving it for my lawyer.
No one treats Riker Lord like this.
2 Jane
Sometimes, when you’re walking home after a long day in uncomfortable shoes, every delay seems personal. The courthouse isn’t far from the bus stop, but a mile can feel like ten when you’re tired.
I was in court from 9am. The case is technical. Lots of detail involved. To do with expired property deeds and ownership contracts. The legal information would take, at minimum, six months to go through.
I got the case three days ago. I’ve been up late every night, researching, briefing. I tried to get extensions. I even went for a mistrial.
None of it even slowed down the inevitable ending to this. I lost. Again!
I’m on such a bad run. I get the cases too late, and they’ve either already been lost, or I can’t possibly prepare in time. It looks bad. Really bad.
As I get to the stop, the bus is already there. I have to run a few steps, but I make it.
My relief doesn’t last long. There are no seats.
I prop my tired feet against my briefcase and hang on while the bus moves through the city. I could get a cab, but I’m saving up every dime for my daughter’s birthday next month. My little Nia means the world to me, and since her father and I broke up, I want to give her everything in the world.
All she’s asked for her 8th birthday is a new phone and some books. I’m also planning a shopping trip for her to buy new clothes and have a fancy dinner. She’s growing into a woman so fast, and I want to capture every moment.
The bus pulls hard around a corner, and I wince as I shift my feet. I’m trying hard not to feel defeated but today has settled on my shoulders, and I know precisely how that camel felt before that last straw hit his back.
I’m a good litigator. I know I am. I haven’t
