by Sean Patten
When he finally budged, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his attention to his food, picking up his utensils and carving a big, pink chunk out of his salmon. He brought the forkful to his mouth and shoved it in, chewing slowly and deliberately before washing it all down with a healthy swig of beer.
I’d stepped over a line, but I didn’t care.
Finally, he spoke.
“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” he asked. “You’re going to throw that back in my face?”
“What else can I say about it?”
“Listen,” Steve said. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I did before: I didn’t know how badly it affected you both. I talked to you on the phone when you got back from Hawaii, remember? Asked you how you were, if there was anything I could do.”
“And that was all,” I said.
“Come on, Justin!” he said. “You know how you are! All stoic and stiff-upper-lip about it. Was I supposed to read your mind and know how much being in the middle of something like that had actually affected you?”
“You could’ve come visit.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “You’re right. I should’ve just dropped shit and flown to New Mexico the second you got back. But I was busy with work, and—”
My eyebrows flicked up.
“You’re still going with that?” I asked. “That you were too busy with your new job?”
“Well, I was,” he said. “I worked my ass off to get where I am and when you got back I was still in the middle of it. Between that and not wanting to impose, I kept my distance.”
Another beat of silence passed.
“Listen, I had no idea what to do, all right? My little brother had been through something I couldn’t even imagine, saw shit that I didn’t even see when I was in the service, and…I just didn’t know what to do.”
I sipped my beer, not sure what to do or say. Not sure how to feel about it.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said. “If I’d have known that you were as messed up as you were, I would’ve done a better job being there for you. And I know I can’t get that back.”
There was still a trace of anger left in me, but it had faded enough for me to push it aside. No sense in rubbing salt into wounds that had only just begun to scar.
“That whole thing,” I said, shaking my head. “That did it. Between me and Kelly, that is.”
I could sense relief on Steve’s part as he realized that I was no longer on the attack.
“Come on,” he said. “You know that’s not true. Things were on the skids between you two for a while.”
“That was the whole point of the trip,” I said. “To see if we could turn things around.”
“And did it work?” he asked. “I mean, I know the answer. But even if, ah, all that hadn’t gone down…”
“Maybe,” I said. “It was looking okay there for a minute. Being away from home, being around some beautiful scenery. There were a few minutes here and there when I thought we just might be able to make it work.”
I paused before speaking again. Steve kept eating, nearly finishing his meal.
“But it’s pointless to think about,” I said. “We were already on the outs, and after the shooting I knew she’d never look at me the same way again.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because of what you did?”
“No,” I said. “Because of what I didn’t do.”
Tension boiled inside of me as the memories began to flood back.
“Can we drop it now?” I said. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Good call. No sense in dredging that all up.”
“Fact of the matter is she’s coming into town, and I need to deal with it.”
“That’s right,” said Steve. “Good man.”
He reached across the table and gave my wrist a squeeze.
“It’s not going to be anything,” he said. “She’ll be there to do whatever it is she wants to do, and you and I can stick together. I don’t know if I can do anything but lend moral support, but I’ll do what I can.”
I decided to take his words in the spirit they were given. It was clear he knew he’d made the wrong call, and he was trying to make good in his own small way.
Steve took one last bite of his salmon and polished off his beer before clasping his hands together.
“Look at you!” he said, pointing at my untouched burger. “You got a double-bacon beast in front of you and you haven’t even touched it.”
“Lost my appetite, I guess,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You’ve been traveling all day, and nothing makes a man hungrier than a shitty flight.”
He leaned forward.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m about to go crazy if I don’t stretch my legs or something. And I can tell you need some time to yourself to think. You get comfy, eat your burger, and throw back as many beers as you think you need to get happy. And when you’re all ready, come find me and we’ll start this night off fresh. Sound good?”
Really, being alone was the only part of that I cared about.
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds good.”
He pulled out his card and swiped it through the reader on the tablet.
“Take your time, bro,” he said. “Tab’s open.”
Steve gave me one last look before getting up and taking off.
But I didn’t eat or drink when I was alone. Instead, I closed my eyes, leaned back, and let the memories I’d been keeping at bay return.
Chapter 8
The boot slammed right into my ribs with enough force to push me back a good few inches. I let out a cry of pain which was soon followed up with a scream from Kelly’s direction.
“Back in your booth, asshole,” said the man who’d been looming over me, the gunmetal of his weapon glinting in the corner of my eye.
I took a few deep breaths as the pain from the kick ebbed.
“Now, dumbass!” shouted the man. “Unless you want to join the other three in the afterlife!”
I forced myself up and to my feet. My body wasn’t ready yet, and made its displeasure at being forced to move very clear.
My eyes shot over to Kelly, that same expression of pure terror on her face. She had to have been wondering, as I was, whether or not one of these pricks was going to put a round in the back of my head just for fun.
But they didn’t. I heaved myself back into the booth, my ribs still aching like hell.
“Good boy,” said the second man. “Now, you try anything, you act the hero, and I make your girl sit right across from you and look you in the eyes while I blow her fucking brains out. Got it?”
I said nothing, my gaze fixed straight ahead.
“I said,” said the second man. “Got it?”
I grit my teeth for a moment and then spoke.
“Got it,” I said.
I was furious. Sure, I was scared too, but more than that there was a rage boiling inside of me that I couldn’t even begin to process. I wanted to grab the nearest heavy object and lunge at the man like a caveman wielding a club. I’d bash his skull to paste, take his weapon, and drain a few rounds right in the face of his partner.
But I didn’t. Instead, I sat with my palms on the table.
“Now!” called out the second man. “We did our homework before pulling this little caper, and we know that there are two managers on duty at all times—one up front, and one in the kitchen.”
The two men, along with everyone else in the restaurant, turned their attention to the long, rectangular window that looked from the dining area into the kitchen. A handful of blank faces looked back at us.
“Now,” said the first man, aiming his gun slowly at one face, then the next, then the next. “Which one of you is it?”
“And don’t try to pull any ‘I’m Spartacus’ bullshit,” said the other. “Unless you want us to start popping clientele.”
“So,” said the first man. “Wh
ich one of you is it?”
Before either of them could say another word, the swing door to the kitchen flew open, revealing a tall, built man in jeans and a T-shirt, something metal and sharp in his hand.
“Right here, assholes,” he said.
What happened next took place with such speed that I could barely process it. The cook flew across the room like a wraith, the knife raised above his head. When the first man, the one he was moving towards, realized what was happening, he drew his gun and fired off a pair of shots, one going wide, and the other hitting home in the man’s chest.
But the cook’s adrenaline had taken over, and there was still enough energy in him to bring the knife down in a hard, quick arc, driving the blade into the man’s chest. The chef tumbled down on top of the shooter, pinning him to the ground.
The second man, realizing what was happening, rushed over and quickly put a round in the back of the chef. Once the chef was still, the second man heaved his body off the first.
But he was just as motionless. The impact of the falling chef had driven the blade, handle and all, right through him. His mouth was slacked open, a pool of blood spreading beneath.
“Tom!” the second man called out, apparently no longer concerned about concealing his associate’s identity. “Come on! Get up!”
After a few moments of this, it finally dawned on him that Tom wasn’t getting up.
The remaining man turned towards us, rage and hate and frustration burning in his eyes. He understood right at that moment the plan was off, his partner was dead, and he was up against a wall.
“You motherfuckers!”
He raised his gun and fired randomly. The patrons screamed and scrambled to take cover, but one of them, a heavy-set middle-aged man, didn’t move fast enough. One of the hastily fired rounds went right through his forehead, the life draining from his body as he slumped onto the table.
Then he turned his attention to Kelly, his murderous eyes locked right onto hers. My heart pounded in my chest, my limbs cold.
The man raised the gun, pointing it directly at her forehead.
This was it. It was time to act.
Make or break, my wife’s life on the line.
But instead, I did nothing. I sat there frozen as the man slowly, slowly pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
The gun was dry—he’d fired all the rounds he had left wildly into the restaurant. An expression of terrible realization formed on his face as he realized that he was alone and unarmed.
The rest of the staff in the kitchen didn’t need to be told what to do. They poured out of the two kitchen doors like a pack of animals, pouncing on the man and beating him into a bloody pulp.
Kelly ran to my side. I pulled her close, still in a daze.
Slowly, the chefs backed away from the man. He was covered in blood, his body mangled. But his chest still rose and fell slowly.
That was it.
It was over.
Chapter 9
The jangling bells of a nearby slot machine brought me back into the world of the living this time. I shook my head and came to my senses, my eyes focusing on the untouched burger and nearly full glass of beer in front of me.
Steve was gone, and I had the good sense to realize that being alone wasn’t the best idea right now. With a few deep pulls, I finished my beer and got out of the booth.
The casino floor was the same cacophony of bells and chimes and chatter, the flashing lights still hard to take. A passing waitress offered me a drink, and I helped myself to two, tossing the watery cocktails down and hoping that together they’d add up to one normal drink.
The beer was beginning to do its work, a warm feeling spreading through my body. I narrowed my eyes and scanned the place for Steve, wondering where the hell he’d gotten off to.
I made my way down the row of slots, keeping an eye out. But no sign. The Medley was so big it made the mind reel, and I realized that I could be spending hours looking for him.
The pit was up ahead, and I decided to check it out before calling it quits and texting him.
I went down further into the bowels of the casino, far enough that I couldn’t see the entrance to the place. It was common knowledge that casinos did all they could to make you lose any sense of time, and there, surrounded by the noisy ambiance, not a window or any other sign of the outside world in sight, I understood what that meant.
After a little searching, I spotted him. Steve was at a large green table covered in stacks of colorful chips, a roulette wheel looming over it. He was happy as could be, a member of the crowd packed around and watching the wheel slowly spin to a halt.
The employee at the table called out a number, and the crowd burst into wild cheers. I stepped back and watched the show, my eyes on Steve, a big smile on his face as he soaked up the congratulations of those around him. As soon as a lull to the cheers hit he spoke to the employee, making a “more, more” gesture with his hands.
I leaned against a nearby Roman-style column and crossed my arms over my chest as the process started again, the employee giving the wheel a spin, the crowd packed around the table holding its collective breath, and each pair of eyes eager to see where the clattering ball would land this time.
It settled on…something. I didn’t know a damn thing about roulette, but judging by the cheers of the crowd around the table, it appeared that something good had happened. Steve’s face lit up as the employee used some long, wooden tool to pull a large pile of colorful chips in Steve’s direction.
I could feel the excitement of the little group even from my distance. Every one of the men and women around the table was eager to see what Steve would do next.
And he looked ready as could be to make another bet and start the show over again. However, his eyes flicked up to me and he stopped still. After a moment’s hesitation, he whispered something to the employee, who nodded and, in turn, said something to the table. Disappointed awws sounded as Steve reached forward and took the piles of chips into his hands.
He glanced up at me as he sidled away from the crowd, their attention already back on some new player looking to win big. There was an odd expression on Steve’s face as he approached, part guilt, part happiness.
“Hey, bro!” he said. “How was the burger?”
I wasn’t interested in talking about food.
“You look like you had fun,” I said, nodding towards the compact stacks of chips he was carrying.
“Hell yeah, I did,” he said. “Come on.”
He nodded towards a slightly more secluded area of the pit, one where we could talk and not attract attention. As soon as we were there, Steve leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial tone.
“Look at this shit!” he said, holding out the chips towards me. “How long has it been since I left you at the table?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Kind of lost track of time.”
“Couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes,” he said. “And in that twenty minutes I’m already up fifteen large! Can you believe this city?”
It was no small amount of cash, and actually kind of impressive.
“And now what’re you going to do with it?”
“The way I see it,” he said. “Anything that you’ve got in the black is play money. So I’m going to head right back to one of those tables and see if I can turn it into thirty thousand. Hell, maybe even a hundred.”
“And then what?” I asked.
Steve looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Say you win a hundred thousand. Then what?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Right now, I’m just having some fun, you know?”
“I’ll tell you what happens,” I said. “You’ll hit a hundred thousand and then you’ll want to turn it into two. And then maybe three after that. Maybe you’ll do it. Who knows? But eventually you’ll hit a point when luck turns against you. Then you’re down, in the red, t
hrowing around money that isn’t ‘play money’ just trying to get even. Sound about right?”
“Jesus, bro,” said Steve, shaking his head and stepping back. “Way to offer congratulations.”
“But I’m right,” I said firmly. “And you know it. It’s all fun and games until the odds work in the house’s favor, like they always do. Then you’re down low just as high as you are right now.”
“Justin, dude,” he said. “You can be a real buzzkill. You know that, right?”
“You know how I know all of this?” I asked, blowing past his statement.
Steve sighed. “You want me to ask, so I’ll indulge you. How do you know, oh wise little brother?”
“The same way that you know in the back of your head: because both of us watched Dad do this same shit over and over again.”
Steve’s face fell, turned hard. If he didn’t have his hands jam-packed full of festive-looking chips he might’ve actually looked a little intimidating.
“So that’s what this shit is all about,” he said. “You trying to play the better brother.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what?” he asked. “Come on, quit dancing around and get to it.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, keeping my eyes on him.
“I think I’m being pretty clear, actually,” I said. “We’re here in Vegas to bury our old man, and here you are doing the same shit that put him there.”
A bloodless smirk formed on Steve’s lips, like I’d just said something that, deep down, he’d been expecting to hear.
“There it is,” he said. “The ‘you’re just like the old man’ shit, huh? How long you been waiting to drop that?”
“I’m serious,” I said. “What are you doing? Here throwing money away knowing just how much of a goddamn gambling fiend he was.”
“So what if I am?” Steve asked. “What, you think gambling killed him or some shit? How does that even work?”
“How’d he die?” I asked.
“What?”
“How’d he die?”
“Heart attack.”
“And how much money did he have in the bank when it happened?”
