Diced

by Deany Ray

  She called us back. “Yoo Hoo, girls!” she trilled. “Come back and tell me how I did. Do you love your drinks?” She turned to the crowd. “Everyone, meet Charlie. Don’t I have a lovely daughter? Charlie’s single, fellows.” She winked at me. “But I’d advise you to act quickly. A certain well-built, lovely gentleman might be about to snatch her up.”

  Okay, kill me now.

  Marge squeaked and grabbed my arm. “Oh, Charlie, is that true? About you-know-who? I knew it. I just knew it.”

  The bar crowd turned to look at us. Absolutely great.

  Celeste frowned at me as we made our way back toward my mother. Celeste knew that this was bad news.

  Marge apparently did not. Once we had my mother to ourselves, Marge leaned over and asked her in the quietest voice, “Do you know what’s in that side room? With that huge guy in front of it?”

  Celeste nearly spit out her drink.

  “You know, I was wondering the same thing,” my mother said. “Let me go and check.” She was off before I could tell her to please just stay put.

  “Marge, what in the world?” Celeste said underneath her breath.

  “What?” Marge asked. “Let’s use this to our advantage. We have a source on the inside.”

  Meanwhile at the other end of the bar, the regular bartender – a gray-headed, older man – was shaking his head emphatically to my mother’s questions. And, judging from her hand motions, she was being quite insistent.

  The bartender held his hands up, as if he might be saying, “I don’t make the rules, lady. Hey, it’s not up to me.”

  That’s when I saw a look come across my mother’s eyes. Oh, no. I knew that look. It meant she sensed bad energy, it meant the patrons of the Bumpy Cashew were in for another show.

  My mother rustled underneath the counter until she found the thing I knew she was looking for. She took it everywhere she went: the spray she used for cleansing. She started spraying wildly, causing the drinkers closest to her to gasp and rush away.

  The bartender covered his eyes and ducked down. Welcome to my life, I thought. After a few seconds, he slowly stood, a look of confusion on his face. He glanced around the room, then whispered something in her ear.

  “Okay, score!” Marge said. “She’s got some information.” This time she remembered to use her quiet voice. We were making progress on that front, at least.

  My mother beckoned to us. Everyone was watching her, but this time they kept their distance; the spray bottle was still in her hand. That would buy us a little privacy.

  My mother looked shaken when we got to her. “Girls, there’s something about this place…something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

  “So? What’s in that room?” I asked.

  “He says it’s a room for games.” She shrugged. “Which I find very strange. People come to bars to drink. What kind of games, I wonder?”

  Hmm. Could she get us in that room?

  “I’d love to check it out,” I said. “But I don’t think that huge guy lets everybody in.”

  My mother touched my hand. “Surely they’d let you sweet girls play. You are all such fine girls. I will just make sure of that.” Then she was off again.

  The bartender’s eyes grew wide when he saw her coming with her bottle. That exchange was much the same, him shaking his head with even more vigor than he had before. My mother’s arms flailed wildly in the air as she tried to make her point. I thought I heard a phrase I remembered from my childhood: something about bad manners and not leaving people out.

  Next, I saw the older man wave his hands in front of him as if to say “no way.” Then my mother put her hand up to her forehead as if she had a headache. I watched her take a deep breath. I knew these were signs, signs that were very bad, signs she was feeling something big.

  This was worse than normal. My mother was always sensing energy she thought was dangerous. But when she acted this way, she was certain that the energy was nothing short of catastrophic. She put her finger on the nozzle, ready to let loose with a spray. Everyone stood back. Then once again, the bartender whispered in her ear.

  My mother took a few moments to calm herself then made her way back to us. She suddenly looked tired. “I hate to say this, but I would leave if I were you. Everyone seems happy, but something dark is going on here. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “What did he say about the games?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s rather silly,” she said in a low voice. “I was told these are secret games. I don’t understand young people. Everything nowadays has to be mysterious. Why, when I was a young girl, we kept things simple. And we still had fun! Apparently, to play these games, you have to have a password.”

  “Oooh, I love a password,” Marge whispered. “Did he tell you the password?”

  “He didn’t want to tell me, but I told him that was silly. I work here, after all. Or at least today I do.”

  We all waited eagerly.

  My mother stared back at us, confused. “Why are you girls so quiet?”

  “The password.” Celeste tried to keep her voice polite. “We’re waiting for the password.”

  “Oh, that’s right! Silly me.” My mother waved to a line of customers to say she’d be right there. Then she leaned in closer. “Are you ready? Here it is. Friends of the Wandering Kittens.”

  “That’s very strange,” I said.

  Celeste nodded. “Strange. But very smart. I see what they’re doing. They want to make it sound like it’s a real group here in town that’s meeting in that room. That way, if someone overhears, they’ll think it’s just a meeting of one of those groups of people who love animals. That’s a big thing now in Springston.”

  Marge still looked confused. “But where do the kittens wander? And will the kittens be okay? I was thinking of a different kind of password. One that sounded a little bit dangerous. Something with more oomph.”

  Celeste sipped her drink. “Marge, don’t you read the news? There’s been an increase in kitten dumping – people just abandoning whole litters of kittens they don’t want. They leave them in the parks, behind buildings, even behind schools. Animal Control, I think, is bursting at the seams, with no room to put them all. So, different groups are joining forces to find families for the kittens, and to help the workers at the shelter, who are kind of overwhelmed.”

  “I can help,” Marge squeaked. “I can take a baby kitten!”

  “Well, not right now you can’t. Right now, you have to work,” Celeste said to her.

  “Work?” My mother looked surprised. “Surely you don’t have to go in to the office on a Sunday night? Athough, I guess there are emergencies in your line of work. People, it seems, can’t go even a full day without their computers or their cellphones. It’s not healthy, I say. I call it addiction.”

  “She meant work in general,” I assured my mother. “We’re not going in tonight.”

  “Well, that’s nice to know.” My mother wiped down the counter. She seemed to have calmed down from the whiff of scary energy. Perhaps it had dissipated.

  “Apparently,” my mom told Marge, “the password last week had more pizazz. Bam Chicka Wham Wham.” She held her arms above her head and shook her hips as she said the words in a sultry kind of voice. “They change it every Friday.” She rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid the wrong sort might try to sneak in to play those silly games of theirs.”

  While she was chatting, a crowd had formed trying to order drinks. The other bartender rushed to serve them all and called out to my mom. “Hey, Barbara, could you help?”

  “Gotta go!” she told us, then directed her brightest smile at the next customer in line.

  Celeste took a deep breath as we prepared to try our luck at gaining entrance into the side room. “Here we go,” she said.

  My heart was racing as I walked toward the huge mustachioed guard, who eyed us with suspicion, as if he could tell already that we didn’t fit in. There was a fury in his eyes, ready to be unleashed on anybod
y who approached and didn’t have the right words to pass through the magic door.

  What if we got it wrong and mixed up the words my mother told me? What would he do then? Would we ever solve the case? I pushed those thoughts away. I could do it; I was tough. My career had been a short one, but I had faced much worse than a simple conversation with a man who was standing guard over a stupid door. Plus, Marge was holding tightly to her purse. I knew what that meant: the persuader was along for this escapade.

  As we reached the door, I was surprised at how tiny we all looked as we stood beside the giant. Did he even see us? No smile, no nod. Nothing.

  Finally, Marge stepped forward. “Good evening to you, sir.” Once again she’d morphed into a whole new being.

  The man just stared ahead. Could he be a statue?

  Marge tried to engage again. “How are you this evening?”

  Still, he didn’t answer. He could be polite, at least.

  Done with niceties, Marge gave him the password. “Friends of the Wandering Kittens.” She barked the words out angrily.

  Surprised, he looked us up and down. He sighed, disgusted, as if he were disappointed to have to let us into his precious secret room. He held open the door and nodded for us to enter.

  Marge gave him a curt nod. “Thank you very much, sir. You have a lovely night.”

  We entered into a long hall, which was dimly lit. I could hear the low murmurs of a crowd. The noise seemed to be coming from a lighted room at the far end of the hall.

  Celeste motioned for us to follow until we were far enough from the giant on the other side. “Let’s split up,” she whispered. “Talk to everyone you can, see if there’s someone who knows Stanley. They might have some idea about his whereabouts.” She handed each of us a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. “I came prepared. If we don’t go in for some action, we won’t look like we belong here.”

  “Celeste, that money’s yours,” I said, eyeing the bills. “You shouldn’t have to risk it because of our investigation. I’m not good at gambling.” Or I didn’t think I would be. “What if we lose it?”

  She waved the thought away. “No worries. We’ll deduct it. Business expense, you know.” She winked. “And it might just be a fun one.”

  “One question.” Marge looked worried. “Does anybody know how to play casino games?”

  The silence was a no.

  So much we didn’t know. How to play Blackjack or how to whip a laptop back in shape…

  “Just roll with it,” Celeste said.

  “Roll with it, roll with it,” Marge whispered as we made our wary way toward the lighted room.

  We peeked inside the door and…wow. The big room looked like I imagined Vegas would, just on a smaller scale. Even on a Sunday night, the place had drawn a crowd. Groups were gathered around tables, talking in low murmurs. The crowd was mostly men, but there were a couple of women scattered around. The gamblers looked serious, intent. Some were dressed in jeans and t-shirts, while others were more business-like in suits and jackets. On the far end was a bar, where a harried young woman looked busy keeping the orders filled.

  “I’ll head to the Blackjack table,” Celeste said.

  Quietly, we bumped our fists together.

  “Go team,” Celeste whispered.

  “CMC rocks,” Marge said. Then she looked around the room. “I want to play the slot machines.” She nodded toward a row of big machines whose screens were all lit up.

  After we dispersed, I stopped at the first game that I came to and watched as people tossed dice onto a table. Another group hung back to watch with avid interest. Hmm. I had no clue about this game. Which numbers did they want to get? As different players took their turn, I tried to match the intense look that the others wore. It was important that I blend in.

  “Hey beautiful, do me a favor?” a young blond guy walked up to me. “Would you blow on my dice? They aren’t being good to me tonight. I need a lucky charm.”

  What could it hurt? I blew on his dice as he held them to my face.

  “Thank you, doll.” He winked at me. He was young, maybe in his early twenties. I tried to ignore the doll-comment.

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  “Now, we’ll see if it works,” he said.

  He stepped up to take his turn. I watched as he rolled the dice.

  “Whoa!” a voice called out from the crowd. Someone else let out a low whistle, and the young boy grinned. He raised his fist in a victory salute, and returned to my side. Apparently, my gin-and-tonic-breath was very, very lucky.

  “Stay with me, doll,” he said. “This is gonna be my night.” He held out his dice. “Can you help me out again?”

  “Glad to help,” I said, blowing into his hand.

  There seemed to be a new energy around the table. More people had gathered around to watch. How much had this guy won? How did this even work? This was kind of fun – although it was his money and not mine. Too bad I couldn’t ask him questions, like How do you play this game? I had to pretend I was like all the others, that I was a regular at this sort of thing. I was happy that I’d…what? Made this guy four figures? Or just helped him earn enough to buy a big steak dinner? But I was there for other business. I had to get some info on our subject.

  I scanned the crowd and saw an older man who looked kind of like my grandpa back when I was a child. I felt kind of drawn to him. I remembered how my grandpa would hide small candies in his pocket. He let me guess how many, and I’d always get the tasty prize; it didn’t make a difference how close my guess had been. I liked the grandpa man. He’d be as good as anybody else to strike up a conversation with.

  “How’s it going?” I asked him, trying to sound casual.

  He smiled. “If it isn’t the good-luck charm. I’m glad you came along. That guy had been losing for a long time. I was starting to feel bad. Some people don’t know when to stop. But you turned things around.”

  “Always glad to help.”

  “I haven’t seen you here before. First time at the Bumpy Cashew?”

  “Yes,” I said, seizing on an idea. “A friend told me about it. You might know him. Stanley Bickford?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He leaned backed against a wall. “Seemed like a nice fellow. Such a shame I haven’t seen him around lately. I hope he’s okay.”

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Did he come here a lot?”

  “Just once in a great while would I ever see him here. Until the last two months, that is. Then it seemed like he was in here all the time. Craps was his favorite game, although he kind of stunk. He just kept losing money, but he still kept coming back.”

  “Did you know him well?” I asked.

  “Not really. Nothing more than a Hello. Sometimes I might say to him Hope the dice will treat you well tonight. But that was really it.”

  “You know, I’m worried too. You have to wonder why a guy would just up and disappear. He never mentioned to me that anything was wrong.”

  That was Grandpa’s opportunity to jump in with some info if he’d noticed anything. Unfortunately, I had no such luck.

  “Well, I hope you get some news soon about him,” was all he said to say.

  Time to take my leave. If I asked too many questions, people might wonder why. I looked for Celeste and Marge so we could huddle and compare notes before we fanned out again or just called it a night. On the one hand, I was anxious to see if anyone around me might know something more. On the other hand, I was afraid of drawing attention to myself by talking about Stanley to everyone I met. This might be a time when patience was a virtue. If we came back again, we’d start to blend in better; people might open up. Or we might hear a conversation that clued us in to something good.

  I spotted Marge, who was still at the machines and talking to a woman who appeared to be just about to leave. Okay, that was perfect. As soon as the woman waved goodbye to Marge, I slid into the seat she’d vacated. Because of the loud noises of the game machines, we could lean close and talk without
anybody hearing.

  Marge looked disappointed. “Hon, I’m not having any luck. Not with the machines and not with the people. This woman who just left? She said she knew Stanley kind of, but not all that well. The only thing she had to say was that he liked to gamble. So really all I found out was what I already knew.”

  I put some money into my machine and pushed a button, not sure what to look on the screen. I guessed three of a kind was a good thing. How was I supposed to know if I’d won or lost?

  “Well, I found out a little bit,” I said. “It seems Stanley came here more than usual over the last two months. And lost a lot of money.”

  “Interesting,” Marge said, watching the colors spin on her machine.

  “Should we find Celeste and go? Before we spend all her money? Or should we ask around some more?”

  “Beats me. I only have…,” But she didn’t get to finish. Her eyes grew wide as they were glued to the screen.

  Only a second later, her machine began to make loud noises, part ringing and part song.

  “What’s happening, Marge?” I asked.

  The crowd all turned to watch, and soon Celeste was by our side. Coins began to drop over and over out of the machine. Squealing, Marge opened her purse to shove them in. They were coming out so quickly. Warily, I eyed the purse. I hoped no one saw the gun.

  “Oh, my gosh. How much did you win?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” Marge shouted. “This is soooo cool! This is one of them old machines that spit out real coins.”

  “Well, let’s don’t count it here,” Celeste said in a low voice. “I think it’s time to leave before our faces are imprinted in everybody’s minds. If they aren’t already.”

  Several people stopped us to give Marge fist bumps or high fives, but Celeste kept us moving. Once we reached the hallway, Celeste picked up the pace. I had trouble keeping up and noticed Marge was far behind us. When I looked back to figure out why, I saw that she held her purse tightly against her body. Heavy with all the coins, she couldn’t keep it closed.

  I stopped to let her catch up. “Exactly how rich are you now, Marge?”

  She grinned. “Bam Chicka Wham Wham!”