Gambling on Love

by Jane Davitt

  The carpet was eye-wateringly gaudy, red and green with some turquoise mixed in. The limousine that’d brought them there had been classy enough, its interior rich with the arrogant, expensive smell of leather, but the destination was a definite step down from the place they’d left. It was still packed, though, the stink of desperation rising from the crowd.

  The people here . . . He wanted to despise them, but he couldn’t. Pity, yes, mixed in with an almost overwhelming desire to smack the chips out of their hands before they wasted any more of them, but they were too lost to deserve scorn. Some were laughing, having fun, but the sprawling maze of aisle after aisle of slot machines was peopled by dead-eyed ghosts, shoveling dollar bills into the machines and winning without a flicker of excitement.

  Ms. Daniels led them through the room, with Abe feeling self-conscious about his suit and tie, though it’d looked good in their suite with Gary all but stripping it off him with his eyes. He was overdressed in this place, but Gary, whose suit had cost six times as much as his, was wearing it like jeans and a T-shirt and looked at ease.

  Abe admitted that though he’d never want one, a bespoke suit was worth every penny—no, better make that every dollar. The one Gary had chosen for tonight, perhaps with a nod to the fact he was mourning Peter, was a dull black that made his red hair a shade lighter without looking at all flashy. It fitted him. It fitted him perfectly. Abe had never appreciated what that meant until Gary shrugged on his jacket and smoothed it down.

  He’d moved in to kiss Gary and hesitated, eyeing the suit warily.

  “It won’t crease easily and I don’t give a fuck if it does.” Gary had grabbed him, the kiss enough to tempt Abe to make Ms. Daniels wait, but he wanted this over and done with even more.

  The section of the room Ms. Daniels took them to was cordoned off with a red rope Abe could’ve stepped over, and a security guard placed there to stop him. The tray Gary held, and maybe the suit, got the rope lowered before anyone said anything. Abe walked through on Gary’s heels, half expecting a hand to land on his shoulder and a gruff voice to tell him he had to wait outside. Neither happened.

  “Over here,” Ms. Daniels said. She’d dressed up too, though the emerald-green dress was too tight, pulled taut across her breasts. Abe didn’t know much about fashion, but he was certain the designer hadn’t wanted it to do that.

  The roulette table and wheel looked pretty much what he expected from a dozen movies. The wheel spun, a small white ball bounced and landed in a pocket, and people sighed or smiled. Exciting, no, but he wasn’t at the casino to have fun. When he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Gary would be walking away penniless, he couldn’t feel a small thrill of hope that they’d get lucky.

  Gary pitched his voice for Abe’s ears. “Let me see it.”

  Abe roused himself from his moody introspection. “Huh?”

  Gary raised his voice. “My quarter. I want to see it.”

  Luckily, Ms. Daniels asked, “Why?” and saved Abe the trouble.

  “It’s not as if you need the luck,” she pointed out when Gary scowled at her, his mouth set stubbornly.

  Gary turned his back on her and gave Abe an appealing look. When they’d been back together longer than a week—ten years or so, maybe—Abe figured he’d be able to withstand that look, but not tonight. He could still hear Gary’s voice, low and husky, saying he loved him, and with that echoing in his head, he’d have climbed into heaven to grab the moon if Gary wanted it.

  He took the pouch out of his pocket and tipped the quarter into his hand.

  Gary stared down at it, his expression unreadable. He nodded and walked over to the table.

  “Any number Peter wanted me to bet on?” he flung over his shoulder at Ms. Daniels.

  “He told me to tell you to choose the number yourself. It’s easy to give any number significance.”

  “What number did he win on?” Abe asked, unwillingly drawn to the spinning wheel and the story a dead man was whispering into their ears.

  She pulled an indifferent face. “I don’t know.”

  “You choose.” Gary smiled at him, a tense smile, no happiness behind it. “You might as well. My mind’s gone blank.”

  So had Abe’s, but he did his best. Not birthdays, not the year Gary had left, not— Inspiration struck and he held up the quarter. “Twenty-five.”

  “Why not?” Gary murmured.

  Abe put the quarter back in its pouch and the pouch in his jacket pocket. It ruined the line, but he kept his hand wrapped around it, needing to feel the hard shape inside the velvet. If he lost it, Gary might forgive him in the next world, but never in this one.

  “It’s a single-zero wheel,” Ms. Daniels pointed out. “The odds for the house worsen, but the minimum bet is higher.” She chuckled. “Not a problem for you, is it?”

  Abe didn’t know what she meant, but Gary nodded as if he understood, and from the bored look on his face, Abe guessed he’d already noticed.

  There had been a few people playing at the table, but this part of the casino was far from crowded. It was early, if time had any meaning here, and with the seasoned gambler’s sense of timing, the people playing the table had melted away, watching but not getting involved. The dealer—was he still called that when he was spinning a wheel? Abe hated feeling ignorant, but he wasn’t interested enough to ask questions—gave Gary a quick, practiced appraisal and a brief smile.

  “Ten thousand on twenty-five.” Gary stacked his chips on the table with brisk efficiency.

  The dealer didn’t stop him or persuade Gary to save some of his money. Abe wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet in his shoes, but he guessed it was against the rules to talk gamblers out of placing bets. After all, Gary might win, and if he did it with five thousand on the table, not ten, because of a persuasive dealer . . .

  It took a few moments to get the chips lined up and in place, but Abe didn’t offer to help. The sheer fucking waste made him seethe. The money Gary was about to throw away could’ve done some good. But no, Peter had to make a pointless grand gesture, sending Gary on a trip that was completely unnecessary and—

  His thoughts slowed to a crawl, then quickened—theories, guesswork, suspicions crowding in, fast and thick. The trip had taken Gary away from a city that held bad memories and people with every reason to dislike him. It’d given him a purpose when he must’ve felt like a drifting boat, at the mercy of the tide. After years of having his life micromanaged by Peter, he’d been left in charge of his destiny. That had to have been a difficult adjustment. Had Peter invented this errand to ease Gary back into independence again?

  Abe’s head spun like the wheel on the table. He shook free of his thoughts and promised himself he’d talk to Gary later. Right now, he needed to watch, not speculate.

  Watch the ball fly and ricochet, a white bullet, listen to the rattle and tap it made, the murmur of voices while the onlookers whispered . . .

  He moved close to Gary without touching him, sensing for this, Gary needed to stand alone.

  The wheel slowed. The ball dropped into the twenty-five pocket and hopped out again, skipping along.

  Through the seashell roar in his ears, Abe heard the dealer announce the number in a bored voice and saw Gary’s chips disappear, raked away, lost, gone.

  It was over, but it didn’t feel as though it should be. It had happened too fast, the whole transaction occupying less than a minute. Too short a time after all the buildup—but a runner could train for years and have his dreams end in ten seconds of an Olympic sprint.

  Gary raised his hand, saluting the dealer, who shrugged his commiseration.

  “So that’s that.” Gary gave Ms. Daniels a level stare. “Are we done here?”

  “When you leave, yes.”

  “Why do we have to leave?” Gary asked. “The night’s young.”

  “And you have no money.”

  “No, but I do.” Abe would’ve preferred to be outside, heading back to their room, but if Gary wanted to sti
ck around, well, why not? “I don’t have a clue how to play, but I’ll stake you a couple hundred, Fox.”

  “No!” Ms. Daniels said sharply. “We need to leave. Now. After that, you can do as you please, but the instructions were clear on this point. You have to exit with nothing, not a penny.”

  “Fine,” Gary snapped and walked away, into the main room, taking quick, long strides across the vivid carpet with Abe hurrying to catch up and Ms. Daniels following them.

  “Gary—” Abe came up beside Gary and put his hand on Gary’s arm.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Gary was wound up tight and ready to shatter, Abe could tell. He was trying to decide how to bring Gary down to earth when a man called out to them, derailing his thoughts.

  “Hey! Wait! Suit-guy!”

  Abe turned with Gary and saw a man approaching, his hand raised as if he could stop them by sheer force of will. Abe recognized him as one of the people who’d stood around the roulette wheel, watching events unfold. Hard to forget that round, ruddy face topped by a cowboy hat, more because the hat looked real, not like a tourist’s impulse buy.

  Gary let the man come up to him, but he didn’t seem happy about the delay.

  “You walk fast, mister.”

  “I’m in a hurry,” Gary replied.

  Pale eyes narrowed shrewdly. “So much of a hurry you forgot to tip the dealer back there?”

  Abe rolled his eyes, though the man wasn’t paying him any attention, so his disgust was wasted. Gary was expected to tip someone for tossing a ball in the air? Maybe if he had won, but under the circumstances . . .

  Gary didn’t seem offended. He turned his hands palms up. “With what? I’m cleaned out.”

  “Figured as much!” The man slapped his hand against his denim-clad thigh. “A man with the balls to make an all-or-nothing wager like that don’t forget his manners for nothing. Son, I’ve been there, and let me tell you, I know why you’re so fired up to get out of here, but don’t go yet. I’ve got something for you.”

  Abe was watching Gary, but something made him turn his head in time to see Ms. Daniels take a step forward. Her face was tight, wincing even, as if she was waiting for the whistle to blow and end a game her team was barely winning. He didn’t understand why she was so on edge. The man was probably about to hand Gary a Gamblers Anonymous leaflet, or something to do with finding Jesus—

  It was a chip. Abe frowned when the man held it up. A hundred-dollar chip. People didn’t generally go around handing those out to complete strangers.

  “When I hit rock-bottom, I had help. I always swore I’d pass that on if I could. Bread on the waters—do you read your Bible, mister? Never mind. You take this, and I won’t tell you what to do with it, because that’s your choice, but if I were you, I’d—”

  “Thank you,” Gary interrupted, “but I can’t take it. It’s kind of you, but no.”

  A thread of amusement ran through the words, but he wasn’t smiling. Beside him, Abe heard Ms. Daniels sigh, but she gave off enough tension to make his head ache. Something was wrong here. The boisterous, overeager man, the chip—

  “Gary!” Abe said urgently.

  “It’s okay, Abe, I’ve got it. The hat’s a nice touch,” he told the man with a mocking grin as he stepped back from him, “but I’m still not interested.” He glanced over at Abe and Ms. Daniels, looking poised and confident. “Peter always did like to throw in a twist at the end of one of his games, when I thought I was home free. Is this the last of them, or can’t you tell me?”

  Ms. Daniels smiled. “I can, and it was.” She nodded at the man in the cowboy hat, who smiled at Gary with a hint of apology in it, touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, and melted back into the crowd, the chip in his hand. “Easiest hundred bucks he ever made,” she murmured.

  “That was a setup?” Abe demanded. He’d had enough of this. “Why? Will someone tell me what the point of this is?”

  Gary gave the lawyer a cool stare. “I guess she will when we’re outside, right?”

  Ms. Daniels smiled. “Only one way to find out, Gary—I can still call you that?”

  “You were on first-name terms with Peter, so, sure, why not.” Gary put his hand on Abe’s arm, then slid it down to clasp his hand briefly. Abe wanted to grab hold of that hand and not let go, needing to stop Gary from drifting away.

  The air outside was fresh after the controlled environment of the casino. Abe breathed in, clearing his head. All these fucking games . . . why couldn’t Peter rest in peace the way dead people were supposed to?

  “So,” Gary said when all three of them were on the sidewalk. “Game over?”

  Ms. Daniels nodded briskly. “Yes. Now we need to—”

  Gary held up his hand, silencing her with a curt gesture. He swung around to face Abe, who didn’t need to ask what Gary wanted. He handed over the lucky quarter with profound relief, not feeling a twinge of resentment when Gary took it out of its bag to confirm it was the right one.

  “That’s better,” Gary murmured and put the bag in his pocket.

  “If you’re ready—” Ms. Daniels began.

  “For what?” Gary asked. “It’s over. You said so.”

  It didn’t take a mind reader to work out Gary knew it wasn’t.

  “You said there was always a twist.” Ms. Daniels tilted her head questioningly. “What came after the twist?”

  Gary smiled, a cynical curve to his lips that made him look older. “The reward. And sometimes there was a sting in the tail there too, but generally Peter delivered, I’ll give him that. So what do I get for being a good boy this one last time?” He separated out the last three words, emphasizing them.

  “I’m not going into it here,” Ms. Daniels said. “We can go back to my office—”

  “Not now,” Abe said, surprising himself. This was Gary’s business, not his, but he didn’t care. They’d danced to Peter’s tune long enough. “Tomorrow.” He gave Gary an appealing look. “We can do that, right?”

  There was a moment when he thought Gary would argue with him, but it passed. Gary pulled a mock-regretful face at the lawyer and linked his arm in Abe’s. “You heard the man. We’ll call by tomorrow and pick up my carrot.”

  If Ms. Daniels was annoyed, she hid it well. “Suit yourself. The limo’s yours for the night if you want it.”

  “Do we want it?” Gary asked him, raising his eyebrows.

  Abe looked around. The city glittered, a tarnished sparkle, but appealing if he didn’t look too closely. He didn’t want to gamble, but he wanted to explore. “We can’t walk?”

  “We can do whatever you like,” Gary told him. “The rest of the night’s for you.”

  Ms. Daniels rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll take the ride. Have a nice night.”

  She left them, heading for the valet parking, and Gary released Abe’s arm. His eyes gleamed. “Well? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? We can go back to the hotel, or we could . . . Well, we’re in Vegas. We can do anything.”

  What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. The marketing slogan had a conspiratorial seductiveness about it, and more than a little sleaziness, but with Gary at his side, Abe wouldn’t need to feel guilty about any excesses. He wasn’t interested in donating to a casino, but he was hungry. After that, he wanted to dance with Gary and get drunk. They weren’t dressed for a club, but none of the good ones opened until much later anyway. They had time to eat, buy and change into some clothes that screamed “Tear me off,” and find a gay club where they could relax. Abe recalled someone he’d met in a bar back home who’d spent a weekend in Vegas. He’d mentioned a place on the Strip that sounded perfect.

  “Everything,” Abe said succinctly. “I’m up for anything. But feed me first.”

  Gary gave him a wicked smile that promised to deliver. “Everything and anything? I can do that.”

  Waking at eleven had been a mistake, Gary decided, as he focused on not throwing up over the carpet in Ms. Daniels office. They should�
�ve stayed in bed until the world stopped spinning quite so fast. Abe wasn’t in much better shape, a silent presence beside him, his face pale under the dark shadow of stubble.

  Maybe sleeping had been the mistake, not waking up. Gary had felt fine before he collapsed across the bed, after all.

  Memories of the night before existed—he hadn’t gotten that drunk—but they were scattered jigsaw pieces waiting to be fitted together, not a complete picture. Abe had shared his ideas for the night, and they’d sounded pretty good to Gary. They’d walked along until they saw a bar giving away free margaritas with every burger. Gary had wanted to take Abe somewhere expensive, but the burgers had smelled good, and across the street there’d been a clothing store that looked promising. He’d also been aware Abe would be paying, but with an optimism fueled by a second margarita, he’d convinced himself repaying Abe would be no problem.

  He hadn’t expected Peter to leave him anything, not deep down. The man had never left debts unpaid, and anything he owed Gary, he’d delivered on the spot. The healthy streak of independence in Gary wouldn’t have had it any other way. He’d done what Peter wanted for five years, and in return he’d shared Peter’s life, with all its luxuries and indulgences. They’d worked long hours, but in its own way that’d been as much fun as the holidays abroad and the first-class treatment. He might have been Peter’s assistant, with mundane duties to fulfill, but when they stayed late at the office, they’d been more like teacher and student. Peter had patiently guided Gary’s mathematical skills into practical channels. Gary had learned how to see the potential and risks in a business opportunity. He’d gotten a feel for the intricacies of managing an investment portfolio and found it exhilarating and addictive.

  He missed it more than the sex.

  Abe rubbed a hand over his forehead, then took a sip of the coffee Ms. Daniels had provided. Gary gave him a sidelong glance, a flash of arousal overriding the hangover symptoms as his eyes fell on the jeans Abe was wearing. The same ones he had purchased the night before. Paper-thin and pale across his ass, clinging in all the right places so his cock was outlined brazenly. He’d gotten attention even before he started dancing. Gary’s mind floated back to the dance floor, Abe rubbing up against him, his eyes focused, intent, his hands going fucking everywhere—