Double Or Nothing

by Sean Patten

  “Wait a minute,” Carlos said, looking around. “If the city’s gone dark and they don’t have to pay anyone, why are they charging so much for drinks?”

  He kept looking around, as if he was going to complain to the manager.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just…probably a good idea to keep a low profile.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “But it’s stupid.”

  “Anyway,” I said, trying to get him back on track. “Tell me about this place.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “Well, the point of the Troika is for gamblers, real high roller types, to have someplace to go where they can do gambling that’s, you know, off the books. The kind of gambling you can’t really do at the other casinos, if you know what I mean.”

  “And how do they have power?”

  “Well, the gangsters have a ton of money and guys, and that’s how they stay in control, and—”

  “No, I mean like electrical power.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Right. So this place isn’t just a casino—it’s the base for the crime family. I think they’re out of Russia, but I might be wrong, you know? It’s like a military outpost for them, so they made sure it had all the stuff it’d need to survive anything. Heard they put some kind of metal in the building to keep the lights on if anything happened.”

  “A Faraday cage,” I said. “You’re telling me this entire warehouse is a Faraday cage?”

  “A what-a-day cage?”

  “A continuous covering of conductive material that shields any electronics inside from electromagnetic blasts.”

  Carlos looked at me like I’d just slipped into speaking Farsi.

  “Um, I didn’t understand a single word of what you just said, J,” he said. “Wait, you said ‘blasts.’ Pretty sure I know what a ‘blast’ is.”

  The bartender returned, placing the drinks in front of us. Carlos’s was totally ridiculous, a large glass of snow-white cocktail, a tower of fruit shooting out from the top. He leaned in a took a big sip, letting out an “ahh” of satisfaction when he was done.

  “Oh!” said Carlos. “Gimme a fried chicken sandwich and onion rings. Extra onion rings.”

  He then glanced at me, letting me know it was my turn to order.

  “You guys have burgers?” I asked.

  The bartender nodded.

  “We have many,” he said. “Our house special burger is a white truffle oil and Il Boschetto al Tartufo cheese with a—”

  “Bacon,” I said. “A bacon double with extra cheese. And onion rings.”

  I knew I should’ve ordered something a little more nutritious, but God, I couldn’t say no.

  “Hell,” said Carlos. “Same for me.”

  The bartender nodded just as before and was off. My mouth had already begun to water in anticipation of the burger to come.

  “Anyway,” said Carlos. “That cage thing?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s like…”

  I took a moment to think of how to break this down for a layman.

  “Think of a microwave,” I said. “Now, you know that a microwave uses radiation to cook the food inside, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “And it doesn’t let any of that out, which is why it’s safe to use.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s because there’s a kind of shielding inside that keeps it all in the microwave chamber, and that’s how it cooks. Now, take that same principle and apply it to the kind of electromagnetic energy that hit the earth. And then flip it.”

  He nodded slowly, appearing to get it.

  “So,” he said, “instead of keeping it all in, it blocks it from the outside?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “But I didn’t see a cage around the building,” he said.

  “You don’t need to put the building in a literal cage,” I said. “It’d be enough to build it into the walls and ceiling.”

  I looked around.

  “If they really wanted to make this place a fortress, that’d be something they’d do. It wouldn’t be cheap, but it’d get the job done. Bet these walls are solid cement, too. Between the cage and that, a place like this could survive a nuclear blast, let alone an EMP.”

  “Shit,” he said. “They thought of everything. I even heard they had ins with some group of scientists from the Russian navy, and they got their hands on some nuclear reactor from one of their old subs.”

  “That’d make sense,” I said. “If they could manage to get that into the basement of the building and keep it safe, they’d be able to power a place like this for a century.”

  “Hell yeah!” said Carlos, reaching across the table and slapping my arm. “That’s what I’m talking about! We can hide out the apocalypse in here!”

  “Don’t know about that,” I said. “Still got to get back to my brother. And you’ve got your people too, right?”

  “They’re good for now, I bet,” Carlos said. “They won’t miss me for a day.”

  “Elderly parents?” I asked. “I don’t know if I’d count on that—”

  His eyes narrowed a tad, and I sipped my drink.

  “They’re fine,” he said. “And I need to get my head straight after all that crap we just went through. Hell, we had to outrun a freaking tiger! I heard they got some suites underground—I bet we can win enough to earn a night in luxury if we play our cards right—like, literally!”

  He laughed at his own joke, clearly pleased with himself.

  “Nah,” I said. “I’ll grab a burger and a drink, but we need to get moving.”

  “Come on, J!” he said. “Relax! Take a load off!”

  “All the same, I’d rather get back to my brother.”

  “Well,” he said. “You still want my help, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well, I’m gonna be hanging out here for a while. So, if you still want me to take a look at your brother, then we’re gonna do it on my schedule. Got it?”

  “Carlos!” I said. “He’s hurt bad! I can’t stand around playing cards while he needs my help!”

  “Don’t even worry about it!” he said. “You said his wound wasn’t infected, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fine! In that case, the best thing for him would be to just get some rest.”

  The bartender arrived with the pair of burgers, setting them one in front of each of us.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Right there, right in front of me, was a juicy, delicious double bacon cheeseburger, complete with fresh lettuce, tomato, pickle and onions. The onion rings were fried to perfection, glistening and golden brown.

  “Man, look at these!” said Carlos. “Can you believe it? It’s the apocalypse and we’re eating burgers!”

  It didn’t sit right with me. I was in the lap of luxury and Steve was still at the substation, alone and hurt. All I wanted was to get moving. But I needed Carlos.

  “Look at it this way,” he said, his mouth already full of burger, juice dripping down his chin. “You can get your strength back and be in better shape to make the rest of the trip.

  “We leave after we eat,” I said.

  Carlos shook his head.

  “Nope. We leave in the morning. And if you don’t like it, then the door’s that way. But don’t be surprised if they take those pills as payment for the food and booze.”

  Fuck. Of course there were terms to Carlos’s offer of “free” food and drink. I was stuck, now on his time.

  “We move out first thing,” I said.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “But right now, I need some R&R, you know? Something about running away from a tiger is enough to make a man hungry as hell, you know?”

  Nothing to do but eat. And I did need to regain my strength. So, with the knife on the table, I sliced the burger in half, intending to bring some leftovers to Steve. Then I raise the food to my face, and took a bite.

  It was total heaven.

  Chapter 22

  It took a
ll the restraint I had not to eat the rest of the burger. But it was for Steve, and I knew he’d appreciate me bringing back some food that he likely thought he’d never see again.

  “Can I get a to-go box or something?” I asked the waiter when he appeared.

  He nodded and took my food away. A loud, sucking noise sounded from Carlos as he drained the last bits of his piña colada.

  “And one more of these!” he yelled to the bartender, shaking his glass in his hand.

  He turned to me.

  “You want another?” he asked.

  “Nah,” I said. “One’s enough for me.”

  “Suit yourself, J.”

  “But I’m curious, how are you going to pay for this stuff?” I asked. “You don’t have any money on you, do you?”

  “Nope,” he said with a grin. “But that doesn’t matter. See, you’re looking at one of the top poker players in the city, bud. Give me a few hours at those tables and I’ll be running this place. And you know I’ll get you in on those winnings.”

  “But…didn’t you say you were in debt?”

  He waved his hand through the air in a dismissive motion.

  “That’s nothing,” he said. “Just hit a patch of bad luck. It happens, you know. But right now I’m fired up as hell and ready to win!”

  The bartender returned with another drink, and Carlos asked for the check.

  “You a gambling man?” Carlos asked me.

  “Nope,” I said without hesitation. “My brother likes to play, though.”

  “Shit,” he said. “Too bad he’s not here—I bet he’d love this joint.”

  Carlos’s eyes lit up.

  “Hey!” he said. “I got an idea. How about we go patch your brother up, and after he’s had a few days to recover and I’ve had the chance to make sure my parents are okay we head back here?”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, like he was planning for a weekend vacation. But I needed to play along, make sure Carlos was still on board to come with me and take care of Steve.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That sounds great.”

  Carlos took another long sip of his drink, draining nearly all of it. His face had started to take on a tinge of red, and I could see that he was getting pretty tipsy.

  Booze and gambling—a bad combination. Not like I could talk him out of it, though. And not like it was my money he was wasting.

  Carlos clapped his hands together, shaking the table and nearly knocking over his glass in the process.

  “Okay!” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to hit those tables.”

  “You sure about this?” I asked. “You really want to chance it with these guys?”

  “It’s fine,” he said with another hand wave. “They know me. No big deal.”

  Something told me that he was vastly underestimating the spot he risked getting himself into.

  With a heave, Carlos lifted himself up from the table, wiping his hands on his white outfit.

  Then his eyes lit up with realization.

  “Come with me, J!” he said. “Got a great idea.”

  Not like I had anything else to do. Carlos bounded from the bar and made his way towards the back of the casino—a trip that took more than a few minutes. Once we were there, he got the attention of one of the workers.

  “Hey,” he said. “You guys still got those nice clothes?”

  The man, serious-faced, Slavic-looking guy in a sharp suit, nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice heavy with a Russian accent. “But everything is at a pre—”

  “A premium,” said Carlos. “I got it. But it’s all going on my tab.”

  The man glanced at me, then back to Carlos.

  “Come.”

  He turned, waving his hand for us to follow him. Carlos glanced at me and flicked up his thick eyebrows.

  “Wait until you see this,” he said. “Come on.”

  I had no idea what to expect, but the last thing I wanted was to lose Carlos in all of this. So, I followed. The man led us into a back hallway, this one lit with low, warm light.

  I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that this place had power, and I wondered what would happen when the word got out. No doubt the entire population of Vegas would kill to be in a place like this.

  “Here,” said the man, opening a door.

  Carlos and I stepped inside the room, shock taking hold at what I saw. It was a large room filled with rack after rack of expensive clothing, from suits to dresses and everything in between, rows of shoes underneath.

  “It’s really something, huh?” he asked. “They’ll get you looking right.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “A suit’s the last thing I need right now.”

  “Nah,” said Carlos. “A suit’s the number-one thing you need right now. Not a chance you’re gonna be running around up there with all those high rollers looking like you just stepped off the farm.”

  I had a feeling there wasn’t going to be any talking Carlos out of this. He had his mind set on a glamorous night at the casino, and that was evidently what he was going to get.

  No matter what the cost.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  A well-dressed man with a cloth ruler draped around his neck stepped out from among the racks. He was trim, middle-aged, a head of dark-slicked back hair on his head. His voice was slick, with an accent that sounded almost Scandinavian.

  “Yo!” said Carlos. “My boy and I want to look right for our night tonight. What you got for us?”

  The man gave us a quick once-over, his eyebrows furrowing.

  “Well, first things first—let’s get you both out of those awful clothes and into a hot shower.

  “A…what?” I asked.

  The words seemed like something from a foreign language. I tilted my head like a dog hearing his owner’s voice come out of the answering machine.

  “Right this way,” said the man.

  He led Carlos and I down a short hallway, directing us into a pair of dressing rooms. Inside were a handful of shower stalls, the bathroom around total luxury.

  “Take your time, gentlemen,” said the man. “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

  “Man,” said Carlos, clasping his hands together. “I don’t know about you, J, but I’m gonna get good and clean.”

  He stepped near his shower, stripping off his clothes as he did.

  My body moving before I could stop myself, I did the same, and once I was naked I turned on the tap, hot, fresh water pouring from the shower head and filling the small space with warm steam. I stepped inside.

  Holy hell. Sure, it’d only been a little over a day since the last shower I’d taken, but after the day I’d had it seemed like it’d been a week. When the hot water hit my body it felt so damn good that I wanted to scream.

  “Oh, mama!” called out Carlos. “That’s the good shit, huh?”

  I didn’t say anything—I was too focused on enjoying the water, soaping myself up and wiping off a day’s worth of dirt and grime.

  I could easily have spent all night in there, but there was no way I’d be that decadent, no way I could enjoy a shower knowing what Steve was going through. I quickly finished up and got out, drying off with one of the nearby plush, white towels.

  “Shave up, bud,” said Carlos, nodding towards the marble sinks, their faucets and handles a shiny gold.

  “Just as long as you’re going to stick to our plan of leaving as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Carlos. “I didn’t forget.”

  But his tone suggested there were other things on his mind than getting out of here.

  It was a pattern of behavior I recognized—one that I’d seen in my dad all too many times. The addict—whether their addiction was booze or gambling or even the occasional smoke—always had their eye on the ball. Once their next hit was in front of them, everything else had a way of melting into the background.

  Carlos had told me in no uncert
ain terms that his drug of choice was gambling—and he had the debts to prove it. But I needed him, and all I could do was hope that I could pull him out of here when the time came to leave.

  “Get yourself a shave, man,” he said, pointing to the sink, the area packed with luxury grooming products. “God knows how long it’ll be before you can get another one of those, right? If this shit’s for good, then we’re all gonna be looking like cavemen in few weeks.”

  And acting like them, I thought.

  Remembering that, right now, we were on Carlos’s time, I stepped over to the sink and went to work with the razor and shaving cream. Before too long, my face was baby-smooth, the stubble of the last day long gone.

  Right as I turned around after finishing, Carlos tossed a white, fluffy robe at me. I caught it and looked it over, noticing a small, embroidered logo that read “The Troika” on the right chest pocket.

  “This place really goes all out,” I said, slipping it over my shoulders and tying it before taking off my towel underneath.

  “No kidding, right? They know how to treat us high rollers right, huh?”

  Carlos was all smiles, and I hoped he knew what he was getting himself into.

  “Now,” he said. “Let’s get ourselves looking good.”

  Back in the room with the clothes, the man who’d spoken to us before went to work. Twenty minutes later, the two of us were outfitted in a pair of slick suits, Carlos’s a bleach white that looked like a fancy version of the nurse’s scrubs he’d been wearing before, mine dark and trim with a pair of shiny shoes to match.

  “You got anything more functional?” I asked. “Maybe some boots?”

  The tailor nodded and disappeared into the racks, emerged moments later with a pair of shiny dress boots. They weren’t exactly military spec, but they’d do me a lot more good than some penny loafers if I wasn’t able to get back to the clothes I’d come in wearing.

  And, of course, I made sure that my medal was on me.

  “Will you be paying for these in cash, Mr. Hernandez?” asked the tailor.

  “All going on my account,” he said.

  He stuck a thumb towards me.

  “And same for my man here,” he said. “This slick motherfucker saved me from a tiger! Least I can do is get him set up, you know?”