For the first time in my entire life, I’m the master of my own destiny.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is only step one.
Step two is to actually acquire enough money so I can get somewhere that no one will find me.
Not my father. Not my brother. And not my sister’s new family.
The Smith brothers can all go to the devil. And Ryker in particular, is a man I don’t want to know. I met him once and he made me feel…uncomfortable.
The thought steels my spine, though I know the next part is much harder than the first as I couldn’t do much to prepare.
I step out from the side street and onto the strip.
Lights flash, people laughing as they crowd the sidewalks, raising giant cocktails to one another. It’s jarring and I shrink away.
I can feel that I don’t match their energy, that I’m going to stand out because of it.
I’ve never been good at putting on a face. Katarina can smile and laugh with a knife at her back, but I can’t pretend like that.
I stop at the fountains at the Bellagio as they begin their hourly show, the spray from the water misting my skin. I could go inside, but a place of that quality will have security of the highest caliber.
Knowing that I’m giving off vibes of desperation, I keep walking toward old Vegas, where I’ll fit in far better.
The strip is one giant party. Old Vegas is for hard-timers. People who want their drinks without umbrellas and their dinners two-for-one.
But I’m going there because the security is also a lot laxer. They are not places for high rollers.
I move past the bachelorette parties and frat gatherings and keep making my way toward Fremont Street.
It’s a further walk than I thought and I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, even in the cooler night air.
My feet already ache and my makeup is starting to run.
That’s when the Palace comes into view.
Removed from the rest of the new casinos, it’s got a different vibe from the new Las Vegas Strip.
For a few seconds, I just stand there, indecision making me rock as I nip at my lip.
Drawing in a breath, I make my choice and cross the street, entering the massive lobby.
It’s easy enough to find the casino floor. Cashing in my money, I take my pile of chips and search for a table.
I’ve decided that five-card draw will be my game. I’ve been thinking about what sort of dealer I should choose, and I’ve decided on an older man. Women are shrewd, and older men are frequently protective rather than suspicious of young ladies.
Counting cards is a delicate art, believe it or not. You have to figure out where the deck is at, start keeping track of the cards that have been played, find the rhythm before the deck turns over and gets washed.
You also have to have enough money to buy your way through the learning, without arousing suspicion.
I’ve played poker with my guards since I was a small child, and my memory for tracking cards is flawless.
But the nuance of reading the dealer and keeping the proper temperament, I trust myself way less.
I’ll have to do my best. I choose a dealer who is younger than I hoped, but he’s washing a fresh deck. With no automatic shuffler, my job is much easier since there will only be one deck to count.
After watching as many hands as I think I can get away with, I take a seat, doing my best to not look scared out of my mind.
Which isn’t really a stretch. But I’m going for innocent-worried rather than guilty-as-hell and frightened-out-of-my-wits.
