Page 28 of Dick

He reached into the pocket of his robe, removed the package of cheese, and placed it beside the slot machine. He then pulled out a large bundle of $100 bills, and poked several in the machine. “Gamble?”

I had gambled before, but it wasn’t something I could afford to do. As much as I needed to keep the $500 Dick gave me for food, clothes, and other necessities, I wanted to try my luck at gambling even more.

I glanced around the room. “Can I?”

“Long as you’ve got money.”

“What happens if I win?”

He glared at me.

Assuming he’d pay me if I won – and that I insulted him by asking – I pulled one of the $100 bills from my pocket, fed it into the machine, and began playing.

To describe the morning as surreal seemed so cliché, but I didn’t know what else to call it. Being chased by the cops in a Ferrari, ending up in Mount Bonnell amidst $5,000,000 homes, and watching a greasy-haired guy in a robe eat rotten bologna only to end up in his personal casino watching him eat slice after slice of cheese was nothing short of bizarre.

I pushed the button on the machine and watched as all the little characters were falling into place on the screen. Drake peeled another slice of the cheese from the block, pulled his phone from his pocket, and nibbled on the cheese as he answered.

I pinched myself.

“Dick. You on your way? Whoa. Hold on. Slow down.” He stood up, grabbed another slice of cheese, and began to pace the floor. “No, make sure it gets to Duc. I don’t give a damn. No. Duc. And when you get to the car, count the money. There should be a million. No more and damned sure no less. Oh, and make sure your fingerprints aren’t on that case. Well, I didn’t think about it. Alright.”

He put the phone in his pajama pants pocket, pulled his robe closed, and sat down. I may have been a dumb waitress, but it was pretty easy to see that this guy was a rich fucking weirdo, and Dick was no entrepreneur. Nervously, I continued to play the machine.

I had no idea what the premise of the machine was, but there were five rows of characters and each row was three characters high. I played for almost an hour, and watched as my balance went down to $60, back up to $120, and steadily continued to drop.

After telling myself I’d stop when it got to $50, I pushed the button and hoped for a win. Three matching tombstones came up. Each one spun in circles, and the machine congratulated me for making it to the bonus round.

Fuck yes.

Excited and hoping to win my $100 back, I glanced at Drake. He had moved over to another machine, and half the cheese was gone. I pushed the button and won $124. I pushed it again and won $27.

By the time I was done with my 13 spins, my balance was $623.57.

I pressed the cash out button and waited for the receipt.

“So what do I do if I’m ready to quit playing?”

“Give me the ticket.”

I waked over to him and handed him the ticket. He glanced at it, reached into his pocket, and counted out $630.

“I don’t have any ones, just $100’s,” I explained.

He shrugged and pressed the button on his machine. “Don’t worry about it.

I shoved the money in my pocket.

I had pre-breakfast and post-breakfast sex, rode in a Ferrari, was chased by the cops, I got to hold a real gun, and I’d just won $630 at crazy lunchmeat man’s house.

Best. Day. Ever.

A familiar voice caused me to turn around.

“There’s something in the kitchen for you,” Dick said.

Thank God you’re back.

“My man Dick,” Drake stood up and grabbed the cheese. “Everything go slick?”