Page 90 of Tito

After putting everything in the room, we returned to the casino. Unlike the casino I’d been in while in Reno, Nevada, this one was clean and smelled wonderful. My feet didn’t stick to the floor, the slot machines weren’t littered with ashtray, and there were options for as far as the eye could see in any direction.

“This is overwhelming,” I said. “Too many options.”

“Have you ever shot craps?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I’m scared to. Everyone’s always screaming.”

He tilted his head toward the center of the casino. “There’s a table over there that’s empty. It’s easy.”

“Explain it to me.”

“They give you the dice. You roll two of them. If you roll a seven or eleven, you win. Roll a two, three, or twelve, and you lose. If you roll any other number, it becomes your point. If you roll a point, you continue to roll until you roll your point, or a seven. From the time you roll your point, you can place bets on the table of any possible number coming up, all of which pay the odds of that number being rolled.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, there’s six ways to roll a seven, and one way to roll a two or twelve. Two ways to roll a three. Two ways to roll an eleven. That makes sense.”

“You’re good with numbers,” he said with a smile.

“Much better with numbers than I am with throwing razors.”

“Want to try?”

“Sure.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was up five hundred dollars, and the table was filled with people betting on my newcomer’s luck. One of them was an elderly man names Mel. He smelled like Old Spice and his hands shook terribly, which seemed to make him feel ashamed.

“C’mon,” Mel said, nudging away a potential player with his wiry shoulder. “Give the lady some room.”

He was dressed in a pair of brown polyester slacks from yesteryear, an eye-watering yellow and red geometric pattern button-down short sleeved shirt, and a pair of wingtip shoes, all of which he assured us were good luck charms.

“Five hundred dollar hard ten,” he said, tossing five one-hundred-dollar chips in the center of the table.

“Five hundred dollar hard ten,” the man on the other side of the table said, confirming the bet.

I counted my chips, and then tossed out two fifty-dollar-dollar chips. “A hundred bucks, same bet.”

“A hundred for the lady. Hard ten.”

Rolling a six and four combination was called an easy way, because there were two ways to do it. A hard ten was a five and five. It was described as hard because there was only one way to do it, making it harder than the other way.

With a point of eight, I chose two dice, and rolled them.

“Six,” the man declared.

After the bets were paid, he pushed the dice my direction once again. I leaned over the table and blew on them before I tossed them.

They hit the edge, bounced, and came to a stop, five and five facing up.

“Yay,” I shouted. “Look, Mel. A hard ten.”

The man tapped the stick in front of me. “Seven hundred.”

The man who paid the bets slid me seven hundred dollars in chips.

He tapped the stick in front of Mel. “Thirty-five hundred.”

“Holy cow,” I said. “You’re doing good.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “We’re doing good.”