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Writing Prompt "The Gambler and the Bum" |
| Written by J. J. White | |
| Tuesday, 08 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      He wasn’t really there. Physically, yes, he satisfied the requirement of matter, having mass, and occupying space, but to the horde of pedestrians shuttling by him, he was invisible. In any other city in the world, a well dressed man in his 30s, sitting on the curb of a busy intersection, crying, no sobbing, with his head in his hands, would draw at least a modicum of attention. In any other city, but this wasn’t any other city, it was Las Vegas. And in Las Vegas, everyone that walked around, sidestepped or bumped into Aaron Gray knew exactly why he sat there on the hard concrete curb with his feet dangerously close to the melee of cars, buses and wild taxis. They’d seen it before and they’d see it again, the desperate hopelessness of the gambler at the end of his money, suffering the nadir of his personal and professional life. It was more sad than disturbing, if anyone had even taken notice. If it had been a different city or even a different time, say 1959 instead of the bleak decade of the 1970s, someone might have paused for a moment, stooped down, placed a hand on the grieving man, and offered some help. But in this particular day, time or place, there would be no help, there would be no pity. The masses of tourists and locals had somewhere to be and just enough time to get there and besides, they had worries enough of their own. Aaron lamented his woes, as he sat sweating in the relentless Nevada sun, listening to the faint sound of the car radios playing Marvin Gaye’s, ‘What’s Goin On’ as they passed him. How had it happened so quickly? Just a short time ago, months, or maybe it was days, he was unsure of the time after locking himself endlessly in the timeless casinos. Had he really been married? Were there actually three children and a house? He began to wish he could go back in time, back to the way it was. They were happy and in love. Now Shelly, Todd, the house, maybe even the job were washed away, forever. He wished he’d never come. He could be home with Shelly with the pungent aroma of lasagna drifting in and out of the rooms of his house. Thursday night lasagna. Or was it Thursday, he wasn’t sure. He wished it was, but deep in the black part of his soul dwelled the stronger and deadlier wish that nagged at him relentlessly. This wish overcame all others and compelled him as a slave to his master to find money, somewhere, anywhere, and return to the incandescent den of inequity and try, God yes, try to win it all back. He knew he could if he just had a thousand or five hundred. He just knew he could. Aaron wiped his nose with his hand and stared at his sleeve, wondering what someone would give him for the suit. It was worth the two hundred he paid for it in December. He’d take a hundred or even fifty if they offered. He pulled his wallet out from the jacket pocket, removed ten dollars, and folded and refolded the bill he had saved for dinner at the hotel, but he wasn’t going to the hotel, not anymore. “Can I have that, son?” Aaron looked up at the old man standing beside him. He dressed in an old suit that covered a yellow stained dress shirt left open at the collar, and an old pair of boots that looked two sizes too big for him. His long hair and thin beard were almost all white except for a few streaks of gray in the tip of the beard. He stunk of urine and cigarettes and looked as if he had slept in his clothes. Aaron thought it was a tossup on who looked more pathetic, him or the bum. “What?” Aaron asked. “That,” the old man said, pointing at the folded ten dollar bill. “Give me that money so I can go to Gail’s Diner for some clam chowder and banana nut ice cream. Give it to me. I need it for the chowder.” “Gail’s” Aaron asked. “What’s wrong with you? Gail’s, down on Center Street. Four blocks from here. I like the chowder and the banana nut ice cream. Good chowder, lots of potatoes. I eat the ice cream first, then the chowder. No drink. You ruin the food if you drink anything with it. Hand me that bill, son. I’m tired of asking you.” “Let me tell you something, old man,” Aaron said. “For the last three months I’ve been in all the casinos around here, every one of them. I stole my family’s savings, mortgaged the house, borrowed $15,000 from my credit union at ‘Trent’s Accounting’ and even sold my son’s insurance policy. I won $40,000 and lost $90,000. This is…” “She makes good chowder,” the old man interrupted. “I eat the ice cream first and then I…” “You said that already. Now I’m not finished. Somebody’s going to listen to me, so it might as well be you. It might be too late tomorrow. I lost everything, my family, my house, my job, everything. Do you understand?” The old man reached for the bill but Aaron jerked it away. “This is all I have left, this ten dollar bill. I was going to use it for dinner, but you want to hear something pathetic?” “You give me that money, son,” the old man repeated and wiped the snot from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “I asked you if you wanted to hear something pathetic.” Aaron repeated, shaking the bill at the old man. “I wasn’t going to eat dinner at all. I was going to go back in the casino and play the ‘Thriller’ slot machine. I still think I can win the money back and go back to the way it was. Now is that pathetic?” “She closes at two,” the old man said. “We can both eat with that money. Give it to me. Give it to me and I’ll give you this penny. I’ll double the amount every day for 30 days. After 30 days, I’ll pay you. Give me that money, son. I want some of that clam chowder. I put pepper on it to take the taste of the ice cream out of my mouth.” The man shivered and Aaron noticed a puddle of urine forming by the old man’s foot. Aaron stood to avoid the old man’s pee creeping close to his foot. “Trust me that ain’t piss, son.” “You could have fooled me,” Aaron said,as he unfolded the bill and held it in front of the old man. The man was quick to grab for the bill, but Aaron pulled it way from his reach, bullying the transient. “You’re going to give me a penny for my ten dollar bill?” “I said I’d double it, son. Give me that money…” “You’ll double it,” Aaron said sarcastically. “Okay let’s see, if you double the amount each day then…let’s see…okay, in five days you’ll owe me 16 cents. Wow, how can I pass that up?” “She closes at two. I want that money. I don’t want to hurt you. Give it to me. Sometimes she puts in extra potatoes if you ask.” Aaron laughed when he tried to imagine the old man hurting him. The guy weighed 90 pounds at most, and could barely walk, let alone fight. “Here,” he said, holding the bill out. “Take it. I don’t need it where I’m going, old man. Go enjoy your chowder and banana ice cream.” “Banana nut,” the old man corrected. “Excuse me,” Aaron said. “Banana nut. Just like you. Go get your chowder and leave me alone.” The old man pulled twice on the bill snapping it like a fresh towel. He grinned as he flipped it over in his hands. “There’s enough here for you son. Good chowder. I eat the ice cream first but I don’t drink anything with it.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “No thanks, go…good bye. Tell the world how I helped you. Chisel it on my tombstone. ‘Aaron Gray bought an old man some chowder with his last ten bucks and the old man was so happy he peed on himself.”The old man stuck the ten dollar bill in his pocket. “I’ll pay you in thirty days,” he said, and walked away. Thirty days later a mysterious well-dressed man walked up to the receptionist seated at her desk on the second floor of the “Trent Accounting” building. She smiled continuously at the large man until he was near her. “May I help you,” she asked. “Yes, I’d like you to give this to Mr. Aaron Gray. He works here, I presume.” “Well no…um yes, he did work here, but I’m afraid he’s not here now.” The blond haired man frowned. “I see. Well, could you leave it on his desk for when he comes back?” The woman shook her head. “No sir. You see…um, did you know Mr. Gray?” “No, I’ve never met the man.” “Yes, well you see, Mr. Gray passed away about a month ago. I’m sorry to have to tell you that. He was a very nice man. The death was sudden and unexpected. Would you like me to refer you to Mrs. Gray?” “No,” he said. “That won’t be necessary,” and he pocketed the envelope as he walked toward the elevator. The man returned to his office located on the eighth floor of the Desert Inn hotel. After he made a few phone calls, he walked down the elaborately decorated hallway and knocked on the penthouse door. He waited the customary thirty seconds before knocking again. A faint voice could be heard from inside. “Yes?” “It’s me sir.” the man said. The automatic door opened slowly, and he stepped into the makeshift hospital room of his employer. “Did you deliver the check to Mr. Gray? the old man with the long white beard asked from his gurney. “No sir. Mr. Gray is dead. I made some calls and found out he jumped off the dam a few hours after you met.” “Did he, now? the old man asked. “Well, tell me Peter, how much money did I save?” Peter tore open the envelope and read the amount on the check. “516,332 dollars, sir.” “Wonderful.” the old man said. “It’s a good day after all, isn’t it, Peter. I saved a half a million dollars. It is a good day.” “But sir, the man’s dead.” “Yes,” the old man said. “Well, I didn’t say it was a good day for him, did I? Now go away and leave me. Tell Maria to bring my ice cream and tear up the check.” The big man backed out of the open door into the hallway. “Yes sir,” he said, and closed the penthouse door. As he walked back to his office he ripped the check into small pieces and placed them in his pocket. A small section of the check fell on the hallway carpet. Just legible on the section was his employer’s signature, Howard Hughes. Copyright 2008 J. J. White |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 08 April 2008 ) |
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