2.04 - Queen of Hearts



It didn’t take long for everything in the lounge to return to normal after witnessing an overdose. I imagine that kind of thing would typically bring an end to the festivities for the night, but not here. Everyone just kept drinking and getting high on the same drugs that just had a young woman dragged out. For a few minutes, I feel like the only person in the room who finds it odd.  

Then I spot the bartender in a far corner of the room. A woman, roughly the same age as me, although I imagine I’m a harder to look at. Warm brown skin, dreadlocks braided into pigtails, a full figured woman carrying her weight in all the right places, black eyeliner, lipstick and gold fangs on her upper teeth make the look complete.

“Happen often,” I ask as I take a seat at the end of the bar.

“Only on days that end in the letter y,” she cleans a glass. “What can I get you?”

“Something that’s not going to leave me knocking at death’s door.”

“Water it is,” she laughs and pours a bottle into a tall glass.

“Water is perfect,” I laugh as I take the glass from her. “My name is Efrem.”

“I’m Barbara,” she smiles back at me.

“Hey, can I ask you something Barbara?”

“Is it my contact info.”

“I was going to say I’ve been away for a while and was wondering how things got like, well, like this,” I wave a hand around the casino.

“Well, that’s easy. Everyone has a vice. Gambling, drugs, alcohol,” she pauses, “sex. Nobody cornered the market around here. They just built a temple to vice and people come worship at it every day of the week.”

“And nobody does anything?”

“Pay off the right police and nobody has any choice but to look away, even if most of us hate it.”

“Working a job you hate for people you hate, I get it.”

“Don’t we all,” Barbara laughs.

“I got one more question for you.”

“If it’s not about my contact information you can get the hell out,” Barbara smiles. “I’m only half joking.”

“That’s good, because I was going to ask for it.”

I wasn’t really planning to ask for her contact information, but when a beautiful woman wants to give you her contact information, you take her contact information and make sure you call her. I guess that’s one benefit of coming here tonight. I just confirmed this place was everything I thought it was. I’m not any less convinced that it doesn’t need to be shut down. I exit the elevator and decide to take the back exit.  

Outside in the alley I hear a commotion. The bald bearded man from the blackjack table earlier is being punched and kicked against the wall by some of the security guards. I know it’s not my fight, but they’re probably going to beat him to death if I don’t step in.  

“Hey, let the guy go,” I call out.

“This ain’t your fucking business,” one of the guards shouts.

“If you keep talking to me like that it will be.”

One of the guards takes a wild swing that I’m just barely able to dodge in time. I use the opportunity to put all my weight into a right punch aiming at the other guard. My metal fist makes perfect contact between his eye and ear. I’ll have to tell Edan I knocked a guy out with one punch. I turn just in time to catch a punch to the ribs from the first guard. I retaliate by putting my hand in his face and pushing him away so I can regroup. I fake a punch only for me to grab his neck and bring it down to meet my knee. When he falls over I begin to land punches on his head hoping to put him out. But he’s still awake when I hear sirens. I wipe the blood from my fist on his shirt before making my way to the bald man.

“Why were the beating you,” I ask.

“I paid for a night with a woman and when I got to my room they took my money and drug me out here.”

“Well you should get your money back while they can’t fight back.”

I don’t hear what else he says, I make my way from the alley to the street where a crowd is starting to gather. I keep my head down and just walk with no real sense of wear I’m heading off to. A car pulls up next to me.

“You look like you could use a ride,” Barbara calls from inside the car.

“My hero,” I don’t hesitate to get in.

“Where to,” she asks as we begin to move.

“Anywhere you want to go,” I smile at her.

2.03 - Casino


It’s not hard to find the casino. Tranquillis is a small town where most buildings don’t stretch more than two or three stories. There’s even a few single family residential homes on the edge of town. The casino stands out, five stories high, bright lights and music that can be heard outside. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a building like this, but it’s jarring standing above the rest of the town.

Security at the door is lax, two big guys standing there looking tough as people walk through an old model body scanner. A guy reads the screen and gives a thumbs up as each person walks through. Part of me wonders if anyone in here would recognize me but I mostly dealt with low level folks. My walk through the body scanners put security on high alert. They mov fast to block me from entering as others gather to gawk at the idea that something might happen.

“What’s under your jacket,” one of the guards asks me.

I remove the glove on my right hand revealing the scuffed and scratched turquoise metal. The guard motions me to stop as if my arm is unsightly or I should be ashamed. I remove my jacket revealing the entirety of my arm is prosthetic. I used to hate looking at it, the cheapest model money could buy. It got the paint from a Smilodonian in the rehabilitation center. I’ve grown to accept it as part of me now.

“I lost it in battle. A lot of marines have them,” I say to the security guard.

“Th-thank you for your service,” he mumbles through his words.

“You’re welcome,” I continue forward into the casino.

Inside is what I expect; cheap red carpet, slot machines crowding every space of the floor not occupied by tables of roulette, poker and blackjack. Waitresses in skimpy costumes serve drinks to gamblers. Free drinks for the losers, overpriced for those who win. More security guys watching for cheaters.

I make my way to a blackjack table and watch as a few rounds play through. I hate casinos, even when you win, the casino wins. As long as people have hope, they’ll keep playing and the money keeps coming in. When the hope gets low, they pick a sucker and make them a winner. A short bearded man, gets a complimentary drink as he goes bust on another round of blackjack. The dealer looks to me to ask if I want to join the game. I wave him off and he starts a new round. The bearded man who was looking down and out a few moments ago lands and ace and a king. He’s the winner, a few thousand. I wonder how much he blew to get there. He’s probably still in the hole. But it doesn’t matter, people see a winner. I step away as more people join the table looking for remnants of any luck. Even the people pulling handles and mashing buttons on the slot machines start to move faster.  

The second floor is dedicated to mostly entertainment. A restaurant serving a few different meals is mostly empty. The real draw is the live entertainment but the next show doesn’t start for an hour or so. A few shops on this floor selling trinkets and nonsense. Another restaurant, this one a buffet, packed as people look for cheap food to energize themselves for blowing through money. I don’t hate gamblers, but I really hate the idea of gambling. Taking advantage of hope, one of the few things in this life that is free.

The third floor is more my pace. The entire space is an open area with various bar tenders. People sit and drink, reflecting on what they’ve lost or just looking for a reprieve from all the bright lights and noises on the other floors. I order a drink and wander the large area for a while. Martin was wrong, they aren’t done with drugs. They’re readily available here and plenty of people are choosing drugs over alcohol. It’s not as if they aren’t both vices, but alcohol is a lot safer than experimental drugs.

A young woman at a table opposite of me rocks gently in her seat with dilated pupils. I’m not sure if she’s hallucinating or overdosing but she starts to slow. I’m sure she’s heading for an overdose as the color drains from her face. Once she slumps in her seat, I stand to make my to her. She’s overdosed, brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. People think it’s the drug that kills you, but it’s just your body relaxing too much to breathe right. I saw more than a few overdoses when I was in the marines.

Before I can make it to her, two security guards and a woman dressed in right reach her. The guards left her and the woman places a mask over her mouth and nose and gives a few pumps from some kind of inhaler. Once the gas in the mask is no longer visible the woman’s color starts to return. The guards lift her and follow the medic.

“Most people wouldn’t notice and overdose. Even fewer would move to take action,” the woman says to me as they walk pass.

Without any more words they enter the elevator. I watch as the number changes from three to four. If one thing is for sure, I know they’ve got security cameras everywhere, not just where gambling takes place. I guess I have to hope they’re taking her to a medical bay to recuperate and not an incinerator. 

 

Merry Christmas if you celebrate.

2.02 - Man to Man


The barn here became a favorite spot of mine when I first arrived here. We’re far away from the town, and it’s a not a bright town. The view of the stars from here is amazing. It always filled me with the same sense of wonder that I had as a kid. Back when I would dream of being a space marine, taking down some great galactic evils and giving people freedom back. Putting an end to genocides, civil wars, and the like. I thought I’d be helping rebuild societies crushed by the horrors of war or build up places that had been forgotten by time. In the end, I got none of that. I never helped get clean water to remote locations, but I sniped more than a few people. I’ve never built a baseball or soccer field for kids who never heard of the sport, but I shot a kid.

I’m thirty-one years old now. I spent two years on the run from my life in the marines. I spent the better part of a year living out my brother’s space pirate ideas. I’ll be thirty-two soon enough. No children and my romantic prospects are a basketball player who gave up after four good years in the league and an alien criminal halfway across the galaxy who won’t give me a chance for another 60 years. Despite every fiber of my body calling me a failure and telling me to sink my time into this ranch and make a life here; I’m going to go back to what I was running from. Right after I finish a fight that isn’t really any of my business.  

“Do you mind if I join you,” Martin asks as he’s already taking a seat next to me.

“Nah, I don’t mind.”

“Did I ever tell you what’s buried under this barn,” Martin asks an odd question.

“You never mentioned anything about that.”

“Remember when I told you about human supremacist and how we all banded together to fight them back.”

“You defected, wanted to make a better place for everyone. Got hurt, met Pauline.”

“Yeah,” Martin smiles as he reminisces. “After all the fighting was done some of us gathered up old armor and guns. We hid them. We thought there might be a day when they would return. I mean, all it took the first time was for people to look the other way because they were too afraid. That’s how they got shiftless young men to join up. The thing is, it took all kinds of people to fight back. Humans of different races, species of people that weren’t human. But the thing is it only took a few to fight back. That’s when people like me switched sides, realized what we were doing was wrong. We became some of the hardest fighters, hoping to make amends for the things that we did. And when things were done, we stayed vigilant. But there came a time when we needed to put those things behind us. We buried those things. Metaphorically and literally. Beneath the foundation of this barn is a cache of weapons and armor. With time, they became worthless. The reason being is that was no more war to fight.”

“You think I’m making the wrong the choice,” I ask.

“Not entirely. Going back to the marines and finishing the time you promised them, that’s honorable. Doesn’t matter if either of us agrees with what you’re doing. What matters is that you’re keeping your word. But, the whole local gang thing, let it go. It’s not your battle to fight, never was.”

“I know, but I feel like I have to do it. You mentioned making amends. I feel like on some level I need to do that. I need to do something good. Years and years of fighting, and I haven’t seen improvement for anyone. But I feel like, if I take care of them, I can provide some good to the people here. I can do something that actually matters.”

“You’re a grown man, and with that comes knowledge and experiences that differ from one man to the next. Those things shape who a man becomes. I can’t tell you not to do it. I can’t tell you how to live your life. I can tell you that I don’t want you to risk your life for something like this. If it were up to me, I say go back. Do your time and come home, then find a new way to help. For me, that’s working with my scouts. It might be something else for you. Just because you were a man of war, doesn’t mean you need to take the war with you.”

“Thank you for that Martin.”

“Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” Martin’s serious tone disappears in an instant. “Don’t stay up here too late. Have a good night.”

“You too, tell Pauline thanks again for the dinner.”

Just like that, Martin vanishes from the roof. Pauline will really punch you in the gut, but Martin knows how to give you an emotional punch, one that rattles your mind and heart. It makes you question what it is that you really want to do. You can be so sure of yourself, and your next steps, then along comes Martin. Kindhearted and jovial, until his words have started to poke holes in everything you know. I felt that way when I first came to this ranch as a laborer. Through our conversations, he began to alter what I thought I knew, time and time again. Here I am now, once again left sitting beneath the stars staring up above, looking for some kind of solution.