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.
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