It was two weekends ago that we went to the Indian casino in order to win enough for Hank’s gravestone. Boyce and Sammy were armed with Hank’s two journals, determined that they had found a code. We agreed to split the night between roulette and blackjack, beginning with roulette. I asked them how the journals would know when the games were switching, and they both told me that any code written about the future, or altered from beyond the grave, could anticipate a switch in tables.
Surprisingly, Boyce and Sammy didn’t attract immediate attention at the roulette table with the journals. They appeared to be reading both the previous number as well as how other people were betting. They’d scan the table, then seemingly flip randomly through the journal pages. After whispering over one another’s shoulders as though they were counting money on their laps, they’d produce a number. It was always one number. I explained to them that this was madness, a waste of their (and my) money, and then Sammy said that’s exactly the way someone like Hank would have wanted it.
Their bets were wrong, of course. I think this is why the dealer didn’t care they had illegal materials at the table. Every time they bet they lost and their pile dwindled. My own pile was staying steady with a minimal growth, but in a few more bets Boyce and Sammy would have nothing. Then Boyce said, “Let’s do it. Right now, let’s do it. Do you feel it?” “I couldn’t be happier,” Sammy said. “I feel it, too.” Still wanting to show some subtlety, they slid the journal to me and pointed at a page. What I saw made my chest cave in a bit. The only time I’d ever felt that before was when I saw an injured bird in the grass with a neighborhood cat slowly approaching it. When it was only feet from the disabled bird, other birds began swooping down from the tree tops to attack the cat. The cat tried to fight back for a moment, then realized better and sprinted away. Some of these avenging angels returned to the treetops as though scouting for more predators, while others created a perimeter around the disabled bird. Most amazing was these birds were all of different species. It would be spectacular enough to see birds defending their own kind. Here, though, it was warblers and robins and buntings and grosbeaks all defending a meadowlark. When I saw it I sat down on the grass and felt like there wasn’t time anymore. That’s how I felt when I saw written in Hank’s journal “0 Cyrus 0.”
At first I didn’t know what I was so thrilled about: being in Hank’s journal, or having what may be a real code. I thought of Rachel a lot right then, like I couldn’t see straight. “Double zero or single,” Boyce asked me. “Which does it mean?” I didn’t even hesitate. Single zero. They put their entire pile onto single zero. I didn’t bet. I couldn’t see straight and wanted Rachel to come walking in the door. The dealer spun the wheel and dropped the ball in. Sammy said, “Single zero, right? Single not double.” I nodded, and felt like I was going to throw up. The dealer said all bets in. And it came up red 32. We watched the dealer take away all of Boyce and Sammy’s money. Typically, Sammy said, “At least it wasn’t double zero. That would have been tough.”
They told me it was up to me to win money for Hank’s gravestone, and as the dealer opened the table, I pushed all my money onto single zero. They both asked what I was doing. Sammy pleaded with me, saying, “There’s no code. I saw your name with a zero next to it—maybe it’s the letter o. There’s no code, Cyrus.” He was talking frantically and Boyce had stood up and took my shoulder and told the dealer not to take my bet. I squiggled my shoulders and told the dealer to take the bet. “There’s no code,” Sammy said again. Not only the size of the bet, but the altercation between the three of us was attracting a crowd. Even a man with a cowboy hat came over to see. Generally, people with cowboy hats are very focused.
As Boyce and Sammy kept trying to push me away, I didn’t say anything to them. I told the dealer to ignore them and keep the bet. “There’s no code! Cyrus, we were having a good time. This isn’t your bet!” I knew it wasn’t my bet, though. I didn’t think I was going to win. I just didn’t care. My head still hurt bad from seeing my name in Hank’s journal, and I couldn’t see straight for wanting Rachel to come in through the doors. The dealer dropped the ball and Boyce, really angry, said, “Cyrus, stop it.” But I didn’t, and the dealer said no more bets. Everything got real quiet. I could hear the sound of the casino, I could feel Boyce and Sammy holding their breath, but all I really thought about was my name 0 Cyrus 0 0 Cyrus 0 0 Cyrus 0 and maybe it was the letter o, and he was calling out to me the way I call out to Rachel. And then there was a loud crash in my head, and I felt my body whipping back and forth. It was Sammy and Boyce: they were shaking me as the whole crowd was screaming. It came up single zero.
Boyce pulled me off my stool and flung me around in his arms like a rag doll. Sammy kept trying to kiss me on the cheek and laughed hysterically, screaming, “My god! My god! My god!” Everyone was clapping and the dealer was smiling real big. An official had to come unlock a table because the winnings were so big. I watched him real distantly though, like when I woke up after that time my dad let me have a few drinks. So I didn’t mind when that official, with long black hair in a ponytail, came up to us with two security guards and said, “Come with us.”
Boyce and Sammy knew exactly what it was about. The journal. They immediately went into their persuasion mode. This is absurd, though. Persuading casino security is like persuading a wall. They did convince them to leave me out of this for a moment, and Boyce and Sammy walked off with the official. I sat back at the table with all my winnings piled in front of me, but I didn’t make any bets. The dealer didn’t mind though. He smiled at me and you could tell he felt real fine about what happened.
That’s when the guy in the cowboy hat came up to me and told me that this was his single favorite moment in a casino. He said he’d like to get to know me and my friends, maybe have that little crib sheet rub off on him too. He asked me if I could tell him what was in the book, and that even if the casino wouldn’t let me keep the winnings, he’d like to know how we did it. He said he’d like to help us if we could help him. I told him we could use three tickets to see Green Bay versus Minnesota. He laughed real loud, like people in cowboy hats do. Then he said he’d make it four.
That’s when Boyce and Sammy came back. The man in the cowboy hat took a step backward and let us talk. He saw the journals were still in Sammy’s hand, so he was licking his chops. Right behind them were the security guards who leaned over me and took all my winnings, leaving me with what I had before the magical bet. I didn’t even flinch, though. Some of the crowd that was still there moaned and booed, but I didn’t do anything. Then Sammy opened one of the journals and gave me a check that was written out to Artisan Monuments in the amount of 1,700 dollars. It was enough for a granite headstone and engraving for Hank. Sammy said they weren’t going to get the winnings, but the head casino director believed in ghosts, believed in noble things, and apparently “believed in crazy shit too, because he cut us this check.” It was about 3,000 dollars less than my winnings, but I didn’t mind. I hugged Sammy and Boyce. Then I told them we’re going to Green Bay to see Bart Farve play. The guy in the cowboy hat made a funny face, but then he smiled real wide and licked his chops again.
But I’m tired, especially after what happened this past weekend, so I’ll finish later…
