On our way out to the casino last night, Sammy took the opportunity to tell everyone in his path—waitresses at the diner, gas station attendant, drunk at the on-ramp asking for change, that we were, “On our way to the Indian reservation to gamble away our friend’s last paycheck as an employed man.” The waitress looked at Boyce like he was on his way to a gas chamber. The gas station attendant was horrified. The drunk high-fived Sammy and asked if he could come along. There was a spirit of brotherhood there, so when Sammy said, “Not a chance, man. You stink,” the drunk just waved happily and shouted, “Brkghhhhszzz snake eyes mmmmmmphhhahh, yeah, all right!” I’ve seen fights break out at neighborhood parks over which family reserved the gazebo first. But tell a drunk man that you’re potentially burning money on a socially unacceptable activity, and you’ll see what real goodwill means.
When we got there I stationed myself at a craps table and explained to Boyce what our strategy was going to be. We would need patience and some luck. Boyce stopped me and said he’d called ahead and reserved a place at a different table. This isn’t the Boyce I was used to. When I looked at Sammy he had no reaction, which made me realize that he already knew what was going to happen, which also meant the two of them had consulted without me, which meant I wasn’t going to like what was going to happen.
We walked over to a room that had quasi-walls made out of fake shrubbery. There were a few tables there and people were playing poker. I just stared. Boyce said, “You’re going to help,” and then walked over to one of the tables. He patted the pocket that had an awful lot of cash, then pointed to the chair for me to sit down. I shook my head. “That’s against my rules,” I said. But Boyce told me to stop messing around and come sit down.
I wasn’t going though. I just shook my head. Some of the people at Boyce’s table looked over at me and smiled. One guy, wearing sunglasses to play poker like a wannabe douchebag, said, “You going to play or piddle your pants, amigo?” I shook my head again, but instead of making fun of me Dr. Shades got real quiet. Anyone who wears sunglasses to play poker is the gambling equivalent of a 13 year old girl singing into a hairbrush pretending she’s on American Idol, so this guy probably thought I was Rain Man.
Sammy was standing next to me when Boyce came over and asked me to play poker for him. Boyce said he was terrible, Sammy was terrible (to which Sammy said, “Oh my, yes. But I could take that guy,” and pointed over at Dr. Shades who looked even more nervous that we were having some super-autism conference and would soon take his money), and I used to be a very, very good poker player. This part was true. I used to be very good at poker, but then I made up new rules and wouldn’t gamble against other people. It wasn’t that I always won, it’s just that it made me want to destroy other people, and most gambling tables were not full of toolboxes like Dr. Shades who rather than a conscience was just a collection of centipedes and splinters. See?! Even being around a poker table has made me hate my opponents. (No. Dr. Shades really was an unbelievable dork. You should have seen this guy. He wore a ball cap backward with a black, silk shirt. The tone of everything he said was clearly based off any number of random, R-rated stand up comedians and AM radio hosts.)
Boyce made me look him in the eye. He said he wouldn’t blame me if I lost. I told him that didn’t worry me, and he said he knew that, but it needed to be said. I told him about the rules, and he said, “I know those rules. But they aren’t really yours. They were Rachel’s.” I started to say that just because she invented them doesn’t mean they’re not good rules, but Boyce said, “And she’s not here anymore.” The dealer at the table said he wasn’t waiting, and Dr. Shades began to say something. Sammy stepped forward though and pointed at Dr. Shades: “If you so much as breathe this direction I will murder your entire family.” I had never heard Sammy say something like that before. He always wants people to like him. Besides, he’s like me in that if he did say something like that, he would be perpetually worried that someone like Dr. Shades would take the opportunity to murder his entire family—he is clearly capable—since a suspect has publicly been created.
I expected Sammy to be asked to leave. I know based on personal experience that people, including dealers and security guards, cannot threaten you. The dealer only said, “Gentlemen,” in a really non-committal way, and then waited. Boyce apologized for saying anything harsh, but added, “These are the facts. One: I don’t have a job anymore. If I don’t make money fast, we have to put the house up. That means we leave and go live with Charlotte’s parents. Two: I can’t make money this way, but you can. And three: I’m sorry, Cyrus, but Rachel’s not here anymore.”
The dealer said, “Gentlemen,” again, but this time it was clearly directed at the three of us. Sammy stepped forward and said, “We’re trying to figure out the rules here.” A couple guys at the table took that to mean the rules of poker, and told the dealer they could wait, speaking like salivating dogs. Dr. Shades, however, must have thought that rules meant the way I was going to use autistic superpowers, because he wanted the dealer to go ahead and get started.
I told Boyce I couldn’t do it. Boyce said please. I said no, and started walking out of the room. Boyce said, “She’s gone, you know.” I didn’t turn around. At least not then. I did, however, when I heard Dr. Shades, newly energized because I was leaving to watch Wapner or something, say loudly, “Ohhh, she’s gone. Bitch. See you later! Deal, amigo, time to rock and roll.” There was this groan that followed and I saw that Boyce had gone apeshit. He charged at Dr. Shades and put him in a headlock. Other guys at the table tried to pull Dr. Shades away. Sammy charged and leaped on top of the growing pile. He didn’t even do anything. He just kind of landed on everyone’s head, then rolled off to the side. To his credit though, he got right back on again. Even though what Boyce said was cruel, I came charging, too. I put my shoulder down and rammed myself into the growing mass. I pumped my legs like I was Bart Farv rushing for a touchdown. Later Boyce told me I actually rammed him in the side, but he didn’t mind, because that made him fall and he was still clutching Dr. Shades’ neck. Once he fell to the ground with him Boyce seemed more concerned at smashing the sunglasses into the carpet than actually hitting Dr. Shades.
Eventually security broke it all up. Since no punches were actually thrown they didn’t call the police. They did, however, ban us from the casino for life. I watched Sammy when the floor supervisor told us that, because Sammy thinks banishment is the greatest punishment you can have. I think the dealer must have told the supervisor that Dr. Shades was a real idiot, because he shaked our hands on the way out.
It was a pretty quiet ride home. Sammy had borrowed his brother’s car for the evening, and we tried to distract ourselves by going through his glove box or trash under the seats. The only talking was Sammy’s occasional words. He’d say, “I think I’ll get a car now. It can be the group’s,” or, “Wasn’t that better than a card game anyway?” Finally Boyce spoke up and said that he was putting his house on the market. They didn’t have the money to wait for him to find a job with this economy. They’d have to move south and live with Charlotte’s parents. I felt like all those words really meant: “You could have helped if you wanted to, Cyrus.” Not like that, though.
As we had earlier planned, we all stayed the night at Sammy’s apartment. Right before we were going to sleep Boyce came over to me and said that after I left Rachel’s priest’s house, he told Boyce, “Cyrus can see her again if he wants.” I said I didn’t go for that religious stuff, and Boyce said he knew, but he thought I might like to hear it anyway. Then things got quiet for a few minutes. Then Sammy said, we all needed to admit that even if you've lost your job and are going to have to move out of state and away from your best friends, pummeling a dumbass on a casino floor was a pretty sweet way of spending an evening.
