Crapped Out 

Bob had no idea what town this was that they stopped in front of a building whose lights and neon flashed and buzzed like a swarm of bees. He looked at the site, staring at it, willing it to disappear as snow fell steadily. The sign showing “Treasure Island Resort and Casino” appeared like a siren call. The massive parking lot appeared mostly empty. A sign below the marquee had a time of 4:44. 

“Where the hell am I” He asked aloud.  

“Silly boy! This is it, where we are going to make us a bunch of money,” Annie told him as she wrapped her long arm around his waist and smacked his jeans clad butt playfully. “Later, we’ll get us a room and have some fun.” Bob looked down at her face, the neon giving her a greenish, purplish, bewitching effect. Her eyes appeared like saucers. She was both exciting and frightening.  

“Let’s put this pack on you,” Daryl said as he placed what amounted to a book pack upon Bob’s back. He faithfully slipped his arms through the straps that secured that satchel to his back. It felt heavy. “If security asks to look inside, get out and don’t look back. Hopefully, at this hour they should be just getting done with their shift and won’t pay us any attention.” 

Bob now realized what his job was. He stared up at the bigger man and realized he had all the characteristics of a Native, including the high cheek bones and braided brunette hair with strands of gray and white that streaked along the ponytail. “What do I do?” 

“You go to these gamblers, who are playing and ask them if they want a little energy boost. It’s going on five in the morning. A lot of these people have been up all night. Give them a small baggy, it’s half of an eight ball, so it will give them that extra pep. Remember, Bob, we don’t want them tripping on us, but wired a bit,” Daryl replied with a grin. Bob saw the perfect white teeth behind the smile and knew they were false. 

“How much?” Bob asked.  

“Ten,” Annie replied. “No more than ten. We got a lot of product in that pack you’re carrying on your back. If…Oh God, I made a rhyme!” 

“Annie, mellow your shit,” Daryl scolded harshly. “If they want more, sell them more.” He told Bob. “We’ll be at the craps table, watching you. Don’t fuck this up if you know what’s good for you. Come on Annie. Stay back. Count to one hundred and then come in, got it?” 

“Yeah, sure, I got it.” Bob watched them disappear inside through a revolving door, sounds of circus or carnival-like whistles and bells emanated from inside. Then the sounds muted when the door stopped revolving. He slowly counted to himself until he counted out one hundred and walked inside. Though there were few gamblers inside, the noise appeared deafening as slot machines made their own distinctive whistles, wails, and siren blasts. 

He walked past a young couple with piercings and wearing flannel and baggy jeans. One was mesmerized by the spinning wheels of fortune while the other seemed just as addicted her cell phone, apparently texting someone. “Hey,” Bob announced himself. Both seemingly ignored him. “You guys want a little pick me up?” 

The girl with blue hair cropped and standing straight up glared up at him. “What’s it you got?” She demanded. 

“A little energy,” Bob replied being purposefully evasive. “I’m stoked on it now. It’s great shit.” 

“How much?” the dude asked with pierced nose, cheeks, and eyebrows. 

“Ten for half an eight.” 

“I gotta go to the rest room and take a piss. There’s a handicap stall. Meet me there in about three minutes,” the dude replied while he got up from his seat and disappeared toward the restroom near the entrance. “See you around,” he told her. 

“Yeah, whatever,” she replied as she went back on her cell phone and read a Facebook post. Bob so wanted to grab that phone from her hands and throw it against the wall, but he held his temper in check, checked the time on his watch and slowly made his way to the restroom. 

The noise from the gaming floor carried inside the restroom, but also there was music piped in that had a country beat. It sounded like some unknown wannabe. He saw the dude finishing and going to the sink to wash up as he continued to the corner stall reserved for disabled guests. Once inside, he removed the heavy pack and opened it. There were seemingly hundreds of small plastic baggies with a white crystalline substance inside. Bob knew what it was, so did the dude who joined him. “I want four, no five. Here’s a Benjamin.” 

He handed Bob the fifty bill and Bob handed him the five baggies of meth. “Great doing business with you. Maybe your girlfriend will lay you for your troubles.” 

“Her? She’s a bitch. She just likes to do shit on her cell phone. I don’t even think she does drugs. See you.” Dude disappeared and went presumably back to his slot machine while he hoisted the pack over his shoulders and went to another potential client. 

He found two others who bought some from him as well and then he went to an elderly couple. “Hey, there, you wanna buy some meth?” 

Both glared at him. “Young man, we don’t do drugs. It’s illegal. Aren’t you aware of that?” The older man asked with balding hair and wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. She appeared just as ancient with arthritic and trembling fingers pushing the button, seemingly at will, mindless to what came up on the wheel. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself for what you’re doing,” she told him with contempt in her voice. “You run along before I call security on your shenanigans.” 

Bob quickly retreated, realizing his mistake. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said as he backed away and turned around, heading toward another bank of slots. A Native housekeeper, emptying ashtrays and dusting the machines’ tops glared disdainfully at him. She was of middle age with graying hair and bi-focal glasses with black frames.  

A black man and white woman came by, and the white woman asked, “You selling?” 

“Yeah, where you wanna meet?” 

“That rest room over there. I just came out. There’s no one inside,” She replied. She had flaming red hair and a piercing on her long nose. Her eye pupils were tiny pinpoints. Bob nodded and followed her inside. 

“How much product you got?” She asked him once she led him into the handicap stall and he pulled the pack off his back and opened the top. 

“I honestly don’t know. If I had to guess, at least thirty pounds worth.” 

“Seriously? Dude!” She squealed out. “How much?” 

“Well, ten for one of these baggies.” He watched her pull money from a loose-fitting blouse, assuming she must’ve had it attached to a money clip on her bra or something. She had hundred-dollar bills that she rifled through and handed him twenty such bills.  

“I want two hundred bags!” 

He suddenly got nervous and thought maybe this was a setup or a bust. “Do you have to be so loud?” Bob asked. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” 

Just then the black man came in. “What’s the problem?” 

“He’s acting weird Lucifer.” 

“Lucifer?” Bob asked incredulously.  

“What’s your trip? You got the bag opened just sell her what she wants,” he told him. 

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Bob wanted so much to escape these people. 

“Okay, here’s five hundred more, if it’s the money,” she said with displeasure in her tone. 

“Alright,” Bob finally replied. He counted out the two hundred bags and handed it to her. She placed the contents in a handbag, closed the flap and immediately left the stall and restroom. Lucifer glared at him a brief moment before he exited the restroom.  

Bob’s entire body shook in fear, feeling the adrenaline coursed through his body. He sat on the toilet when he heard someone walk in. She sat in the stall next to his. 

“How much you got so far?” Annie asked from the opposite wall. He heard her pissing in the toilet. 

“I just sold two hundred and before that about fifty more. I think.” His mind felt like a fog. 

“In an hour, leave the floor and go to the hotel. We’re in room four-twenty.” She unrolled toilet paper from its spindle and then got up. The automatic flusher swept the piss down the toilet. She left him. Bob slowly got up from the toilet seat and left the restroom. A security officer was waiting for him. She had the light brown skin and raven colored hair with brown eyes of a Native. She was also heavy set and looked menacing, apparently confident that she could easily handle him. 

“What were you doing in the women’s restroom?” She asked in a demanding tone. 

“Women’s restroom?” He looked innocently at her. Her picture name badge read Lucy under her photo. “Oh crap, I went to the wrong restroom! I’m sorry. I think I’ve been drinking too much.” 

“You got ID on you?” 

“Just my South Dakota drivers’ license,” Bob replied as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. She peered at his license briefly and announced on her Motorola, “All clear. He mistakenly took the wrong restroom.” 

“Copy, security, surveillance, clear.” 

“I suggest you sleep it off. We have rooms available in our hotel. I suggest you book one, Mr. McCormach.” 

“Thanks, I’ll definitely do that.” He watched her go on to another call and snuck back inside the restroom to recover the pack. Just as he retrieved it that same security guard came in and sat inside a stall. He cursed his bad luck but ran quickly out anyway as he heard the unmistakable sound of pee splashing inside a toilet. 

Bob sighed in relief as he left the restroom and went to the craps table where Daryl continued playing. He stood just behind him and watched him roll the red dice on green felt table, a white plastic chip covered the come line. 

Bob never played craps before, didn’t know the first thing about it. So, he watched the dice thrown against the wall and even numbers came up. “Eight is the number,” the dealer called out. 

Daryl fisted the dice, blowing on them and then threw them. A four and three came up. “Seven! You crapped out. Sorry better luck next time,” the Native dealer called out. 

“Son of a bitch,” Daryl exclaimed as the chips were pulled from the come line and he was left with nothing. He turned around and saw Bob, who smiled at him as if he were an old friend. Daryl walked past him, ignoring his presence, went toward the hotel lobby. 

Bob stayed on the casino floor, peddling what he could to others who played their slot games. But, like Daryl, he failed and after an hour he walked to the elevator and went up the fourth floor where he found the room and knocked.  

“Who is it?” Daryl called from the door. 

“Bob,” he deadpanned. 

“Bob’s not here,” he called out as he heard them laughing. 

“No, I’m Bob,” he replied impatiently. 

“Bob’s not here,” he yelled out, amid more laughter. 

Finally, Bob got it. “Ha, ha, very funny. Let me in please.” 

The door unlocked and opened with the couple giggling at him, along with another pair he never met. Both appeared dangerous and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand out. He shuddered involuntarily while he pulled the pack from his back laying the satchel on a chair. He then opened a flap and handed him the cash from the sales. 

Daryl counted the money carefully, giving Bob two hundred for his efforts. “Thanks, Daryl,” Bob told him as he pulled out his wallet and placed the cash inside and folded it and placed it back in his back pocket. 

“What are we going to do with him?” The tall stranger asked Daryl. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be handled,” Daryl replied. 

“We’re gonna party and then later poof, all gone.” 

Bob got nervous from the conversation. Are they talking about me? “Hey, I’m right here guys,” he told the group. 

“I’m not liking this, the way you got it going,” the big and fat Native who glared at Bob as if he were annoying fly buzzing about. He was bald except for the mohawk that ran along top of his head.