Dead Of Night

His mental skill is no match for the multi-deck female dealer since his concentration drifts each time he looks to study the face of a new arrival. After the couple next to him quit, have walked away, only he and one other player are left to compete against the house. He waits as the dealer reshuffles the triple deck of cards, before he places the color-postcard-size photograph of Sandy on the table, shielded by his stack of chips. She finishes shuffling the cards, stacks them in the shoe, but does see the photograph and grins.

Her voice is pleasantly clear, considering she speaks without moving her lips, or looking at him, “You’re waiting for her? I have noticed, since you’ve sat down, that you’ve checked out every gal that’s come through our front door.” She voice is as emotionless as that of a weatherman, without changing her expression. She deals, sliding cards across the table to both players.

Alaric peeks at his new pair, mentally calculates the odds, if he splits his pair of jacks, because the dealer is showing a seven, so he decides to hold them, by sliding his cards under his twenty-five dollar chip.  She turns to the other player as Alaric adjusts the photo, turning it to face the dealer. It rests inconspicuously between his arms short of his stack, exposed only to him and the dealer. The other player flicks his cards and receives another, landing face up. He grunts and shoves his cards and a chip towards her. She takes both with a scooping one-hand motion as she flips her cards over, announcing seventeen.

She vocally acknowledges that Alaric wins, glances again at the photo without a sign of awareness while paying him. As she deals their next hand, without emotion, she chides, “So you know Sandy, do you?  And you’re looking for her, right?”

In a whisper without eye contact, Alaric replies, “Yes.” and checks his cards, which he quickly covers with a chip.

  “Ask the girl at the desk to ring Sandy’s room.  When she answers, tell her your problem.  If she doesn’t give you satisfaction, come back, and I’ll tell you where and who to see, and better, too.”

Alaric loses to her ace-ten, tosses his cards and chip in, but then hands her two chips, which bring a gracious smile as she taps them on the table, displays them, before burying both in the warm recessed cleavage of two large mounds of heaving flesh. Her silk uniform is expertly built to expose her feministic attributes just short of exposing her belly down all the way to her navel, although at times, she doesn’t think its so.  Alaric is quickly off the stool and on his way; satisfied that he has made his first break of the evening.

The girl at the desk refuses to divulge Sandy’s room number when he asks, but agrees to connect him by placing a call with him on the house phone, so he agrees. Alaric listens as the phone rings several times, holding his breath, hoping for the best, not knowing precisely what he will say - or do - if she answers.

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