Books:
DOUBLE DOWN
A Rock & Roll Road Novel
By Joe Rossi
©1998-2005 All Rights Reserved.
The curfew had been lifted
And the gambling wheel shut down
Anyone with any sense had already left town
He was standing in the doorway
Looking like the Jack of Hearts.
-Bob Dylan
Let me put you in the picture
Let me show you what I mean
The Messiah is my sister
Ain't no king, but she’s my Queen.
-The Stone Roses
Prologue
He moved with the stealth of a trained killing machine. The victim was an unfaithful housewife; the client a wealthy, take-no-prisoners businessman who felt he been made a fool of. "A fool and his money are soon parted, and it makes me a happy man," he thought.
She was working out at the local gym. He eyed her through the front window. "Nice body," he thought. "A shame, a damn shame. But a contract is a contract." As these thoughts raced through his brain, she got off the motion machine and headed for the locker room.
Dashing down the alley, he found the back parking lot where her Mercedes sat, sparkling fresh and clean from the car wash. He'd watched her wash the car, and followed her to the gym. Feeling inside his coat pocket, he made sure the silencer was solidly in place. For the few minutes as she was showering and preparing to leave, he smoked a cigarette and mindlessly felt at the scar on his stomach, a 30-year-old scar, and he remembered.
She exited the backdoor to the gym, and proceeded to her car at a brisk pace. Her blonde, gray-at-the-edges hair bounced happily as her breasts pushed and pulled in her tight red sweater. She was dressed very nicely. A handbag bounced at her side.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he asked her, stepping up politely, "but do you happen to have the time?"
As she looked at her watch, the bullet sailed smoothly through her heart, exited her back, and lodged in a nearby tree. He grabbed her handbag as instructed, and was gone like a thief in the night.
CHAPTER 1--PSYCHO BOY
June 1997 Shit, it was crossing the Colorado, from Bullhead City, Arizona, into Laughlin, Nevada, on our way to Vegas that I fucked up and fucked up good. Not that I did something stupid, mind you. OK, so maybe it was stupid. I mean, I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And had to play the hero part, and that pretty much sealed our fate, or some shit like that.
Actually, it wasn't crossing the river, but crossing the river, then turning left into Laughlin via Casino Drive when I should have just taken us straight up U.S. 95 to Las Vegas. Yeah, I said why not to a couple of hands of blackjack- that's all Queen, I swear. I was just going to play a couple hands. Louie talked me into it. He had a bucket of quarters that he'd carted all the way from Atlantic City, and wanted to hit the slots. Of course, Louie always had a bucket of quarters. And Ginny was crashed out in the back of the van, so we figured we'd let her sleep, with the car running for the air conditioning, and we wouldn't be long, maybe hit the road for Vegas in about a half-an-hour or so.
There I was, sitting inside the Edgewater Casino, and Louie was off doing his slot thing. And, well I'm lucky I'm able to write this because it was way fucked up. Some guy call him Psycho Boy showed up at the table looking all depressed. His dark baggy clothes appeared as though he had slept in them. He was about 39.
Brown hair real short.
He stood around and watched the action for a while. I played a green chip, and got dealt a goddamned ten and four. Dealer, a tight-faced, unpleasant white woman with blonde, pulled-back hair had a king showing. Damn. I took a hit. Busted.
That's why they call it gambling.
Psycho Boy watched with a grim look in his face, nervously looking around the room as well. There wasn't another vacant seat in sight, Queen, I swear. Finally, the table seemed to pull him in, reel him in like a fish.
He reached into a pocket and produced four crisp, ATM-fresh $100 bills and threw them down on the smooth, green felt. Meanwhile, a young red-headed lady with heavy, winking cleavage poured into a tight blue top looked at me from the other side of the table, smiled pleasantly, and then looked back down at her cards. Psycho Boy took a deep breath and sat down. Guy gave me the creeps. I wanted to leave, but busting bosoms in blue kept smiling, so I kept sitting. Guy ordered a beer. Started to not look so psycho. Or maybe it was ol' blue top working her magic.
He sat there looking at his chips.
She looked at me.
I got a hard on.
Impulsively, he pushed two black chips to the circle and sighed heavily. I swear, think I could hear him praying.
"Black action 200," the dealer barked.
The pit boss nodded. He was a small, balding man of about 50 with splotches of red all over his skin.
Dealer dealt blue top blackjack, the weird guy a five and a six, and me a ten and a three, and she another five.
Blue top let out a smug "oh yeah" and sat with a sheepish grin on her face. Weird guy managed a weak, nervous smile. He looked at me. A bead of sweat begged to form on his brow. The dealer looked at him impatiently. Slowly, he moved his two hundred bucks in green chips to the circle. Dealer swiftly threw down a nine and the guy relaxed. A 20 is a pretty strong hand against a dealer's five.
After busting my hand with a ten, she threw over her hole card. A king of diamonds. The guy started to grin widely. I was happy for him too when the next card she turned over happened to be the Ace of Diamonds, giving her hand 16. She had to hit and the only thing that could ruin his day would be a five and there were already two of them showing. Any expert would tell you, odds were she'd flip over a ten card, bust her hand, or else anything six and above, like two, three, and she loses, and four he'll get a push, which sure as hell beats losing. I'd put my money on Psycho Boy walking out with $400 bucks.
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Through twist of fate, or dishonest dealing, the next card was a five, giving her 21, and the casino Psycho Boy's hard earned cash.
Or maybe it was stolen. Who knows?
That's when all hell broke loose.
Out it came. Black mean-looking metal. Looked like a Heckler & Koch 9mm sub. He jumped up on the table screaming!
"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL!"
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Screaming like you wouldn't fucking believe.
"That was all my MONEY, ASSHOLES, and now I can't go home because I can't look my pregnant wife in the face. Now, I can't do anything right. I can't even double down right. AND WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU CARE!?!"
First thing I saw was the dealer flying backwards, her white blouse erupting in pools of dark blood. Much to the horror of players sitting at a table across the pit, her head got blown from her body, flew across the pit and landed in their faces. I could see her eyes, horrified as she was in flight, like her brain was still alive for a split second as it journeyed through the air.
More bullets shattered into a million shards of dark glass one of the domes that conceal the video cameras up above. Glass splattered everywhere. A jagged piece cut into my arm. All of this, mind you, happened in the split second it took for me to get my mother-fucking ass on the floor. As my knees hit the rug, a waitress fell on top of me, digging her knees into my back, as her tray of drinks scattered in every direction, sending coke, whiskey, hot coffee, and coins all over the garish casino rug.
"I don't want to die today," she prayed in my ear. "Oh God, please!"
"You're talking to the wrong guy, lady!"
Warm blood splashed in my face.
Where the fuck are the security guards? Why doesn't somebody shoot this psychopath?
Realizing that somebody was going to be me, I reached for my Glock. Time to do something about this violence-prone party pooper. As my hand grasped its familiar shape, I counted to one ... two ... all of sudden a piece of flesh flew on the rug about three inches from my face-skin and flesh with red splotches-three! I sprang up and turned so that my gun was pointed straight at his crotch. He looked down at me with desperate eyes.
All he had to do was drop the gun about a foot and shoot, and I'd be dead too. He wasn't fast enough. Boom!
More warm blood splashed in my face.
Wiping the blood from my eyes, I looked at the guy lying on the table, moaning and screaming, grabbing his crotch. Blood was bubbling out and gushing all over the floor. Everywhere else, I could hear screaming and crying. He looked up at me and for one brief second; I swear it looked like he was begging me to kill him, to put him out of his misery right there. His hand still held the piece. His finger squeezed down. I fired again and nailed him right between the eyes.
There was more crying and screaming.
Shit. A crowd was forming around me. While a few of the domed camera eyes shattered in the wake of Psycho Boy's wrath, not all had, like the one I was staring directly into at that point.
Oh shit! Oh fucking shit!
Got the hell out of there. Don't ask me how. Had to dodge security guards, who had arrived finally, and assorted medics, cops, and others, as they descended upon the scene. Pushed my way past the onlookers and briefly witnessed the carnage. A machine whirled and whizzed while lights, bells, and whistles went off and the thing spit out quarters and boasted three different colored sevens, which smiled rather sardonically at their dead owner, an elderly man, his face pressed against the glass and a trail of blood illustrating how far his head had sunk after hitting the glass.
Ran upstairs to the second floor; somehow managed to ditch a crowd of security guards. But for how long? One of them shouted, "Hey you!"
I ducked down another hall and ditched him. Needed to get out and get out fast, so I took a shot and kicked in a door. Luckily, there was no one inside. Washed my face in the restroom. I could hear voices in the corridor.
"You see anybody?"
"I heard a loud sound."
"Where?"
"Over there!"
Moving to the front of the room, I noticed the window was open. I looked out and down and thank fucking God, but what did I see but the side of the white Dodge van, and Louie standing by the door.
I had to take the chance.
I jumped.
"Man, what was that about, amigo?" Louie asked.
"Shut up and get in the car."
Double Down?
