a
radio, fan, and roaches. Thelma screamed at them as she smashed any
she spotted. Within five minutes her shoes’ soles were covered with
parts of their flattened corpses. After a year spent with monkeys,
birds, and rats as his only neighbors, Jason only noticed the
remnants of the insects his wife had crushed. Any that moved seemed
natural. He was likewise oblivious to her complaints about “our
sorry honeymoon.” Her new husband tried to compensate by making
love to her three times during their two-day stay in Laughlin. His
efforts coincided with Thelma’s cycle so that one of the millions
of his sperm produced during those two days penetrated one of her
approximately 70,000 eggs that she carried. But it would be a
couple of months before her missed periods and morning sickness
alerted Thelma to their honeymoon child.
Just as a good taxi driver should, Corporal Ivers
arrived promptly at the wedding chapel after his two days and
nights of gambling and carousing in Las Vegas. His downcast
features betrayed his empty wallet.
“You look lower than whale crap,” Jason said as Lance
drove south toward Route 66. Unwilling to endure any more short
timer fever, Thelma sought refuge in the back seat.
“You might say that. I went through my whole pay for
the month.”
“What did you play, the slot machines?”
“Nah. They’re all luck, just like the roulette wheel
and craps table. I stick with poker only. Now there’s a game that
takes real skill. Yes, sir. Give me three new cards, dealer, and
get ready to ante up.”
“What about blackjack?”
“Twenty-one? I tried it a couple times but kept right
on losing. With poker I come back to the base with a couple hundred
bucks sometimes.”
“Oh. Then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in the
Method.”
“Method? What’s that? What gives? You been holding
out on me or what?”
Jason spent a quarter hour outlining the Professor’s
way of winning at blackjack. Lance listened silently until Jason’s
retelling of his night of gambling before falling off the troop
ship into the Pacific. Then he slammed on the brakes and the tires’
skid marks snaked onto the road’s shoulder as the car shuddered to
a stop. He opened the door and began a war dance around the vehicle
and its passengers, who stared at each other and him. An imaginary
tomahawk cut the air as he hopped from foot to foot and yelled,
“Hee hi ho, huh, huh, huh” over and over. When Jason poked his head
out the window to say that Thelma was tired of sitting in the
101-degree heat, the fist holding the invisible tomahawk crashed
into his skull. It bounced off of the window frame but no blood
flowed.
“Ow. What did you hit me for?”
“Sorry.” Lance rubbed his hand. “I always do my war
dance with my eyes closed and didn’t see your head. Man, it sure is
hard. I sprained my hand when I clobbered you.”
“War dance?”
“Yeah. My grandma was full-blooded Huron so I’m
one-quarter Indian. My dance just declared all-out war on the
casinos. You and your Method are going to get me the victory, pale
face, because those dealers speak with forked tongues.” He turned
to Thelma. “Sorry about the hold up. You think you could drive
while Jason and me play some blackjack in the back seat?”
“Anything to get this heap moving so we at least have
some breeze.” Thelma hopped out and slid into the driver’s seat as
Jason and Lance moved to the back seat.
Jason dealt four piles of cards: his, Lance’s and two
for phantom players. As the cards dealt face up appeared he
explained how to calculate what cards remained in the deck. Six
hours and 482 hands later, Lance had the Method memorized.
14
Agent Bill Sampson, Army Counter-Intelligence Corps,
always reviewed past assignments as he traveled to his next one.
After starting his career as a flatfoot on the streets of Chicago,
he had moved to the fastest growing federal bureaucracy, the
Department of the Treasury, which was burdened with
radio, fan, and roaches. Thelma screamed at them as she smashed any
she spotted. Within five minutes her shoes’ soles were covered with
parts of their flattened corpses. After a year spent with monkeys,
birds, and rats as his only neighbors, Jason only noticed the
remnants of the insects his wife had crushed. Any that moved seemed
natural. He was likewise oblivious to her complaints about “our
sorry honeymoon.” Her new husband tried to compensate by making
love to her three times during their two-day stay in Laughlin. His
efforts coincided with Thelma’s cycle so that one of the millions
of his sperm produced during those two days penetrated one of her
approximately 70,000 eggs that she carried. But it would be a
couple of months before her missed periods and morning sickness
alerted Thelma to their honeymoon child.
Just as a good taxi driver should, Corporal Ivers
arrived promptly at the wedding chapel after his two days and
nights of gambling and carousing in Las Vegas. His downcast
features betrayed his empty wallet.
“You look lower than whale crap,” Jason said as Lance
drove south toward Route 66. Unwilling to endure any more short
timer fever, Thelma sought refuge in the back seat.
“You might say that. I went through my whole pay for
the month.”
“What did you play, the slot machines?”
“Nah. They’re all luck, just like the roulette wheel
and craps table. I stick with poker only. Now there’s a game that
takes real skill. Yes, sir. Give me three new cards, dealer, and
get ready to ante up.”
“What about blackjack?”
“Twenty-one? I tried it a couple times but kept right
on losing. With poker I come back to the base with a couple hundred
bucks sometimes.”
“Oh. Then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in the
Method.”
“Method? What’s that? What gives? You been holding
out on me or what?”
Jason spent a quarter hour outlining the Professor’s
way of winning at blackjack. Lance listened silently until Jason’s
retelling of his night of gambling before falling off the troop
ship into the Pacific. Then he slammed on the brakes and the tires’
skid marks snaked onto the road’s shoulder as the car shuddered to
a stop. He opened the door and began a war dance around the vehicle
and its passengers, who stared at each other and him. An imaginary
tomahawk cut the air as he hopped from foot to foot and yelled,
“Hee hi ho, huh, huh, huh” over and over. When Jason poked his head
out the window to say that Thelma was tired of sitting in the
101-degree heat, the fist holding the invisible tomahawk crashed
into his skull. It bounced off of the window frame but no blood
flowed.
“Ow. What did you hit me for?”
“Sorry.” Lance rubbed his hand. “I always do my war
dance with my eyes closed and didn’t see your head. Man, it sure is
hard. I sprained my hand when I clobbered you.”
“War dance?”
“Yeah. My grandma was full-blooded Huron so I’m
one-quarter Indian. My dance just declared all-out war on the
casinos. You and your Method are going to get me the victory, pale
face, because those dealers speak with forked tongues.” He turned
to Thelma. “Sorry about the hold up. You think you could drive
while Jason and me play some blackjack in the back seat?”
“Anything to get this heap moving so we at least have
some breeze.” Thelma hopped out and slid into the driver’s seat as
Jason and Lance moved to the back seat.
Jason dealt four piles of cards: his, Lance’s and two
for phantom players. As the cards dealt face up appeared he
explained how to calculate what cards remained in the deck. Six
hours and 482 hands later, Lance had the Method memorized.
14
Agent Bill Sampson, Army Counter-Intelligence Corps,
always reviewed past assignments as he traveled to his next one.
After starting his career as a flatfoot on the streets of Chicago,
he had moved to the fastest growing federal bureaucracy, the
Department of the Treasury, which was burdened with
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