“They’re out to get me,” I mumbled.
Mac the Elder chuckled, looked up from the Racing Form, and peered at me over the rims of his bifocals. “Who?”
“The horses,” I said. “They’re out to get me. Won’t come in for shit.”
“If it was that easy,” he said, “they wouldn’t call it gambling.”
I nodded and turned my attention back to the small television above the bar. It was showing the races at Santa Anita in Southern California. I’d lost on the last three races; in the one that had just ended my pick came in fourth. The pile of ripped up racing tickets was getting bigger. So was my bar tab. I looked at my money and considered whether or not I should risk another race.
Whenever I lose I remember what the problem is; I won early. The second race I ever bet on I won on a long shot and a three dollar bet turned into $250. People who win early and get a taste for that adrenaline rush have a hard time giving it up. While it’s true that anybody who knows anything about gambling knows two things – 1) that the house always wins, and 2) you end up losing more than you’ll ever win – that never stops us early winners from believing down deep that these rules of nature don’t apply to us. We learn to justify our losings and winnings through the inexact science of the Racing Form – but in the end, all the numbers, the jockey ratings, the horse lineages, and past performance rates mean only what we want them to mean. When we win, it’s because we were smart or lucky or both; when we lose, it’s always the jockey, the horse, or the condition of the track.
“I need to stop picking nags,” I said. “Every horse I picked today’ll end up in a glue factory.”
“Dog food,” Mac the Elder replied, distracted by his own prestidigitation over the stats of the next race.
“Huh?”
“Dog food,” he said. “They don’t make glue out of horses. They still make dog food, though.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure why dog food was an acceptable alternative to glue or horsehair brushes; I suspected that some animal rights activist was involved. That’s usually why arbitrary rules are made – some well-meaning idealist wants to change one little thing to make the world a better place. All that usually happens, though, is that when the one little thing is actually changed, it’s changed to something just as arbitrary but more politically expedient. Like using horse meat in dog food instead of glue and horse hooves in jello. Or trying to improve carbon emissions in cars by adding the catalytic converter – which really only changed the exhaust into a different toxic gas that isn’t considered as threatening as CO2.
The next race wasn’t looking friendly. There weren’t any strong horses and the field was pretty thin. So was my money. And another weekly rent payment was due in a couple of days. Instead of placing a bet I decided to step out on the covered patio and smoke. I was down to four cigarettes. Fuck. I reminded myself to make them last through the following day.
It’s a pain in the ass to have to ration out cigarettes – but they were so goddamn expensive. One of those arbitrary things. People decide to worry about the health impact of smoking and raise the price to convince people not to smoke. On the other hand, I knew I could get a bag of weed for a decent price – if I wanted. One of the advantages of being so close to the border was that, at least, the drugs were cheap. Weed and pills, especially. The cops and politicians were all worried about suburban and exurban white kids smoking crystal meth – which meant they tended to ignore the habits of the less affluent until some random crime spree broke out that scared all the people in their gated communities into threatening to vote someone else into office. Even with the frequent news of large drug busts at the border, it was still cheaper to get weed than it was to buy cigarettes or booze.
Life used to be cheaper. When I first got my driver’s license, gas was eighty-nine cents a gallon; I used to think it was funny when my parents complained about it. I used to be able to buy a pack of decent generic smokes for a dollar and name brand for a buck and a half. A twelve ounce can of Coke was fifty cents. It wasn’t until I heard myself complain about these things that I realized I was facing one of the foundational rules of civilization – eventually, most of us get priced out of existence. Survival of the fittest meant survival of the richest. All those things I learned as a kid – all those axioms I absorbed in church and in badly written ABC After School Specials were bullshit. The one with the most toys does win – because that means they have the stuff everybody else couldn’t afford to get. Decent food. Nice clothes. Nice House. Health insurance.
“Hey man – can you spare one of those?”
I looked up. Artie was standing there, smiling. He was short and pale and reminded me of a mole. He wore these round wire framed glasses that were taped together at the nose, and he always looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks. Whenever I saw him, he always conveniently forgot that he owed me $50 from the Superbowl. When I reminded him, he would make up some excuse and tell me he’d pay me when he got paid again.
“Hey man,” I said. “You got my fifty bucks?”
“Aw, come on, man,” he said. “You know I’m good for it… I just had to pay some bills. When I get paid again…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I shook my head. “You’ll pay me when you get paid. I’ve that one before.”
He seemed offended. He always seemed offended. “Hey, listen…”
“No,” I interrupted him. I wasn’t in the mood. “You listen. I got bills too, asshole. I got problems. I lost my ass on the NCAA finals, but I paid my debts anyway. The Superbowl was SIX months ago. And you still owe me fifty bucks.”
He was sweating. “But…”
“No buts,” I said. If you ever want SHIT from me besides a kick in the balls, give me my fifty bucks. And don’t look at me like I’m robbing you. You made the bet, remember? You’re lucky I’m not Dino. I hear he charges interest.” I blew smoke in Artie’s face. “I even heard that he turned out one chick who couldn’t pay him back. She’s still paying off the interest giving old men blow jobs down on 40th and Central.”
I could tell by the look on his face that he was familiar with Dino’s collection tactics; there probably wasn’t a bookie in the east valley Artie didn’t owe money to. And he must have believed me, because instead of answering, he dug into his pockets and pulled out some cash. He smoothed it out and counted it carefully. “This is my last fifty bucks,” he said, offering it to me. Actually, it was more like a dare – a pathetic, whiny, stupid dare.
When I grabbed the money from his hand and counted it, he looked surprised by my lack of humanity. “It’s Thursday, right?” I asked. “That means you get paid tomorrow, right?”
He nodded his head weakly. I finished my cigarette and was about to go back inside and pay my tab when he asked. “So can I have that cigarette?”
I was about to tell him that I was out; but he looked so goddamn desperate. I didn’t feel bad enough to give him the fifty back; but I did give him one of my last three smokes. He smiled, thanked me, and shuffled off.
When I went back to my seat, Mac the Elder was just returning from the window. “You win?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah. This is my last race, though. Gotta get home. What about you? You done for the day?”
I looked up at the screen. It was five minutes until the next race at Santa Anita. Longer field. Stronger looking horses. It was tempting. But I was still short. The money I got from Artie would barely pay the weekly rent. That wouldn’t leave me much for the other necessities. After my tab, I’d still need to find a few more bucks somewhere just to make it til the end of next week. Getting my money from Artie was probably as good as it was going to get. I nodded. “I’m done,” I said. “No point in throwing good money after bad.”
After I paid my tab and said my goodbyes to Mac the Elder, I walked out. Mac the Younger – the son of Mac the Elder – passed me in the parking lot. He waved. I waved. I got to the end of the parking lot, turned right on the sidewalk next to the 7-11. I missed the light, and while I was waiting for the signal to change, I looked behind me. Artie was standing against the back wall of the 7-11, cornered by Dino. Dino wasn’t a very scary looking guy – but Artie was a flea in comparison. Clearly the conversation wasn’t going well. I put my hand in my pocket and felt the fifty bucks. It almost felt heavy. Then the light changed, and I crossed the street and made my way back to my room. When I got there, Loyce was sitting out in front of her room in one of the cheap plastic chairs that used to sit around the drained swimming pool. “Hey baby,” she said when she saw me. “You wouldn’t have a smoke, would ya?” I got out my pack, gave her one of my last two, and let her borrow my lighter. She sucked the smoke in with relief and closed her eyes. “Thanks, baby.”
“Not a problem,” I answered. Then I turned around, went into my room, locking the door behind me.
