Riley's Game

By Hal Stephens

Riley always wins at the casinos. The machines are good for him, but they bore him now. Now he plays a different game, a game with different and more exciting stakes than any bet. Risking everything, Riley plays his game one more time before a surprise points him in an entirely new direction.

"Automatically, Riley divided the people into anonymous groups:
First, there were spry seniors making tiny bets with their Social Security and pension money. These were the smart ones; they enjoyed the games, but came to play only after they had paid their bills. They were the ones playing in groups of two or three. They laughed a lot, ordered the free soft drinks, played and usually earned enough reward-points to eat on the casino's dime.
Then there were the grim-faced fifty- and the sixty-somethings. They were usually alone. If there was a couple, only one played while the other suffered silently. Addicted, ruled by their need for action they ignored everything around them. Determined, flirting with disaster, they would play through the early hours of the morning – all the way to closing if they could – spending every last dollar in their pocket, in their account, in their future. They would leave despairing, desparate, dissatisfied. The arguments would start in the car and last beyond bed time.
Though it was rather early for them to appear, Riley saw some youngsters, kids in their early twenties who had come to the casino on a lark. This was their experiment with fast living. They would drink, and play, and whoop it up until the wee hours of the morning. In the sober dawn, most of them would wake, hungover, wondering why they wasted so much money. Most would never return. Some would come back, not often, and only on a social basis. A few of these would find themselves coming again and again. And they would come alone, eating up the prime years of their careers, falling further and further behind until life became a shuttle between work and casino, with the latter consuming more and more of their lives.
It was this group, that sought this fine evening.
Riley prowled on."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tall Tale Depot, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463250914

Book preview

Riley's Game

by

Hal Stephens

Copyright 2020 Harold S. Brown

All rights reserved.

Published by Tall Tale Depot, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All persons depicted in this fiction are consenting adults over the age of eighteen, as required by federal law.

Riley, expecting good things, entered the casino just before sunset. The entrance was jammed and the parking shuttles were stacked up like Laguardia. Riley patiently waded through the the shuffling madness, slipping expertly between the lumbering seniors on a mission for money, escapees from nearby assisted living facilities and senior centers. Riley was prodded by canes and had his foot bruised by a walker or two. Someone pinched his ass as he slipped by. Riley did not mind too much, he was on a mission, too. What he hoped to win tonight was worth more to him than any jackpot – though he would win his share of those, too.

Inside, as the crowd dispersed into the huge gaming floor, Riley hit a wall of noise and flashing lights. The machines gibbered at him, their voices punctuated with bells, whistles and whatnot. Riley's ears adjusted quickly as he listened to the songs of the machines. He smiled cheerily at the crowd of machines and humanity and marched forth.

No need to hit the ATM; he had a large wad of twenties and hundreds folded deep in his pocket. He resisted the momentary urge to go to the first slot-machine – despite its coquettish come-on of music and lights – he saw and plug a note into its bill-feeder. Instead, he began his prowl. Behind him, the machine gave a sour note of lament, bt he did not return.

Moving left, Riley stalked the carrels of machines. More than half were already occupied. Automatically, Riley divided the people into anonymous groups:

First, there were spry seniors making tiny bets with their Social Security and pension money. These were the smart ones; they