Collected: Volume 1: Short Stories and Tales, #1

By M. K. Dreysen

Reader: herein find six short stories,
little tales to light your way.
Explorations of the dark; with a few
adventures of the day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. K. Dreysen
• Release date: Feb 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393335252

Book preview

Collected, Volume 1

Collected Short Stories and Tales

By M. K. Dreysen

All Stories Copyright © 2020 M. K. Dreysen

Base Cover Image Assorted Tarot Cards on Table by Alina Vilchenko from Pexels

Cover Graphic Design, made with Gimp by M. K. Dreysen and Aimward Drift Publications

Aimward Drift Publications. Visit aimwarddrift.blogspot.com for news, updates, and upcoming stories.

Dedication

Family, friends, readers: they're always stories for you.

Opening Bid

wander down, trailer down, she sells and buys and dances. Behind the carriage-way, below the Ferris wheel, look for her. You know she's there.

Old days, curtains and candles and ouija boards, cards and crystals and the artifice of the Gypsy.

It's been a while since she had to play up that nonsense. Oh, there are places, people, old men, you'd be surprised, who think they're still going to the Gypsy. Vietnam vets, these days.

Old gamblers still come in. The journeyman's respect for the master. When the carnival comes to town, any town within a few miles of the Strip, she gets them, two three maybe four a day, especially when there's a big tournament on.

She doesn't sell them anything. Well, not a lot. Just a little.

To keep her hooks in. Old gamblers were young gamblers. once. They had dreams. once. They brought them to her, those dreams. They brought them to her, in these back alley dealings. They brought them to her, released those dreams.

Released them to wander her tent, flow through the cards settle. Hidden, in the bag she carries everywhere. Red velvet, when she's in London. Leather in Albuquerque, worked cowhide. Black leather in Sturgis. Studded Black Leather in San Francisco. (There was a time, decades ago, when whalebone featured, but the West Coast took a turn somewhere. About the time she met a young man named Manson. But that's another story.)

The bag holds dreams. Used to be, souls. But the world doesn't believe in souls. No matter. She doesn't name that held in her bag. Names hold power. She doesn't seek power.

She seeks... The thrill of selling the best way to pick a lottery ticket.

The pattern you need to pick numbers on a roulette wheel, under a full moon, in August, but only when the high temperature's less than 104 degrees, if it's warmer than that you need a slightly different system...

The Keno strategy, the craps approach, how to spot when the fix is in at the Kentucky Derby...

How to... When to... What order...

The system that masters the chaos. Fifty-fifty chance? No, of course not, not if you master the techniques. Not if you have faith in her.

The trailer's an old one, beat up, rusted. Miles and miles. She sets out an awning, when the weather allows it.

When the weather doesn't cooperate, her doors are closed. There're very few souls worth getting her carpet wet for. That's a stink that lingers, in an old trailer.

The truck pulling the trailer's not so old. It's an impossible combination to find; plain vanilla on the surface, everything underneath high end.

An old client, one of the few who'd known when to cash out and run, owns a car dealership, three states over and south. He knows how to work the system, so whenever she needs wheels, clean and quiet and powerful, there's only one place to go.

She's looking for new clients today.

The carnival takes an old route made new, these days. Once upon a time, Louisiana had been a gambling state. Every grocery store had its slot machines. But then there'd been some small upset, and the Long Boys had managed to get their balls in a vice.

Pennies have a way of turning up; the thrill wasn't gone, just merely forgotten.

The surge of new casinos was gone. Now, there were only the well established.

Kind of like her. The ones who knew how to carefully fleece, er, allow their own clients to bathe in the joy of numbers and odds, and let themselves float away on the rush, the thrill of competition.

So it's Contraband Days, just up from the coast in Lake Charles, and the carnival's set up, funnel cakes and beer, popcorn, cotton candy, oh the smells... The wind's helping today, that little bit of salt water to enhance and tease. The carnival's set up in the parking lot at the north end of the civic center. A good walk from just about anywhere. Take off down the seawall, where the lake rolls in, or head off downtown. Either way, there's traffic to feed the beast.

Roller coaster, little ferris wheel, rides and games and hey mister, wanna win a teddy bear for the lady? Salt on the breeze, salt in the popcorn machine, big plastic margarita glasses and frozen lemonade, depending on your age or powers of persuasion.

And, because it's a carnival, a few scams, here and there. Nothing major, there are always a few people who aren't in on the gag, that's all.

Even she doesn't really believe that her patrons aren't in on the gag. How many people can really believe that the games that drive us, fascinate us, aren't rigged?

I mean really, all you have to do is watch the evening news, and you can see how they're rigged. Day after day, them what has gets, everybody else gets screwed? Right?

And they're only coming to her for that little hope. That brief, fleeting idea they know, down deep in their heart of hearts, just isn't true, any more than in any other story. But might be, on a good day, we can occasionally be in the right place at the right time.

Like when both of the major lotteries are north of four hundred million and rising.

She's got a line in front of the trailer. Most of them don't hide the blank lottery tickets, blue and green or red. They're almost all ecumenical.

Until she asks them, deep in their heart, wouldn't they rather play the one, over the other? Play the Powerball? It's hot for you today, can't you feel it?

Or maybe, just for you, step outside, listen to the breeze... Doesn't it just whisper Mega Millions, or am I just hearing things?

Lady Luck has her share of favorites, after all. You'd hate to show up and not be playing her tune. There's an awful lot of money, sitting there, calling your name today.

The drawings are this weekend. Friday night, then Saturday night.

It's Thursday night, now. Just before sundown. The mini marts, the gas stations and the brown bag shops, the grocery stores and the liquor stores, there's a line at all of them.

She's set up under her awning. Part of the drama here, she doesn't even have a cash drawer, no tin box to make change out of. Whatever you give her, it disappears into her cleavage. And she's happy to give you a shot, a good long look, whoever you are.

And if you need change, and cringe a little, at the sweaty bills she hands you?

Well, that's your problem, kid, move on and give the next one in line her turn to get a view of the goods.

Scan through the line, the one stretching around past the beer wagon and the funnel cake stand, and you get a view of humanity in all its infinite variety. All the people, short and loud, big and quiet, grandmas and grandkids and the junkies and the straights. Everyone with an interest in close on a billion dollars, and the view to a system to win it.

Scan up the front of the line, past the big dude, shaved head, Harley gear, chaps and headscarf. His boyfriend's wandering the carnival with a carnation on his lapel and a matching set of chaps, in purple leather 'cause they're his Mardi Gras parade gear, and his LSU