1
Don’t do it, Ethan Caustin thought. Don’t you dare do it. You’ll hate yourself.
He shouldn’t have even brought his credit cards into the casino. Hell, he shouldn’t have gone in here in the first place. He should have been the kind of person who learned from his horrible mistakes. The kind of person who didn’t lose several thousand dollars that he couldn’t come anywhere close to being able to afford. The kind of person who knew that “I’ll spend fifty bucks, maximum, and if I lose it all, I’m done” was a lie.
This whole business trip was a mistake. The hotel where he was staying didn’t have a casino, but it was a quick walk to the nearest one. The trip wasn’t mandatory. They could’ve found somebody else to go in his place. Somebody who wouldn’t destroy their life.
Don’t get a cash advance. Don’t take the card out of your wallet. Go back to your hotel.
There was a 1-800 number displayed that he could call for gambling addiction. He wondered if they could talk him out of sticking his credit card into the machine the same way somebody on the other end might talk somebody out of leaping off a tall building.
Leaping off a building didn’t sound so bad right now.
Jenny was going to kill him.
Or just be heartbroken. Give him a look of pity, or a look of disgust. She’d wonder how she had the misfortune of marrying a loser with absolutely no self-control. Gambling wasn’t even fun. It’s not like he was enjoying himself as he played the high roller slot machines. Sure, there was an adrenaline rush when he won, but the experience wasn’t fun. He could’ve spent way less and took a ride on the zipline.
He needed to take another look at the note again.
Normally he kept it tucked into his wallet, but he’d put it in his pocket after reading it several times since walking into the casino. A faded note on hotel stationary, written to himself eight years ago.
Dear Ethan,
This is to remind you of how utterly shitty you feel right now. The self-loathing might fade, but right now you’d give anything to be able to take it all back. Remember this feeling the next time you want to throw away money in a slot machine. YOU ARE MISERABLE.
The note had worked in the past. Not today.
He looked at it again.
It was, of course, too late. The damage was done.
Don’t get a cash advance.
The conundrum here was that putting his credit card into the machine offered a chance for redemption. He could win it all back. And honestly, with as much as he’d lost, did a little more even matter?
“Honey, I lost seven thousand dollars,” would not get him in less trouble than “Honey, I lost nine thousand dollars.” Ten thousand was worse, sure. That was a whole new level. But if he kept it under ten, there was no real difference between seven thousand and nine thousand. If he stopped now, he’d have to tearfully confess to Jenny that he lost the seven grand. If he kept going, he might not have to confess anything.
It was ridiculous to stop now, when he could still fix this.
His luck was bound to turn around. How long could his losing streak possibly last?
He’d have to be an idiot not to get the cash advance.
No.
He was trying to justify further appalling behavior. He needed to quit now. He needed to walk right the hell out of this casino, call his wife, and tell her everything. She’d forgive him. He had a problem. He was sick. She’d have to forgive him.
He slid his credit card into the ATM.
Ethan sat on a stool in front of a slot machine he wasn’t playing, sipping a flavorless free drink. He wanted to throw up. He had quit before his losses topped ten grand, so at least he had that tiny little speck of self-control...though he hadn’t actually left the casino yet. There was still time to ruin his life even more.
He set the drink down, stood up, and slowly made his way toward the casino exit. Wherever that was. They didn’t make it easy to find your way out. He’d call Jenny as soon as he left—he didn’t think it would be good for her to listen to his confession with the chimes and music of slot machines playing in the background.
He could barely walk. He’d only had half a drink, though. At least he wasn’t an alcoholic.
How the hell did he get out of this place? It was a frickin’ maze.
“Hey,” somebody said to him.
Ethan glanced over. It was a man, maybe thirty, immaculately groomed and nicely dressed in a dark grey suit. “Yeah?”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Ethan continued on his way, wherever that was. The man walked up next to him.
“I can fix your problem.”
“What problem?”
“You look like you’re sick to your stomach. You’ve got haunted eyes. It’s not an uncommon look around these parts. You lost more than you can afford.”
Ethan let out a snort. “You could say that.”
“How much?”
“None of your business.”
“Five hundred?”
“I wish.”
“A thousand?”
“I said it’s none of your business. I’m not interested in a high-interest loan, sorry.”
“It’s not a loan,” said the man. “It’s a game.”
“I’m all out of gambling money.”
“There’s no buy-in.”
“Then what’s the scam?”
The man smiled and extended his hand. “My name’s Rick Murray. I’m play-testing a game that could recoup all of your losses ten minutes from now. No financial risk to you whatsoever. You will not lose another penny. Maybe I misinterpreted your facial expression and body language, but you look like somebody who is truly desperate. Am I wrong?”
Ethan was silent for a moment. “No, you’re not wrong.”
“Then come with me.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. This is becoming kind of creepy, so if you truly want to help me out, you can direct me to the exit of this funhouse. Otherwise, I’m not interested.”
“Straight ahead, then left at the blackjack tables, keep going in that direction until you reach the wall, then take a right and go past the dollar slots until you see the exit to the left.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not taking you down any dark alleys or luring you into a basement,” said Rick. “It’s a small office two buildings down. Totally safe. If I meant to do you harm, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you somewhere with cameras all over the place.”
“Still, it’s creepy. You have to admit that it’s creepy, right?”
“I won’t go so far as to use the word creepy. I will concede that it sounds like a scam. But I’ll also say that if I were going to prey upon somebody, I’d go after a big winner, not somebody who just lost his life savings. You look emotionally destroyed. I wouldn’t be able to squeeze any more money out of you.”
“Then it’s sex trafficking or something.”
“I feel like any response to that could be taken as an unintentional insult.”
“Like I said, I’m not interested. Thanks again for the directions.”