Chapter 6 Your So Unlucky

Night had fallen. Jack heard the screech of brakes outside, followed by the harsh creak of a car door swinging open. A body tumbled out onto the hard ground, landing with a sickening thud. The door slammed shut, and tires spun against gravel as the car peeled away into the darkness. Jack bolted outside, his bare feet pressed against the cold porch steps. He found his father sprawled in the dirt. Jack rushed to his father's side.

"Help me, boy," Frank whispered, his voice ragged with pain.

Jack propped his father's arm over his shoulder, straining under the weight, and half-dragged him to the kitchen table, easing him into the nearest chair.

"Boy, get my kit and grab the tape and the gauze," Frank said, wincing. "Hey, go get me the whiskey too."

"Yes sir." Jack's hands trembled as he moved, though he had learned long ago not to ask questions.

"You still there?" Frank called out, his words slurring at the edges.

"I'm here, Dad. Just getting the gauze."

"Hurry it up, boy. Hurts like hell."

"What happened out there?"

"Never you mind what happened. Just fix me up."

Jack knelt beside the chair, unwinding the gauze with unsteady fingers. "Is it Mr. Ricky again?"

Frank's eyes snapped open, sharp despite the pain. "I said never mind. You ask too many questions."

"Sorry, Dad."

"Just wrap it and shut your trap."

Jack worked in silence for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time. "Dukes isn't with you anymore, is he?"

Frank let out a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "No. No, he ain't. And that's the whole problem, isn't it? Ricky won't give me another man. Thinks I can do it all myself now."

"Can't you tell him you need help?"

"You don't tell Ricky anything, boy. You do what he says, when he says it, or you end up like - " Frank stopped himself, shaking his head. "Forget it."

"How much do you still owe him?"

Frank's jaw tightened. "Half. I got half of what those bastards owed, and that ain't gonna cut it. A week gone already, and I'm still short."

"What happens if you don't get the rest?"

"Then it comes down on us both, that's what happens." Frank grabbed Jack's wrist, hard enough to bruise. "You understand me? Both of us."

"I understand."

"Good." Frank released him, sinking back into the chair. "There's only one way outta this now."

"What way?"

"I'm gonna go to the casino. Double what I got left, and we're square. Simple as that."

Jack hesitated, the gauze still in his hands. "Is that a good idea? After last time?"

Frank's eyes flashed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to strike, then let it fall. "Don't you start with me. I know what I'm doing. I feel lucky tonight."

"Okay, Dad. Whatever you say."

"That's right. Whatever I say." Frank closed his eyes. "Now pour me that whiskey and let me rest before I go."

---

The casino sat north of Little Gotham, built out over the water, its massive neon sign blinking the words HANDS ON CASINO into the dark. Lights swept across the sky from somewhere atop the building, restless beams cutting through the falling snow. The snow came down hard, blanketing the road until Frank could barely make out where the pavement ended and the shoulder began; he steered by memory more than sight, following the faint ruts other cars had carved into the white before him. The parking lot, too, lay smothered beneath a thick, undisturbed layer of snow. He pulled into the first open spot, cut the engine, and killed the lights. Grabbing his hat from the passenger seat, he set it low over his brow. Wind howled in off the water, sharp and biting, and his coat snapped and fluttered as he walked toward the entrance, where two bouncers stood waiting like sentries.

"Whoa." Both men raised their hands, blocking his path.

"Hey guys, how are you doing?" Frank said, forcing a grin.

"Franky, you know you shouldn't be doing this," one of them said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, you have the worst luck," the other added.

"Come on, guys, it's me."

"I'm just trying to help you out. You owe the boss a lot of money."

"Yeah, do you really think you should be taking chances?"

"I feel lucky," Frank said, though something flickered behind his eyes that suggested otherwise.

They finally stepped aside and let him through. Behind him, the two men kept talking.

"He's an idiot," one muttered, lighting the other's cigarette.

"What can we do?" the second replied with a shrug.

Inside, Frank shed his coat and handed it to a waiting attendant, revealing a sharp pinstriped suit beneath. The slot machines rang out in a constant, dizzying chorus as he approached the counter and traded cash for chips, then made his way to the poker table and sat down. A waitress drifted over, her smile practiced and warm.

"What can I start you with, Franky?"

"I'll take two shots of whiskey, sweetie."

He flipped over his cards - a pair of kings, then, moments later, a three of a kind. The draw brought him two more kings, and he took the first hand with a satisfied smirk. The waitress returned with his drinks, and he shot back the first, riding the small victory, and doubled his bet on the next hand. This time he had nothing. He drank the second shot anyway, the burn doing little to dull the sting of the loss. The dealer, watching him closely, finally spoke up.

"Frank, maybe you should hold off on drinking."

"Are you saying that I can't hold my liquor?" Frank snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm not saying that. I just don't want you to lose all your money, that's all."

"It's my money. So mind your own business. Just deal." He tapped the table twice, hard.

"Okay, Franky. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Frank, furious now, refused to listen. He kept drinking, shot after shot, and the more he drank, the more he lost, his stack of chips dwindling with each hand. Loose-tongued and reckless, he began rambling at anyone within earshot.

"Hey pal, do you have kids?" he asked a stranger beside him.

"What?" the man said, startled.

"Kids. Do you have them?"

"Well, my wife and I were thinking of having some. Why?"

"Don't," Frank said, leaning in close, his breath thick with whiskey. "You'll regret it, I'm telling you."

"Why's that?"

"When I was your age, my wife and I were happy. We were young and in love. There was no one else for me. Our lives were simple, easy - and then one day she got pregnant, and she didn't want me near her anymore. She was all about the kid. There was no time for us." Frank's voice cracked, bitterness pooling beneath the words. "That little bastard ruined my life. It started with the crying. Then the long nights. She only cared about him. Not only did I have to clothe him, I had to feed him. Now my money burns before I can even touch it. So don't ruin your life."

"I see," the man said carefully, looking at Frank as though he might be dangerous. He rose and drifted toward the blackjack table, eager to put distance between them.

Frank only grew louder, his voice carrying across the floor until it caught the attention of Carlo, the casino manager. Carlo's brow furrowed in surprise at the sight of him, and he stepped away to call Mr. Ricky.

"Who's this?"

"It's me, Carlo."

"Hey, Carlo, what's going on?"

"Guess who's here at the casino."

"I don't know. Who?"

"Franky."

"Ah, that stupid idiot. What is he doing now?"

"He's sitting at the poker table."

"Good. I want you to shadow him, okay? Put someone at his table. Have them ask questions."

"Yes, sir."

Carlo hung up and sent over a woman to sit beside Frank. She slid into the empty chair with practiced ease, and Frank, dazed by drink, couldn't help but stare.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, her smile unreadable.

"It's always nice when a man compliments a woman."

"Ma'am, you're a woman deserving of such a compliment." She smiled again, wider this time.

"Hi, I'm Lila." She offered her hand.

"Hi, Lila. I'm Frank," he said, taking it.

"So what does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?"

"What's your poison, darling?"

"I'll take a martini."

Frank snapped his fingers, and the waitress came hurrying over.

"Hey, sweetie, I'll take a martini and another whiskey."

"Okay, Frank."

"So, Frank," Lila said, swirling her drink once it arrived, "what brings a man like you out on a night like this?"

"Business," Frank muttered. "Ricky's business."

"Sounds serious."

"You have no idea. I collected half of what that man wanted. Half. And I already lost that at this table."

"That's terrible. So what are you going to do?"

"Do?" Frank laughed, low and humorless. "I'm gonna win it back. Tonight. One way or another."

"You seem awfully sure."

"I gotta be sure. Tonight was supposed to be my last night of fun before I face the music." He drained his glass. "Nothing to lose now."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," Lila said, though her glass, Frank never noticed, remained untouched.

Eventually Frank slumped over the bar, unconscious, and Lila slipped away without a backward glance to report everything to Carlo. Carlo relayed it all to Mr. Ricky, whose fury flared instantly down the phone line.

"He lost it? All of it?"

"All of it, sir. Drank himself stupid, too."

"That idiot. Throw him out. Now."

"Yes, sir."

Ricky ordered Carlo to throw Frank out of the casino at once, and Carlo, ever obedient, carried out the order without hesitation.