Death and Professor Longfellow

Chapter 4: The Splendor of the Sin City

"I would think one should rather delay meeting you for as long as possible. If that means playing it as safe as possible, I suppose that's the trade-off."

"If you play it as safe as possible, what's the difference? You have no concept of adventure, but we'll fix that-that is, if you want to pass my first test," she concluded with a mischievous laugh that twisted a knot in his stomach. "Here we are!"

They pulled in front of a low-rise hotel with an elongated spade-shaped sign of red lights next to it. The top of the sign had gold letters framed in azure, and it read "Dunes." Longfellow felt slightly dizzy, as he couldn't place where this hotel belonged in a canyon of flashing lights. It was as though the universe curved around the Dunes like a bubble. He couldn't tell if it was nerves or something far grander-even supernatural-that lay outside his realm of expertise and imagination. Once they got closer, the unnatural queasiness brought on by the sight of the hotel passed through Longfellow. Death parked her car and tossed the keys to a valet. The valets gazed at her with their mouths open, trying to decide which was more beautiful, the lady or her ride.

"If you boys want to take her for a spin, it's no fun until you hit one hundred twenty." She winked at them.

"And remember to buckle your safety belts," the professor called after them as they sped off.

"Must you be such a delightful little fuddy-duddy?" Death tapped him on the nose.

"It's not fair to entice them. It's dangerous to tempt them to take risks like that."

"Nothing is just or equitable, except me. That's what makes living fair." She flung her brilliant orange mane over her shoulder and started to walk into the hotel.

"You might be an adorable little man, Robbie, but you're sounding like a broken record. Would you care to join me inside?" she beckoned.

"Don't leave me alone," he whimpered, scurrying after her.

Entering the lobby of the hotel, the same dizziness that struck Longfellow as he left the car hit him harder. He stumbled and fell but never hit the ground. Death was waiting for him, her arms outstretched. She wrapped her silky hands around him, bracing his collapse. His faced flushed in embarrassment for tripping and for being so physically close to a woman. It felt wonderful to be held, a sensation Longfellow had denied himself for an eternity. This was inappropriate. He straightened himself out and restored proper decorum.

"I must apologize. Is that blood loss getting to me?" he wondered aloud. The wound on his chest and stain on his shirt had vanished, as though they had never been there. It was wishful thinking. Longfellow felt no pain, but he knew he was still inches from shuffling off the mortal coil.

"Don't apologize, and don't look so embarrassed. It's my fault. This hotel was knocked down years ago. Bridging space and time can wreak havoc on your stationary canals."

"Did we just time travel?" Longfellow gasped. Looking around he noticed that everyone in the lobby was dressed in suits and dresses tailored from the fifties.

"Do I look like H.G. Wells? Though if I did, you probably wouldn't have enjoyed falling into my arms so much," she taunted. The bashful professor looked at his penny loafers, as she continued, "Think of this more as a memory. When something dies, it's gone, never to return-save for one or two exceptions."

"And what about me?" he worried. Was it too much to ask to be one of the exceptions?

"Well, my lamb, I haven't been entirely honest. You're only mostly dead."

"Mostly dead?" He pondered the term, looking again to where his wound had been. It was a juvenile line that sounded vaguely familiar to the old man. A sprig of hope flowered somewhere in his dusty, moldy mind. Hope was a sentiment he had outgrown decades ago.

"Now come on. We're going to be late for the game." She led him through the crowd to an elevator. Longfellow squirmed awkwardly, brushing through the people. He was relieved once they entered the elevator.

"So everyone here is just a memory?" he asked her, as she hummed to the dull elevator music.

"You know, I didn't really put much thought into it," she mused. "Why?"

"If my memory serves me correctly, organized crime had a great deal of involvement in the Dunes. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."

"Oh, poor, old, silly Robbie. What's the mob going to do to you while you're with me? Make you only mostly dead again?" She giggled charmingly. The elevator came to a stop at the top floor, opening into a sprawling penthouse suite that was filled with smoke. The boisterous sounds of laughter and argument came from beyond. A group of people with stacks of chips sat around a crescent-shaped table. A professional dealer shuffled a deck of cards and tossed them to the players.

"We'd better hurry. They started without us." Death took the professor's hand and pulled him into the smoke-filled room.

"That's the challenge of my life? You want me to play cards?" Longfellow remarked, raising an eyebrow. He vaguely knew the rules of the game. Bets were placed based on the assumption that your combination of cards was better than your opponents' cards. It was all played by statistical chances and long-shot likelihoods. Odds could be improved by a savvy player's bluffing. Longfellow knew himself, and regardless of what he was dealt, he was playing with a weak hand.

"Put on your best poker face, my lamb, because I don't want you to just play cards. I want you to win."

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