Death and Professor Longfellow

Chapter 6: The Rules to Win

"Wait. We're in the middle of a game. At least wait until the next hand," Longfellow protested.

"Robbie, I decided that this game might be a touch on the easy side for you. For such a big prize, you have to sweat a bit more. I wanted you to prove yourself against a whole myriad of challenges. Without Lefty here to grace us with his unique brand of drunken fortune and tenacity, I'm afraid we've got a royal flush without an ace. Four cards in a row-suited-amount to potential but not much else."

"Muffy, Donny, don't I have a point?" Longfellow looked for backup. His two remaining opponents shook their heads. They appreciated her presence at the table. He was the only one who seemed to mind.

"If we are betting her name, his voice, and my title, what are you betting?" Longfellow pointed an accusatory finger at the red-haired woman.

"Simple, my lamb, the most valuable thing any of you could want. My departure...at least for now."

"The lady's bet is valid," the dealer confirmed.

"But that's not fair," Longfellow complained.

"Life's a pain in the butt, Robbie, and consequently so am I." She practically cackled.

The dealer gave Death two cards face up-an ace and a king.

"Twenty-one!" she squealed in delight, kicking her feet up. Longfellow felt dizzy. It was the same sensation he'd felt driving into the Dunes in the first place.

"But we're playing poker-"

"My lamb, we're playing blackjack. We always have been." She talked to the old man with pandering sweetness-a saccharin and juvenile tone, beneath his station. Longfellow's dizziness passed. All the players' cards were face up.

"Hit me," Donny's subtitles commanded. The dealer added a ten to his seven and five. He shrugged, subtitling, "It was worth the ride."

"I should know better than this, my dear, but, carpe diem, they say." Muffy had a pair of queens, and only an ace would give her twenty-one.

Longfellow suspected that this wasn't the way to play blackjack, but that didn't stop the dealer from handing Muffy a four and destroying her chances of winning.

"The last one is you, my lamb. You have a pair of eights. That means if you get a five or lower, you win."

"But, this isn't right!" he cried. "We were playing poker. I was going to win. I had three of a kind!"

"Times change. Adapt or lose everything," Death said, mocking him.

"I'm not going to play if you're not going to play fair."

"I am playing fair, Robbie, my sweet. I always do."

"You're cheating!" The old man's voice cracked.

"Sir, I can assure you that our hostess is abiding by the rules. She wrote them after all," the dealer said, interrupting Longfellow's cries. It silenced his tantrum, like sending a bratty child to his room.

"I see all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others," Longfellow sighed. "Hit me." A two came out. "That doesn't add up to twenty one. Hit me again, I suppose." The next card was a five.

"Mr. Longfellow busts. The game goes to the redhead in black."

Death clicked her heels and clapped her hands in giddy, juvenile joy. She scooped up the chips, and the penthouse suite disappeared. The players and dealers were replaced with a fading image that was quickly becoming invisible. All that was left was the poker table in a dim beam of light. A smoky, ill-defined field of shadows surrounded them. Death opened her purse and dropped Muffy Meredith's slip of paper into it. The light narrowed, and what was left of the nameless heiress faded into the dark. Death brought the covered glass to her blood-colored lips and threw it back, like she was taking a shot. The remainder of Donny Jake's the silent lounge singer, disappeared in the shadows. It left only Longfellow, Death, and the teacher-of-the-year ring between them. He whimpered, as her fingers crawled across the table toward the ring. Slipping it on her finger, she savored her victory, as though it were a last drop of water in the desert or the last glimmer of summer sun before the winter.

The good professor was a professor no longer. He sat on the ground, dispirited and defeated. Death whistled, and her red convertible appeared in an adjacent beam of light. Longfellow didn't question how it had driven itself into the inky void.

"Come along, my lamb. It's time to go," Death cheerfully called. The old man stood, dragging his feet to the passenger side and slouching in his seat. "I've seen that look before on you, Robbie. You had it on the bus earlier tonight. Don't worry. I won't tell the casino's commissioners that you were betting something you didn't have."

He didn't respond. Death revved the engine and floored the ignition. They sped from the void back to the Las Vegas strip. The glimmering electronic signs and the neon flash and substance seemed larger now-a cage built of sparkling glass that stretched from the Earth to the stars.

"I haven't decided if you're giving me the silent treatment or if you've gone catatonic." Death rubbed his arm with affection. "I see, neither-it's both. Well, my lamb, it's not over until the fat lady sings and all the headlining performers in town are starving themselves thin. I suppose I should take it as a compliment. To get people lining up for them, they're all lining up for me."

"Can you please stop with the cruel humor? You shouldn't taunt the foolhardy risks the young take." It made him think of his student's suicide a few years earlier. The way Death gazed at him, he felt as though she were reading his mind.

"Why not, my lamb? They're all just tempting me to."

"Don't you understand how serious you should be?"

"Robbie, you're the one who doesn't understand. I'm better than Bond. I always win. I can count cards. The deck is stacked in my favor, and I have every casino in town under my thumb. It doesn't matter what game you play or who you playing with. Death always takes the pot. It's not that unfair. It's the way the world runs. It keeps the atoms spinning in the right direction. Now don't pout. Don't cry. Just because I win in the end doesn't mean you shouldn't play. In fact, I'm the reason you should play."

"Why should I, when it's rigged against me?"

"For the best reason in the whole-wide universe: It's fun. If you can honestly tell me that you weren't having fun almost beating Muffy, Avery, and Donny, then I'll return you to your life right now. No questions asked."

The old man crossed his arms and scowled. He couldn't lie to Death. The game was fun. The challenge and the excitement was more fun than he'd allowed himself in years. In spite of his stolen victory and his ruthless, redheaded companion, he found himself smiling.

"Good game," he groaned.

"That's what I like to see-the spirit of a good, old sport. Now, on to the next adventure." Las Vegas became a blip of light in the rearview mirror, as the duo sped into the night.

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