Dead Certainty - a gambling short story from Rob Hopcott's short stories collection

Tracy left her high heels on the flat asphalt roof and clambered onto the dark parapet that ran along the edge of the London multi-story car park.

She shivered as the cold night wind bit into her bare back unprotected by her low cut black dress.

A taxi roared by far below and there was the smell of stale curry coming from the dimly lit Indian restaurant, now closed for the night, at the end of the street.

The parapet was about a metre wide. Tracy had always been terrified of heights. With heart pounding, she edged forward.

Her whole being seethed with anger, not only with the British Government but also with herself.

The British Government had said gambling was just another entertainment industry, no different from enjoying a film or a concert. The Minister had appeared on UK National Television besides a roulette wheel with a big smile on her face that said "Look how safe this is!"

Tracy's mum, still in her care assistant uniform, had strongly disagreed and had banged the iron down on the ironing board to emphasise her point.

"Only fools gamble," she complained, "That woman's talking rubbish. You'd be better off putting your money away in a Bank and earning some interest."

Her father agreed with her mum. Newly retired, watching television was his main entertainment, apart from cups of tea and smoking his pipe. He spoke ponderously, cupping Tracy's hands in his own, watery blue eyes pleading. He knew his daughter was headstrong. His eyes betrayed his belief that she wouldn't listen. Nevertheless, he still slipped her £100 "For the children".

"You've got a good teaching job, a fine husband and a great couple of teenage kids. Isn't that enough excitement for you?"

But it wasn't and the picture of the Minister and the roulette wheel haunted Tracy. It was a world that was tempting and exciting. There was a sense of mystery and passion. It aroused her curiosity and the sophisticated advertising said "Try me, I'm fun. You can't get hurt."

She remembered bitterly her first intoxicating taste of the casino. The dark cocktail dress she'd so carefully purchased. The smart and sophisticated businessmen who cheered her on when she won. The clatter of the ball, the warmth and fellowship of the other gamblers, the sense of shared excitement and the joy of winning that kept her going until she had no chips left.

That was the first time but it was just the beginning. From the roulette wheel, she moved onto private poker parties which gave her a sense of being special, being in the exalted company of experts. When she'd lost her money again, she stayed on and shared the excitement as an onlooker. The male players liked her long black hair and slim figure and were happy to have her around.

Sometimes they would give her something to play with. After a while she found teasing the men would get her a bit more. Then it became a loan that she knew she could pay off before the end of the evening because she was feeling lucky.

But, inevitably, she wasn't. In the dimly lit kitchen of the flat where the private poker game had been held, with her face pressed against the bread bin and her hips against the hard work surface, she found a way of clearing her debts that was better than having to admit her losses to her husband.

Rick, Tracy's husband, didn't realise that she'd stopped working at the school until weeks after. He left early for the City of London dressed in his crumpled grey suit and harassed smile.

The poker schools were often held during the day so Tracy just started going to the poker school instead of going to work.

It was more fun and there was the chance she could make immensely more money as a professional gambler than ever she could as a teacher.

She had to learn and learn quickly so cultivated the friendship of the men who were high rollers, men who turned up with a wad of money and slammed it down on the table to show they were good for the game. Men who were happy to give Tracy some private tuition in the intricacies of the card games they played, as long as Tracy looked after them in return.

Tracy took another step towards the edge of the parapet. The smiling face of the British Minister for Gambling floated in the darkness in front of her, still reassuring that gambling was just another leisure industry. It had now been joined by the hard faces of the men who'd seen Tracy coming and relieved her of every last penny she'd been able to get her hands on.

When John, her husband, had found out about Tracy's gambling, he'd gone completely berserk.

"What? You are completely out of your mind. How on earth are we going to cope?"

Tracy's main thought was that it was only bad luck that he'd found out. Unknown to John, Tracy had taken out a temporary bridging loan with the Bank which was secured on their house. She'd lied that a relative had died leaving some money and claimed there was the opportunity of getting an extension for their house done cheaply, providing they didn't have to wait for the inheritance money to arrive.

The bank teller's eyebrows had raised when Tracy had wanted the money in cash but the loan had been agreed and the cash had been handed over with no questions.

Tracy remembered how important she'd felt when she sat down at the table with the high rollers, confident that she would now be a permanent feature, respected and revered by the other females who were only allowed to attend the game to brighten the place up with their low cut dresses and smiles.

But, at the end of the evening, a bad run on the cards had left her with nothing, except the knowledge that John was bound now to find out and would try to put an end to her gambling just as she getting established.

When he did find out, they had their first ever argument. John demanded that she never gamble again. Amid all the tears and the regret, never gambling again was the one thing she couldn't possibly accept.

So, in the early hours of the morning, telling herself she was doing it for the good of her family, she left for London where a gambling buddy with a small flat and a big passion for her had promised to put her in touch with the local gambling scene.

Tracy was convinced that John was wrong. Unless she kept gambling, there was no way she could win back the huge amounts of money she'd already lost.

She promised herself that she would send money back from her winnings to help John pay off the crippling mortgage they now owed to the Bank.

Tracy was almost half way to the edge of the parapet. She'd always been scared of heights.

She resolved not to pause. Better not to think. Better just to keep going.

The Minister's smiling face floated in the open air beyond the edge.

"Just another leisure industry."

Her gambling buddies with their cruel smiles floated in the dark besides the Minister.

It only took a week before her London gambler friend was threatening to kick her out.

"You're bringing me bad luck, Tracy. If you stay, you've got to pay."

His face hardened.

"There will be some drinks after the poker party with some girls and a few high rollers with money to throw around. Set your terms and you can make enough money in one night to keep you going for months," he said.

Tracy felt the wind blowing against the bruises on her face and remembered how it was she who had been thrown around and not the high roller's money.

Swaying in the strong wind, she was now at the edge of the parapet.

One more chance to get lucky, she thought. Tightly held in her hand, was her last pound coin.

Heads she would jump. Tails she would join a convent and become a nun.

She flipped the coin. It spun high in the air. She could hardly see it in the dark.

She reached out to catch the coin. Somewhere to her right was a smart suited Minister reassuring the gamblers, as they floating in the air, that gambling was just a bit of fun and no different from any other leisure industry.

In the cold night, Tracy had already overbalanced. The journey down took hardly any time. The pavement took away all her breath and broke her body.

But it was gambling that took away her life.


The End


Rob Hopcott

(On-line author - fiction - news)

Message from the author.
Please, if gambling is causing you or your loved ones problems, there are organisations that can and want to help eg. GAMCARE. Harming yourself will harm your loved ones. Seeking help for yourself will help your loved ones. In other words, don't jump but get help!

If you have never gambled and are contemplating taking up this dreadful form of entertainment, please don't. In the author's humble opinion, gambling is like playing with a loaded revolver. It may be entertaining for a while but can rapidly cause immense damage.

If you are a politician who has supported the expansion of gambling in the UK , please read why I believe you are so wrong.

Rob's quote of the day

Good fortune is more likely to happen when you don't leave it to mere chance, especially when the odds are stacked against you.

Bye for now

Rob

Copyright Rob Hopcott 2007. All characters in this and other free on-line short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions or short short stories on this site are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.