"Tempter" by Stephen Barnard

Tempter

by Stephen Barnard

Roulette was Donny’s game, but it usually played him most nights. Sure, he’d get his streaks – and good ones too – but one of his problems was knowing when to stop. His wife, Hayley, spoke to him mainly in catchphrases and well-known sayings. ‘Quit while you’re ahead’ was her nugget of choice. But Donny thought that was for people who never took a chance to break free of their beige existence. How did you know how ahead you could get if you didn’t spin again? And again? So, more often than not, he’d leave the casinos with nothing in his pockets. Worse than that, nothing in his bank and owing money to some rather dubious people. ‘A fool and his money…’ Yeah, shut up, Hayley.

Another one of his problems was how he behaved when he was on a streak. He just put it down to having a good time, and getting a little over-excited. Casino management’s version tended to be that he was ‘lairy, obnoxious and overbearing’, and was also ‘too tactile’ with the staff. Jesus, if you couldn’t slap your croupier on the back and pinch the ass of the waitress, how else were you meant to spread joy? It meant Donny was blacklisted from most casinos in the city. Hayley called this ‘a blessing in disguise’. Donny called it an opportunity to find better establishments.

For the last six weeks he’d been playing at a backstreet casino that an acquaintance had recommended to him. It was called Tempter, and if you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it every time. Just a steel door set into a crumbling brick wall. Inside though, everything you could want. Black Jack, poker, slot machines, dice, and of course: roulette. He’d had big streaks in there too, making on all his favourite numbers. 19: the year his son Bobby was born, 12: the month and day of his birth, 8: his football jersey number as a kid, and of course 35: his age. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got older than the wheel, but for now that wasn’t a concern.

What was a concern was his last spin of the night. As he stood on the grimy street on the losing side of the steel door, he played it through in his head again. All his bases had been covered, all his numbers vivid in his mind, a win an absolute dead cert – it had to be because of what he’d put on it – and then the ball bounced along the track, enticing, teasing, before landing securely in the green zero pocket. Snug. Smug. Hayley’s voice: ‘The house always wins.’

And here was his main problem. Tempter let you bet whatever you liked, and that’s what Donny had been playing with tonight: the value of his house. The management looked it up, put a price on it, and across the last five hours Donny had played those thousands and lost them all. He was surprised they let him walk, but of course they knew exactly where he lived.

He couldn’t go back there. He couldn’t explain to Hayley what he’d done. He couldn’t hold Bobby’s hand and tell him they were gonna have to move. Donny had decided he’d played his last game. Up ahead was the suspension bridge across the river. He wondered how many others had left Tempter and taken that particular walk? He’d just become another statistic. Add a number to the male suicide rate.

When he got to the bridge’s centre he peered over. The black water below was raging. Good. If the drop didn’t kill him, he wanted to be certain of drowning. A dead cert. He laughed darkly and climbed over the rail.

Then he had company: a sharp-suited man stood next to him. Donny whipped his head around to see where he’d come from. It was four in the morning: they were alone on the bridge. “Can I help you?” he asked the stranger. “I’m tryna do something here.”

“Oh, I can see that,” the man replied, grinning. The action raised his sharp cheekbones and made a point of his chin.

“Well, no interfering. I don’t wanna hear any ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ bullshit.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Donny: you’ll get none of that from me. I prefer it when life is far from wonderful.”

Donny paused, one hand on the rail, and looked squarely at his company. “How do you know my name?”

“Because I work for the House, Donny. You just left? The Tempter sent me.”

Donny scoffed. “So, you’ve come to collect already? I’m a little busy. You’ll have to take it from my wife.”

He was about to let go when the man’s words stopped him. “Oh, we intend to. And your son.”

“What? What do you mean by that?”

And then the man’s hand was over the top of his, covering it completely, pinning it to the rail. It was ice cold and very strong. “You don’t get to die, Donny, not yet, because you haven’t finished playing. I’m going to take you back to the House. Your lucky wheel is ready to spin.”

“I’ve got nothing,” Donny muttered. “I’ve got nothing left to play with.”

“You are so wrong. You’ve still got all the things we covet most. So much more to bet. First of all, we’re going to play for each of your son’s fingers, and then your wife’s eyes.”

It was at that moment Donny really noticed the man’s own eyes – hard to see exactly in the limited light. But yeah, he was sure now, now he was really looking. The irises, the pupils: a deep, dark red. He pulled on Donny’s hand, and somehow they were on the other side of the rail without him having to climb over. The man still held it, like he was a kind father. But he was far from that. “And once you’ve lost them, Donny, then we get to spin for your soul.”