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//-->FATE_________by Pristine Kathryn RuschShe held a deck of cards in her left hand and cut iteasily, sliding the top of the deck to the bottom. Herskin was pale white, her hair even whiter, and shewore a backless white evening dress. Grif could almostimagine her in the glassed-in cage on the lower levels,astride the white tigers.Around him, the clink, clink of coins echoed fromthe slot machines. Occasionally a buzzer would ringand a red light would flick on and off. The murmurof conversation almost covered the Christmas muzak.The casino had stuck mistletoe to the plants runningalong the ceiling, but no one noticed. Not even thehotel patrons who wandered through the casino, fol-lowing a wide swatch of carpet leading to the eleva-tors. The rooms above, several thousand of them,were all done in jarring jungle motifs. Outside a fakevolcano spit fire at sunset, and inside half a dozenanimals paced the basement waiting for their turns inthe glassed-in cages so that bleary eyed patrons couldgo to the zoo without leaving the hotel.She seemed impervious to the bizarre surroundings.She didn't fit, despite her expertise with the cards.Grif pushed past an obese man clutching a bucketfull of nickels- She sat on a stool just outside the ringof blackjack tables, watching the patrons play. Thecasino was nearly empty tonight—only the hard-core229230 Kristine Kathryn Ruschgamblers and the loners haunted a casino on Christ-mas Eve—and would remain so until the New Year'scrowd started to appear on December 27th.Grif liked to think he didn't belong in either cate-gory—hard-core gambler or hard-core loner—yet herehe was, on the strip in Vegas, as if it were any otherFriday night.He tugged the sleeve of his tux over his shirt cuffs,and rounded a row of one-armed bandits. She was stillsitting there, cutting the deck over and over with herleft hand.He put his palm on her back, found the skin coolerthan he imagined. "That's a great way to tip off theguys upstairs that you know your way around cards."She didn't jump. Instead she looked up at him, aslow luxurious movement that sent a tingle throughhim. Her eyes were pale blue, almost colorless, buther features had a rounded Mediterranean cast. Hergaze continued past him to the camera lens hidden inthe plants above him."I'm not hiding anything," she said. He half ex-pected an accent, and was surprised when he didn'thear it."How come you're not playing?" he asked. Hedidn't take his hand off her back.She smiled, revealing an even row of white teeth."I'm waiting for someone."He sighed, touched the nape of her neck,'then re-moved his hand. She took his wrist between her fin-gers. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "But he's nothere- Perhaps I could go with you, and be your luck,"The tingle ran through him again, a wave of desireso thick he could hardly stand. "Maybe—" he stoppedhimself. His apartment was on the other side of town.He hadn't made the bed in weeks, and dishes filledthe sink. Once it had been an-impressive place to takeFATE 231women, but since his losing streak this fall, he letalmost all appearances go.Except the tux. It remained important for him toplay Vegas casinos as if he were in Monte Carlo. Itlent an air of dignity to a life with little dignity left."What's the lady's preference?" he asked.She dropped the deck of cards into the small beadedclutch purse she was carrying. "Craps," she said.And that time he did hear it. A faint lilt that spokeof romance languages and ancient cities beside thesea, of years gone by when casinos were more than ahobby, more than a place to spend Friday nights. Hehad quit the circuit with two million dollars in severalbanks. Investments had built that up to five million,and last fall's losing streak brought him down to four.One fifth of all he owned, gone in a heartbeat. Thathappened to careless men, not to Grif Petrie.He touched the wad of bills in his pocket—morethan enough to impress a lady—then extended hisarm. She took it, her touch sending a chill throughhim. Maybe after a bit of luck, he would get lucky.He smiled a little to himself. On Christmas Eve, thehotel was nearly empty. He would get a high-roller'ssuite on the twenty-fifth floor. They were garish too,but impressive garish with a view of the entire city.Grif led her to the only operating craps table, wherea tall man wearing a stetson and cowboy boots playedwith a row of five-dollar chips, and a woman besidehim hid in a puff of smoke. Occasionally she wouldsnake an arm out and place a dollar chip on a suckerbet, swearing as she lost. Grif pulled ten hundred dol-lar bills from his money clip and tossed them in frontof the dealer. He spread them out, then counted tenhundred dollar chips, and set them on the table. Thestickman shoved them over to Grif and Grif put oneon the pass line, and placed the others in the groove232 Kristine KathTyn Ruschabove the table. The boxman gave Grif an odd glance.The boxman usually handled the late-night poker ta-bles; he had never seen Grif play anything but cards.The stickman pushed the dice in front of Grif. Heoffered them to the lady, but she shook her head.Then he tossed them at the end of the table. He rolledthree sevens before rolling a ten and placing some ofhis winnings on the come line. Then he upped his bet,rolled five tens, a nine and a six, placing the winningsbeside his original stash."You are my luck,'* he said to her, his handsshaking.The cowboy at the end of the table was followingGrifs betting strategy. The woman lost her pile ofdollar chips and left. The noise from the table at-tracted a few other players, and Grif continued hisstreak, with the stickman calling him the hottestshooter of the night.Finally, after he had turned his thousand dollarstake into five thousand dollars with only hundred dol-lar bets, he rolled another seven, and lost the point.The collective groan around the table echoed throughthe casino. The cowboy lost five hundred on the bet,pocketed the rest of his earnings and left. A youngman with the intensity of a compulsive gamblerplucked the dice off the table. Grif cashed in his chips,took his lady's arm, and left."Quitting so soon?" she asked."I don't want to press my luck." Craps were fun,but not a professional's game. The dice were as fickleas a woman.She smiled and shrugged. "Little blackjack?""Maybe later." He put his arm around her back."First we got some winnings to celebrate."She seemed to understand his meaning. She accom-FATE 233panied him through the lush greenery to the registra-tion desk."This'll only take a minute," he said.She nodded. He went up to the desk, asked for,and got a suite. While the registration clerk gathered
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