Grand Designs
By Janet Sever

The Mississippi humidity was stifling, even at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and Daxton Figg could feel the heat bake the soles of his shoes as he stepped out of his van onto the pavement. He cracked his neck as he looked toward the giant edifice of the Grand Casino, Tunica. He was finally here, and he had work to do.

He knelt on the ground and raised his arms and face to the sky. “Dear Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Please help me to do your work here in this modern-day Gomorrah, so close to Hell I can feel the heat of its flames on the bottoms of my feet. Dear God, please help me reach those sinners inside and deliver Your word to them.  My Lord God, help me turn those sinners away from the games of the Devil and direct them to Your righteous path.” He bowed his head. “Amen.” 

He slowly stood up and noticed two elderly ladies exiting their car, looking at him curiously. “Good morning, my Sisters!  What a beautiful day the Lord has brought us!” They nodded at him hesitantly, then hurried toward the casino.

Daxton opened the side door of his van and loaded mini-testaments into a leather satchel. He used his sleeve to wipe some squashed bugs off the “Jesus Saves” sign on the hood of the van.  With another silent prayer, he walked toward the casino.

At the door, he noticed a sign that said, “Got a gambling problem? Call 1-888-FOR-HELP.” He traced the sign with his finger, and prayed, “Dear Lord, I pray that those that need Your help will find this sign and be led to You. Amen.” 

“I beg your pardon, sir?” A security guard looked at Daxton and raised an eyebrow.

“Just saying a prayer, friend.”

The guard laughed. “Yeah, I guess a lot of people say a prayer before they go in there. Good luck, sir!” 

Daxton considered correcting the guard, but he knew if he did, he would be asked to leave the casino and be unable to complete his work for God. He learned his lesson in Atlantic City trying to preach the Word to a blackjack dealer at the Tropicana. Not only had he been thrown out, but management alerted several of the other casinos on the strip and he was prevented from entering them. He couldn’t get the Word to the sinners. He learned to be more careful.

He entered the first door of the casino, and a blast of refrigerated air dried the sweat that had accumulated on his face during his short walk through the parking lot. He took in his surroundings. He’d never seen an entryway like this before; he was on a wide bridge that was also a long hallway that spanned the water and led into the main entrance. Casino Aztar in Missouri had a similar arrangement, but the bridge was narrow and was only covered with clouded plastic. This was a forty-foot by 150-foot permanent structure. Lots of money collected from poor sinners paid for this, he thought, and Daxton said a short prayer for their doomed souls.

Walking down the slight incline, he noted posters advertising musical guests. “Peter Frampton, September 22!” “Hall and Oates, September 30!” “Tony Orlando, October 3!” Each poster showed the faces of the stars from their heydays twenty years ago. Several posters advertised the Grand’s buffet and restaurants. Giant posters of steaks dripping juices, steaming stuffed baked potatoes, fresh fruits and rolls slathered in butter made Daxton’s mouth water. “Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil,” he said three times to drown out the rumbling of his stomach. Dinner tonight would likely be something salvaged from the Grand’s garbage, since any donations he received would have to go back to the Order. He only took enough from the donations to pay for gasoline to get him to the next casino.

He reached the second entrance, and reached out to push it open. He saw another “Got a problem?” sign and again prayed that those who needed such help might find it. For just a moment, a niggle of doubt pushed into his brain. Are the casinos really that bad, he wondered, if they are willing to post signs like this?  He swept the thought away with a mental prayer, then pushed the door open.  The din of the jingling slot machines, the shouts of happy winners, and the public address system calling players to the poker room greeted him. He felt like he had come home, to the place where he could perform the work he had been put on the earth to do.

He found he was standing on a platform at the top of a small stairway. This gave him an excellent vantage point to survey the casino. Slot machines ringed the table games in the center of the huge room. A sign above an escalator announced the no-smoking area upstairs with more slots and video poker. Keno and poker were to his right. He scanned the enormous room. He couldn’t see where he needed to go.

“You lookin’ for something?” A man in a Hawaiian shirt and sandals with white socks was walking up the stairs. He lurched slightly.

“Well, I was looking for the nickel slots,” Daxton said. He sized the man up. Was he ready to hear the Word?
“I can hep’ you with that. Right over there, near the buffet,” the man pointed vaguely. “I know ‘s place like the bakka my hand. Spend more time here than in my own place, I think.”

“Thank you very much.” Daxton fished a Testament and its inserted literature out of his bag. “Let me give you this,” he said, and pressed the little book into the man’s hand.

“Thank YOU!” the man said heartily, slipping the book in his pocket. “Give me somethin’ ta read upstairs in my room before I go to sleep. Been down here more’n a day now; didn’t even realize it until I reached up to pull the handle an’ smelled my own armpit!”

Daxton smiled, hiding his revulsion at this revelation, as the man shambled off. “Dear Lord, please forgive that poor sinner; he knows not what he does. Please, dear Father, allow him to find solace and salvation in your Word before he descends further into the pit of sin. Amen.”

Making his way though the casino, Daxton ticked off the rules that the Order suggested for evangelizing in the casinos. Stay away from the tables, he reminded himself. That’s where the most cameras are and the most casino employees. Concentrate on the low-money slot players. They generally feel the guiltiest about gambling and have the most to lose, and are the most receptive to hearing the Word. Look like you are playing the slots, too. There are fewer cameras near the slots and fewer floor employees keeping an eye out. Keep moving so it takes longer for management to catch on to what you are doing.

Despite all these precautions, Daxton knew he’d have, at most, three days at the Grand before management exiled him for his proselytizing. Still, it was a big casino, so maybe he could stretch it into four days, or maybe five. Four days would be a record; normally they asked him to leave after two days.  But when the inevitable happened, there were nine other casinos in Tunica filled with sinners needing saving.

Daxton followed his nose to the nickel slot machines.  A sign in front of the buffet proclaimed “Best Buffet in Mississippi. Only $8.95” and his stomach rumbled more strongly at the smell of what Daxton thought might be roast beef with gravy and mashed potatoes.  Most of the casinos seemed to have roast beef and mashed potatoes on their buffets. When was the last time he’d eaten a good meal like that? he wondered. Probably at his mother’s house, before he’d left it and joined the Order. “Lord Jesus Christ,” he prayed. “Help me to resist the temptations that plague this flesh and help me to do Your work. Amen.” Thinking the ache in his belly declined a little bit, he added, “Thank you, Lord,” but his stomach murmured the “Amen.”

He couldn’t find an open machine in the nickel slot area, so he used the opportunity to scan for people who appeared to need the Word. Everyone looked like they were having a good time, whether they won or lost. He could see that the music and the bright colors of the video slot machines could lull you into thinking you were having a wonderful time. He remembered playing Nintendo with his brother at home not so very long ago, and the video slots seemed in many ways, similar. Satan’s music, he chided himself. Satan’s machines.

An elderly blue-haired lady in a fuchsia and turquoise nylon jumpsuit fed a twenty into her machine, then another twenty, then another. Daxton thought of all the things the Order could do with sixty dollars. I could buy 7 buffets with that money, he thought, then chastised himself for thinking about his worldly needs. He was here to attend to God’s needs, and these sinners’ need for eternal salvation.

A cocktail waitress with canyon-like cleavage stopped next to Daxton. “Get you anything from the bar?”  Daxton nodded. The first few times at the casinos, he’d declined, thinking he would have to pay. But then Brother Kelvin had informed him that the drinks were on the house and it was perfectly fine to accept.

“I’d like a Coca Cola, please.” 

A young African American woman on the end machine uttered an expletive. Daxton peered over he shoulder and noticed she only had four credits left. “Bad night?” he asked in his kindest voice.

“Yeah.” She dragged deeply on her cigarette and pulled the lever. Three bars lined up on the screen and the machine displayed 50 additional credits. “You brought me luck! Sit down here!” and she gestured at the now-empty machine next to her.

Daxton obliged and watched as she pulled the lever again. This time, three “Double Diamond” icons line up on her machine and siren went off.  “Yee-HA!” she screamed and wrapped her arms around Daxton. He hugged her back; he knew that gambling was a sin, but he couldn’t help but feel happy for her. “Man, this is a progressive slot! I just won,” and she glanced up at the display “Five thousand, two hundred eight dollars and twelve cents! I can’t believe it!” 

The waitress delivered Daxton’s Coke and he drained it while the waitress congratulated the winner and assured her someone would be by in a moment to talk to her about what she’d won. Several people came up to the winner and congratulated her, looked at her slot machine. Several other players looked up dejectedly and moved on to other machines that weren’t progressive, since the big payoff was now not an option. One unkempt woman with dirty blond hair looked especially disappointed, and simply sat at her machine without playing.
Daxton fished a testament out of his bag, congratulated the winner again and pressed the book into her hand. She looked at it, and Daxton, with a puzzled expression on her face, but then a casino manager came up to talk to her and she slipped the book in her bag. Daxton slid onto a stool at a machine next to the blonde woman, and ordered another Coke from the waitress. The last one seemed to fill his empty stomach a little bit.

“Rough day?” he asked the blonde.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I just can’t win anything.”

“How long you been here?”

“Since about nine this morning. I’ve lost over $200, and that’s just playing nickels.”

“That sucks.”

“I was hoping for the big payoff, so I was sticking with the progressives. But now, no chance of that, I don’t have much money left to switch to quarter slots or nothing.”

“I know how you can get a big payoff,” Daxton said, and reached into his satchel.

She brightened. “How?”

“In Heaven, by renouncing your sinning ways and accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.” He pressed a Testament into her hand. “May I pray with you?”

“Je-sus Kee-rist!” It was not a question or an acceptance of Daxton’s statement. She pulled her hand away and got up. “I don’t thing the Grand would appreciate you preaching here!” She stalked off as the waitress brought him another Coke.

“Girlfriend problems?” she asked, but did not stick around to wait for an answer.

Daxton sat on his stool and drained his Coke again. Who could he talk to next, he wondered as he scanned the crowd.

“Son, you shore must be thirsty!” It was the fellow he’d first met at the entrance, just an hour or so earlier. He had on a different Hawaiian shirt, but still had the sandals and socks. His hair was wet and combed down over his forehead.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Daxton said.

“Shoot, I got up there, got some coffee in me, took me a shower, and felt like a new man.”

“That’s great,” Daxton smiled.

“Son, I came down here lookin’ for you, to tell the truth. I got up to my room, laid down on the bed and started lookin’ at all those pamphlets and that Bible you gave me.”

“Really?” Daxton couldn’t help but be surprised. Seldom did anyone express any interest in the Order’s materials.
“I’d like to talk to you a little more about it, if I could.” The man looked around. “What say we go over there to the buffet and get some grub and we talk a little bit?”

Daxton’s stomach rumbled at the thought. He smelled the roast beef anew. He looked embarrassed. “I really can’t. Maybe we could go outside?”

“I’m hungrier than a bear in spring.” The man reached into his back pocket, then smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I was going to offer to buy you dinner, but I’m all tapped out. Maxed out my credit cards, too. I got me ten dollars until tomorrow.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Well, I’m going in to eat and maybe we can talk later.” He turned around and started walking toward the buffet.

Daxton’s mind raced. He knew he had about a thousand dollars stuffed in the bottom of his satchel. It was all donations, of course, most of which he needed to return to the Order. Still, would they begrudge him the use of six dollars of it if it brought a sinning soul to Jesus? He could not very well take the man to the garbage can behind the Grand, which was where Daxton had been planning to eat his dinner.

“Dear Lord Jesus,” he prayed under his breath. “Please help me to make the right decision. Amen.”  He thought for a moment, then called after the retreating Hawaiian shirt. “Wait!”

They entered the buffet, and an enormous array of food confronted them. On one table was the carving board, with a prime rib that looked like half a cow, a sugar glazed ham just like his grandma used to make every year at Easter, and a garlicky pork roast. An attendant brought a fresh tray of lasagna out and Daxton thought for a moment he actually might faint from the delectable scent of it. When had he last eaten? Not at all today. Did he eat yesterday? He’d been engrossed in prayer; perhaps he’d forgotten. It had happened before. He pressed his hand to his stomach to stop its growling, and he could feel his prominent ribs under his fingers. Perhaps it had been even longer.
“Grab a plate and fill up, boy!” his companion said. “You look like you need a good meal.”

Daxton surveyed the buffet and vowed he would take only enough to quench his hunger. Gluttony was a sin after all. Still, the array of choices overwhelmed him.

The salad bar featured regular lettuce, baby greens and fresh spinach, along with fresh cucumbers, tomatoes, an assortment of cheeses, and all kinds of other fresh vegetables. They had at least twenty different kinds of salad dressings. The bean salad looked as if it had been made from his Aunt Hilda’s recipe, and the seafood salad made him salivate. A bowl of peel-and-eat shrimp that had to have contained over a hundred pounds of shrimp dominated the other end of the salad bar. Next to it, oysters on the half shell nestled in a bed of crushed ice, and two attendants shucked more as quickly as the oysters were piled on diners’ plates. And that was just the salad bar!

The hot food table had fried chicken, lasagna, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, fried potatoes, all kinds of cooked vegetables, crab legs, lobster claws, baked fish…. Daxton had never seen so much food in his entire life. Despite his best intentions, he returned to the table with two plates piled with food.

“Whoa, son! Guess you decided to get two plates, just in case they took the food away before you could go back for seconds!” His companion dug in to his own well-loaded plate with gusto.

Daxton mumbled quickly, “Thank you, Lord, for this gift of food. Amen.” He dug in.

Around a mouthful of hard roll smeared with butter, Daxton said, “I’m Daxton Figg, and I am very pleased to meet you.” He would have held out his hand to the stranger, but the roll was in it and he was reluctant to put it down.

“Pleased to meet you, too, son.” The man ate his corn on the cob in a curious way, cleaning off each end and then working his way to the center.

“I’d like to tell you why Jesus Christ feels that gambling is wrong,” Daxton said as he pried a shrimp from its shell.
“Aw, let’s talk about that when we’re done eating,” the man said. “We can concentrate on our food now, and then I can really concentrate on God later.” It made sense to Daxton, and he began shoveling food into his mouth in earnest. They ate in silence for more than half an hour, and Daxton filled his plate three more times.

Daxton sat back in the booth and dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “My stomach hasn’t been this full in months,” he confessed.

“How can you do the Lord’s work with an empty belly?” asked the man.

“My suffering from hunger is nothing compared to the suffering Jesus endured to save us.” Daxton felt guilty about the $10 purloined from the Order’s money. Still, it would be worth it if he could turn this man away from his life of gambling sin. And his stomach was contented in a way it hadn’t been for months. How can being well nourished not be in the service of the Lord? Daxton wondered.  Doesn’t the Bible tell us the body is a temple of God? Maybe I need to eat a little bit better.

“So tell me why I should stop gambling,” the man across the table asked.

“I am so glad you asked,” said Daxton. “By the way, I didn’t get your name.”

“My friends in the casinos call me Talley.” He held out his hand and Daxton shook it.

“Well, Talley, gambling is against the will of the Lord in so many ways,” Daxton began. “In the first place, Jesus tells us we need to be stewards of our money, because all of our wealth is a gift from God. Luke 16:8. And his lord commended the unrighteous steward because he had done wisely: for the sons of this world are for their own generation wiser than the sons of the light.’”

“Interesting. A course, you gotta look at all the people who work here.” Talley made an expansive gesture with his hand, which included their waitress and the young guy bussing the table next to them. “The casinos help them make money so they can take care of their families and be good stewards of the money they earn. Shoot, Tunica County, Mississippi used to be the poorest county in the entire country before the casinos got here. You gonna deny all these people their livelihood?”  Talley scratched his head. “Besides, doesn’t the Bible teach that people need to work for the money they receive? I think I remember from Sunday school, years ago: ‘For even when we were with you, we commanded you this: If anyone will not work, neither shall he eat.’”

Daxton didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never thought about all the people who earned an honest living from sin. He wracked his brain but couldn’t think of anything the Bible might have to say about that.

 Talley stood up. “I gotta to stretch my legs after all that grub. Let’s walk a little bit, and we can talk some more.” 
They stood up and walked back out to the casino. Daxton didn’t know how he could preach the word to Talley over the din of the slot machines, but he had to try. “We also shouldn’t gamble because it exploits others,” Daxton said. “The Bible tells us to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. How can we do that if we take their money?”
“Now, boy, all these casinos are built by people who want you to come in and try to take their money. It’s not like two people bettin’ against each other on a football game. A casino is like coming into Wal-Mart and buying a shirt. The casino is selling, you’re buying. It’s a business transaction.”

“I don’t think you can compare them. I mean, people buy things at Wal-Mart they need. No one needs to gamble.”
Talley guffawed so loud that several people seated at slot machines turned around, thinking he was a big winner. “Boy, when was the last time you were at a Wal-Mart? People walk in to one of them big superstores thinking they’re going to buy a head of lettuce, and they come out after spending $150 or more. You think they needed all that stuff?” 

Daxton considered his last trip to Wal-Mart. He’d needed a tube of toothpaste. The woman in front of him had a cart filled to the top with Popcicles, candy, jewelry, hair bows, food, pet supplies, and all kinds of other things. He recalled another argument against gambling, that it was a form of covetousness or greed. If that was so, then wasn’t buying a lot of unnecessary stuff at Wal-Mart also a form of covetousness? Yet the Order never told him what to think about that.

“Well, lookie there.” Talley pointed to the floor in front of him. A $5 chit for the slot machines sat right on the floor. No one was nearby.

Daxton looked. “I’ve never seen money on the floor of a casino in my life,” he said. Gamblers, he knew, kept a tight fist around their winnings. You might find some change in the parking lot of a department store, but you never found money on the floor of a casino.

“Pick it up, boy.” Talley gestured. “You could cash it in and donate it to your Order.”
It would make up for half the dinner, thought Daxton. He bent down and scooped up the chit. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

“Of course, you might be able to double it.” Talley gestured toward the $5 machine next to Daxton. “Then you could take a lot of money back to them as donations. Or pay for your dinner.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” Daxton was shocked at the suggestion. He’d renounced such sins when he joined the Order.

Talley shrugged. “Playing the slots isn’t gambling like playing blackjack or something,” Talley said. “But, just think: you might even be able to win enough money to eat a couple of dinners a week like you just ate tonight. Or maybe sleep in a hotel room for a change instead of your van. Or even make enough money to pay for your entire trip here.”

Daxton shook his head.

“Well, it’s up to you.”

A woman walked up to a $10 machine and slipped a bill in. The woman screamed, stood up and clapped. Daxton and Talley walked over; she had won over $220. She grabbed Talley around the neck and hugged him tightly.
“So, will you tell your Order that you bought dinner here?” Talley asked Daxton.

“Yes, I suppose so.” The Order told them never to eat in the casino restaurants, but Daxton thought he could explain it.

“They won’t be mad that you spent their money in the casino?”

Daxton thought for a minute. They probably would be. None of the Order’s money was ever supposed to be spent on such sinful things, even if it was just a dinner. Daxton’s dinner was sitting heavy in his stomach.

“Aw, pop the chit in this machine right here,” Talley thumped a nearby machine. “I think you’d win. I just have a feeling. Then you won’t have to tell them you spent their money.” 

Daxton thought for a minute. No one would know. Except God. But wouldn’t God understand? His hand reached into his pocket, seemingly of its own volition, and pulled out the token. He’d watched hundreds of people in other casinos; he knew exactly what to do.  Before he had time to think about it any longer, he slipped the token into the slot and pressed the button.

And won!

“Boy, I knew you was a lucky one,” Talley clapped him on the back. “You won $25! Good job!”

Daxton smiled. “I can’t believe I won!”

“Hey, pull it again. See if you can double it,” Talley urged.

It wasn’t real money, Daxton thought. It was just credits tallied up on an LED readout on a machine. What would it hurt? He pressed “Max bid,” and the reels spun. He lost. He pressed again, the reels spun, and he won $5. He pressed again, and won $5 again.

“You’re on a hot streak,” Talley said. “You lucky son of a gun.”

Daxton pressed again, and lost. He pressed again and won $5. He pressed and lost, and lost and lost. He had no credits left.

“Too bad, son. I thought sure the next roll was going to be the one.” Talley shrugged. “Guess you gotta quit now. No more money, right?”

Daxton thought about the wad of bills at the bottom of his satchel. It hadn’t been that hard to peel off a couple for his dinner. And how would the Order really know?

He reached deep in down and pulled out a $100 bill and fed it into the bill reader, and pressed the “Max bid” button once again.

He won. He pressed and won. Pressed and lost. Pressed and won.

Talley clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got to go now,” he told Daxton. “But it was a pleasure meeting you.” So intent Daxton was on his playing that all he could do was nod as Talley walked away. He pressed and won. Pressed and lost. And lost. And lost.

Talley walked through the casino toward the door, tossing his lucky $5 chit in his hand. He walked up the short flight of steps and looked back; he could see Daxton reaching into his satchel once again. He smiled, and then chuckled. His work here was done for today.

He turned to push the door open; he stopped for a moment and said “Thank you,” when the security guard wished him a good afternoon. The security guard didn’t notice Talley scratching the telephone number off the “1-888-FOR HELP” sticker on the door. He walked up the walkway, did the same to the sticker on the outer door, and stepped outside into the stifling Mississippi heat.
Talley felt right at home in this weather.