My plan was a simple one.  Drive out to L.A., pick up a paper and look for and ad for extras in the movies, work my way up to starring roles and come home rich and famous.  After three months of no work, sleeping in alleys and begging for food, I realized that Hollywood was not ready for me.

I’d managed to save seventy-five dollars by panhandling on Hollywood Boulevard.  Each day half of what I scrounged went to feed me, and the other half was set aside for the proverbial rainy day.  Well, today the rain came in sheets.  I threw my musty old sleeping bag in the trash, used the public restroom to wash the clothes on my back, and took the bus downtown to the Greyhound station.

“One ticket to Wisconsin,” I told the man behind the counter.

He shuffled through the drawer and came up with a three-part booklet.  He filled in the destination city and the amount and slid it across the counter toward me.  “Sign here,” he said, pointing to the line on the bottom of the ticket.

I signed it, passed it back to him and dug out my wallet, counting the bills I’d saved.

He tore off the top copy and announced, “that’ll be seventy-three fifty.”

I peeled off the bills and laid them on the counter, counting as I laid them.  “Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two…”  The bills were gone.  I fished into my pocket and came up with a dollar eighty.  I plucked six quarters out of my hand and passed them over the counter.  “Seventy-three fifty.”  I looked at the last thirty cents in my hand and sighed.

I took my ticket and walked over to the bench and waited for my bus to arrive.  I was alone on the bench so I swung my feet up and sat sideways.  I tried to imagine three days cross-country on the bus with only thirty cents in my pocket.  Could I live on ten cents a day until I got home?

I thought about people in worse situations and suddenly my plight didn’t seem that bad.  I’d heard that people could go two weeks without food as long as they had water.  Well, if they could do it for two weeks, I could certainly last three days.  Maybe an apple a day could sustain me until I arrived in Wisconsin.

My daydreams dissipated as my bus pulled into the station and the man behind the counter announced its arrival.  Eighteen people got off (I have a habit of counting things in everyday life) and I was the first of six to get on.  I showed the driver my ticket and took the last seat in the back, hoping no one else would sit next to me so I wouldn’t have to hold up my end of what I knew would be a boring conversation.

When the bus pulled out of the station and no one sat next to me, I lay down on the seat and locked my fingers behind my head and closed my eyes.  It was nearly seven o’clock and my feet ached.  The bus rolled west and I tried to sleep, but people on the bus prevented that from happening.  One woman talked non-stop to the woman seated next to her.  She rattled on about everything and nothing.  She just needed to talk.  I wanted to strangle her.

A man three seats ahead of me managed to sleep but snored loud enough to vibrate the windows.  And one kid seated near the middle had a portable radio going.  I couldn’t hear the music from the radio, since he was wearing headphones, but every now and then, when he knew the words to the song that was playing, he’d sing along.  That wasn’t bad enough, but he had the worst voice I’d ever heard.

I managed to catch a few winks before the bus stopped in San Bernardino to pick up five more passengers.  Luckily they all found seats near the front and left me alone.  I managed a few more winks and before I knew it the bus was stopping again in Barstow, where it picked up three more people.  The bus was beginning to get fuller and louder and I found it impossible to take a nap.

There were no further stops scheduled before we got to Las Vegas.  What would have taken the normal person in their normal car less than six hours to drive took this huge bus more than ten hours.

It was nearly five a.m. when the lights of The Strip illuminated the interior of the bus from both sides.  Say what you want about New York, but this was the city that never sleeps.  There were still dozens of people roaming the streets between casinos.  Traffic was scarce but I knew that behind those doors there were thousands of people trying to beat the house, or at least keep from losing their own house.

The driver pulled into the station and announced that there’d be a thirty-minute layover.  He told his passengers that they could leave the bus but to be sure to be back in time for the scheduled departure at five-thirty.  I stood, stretched my legs and wobbled toward the front of the bus.

Across the street and one block over from the bus terminal I found the first casino.  The lobby doors stood wide open and I could see scores of people inside, some pulling on slot machine handles and some sitting around the blackjack tables.  I took a step inside and wandered over toward a bank of slot machines.  These were the five-dollar machines and I wondered how long it would take a gambling addict to blow through a hundred dollars.  I watched one guy put in three five-dollar tokens and pull the lever.  The wheel spun and came up a loser.  He repeated this procedure five more times in the next minute and a half.  Four pulls resulted in the loss of fifteen dollars each but on the last pull, the wheels aligned correctly and two five-dollar tokens dropped into the tray below the machine.  A winner, of sorts, but still a net loss of five dollars.  At this rate, the guy could stand there for another minute and sixteen seconds before his hundred would be gone.

I moved on to a row of dollar machines but didn’t see anything interesting happening there either.  Further down there were quarter machines with people on stools sitting there dropping five at a time into the one-armed bandits.  Most of these people had a popcorn bucket filled with quarters.  There were some winners and some losers, but looking at the interior décor, I guessed that there had to be more losers than winners.  This place had been remodeled with the thousands of losers’ wages.

Back in the corner were the nickel slots.  Here you could play five nickels at a time and not feel the pinch.  Granted, the “giant” payoff on these machines was a thousand quarters, but if you thought about it for a moment, you’d realize that the jackpot was only two hundred-fifty bucks, just barely enough to keep the guy at the five-dollar machines playing for another ten minutes.

I turned to leave when my eye caught something on the floor.  It was a nickel lying between two machines.  I stooped and picked it up and examined it as though I’d found Blackbeard’s treasure.  With the thirty cents I had left from my bus ticket purchase, I nearly had enough for four apples on my trip home.  I thought about it for a minute and decided that I could make three apples last until I made it back to Wisconsin.

I dropped the nickel into the nearest slot machine and grabbed the handle.  I closed my eyes and pulled.  I could hear the wheels spinning and clicking to a stop.  Then I heard the sound of metal clinking on metal.  I looked at the wheels.  They’d all stopped on a cherry.  According to the legend on the machine, that was worth five times what the player had put in.  I won the twenty-five cent jackpot.  Quick mental math told me that I now had fifty-five cents to make it home on.  If I bought apples in bulk, I might be able to eat two apples a day.  Things were looking up.

Then my greedy side kicked in and I figured that I came with thirty cents and could leave with thirty cents and be no worse off than I was.  I mustered up all my nerve and deposited all five nickels into the machine.  I crossed the first two fingers on my left hand as I pulled the handle with my right.  Spinning and clicking noises were followed by a clinking noise.  The three wheels had all stopped on oranges.  A hundred nickels dropped into the tray and now I had two dollars and eighty cents.

I scooped my winnings out of the tray and into my pockets.  I wasn’t going to press my luck.  I was going to actually spend more than ninety cents a day for food on my way home.  I took my winnings to the window and cashed in for two paper dollars and two quarters.  My original thirty cents was going to stay in my pocket as a reminder, no matter what.

I headed for the door to the street.  The bus wasn’t scheduled to pull out for another twelve minutes but I wanted to be sure to get back on time.  I’d almost made the front door when my eye caught something to my left.  It was just another slot machine but there was something about the design on the front that made me stop and stare at it.

The machine sported a picture of a medieval warrior on a huge draft horse.  He held his sword high while a big-busted damsel cowered at his feet.  I noticed that the last person to use the machine must have left a winner because there were three apples showing on the wheels.  It had to be a sign, an omen if you will.  Here I was prepared to live on three apples for the next three days on my bus ride home and now three apples appear right before my eyes.  I had to take one more pull on a machine.

But not this one.  I figured that if it just paid out to someone else, that the odds were that it wouldn’t pay out again this soon.  I sidestepped to another machine with the same design and stopped.  These wheels had stopped on a cherry, a horseshoe and a large number seven.  What the heck.  I put in my two odd quarters and pulled.  The wheels stopped and once again lots of quarters bounced into the tray.  The machine whirred and beeped and the lights flashed and soon I realized that I was now another fifty dollars richer.  I was hot, so it seemed, and I liked the feeling.

I glanced at my watch and then out the window.  My twelve minutes had come and gone so fast that I hadn’t realized it.  Out the window I could see my bus pulling away from the curb.  If I ran full out, I might be able to catch it.  I took two half-hearted steps toward the street door and stopped.  Hell, I’d won enough to buy another ticket if I wanted to.

The next bus wasn’t due to leave town for an hour and a half and I was in no hurry to leave this machine.  I dropped five quarters back in and pulled the lever.  The wheels spun and stopped on three different symbols.  Nothing.  I dropped another five and pulled.  Same nothing.  Once more with five quarters at stake.  Again no winnings.  Once more, I told myself, and then I’d leave.  I dropped another five quarters and pulled.  The wheels stopped on two sevens and a cherry.  Not the jackpot but good enough to win another fifty quarters.

I quickly counted up my winnings.  I had more than sixty dollars, not counting my original thirty cents.  I couldn’t stop now.  I played that same quarter machine for another forty-five minutes.  Before I walked away from it, I had nearly two hundred dollars and some change.  It was time to leave.  I cashed in at the window and headed toward the street door again.  As I walked past the blackjack table some woman screamed.  “I won, I won.”  Her arms flailed wildly in the air as the dealer pushed several stacks of chips her way.  She scooped up all the chips, slid off her chair and hurried to the window to cash in.

Her empty chair beckoned to me and I found the urge to sit stronger than ever before.  I slid onto the stool and passed a ten-dollar bill to the dealer, who slid a short stack of chips back at me.  I split the stack in two and placed half of it as my bet.

The dealer slipped me a card and then one for himself, face down.  Then he flipped one face up at me.  It was a jack of clubs.  He flipped one over for himself.  He got the seven of diamonds.  I looked at my hole card.  It was the ten of spades.  I tried not to smile as I waved the dealer off.  He flipped over his hole card.  It was a nine of hearts.  He had sixteen and immediately flipped another one over for himself.  He dealt a three of clubs and then a five of spades.  Bust.

I scooped up my winnings and swiveled on the stool to leave when something told me to take one more hand.  I took a chance and bet all my chips.  This time I was dealt a pair of nines.  I felt bold and doubled down.  The dealer flipped two more cards on top of my nines.  They were a king of hearts and a nine of diamonds.  I had a nineteen and a twenty showing.  The dealer had a ten showing and flipped up another card for himself.  It was an eight.  Close but no cigar.  He flipped another one over—the four of spades.  Bust again.  I collected my double jackpot and slid off the stool.  No sense pressing my luck.

I cashed in my chips and counted my winnings.  I was holding just over three hundred fifty dollars in my shaky little hands.  Three hundred fifty six dollars and fifty cents, to be exact, plus my original thirty cents.  As I walked through the casino a whole new feeling crept over me.  I no longer felt like a vagrant crawling home with my tail between my legs.  I felt like a man of substance, a man of means.

At the opposite end of the casino I found a restaurant on the premises.  I guess they figured that as long as people were here, that they might as well keep them here and feed them.  Good strategy—it kept me here.  I was amazed at the prices of all this marvelous food.  For less than three dollars I could eat my fill of potatoes, vegetables, rolls and butter, chicken wings, tacos, spaghetti and on and on.  I was in heaven.  I ate until I could no longer fit another morsel in my mouth before I left my table.

I still had over three hundred fifty dollars and the next bus was still an hour away from departure.  I wandered back into the casino again.  I tried a few more slot machines, played a half dozen or so hands of blackjack and even took a chance on the roulette wheel before settling back in at the blackjack table.  Lady Luck took the seat next to me and stayed with me throughout the duration of my time at this table.

I played for another thirty minutes before I became aware of the time.  My bus was ten minutes away from carrying me back to Wisconsin.  Only now I’d be going back with more than twelve thousand seven hundred dollars in my pocket.  That’s a lot more than I could have made as an actor in Hollywood.

I cashed in and took my winnings in hundred-dollar bills.  I had a hundred twenty-seven of the Franklin bills and three twenties and a five and four singles in my pocket.  Along with my original thirty cents, of course.  I still had my Greyhound ticket stub in my pocket and decided that I’d cash it in and take the plane home.  Why not?  I earned it.  I could catch a cab from the bus terminal to the airport and be home in time for supper tonight instead of two and a half days from now.

I left the casino, my pockets bulging.  The bus station was less than two blocks away—just down the street and around the corner.  I could see the terminal from where I was.  I’d taken a few more steps when the man came up from behind me.  I felt the hard jab of something in my back and a voice whispered in my ear.

“Hold it right there.”

The object poked harder at my back.

“Back here,” the voice said, pointing to the alley.

I eased over to the mouth of the alley as the man followed me in.  I started to turn around when I felt the dull pain behind my left ear and the lights danced inside my head before everything went black.

When I could focus my eyes again I found myself alone in the alley.  I don’t know how much time passed since my encounter with the man who now had my wad of Franklins, Jacksons, Hamiltons and Washingtons.  I stood up on shaky legs and tried to walk.  I patted the place where my pockets once bulged with cash.  They were flat.  I dug into my right pocket and withdrew my bus ticket stub.

I slipped my hand in again and pulled out my original thirty cents.  Enough for three apples on my way back to Wisconsin.

Author Bio
 
Bill Bernico is the author of more than 150 short stories and one novel.  For four years he wrote a weekly humor column for his hometown newspaper, The Sheboygan Press.  Bill's advice columns for computer enthusiasts have appeared in various magazines around the world.  These days Bill writes an online advice column for musicians.  Bill is a songwriter and has won several songwriting contests.  He is also a working musician and has been playing live shows since 1966.