Out of Luck

It’s nineteen-sixty-seven, and Larry Lungren is hot-footing it to the nearest bus stop. Behind him are two big burly looking guys in close pursuit. Larry makes it to the bus just as the doors start to close. He forces them open, jumps in, and stuffs a ten in the cashbox.   “Step on it, will ya!” he snaps.  Gears grind, and the engine lunges to life. In a cloud of smoke, the bus rolls into traffic.  Larry laughs as he watches his two pursuers give up the chase. Slapping the driver on the shoulder, he says, “Thanks, pal.” 

Larry sways back and forth with the rocking of the bus as he walks to the back. He flops down in a seat by the window. Unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie, he takes a much-needed deep breath.

 Larry Lungren is a gambler but not a good one. In the beginning, he was pretty good, but lately, let’s just say his luck is running out.  His problem has always been that he never knows when to quit. He plays until he loses everything. That includes the money he borrows from friends, loan sharks, and sometimes the mob. And, like tonight, the mob very badly wanted its money back. That’s why Larry’s on this bus going to Reno.

 Larry’s got a lady friend up there where he can lay low for a while. He’ll play pennyante at five-and-dime casinos until he builds a little nest egg big enough to pay back his friends. Then, when the heats off, Larry will go for bigger fish.

He slumps down and watches the dazzling lights of Vegas go slipping past. It’s not long before he hears the hissing of the air brakes as the bus pulls over to the next stop. A tall man dressed in a black overcoat steps onto the bus. His collar is turned up, hiding the lower half of his face. There’s a strange light in his eyes as he scans the bus before he walks down the aisle and takes the seat next to Larry. The bus resumes its voyage. 

Larry does a quick study of the stranger’s reflection in the window. He thinks he looks creepy   Larry removes his handkerchief from the inside pocket.  He mops his brow and adjusts his hat before returning it, brushing reassuringly against his 38. 

 They travel for a while before the stranger addresses Larry in a deep and formal voice. “Good evening, Mr. Lungren.” Larry’s head snaps around, and his eyes narrow.  The man turns down his collar, and Larry gets a better look at him. He notices that the man has a high forehead with a widow’s peak and coal-black hair combed straight back. His features are sharp, with high cheekbones and a razor-thin jawline ending in a pointed beard on his chin. Under highly arched brows, his eyes appear red-rimmed. A narrow nose separates them, under which resides a pencil mustache. When he smiles at Larry, his teeth seem unnaturally sharp. Caution drips from every word Larry asks. “Do I know you, friend?”

The stranger hesitates and purses his lips, “Hmm. Yes and no. Perhaps you remember seeing me around the casinos?” Larry sits straighter in his seat, his hand sliding inside his coat. “Maybe, but that don’t explain how you know my name.”                                                               “Do you recall a Mr. Smokey Wilson? I believe he was a friend of yours. I wonder, have you seen him lately?” Larry’s fingers tighten around the walnut grip.  A faint memory comes to him of this man standing behind Smokey at the craps table. Smokey had just rolled snake eyes when he needed to make a pair of fives. He recalls this schmuck wrapping his arm around Smokey’s shoulder and leading him away. Through clenched teeth, Larry demands, “What’d you do to Smokey?”

Steepling his fingers and tapping them together, the stranger gives Larry a sideways glance, “Oh, Smokey and I had a contract that he failed to fulfill, so I collected what was owed to me, that’s all.” Shifting in his seat, Larry bristles, “Look, pal, I don’t much like the fact that you known me while I don’t know nothin’ about you.” Larry slips the gun out of its holster and holds it low. “Why don’t you move somewhere else?”

Holding his hands up defensively, the stranger pleads, “Please, Mr. Lungren, Let’s not be rash. I feel we could do business together.”

“Oh yeah?” Larry snarls. “The same type of business you had with Smokey? No thanks. I don’t know who the hell you are, and I’m getting the feeling I don’t want to either.”

“What happened to your friend was his own fault. Smokey was down on his luck, much like you are, and I offered to change that.  All he had to do was to pay me a fixed sum by the end of the year. Unfortunately, he failed to do so.”

‘How much was this fixed sum?”

Turning his palms up, the stranger says, “Oh, not that much. A million and a half? Don’t get me wrong.  Smokey was making a ton of dough, but he didn’t spend it wisely. So when the end of the year arrived, he found himself a few dollars short.” Larry knits his eyebrows together and squints. “So if Smokey didn’t have the money, how did you square the deal?”

The stranger studies his fingernail briefly. “I took his soul,” he sighs.

“You what!” Larry exclaims, leaning further back in his seat. “Oh, I get it now. You’re some kind of nut, aren’t ya? I don’t know who you really are, but I advise you to get away from me! Now!”

 Shaking his head, the stranger mutters, ” I guess I’ll have to tell you, seeing that you haven’t figured it out.”  Then, looking around to ensure no one is listening, he shields his lips with his right hand and, in a hushed voice, states, “My name is Beelzebub.” When there isn’t any reaction from Larry, he says, “You know, Baal?” Larry continues to stare. “Oh, for God’s sake! I’m Satan, alright? Look.” He then cups his hands to form a bowl that materializes an image of people withering in anguish and despair. 

Larry stares at the scene for a moment. “Uh. You really are the devil. Well, I’ll be dammed. And now I see what you’re getting at, but it ain’t gonna happen, and I tell ya why.”

“All my life, I’ve been lying, cheating, stealing, swindling, robbing, scamming, and ruining the lives of family, friends, and strangers.  All to satisfy my habit and not giving a damn about any of it. So ya see, there is nothing ya can offer to trick me into giving up my soul because I’m already going to Hell. If I were to show up at the Big Guy’s pearly gates, St. Peter would most likely piss his robes laughing. My ticket to Hell is waiting for me, and it’s already been punched.”

Satan realizes that Larry is right. He ponders while pulling on the pointy end of his beard. ” Hmm,” he thinks. “I have to find another way to trick him into playing the game. A game that will give him hope. Hope that I can snatch away!” And then, “Larry.  May I call you Larry?”  Larry shrugs, “Whatever floats your boat.”

“Ah, good. Larry, I would like to know if you might have a half-a-dollar in your pocket.”

“A half a buck? I guess so.” Slipping his gun into his coat, he digs around in his pants pocket until he finds a Ben Franklin.

 “There ya go.”

“Ah! Excellent!” Satan takes the coin. “ So, this is the deal. If you can flip this coin ten times in a row and have it come up heads every time, I’ll make it so you don’t have to go to Hell.  What do you say?”

           “I don’t think the Big Boss will go along with that! That’s what I think.”

“Of course, He will. He’s done it before, remember Job?” He enjoys a good bet as much as the next guy.”

“Ten times?”

“Correct.” 

Larry thinks, “Ten times in a row are pretty high odds, but I must admit the crafty old fart has come up with a fairly decent wager.”

While placing his thumb in the crook of his index finger, Larry reaches for the coin. “Okay. I’ll give it a go.”

Satan raises his hand, “Hold on now. To be fair, I’ll be the one to place the coin. As he extends his hand, Larry remarks, “What a lark. You don’t trust me!” Satan flashes those sharp shark teeth of his, “No. I don’t.”

Satan takes his time and centers the coin on Larry’s thumb. “Go!” he shouts. 

Larry flips the coin into the air, its silver ringing like a bell. Then, he snatches and slams it onto the back of his left hand. Holding it in front of Satan, he reveals it’s come up heads.

“Well, well, well!” exclaims Satan. “ You’ve won the first one.  Now all you have to do is repeat that nine more times. So don’t be nervous. Here we go!”

Over the remainder of the game, Satan places the coin on Larry’s thumb in various positions. Sometimes heads up, next, tails—perhaps a little to the right, then a little to the left. No matter how Satan places the coin, it always comes up heads.

Satan’s jaw muscles twitch, and sweat appears along his hairline.  Although he tries to appear calm, Larry can see he’s nervous.

“My goodness, Larry, you-you’ve seemed to have regained some of your old luck. Good for you! Really, good for you.” He smiles as he stresses, “But this is the tenth and final toss. The whole enchilada. You’ve got to make this one, so don’t be nervous, okay?” Satan holds Larry’s hand to steady it as he places the coin so that the rim is barely over his thumb. Satan gingerly lets go of Larry’s hand and hesitates to be sure the coin doesn’t fall off. Looking up, he softly says, “Go.”

Larry studies the positioning of the coin and realizes that if he flips it like this, it will fly away from him, and he wouldn’t be able to catch it. Thinking to himself, “That cheatin’ old creep. Well, have I got a surprise for him!”

Locking eyes with Satan, Larry tilts his wrist back toward himself and flicks the coin. Instead of flying away, it goes straight up about eye level. Larry quickly grabs it and slowly places it on the back of his left hand, never looking away from Satan. They stare into each other’s eyes until Larry lifts his hand, revealing the toss. Larry watches Satan look down and sees his shoulders slump.

“Hey, hey! Looks like someone lost!” But before he knows it, Satan is a few inches from his face. He sees real flames in Satan’s eyes, and his face is bright red. As he hisses, his mouth has become a maul of sharp rows of teeth.   Then “poof,” he’s gone.

Larry’s mouth is agape, and his hat has been physically pushed back on his head. Never before has he felt such fear. The only thing remaining of the demon is a faint smell of brimstone. Larry’s still in shock when he becomes aware of someone stifling a snicker, chuckle, and then a full burst of laughter. From the seat in front of him, an old man with long white hair and a flowing beard turns and looks through the space between the seat cushions.

“Larry, that was great! I’ve never seen Old Scratch so mad in my time! Did you see his face? Priceless! Peter told me not to let you do it because if you won, he’d have to let you in! You accepted the challenge, and I didn’t stop you, so I’d say you won it fair and square.

“Enjoy the rest of your life, Larry, and for My sake, try to be good.  I’ll see you later.” Wiping tears from His eyes, He adds,   “By the way, I’ve already picked out a place for you next to someone with similar interests. Have you ever heard of a fellow named” The Thief on the Cross?” With that, He also vanishes, but this time the lingering smell is of incense and myrrh.

More flabbergasted than ever, Larry looks down at the half-a-dollar and sees it has been transformed into a twenty-dollar gold piece which he stares at all the way to Reno.