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</div>I was particularly bored. I had seen the ghost of Elvis, watched the pirates defeat the Royal Navy (something I thought highly unlikely) and I'd stood with other British tourists so I could safely "Boo" the pirates when they sank the British ship, and cheer when it came back up, the captain still on deck.<br/><br/>I'd watched the volcano erupt, I'd watched the Roman gods and goddesses come to life. I had, of course, been at each show precisely on time to get the best view. That was the first night, after the wedding when my big sister changed from being Natalie Choman to Natalie West. Personally I thought Nat was making a big mistake eloping like this, and the only reason I wasn't telling mum and dad was because Nat was paying for me to be here!<br/><br/>Of course Nat was twenty one and could do whatever she pleased. "Little Nit" as she insisted on calling me (which I hated, short for Anita), was eighteen and in the UK I was legally an adult. Not so here in Vegas, apparently! I'd walked towards the door of one casino, stopped, turned around and walked away, then wandered up the strip to watch the shows, knowing I'd not be allowed in.<br/><br/>That was last night. Tonight, though, I had a feeling... I left the hotel in Down-Town, and instead of heading towards the Strip, I went the other way. I got to an intersection and stopped, ignoring the green pedestrian light, just as a motorbike raced around the corner. Then I crossed. Another intersection and I just walked straight across the road without looking.<br/><br/>Here. This one. It was so hot in this gods-forsaken place and I really needed a beer. A nice cold lager, the sort they specialise in over here in the states, the sort that actually quenches your thirst and has as much alcohol in it as an alcopop back home. I looked up and shrugged. The place was called "The Time Out". Not exactly an inspiring name, but I walked straight in. There was no one on the door checking ID. I walked up to the bar, caught the bartender's eye and ordered her beer. The price of it made me wince, but hey, this was Las Vegas, and it would probably have been twice that in all the places I would have been turned away from.<br/><br/>I leaned back against the bar and let the probabilities wash over me. It was confusing and irritating at the same time. So many different random things happening all at once. One stood out to me suddenly. A slot machine, that a woman just walked away from. I muttered softly, "No.... One more..." Took my drink, dug in the pocket of my jeans for a coin that the bartender had just given me in change, pressed it into the slot and pulled the arm of the one-armed-bandit. The spinners whirred and came up with five bars. The machine erupted in a mass of lights, bells and whistles, and began spewing coins into the tray.<br/><br/>The woman who had just abandoned the machine looked at me in horror as I took her winnings. I shrugged apologetically and scooped the continuing rush of coins into a plastic bucket that someone shoved into my hand. None of the other machines called to me in that way though. I felt one thing and tapped a gentleman on the shoulder and suggest he hold the lemon. As I walked away I heard his machine pay out, too. Not a jackpot, but enough!<br/><br/>I looked around and heard the rattle of dice. No, too random. The clatter of the roulette wheels called to me. Too obvious, though. I knew what I could do, knew that the next three numbers would be 8 black, 19 black, and 33 black. I saw that if I bet on those numbers I would attract too much attention. But then the better path leapt out at me. I needed chips though. A machine nearby offered me the option of converting quarters to chips automatically for a small fee of one dollar. I tipped the bucket in and was pleasantly surprised by the number of plastic discs that came out.<br/><br/>Back at the roulette table the croupier was about to close. I put five dollars on black and won five dollars. I let it ride, won ten dollars, let it ride a third time, won twenty dollars. Not spectacular, but not bad. I declined a fourth bet and took my chips elsewhere.<br/><br/>Bacarat was a total mystery to me. Poker relied too much on skill and the variables were too high. But Blackjack... "Ooh, we used to call this pontoon when I was growing up!" I grinned at the dealer, sat myself down and paid the ten-dollar ante.<br/><br/>Two cards were dealt to me, along with a gentleman who sat beside me. I had a six and a ten. Sixteen. The next card, I knew, would be an ace. I'd seen others do it so I made a beckoning motion with her hand. The ace came to me giving seventeen. The next card was a three. I beckoned again. That gave me twenty.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1430" data-username="@Crazy Writer" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1430/">@Crazy Writer</a>