Josiah took a leak and came out and stared around the room, feeling the weight of his anger again, anger driven even deeper because he hadn’t found a woman. Oh, there were some tens around, no mistake about that, but they were all hanging off somebody else’s arm already, rich bitches come down for the weekend with their boyfriends. Wouldn’t look at Josiah but would look through him, same as the hotel guests always did. There were people—Danny Hastings, for one—who were comfortable with that sort of thing, slipped into their anonymous little life like it was skin that fit them. Didn’t fit Josiah, though. He wasn’t the sort who could tolerate being an unknown. That was what he realized as he studied some of the men in the casino, men who controlled whatever crowd of assholes they’d arrived with. He didn’t want their damn money or their slut wives or their ass-kissing buddies. What he wanted—deserved—was the role. People took notice of these pricks and treated Josiah like he was furniture.
Hell with it. He’d have one more drink and call it a night.
He was halfway back to the bar when he heard someone scream, a wild impression of a rebel yell that came out more like a little girl’s sound, or maybe a pig’s squeal, something that made the hair rise up along his arms and neck, not because it frightened him but because he knew the source—it was Danny.
Danny had won.
There were wild bells and chimes going off somewhere back among the slot machines, and Josiah fell in grudging step with a handful of other onlookers and walked toward the sound.
“Josiah! Josiah, where you at? You got to see this!”
Danny shouting for him even though Josiah was just five steps away now.
“Josiah!”
“Shut up, I’m right here.” He shouldered up beside Danny to look at the display. Dollar slot machine, thing still buzzing and clattering, designed to draw a crowd of fools who’d want to rush off and shove their own cash into one of these glittering garbage disposals. It took him a second to find the figure—$2,500.
“You see that, Josiah? Twenty-five hunnert!” Danny gave another one of those damn squeals and slapped Josiah on the back. It took all Josiah had not to knock his ass to the ground.
“I put in a dollar, was all. One dollar, you believe that? Had myself some luck on over at the blackjack table, was starting to feel it ’cept for the last hand.”
Except for the last hand. Brilliant. How many broke sons of bitches had said that?
“So I’d lost my money but I knew I had the luck going, right? Didn’t have nothing but two dollars left, and I only played one of them here. Took a pull and won, took another and won, and then this one, this one was just the third pull.”
Some stupid blond chick was clapping for him now, trying to get others involved, and Danny turned and grinned at them and held his hands up over his head, clasped them together like a boxing champ. Shit, but he was ugly. Josiah didn’t know that he’d ever yet seen anyone uglier. Ugly breed, of course, redheaded men. Women could pull red hair off, but men? Damned disgusting.
Danny was heavy with beer weight, too, and freckled and sweaty. Looking at him now was almost too much to bear. Dancing around with his hands over his head like that, all over twenty-five hundred bucks. He’d give every cent back to the casino by next weekend, still be telling this story like it was some sort of accomplishment.
“I’ll tell you one thing, hoss,” Danny said, hitting the print button and watching his ticket come out, the blond girl still whistling and clapping. “Drinks is on me for the rest of the night.”
“Better believe it,” Josiah said, reaching out and—this took great effort—punching Danny in the shoulder, light, friendly. “Go on and cash that out, then come on back to the bar and spend it.”
“I always said it, I always said it,” Danny crowed, his voice thick with booze and excitement, “one day, the name Danny Hastings will be anonymous with success!”
Anonymous with success. Holy shit, he’d actually said that, and not on purpose.
“It already is,” Josiah said, and Danny just grinned and slapped him on the shoulder again, still not getting it, as the rest of the onlookers snorted with laughter.
“Like I said, go on and cash that out. I’ll be at the bar,” Josiah said.
Danny was gibbering on enthusiastically as he went. Josiah let him get all the way up to the cashier before he circled around the slot machines and left the casino.
He found his Ford Ranger in the parking lot and fired it up, drove away from the casino, and then hesitated on 56, unsure of which way to turn. He sure as shit wasn’t going to be able to sit in there and watch Danny carry on all night, not in this mood. Maybe if he’d been a little drunker. But he was still sober, and still angry. Could go home, but home was out in the hills between Orangeville and Orleans, and driving away from town now felt like cowardice, running off to sulk. No, go on to another bar.