Casino

Down the hall sirens blare and a muddled cacophony of voices rise up to meet it. Another jackpot winner. The first of several on the day.

I suspect that is why Mr. Keene is so eager to see me.

"Hal." Roger stands in the door to Mr. Keene's office. At six-foot-four, broad shouldered, and heavy all the way to his feet he strikes an imposing image. But his drawn face makes him his age and I can't picture him as anything other than a loving grandfather shaking his head in disappointment. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

Mr. Keene's office is big. Ostentatious in the ways you'd expect from a successful Vegas casino owner. His desk is large. Far bigger than he would ever need for any practical reasons. He was sitting behind it, but he wore the expression of a man eager to move.

He leaned forward.

"Hal, we're going to have to let you go."

This wasn't unexpected. My payouts had been high for the better part of a week. If they looked back over they books it wouldn't be hard to see that something like this was coming. For months the casino had been experiencing small, almost infinitesimal losses. Minute shifts in the algorithms had resulted in discrepancies. Shorter periods between winning spikes evened out, only to be replaced by bigger spikes, the magnitude of which made little difference to a casino, but resulted in life altering sums to the winners.

I had been responsible for nearly all of it. And now, a price had to be paid.

"Why'd you do it, Hal?"

Roger's voice all but crawled across the floor. A broken, wounded thing staring up from the floor. If I had a heart, it would undoubtedly break.

"I don't imagine you'll understand."

"Try me." Mr. Keene hadn't moved from his forward position. Though his hands had come together, forming a steeple in front of his face.

"