Page 51 of Too Late

I make it to the other side of the casino without finding him. I turn back and walk past a blackjack table when my eyes fall on a guy slurring something to the dealer. “Every time I come to this goddamn casino, I see the same miserable motherfuckers hunched over these tables, handing over their hard-earned wages to you goddamn assholes and you just keep taking. Taking, taking, taking.”

The dealer scoops the chips out from in front of the guy. A man across the table says, “And nine times out of ten that miserable motherfucker is you.”

I laugh and make eye contact with the man who just spoke.

I stop laughing.

He glances away from me without even a flash of recognition.

The guy doing the complaining pushes his stool away from the table and stands. He points at the guy I’m staring at and says, “You got lucky, Paul. That’s all. Won’t last.”

I’m clenching my fists so hard, I’m drawing blood. I can feel it seeping out of my palm.

I didn’t even have to hear his name confirmed to know it was him. A son doesn’t forget his father.

No matter how easy it was for that father to forget his son.

I turn my back to him and wipe the blood from my hand onto the leg of my jeans. I pull my phone out and do a quick Google search. After a few minutes of scrolling through the results and glancing back and forth from him to my phone, I finally find what I’m looking for.

The motherfucker was paroled last year.

I slide my phone into my pocket and walk over to the empty seat across from him. I’ve never been this tense, but it isn’t because I’m scared of what he’ll do to me anymore. I’m tense because I’m scared of what I want to do tohim.I lay down my bet and try not to make it obvious that I’m staring, but he isn’t paying me any attention. He’s focused on the dealer.

His hair is so thin, he might even be considered bald if it weren’t for the last few strands he’s pathetically holding on to. I run my hand through my hair. It feels as thick as it always has.

Maybe he lost his hair because of stress and it isn’t hereditary. God, I hope nothing about this man is hereditary; he looks like a fucking waste of space.

I remember my father being much taller. Much broader. Much more intimidating. I’m a little disappointed.

Actually, I’m a lot disappointed. I’ve always hated the motherfucker, but the memories I have of him made me think he was invincible. Which made me feel like maybe I got a little of that from him. But seeing how he’s turned out really puts a fucking wrinkle in my pride.

“Hey, kid,” he says, snapping his bony fingers. “You got a smoke?”

My eyes meet his and he’s staring at me, trying to bum a cigarette off of his only fucking child, and he doesn’t even recognize me. Not even a little bit.

“I don’t fucking smoke, asshole.”

He chuckles and holds up a hand, palm out. “Whoa, there, buddy. Bad day?”

He thinks that was me having an attitude? I turn a chip over in my fingers and lean forward. “You could say that.”

He shakes his head and we’re silent for the next round of bets. An older chick with tits more wrinkled than my old man’s knuckles sidles up next to him and puts her arm around him. “I’m ready to go,” she whines.

He sticks his elbow out to shove her off of him and says, “I’m not. I told you I’d find you when I’m ready.”

She whines some more until he pulls a twenty out of his pocket and tells her to go play some penny slots. When she’s gone, I nudge my head in her direction. “That your wife?”

He chuckles again. “No. Fuck no.”

I flip my first card over. It’s a ten of hearts. “You ever been married?” I ask him.

He brings his hand up to his neck and pops it, but doesn’t look at me. “Once. Didn’t last long.”

Yeah, I know. I was there.

“Was she a whore?” I ask him. “Is that why you aren’t married to her anymore?”

He laughs and makes eye contact with me again. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

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