I want to grab him by his tainted collar and shake
him till it hurts. Instead, I rise, my legs a wobbly and oedematous
mass. I stumble hesitantly until the pains subside and I can properly
walk, toes hard on heels, to the elevator bank.
When I am back, Eli is slouched, position same, and snores. I could
refrain from rousing him, say that I fell asleep in our room, that I
lost the key to the safety deposit box, that I stirred him up but he
wouldn't budge, I could come up with anything I damn well please, now
that he is sound asleep - he will thank me for it, he will want to
believe me. It is our last chance.
I regard the rustling plastic bag. I feel the greenish notes inside.
Then I jiggle Eli's shoulder. He comes to in panic, surveying the alien
landscape. Then, mechanically, he snatches our neatly packed reserve
and falters towards his table.
I bide the time to his return, eyes glazed, lips forced into a tortuous
smile.
"It's over" - he mumbles - "let's get out of here."
I collect my winnings from the board and proudly display them. He
snickers:
"Less than my losses in every minute of this cursed evening."
But that is all we have. We pack our meager belongings and sneak
through the back door to the taxi at the head of a nocturnal queue.
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