The Gambler's Lucky Feather
By Mark D. Rogers

(continued)

Desperately, I retraced my path as cold sweat dampened the pits of my work shirt. All I had to do was find my feather and look for a nickel or a quarter, any scrap of money that might have fallen to the ground, and I would bet it right away and be back in the green. An overwhelming sense of latent dread began taking hold. I thought I was going to be sick, but then, I spotted it.

The feather was in the hands of a very young woman who appeared to be quite intoxicated. She was using it to tickle a well-dressed man's nose as she laughed and flirted. She was tall, classy and wore a shimmering dress that revealed quite a bit of leg. Not to mention, she was also a redhead. To my horror, I watched with growing desperation as she provocatively teased the playboy by positioning my feather in her cleavage.

You're a dead man, Jack! The Gambler's voice echoed in my head. Under normal conditions, I couldn't even talk to a woman like this. She was the type of gal that a man would trade his nuts for. However, the luck of the magic feather could not be denied, and I knew that if I didn't recover it now I would die. I wasn't sure why or how exactly, but I knew. Mustering up all the courage I had, I approached the woman as smoothly as possible. I would reclaim my feather and blend into the crowd before she even noticed that it was gone, at least that was my plan.

As I approached the couple, I noticed that this was going to be more difficult than I imagined. She was supermodel tall, and my stumpy little arms would barely reach her knees. This was my only chance. I reached up for the prize, but the woman unexpectedly pulled back, and what I grabbed was not my feather but the entirety of her left breast. She screamed and caught me by surprise as her knee violently connected with my soft groin. I doubled over just in time to receive her boyfriend's cinderblock fist. The man punched me so hard that I literally was knocked a good several feet backwards. Blinded by the tears and blood gushing from my broken nose, I heard someone yelling for the security. The next thing I felt were massive hands ripping me away from my feather that taunted me from the woman's bosom. The security guards dragged my pathetic wreck to the back door of the casino and tossed me out with little effort.

I was sprawled out on the cold pavement trying to wipe the tears from my eyes. I cried as if a bully had stolen my lunch money. My heart pounded so violently in my chest that I was sure that it would stop working. The massive amount of adrenaline combined with the alcohol in my stomach and made me puke. You're a dead man, Jack. I could visualize his horrible breath in my face as he laughed wickedly. There was no way that I could retrieve the lucky feather. It was inside the casino, and the security guards would kick the shit out of me if I tried to go back.

I always pictured Death as a human skeleton in a long robe, but I was wrong. Death was a bird. It fluttered down from heaven or up from hell, and landed three feet in front of me. I couldn't catch a breath and I couldn't move. It looked like a huge turkey vulture, but much worse. Then, I understood the deadly consequences of losing the lucky feather. The feathers of this beast were identical to the one given to me by the gambler. This wasn't possible. Parts of its skull and rib cage were exposed, and it had only empty sockets where its eyes should have been. As it inched closer, its talons clicked upon the concrete. The bird screeched and hissed like a snake. Menacingly, it spread its large wings. From my sprawled out position on the asphalt, the bird loomed over me.

I wanted to move but my body wouldn't respond. I think I was in shock.

"Beat it, you old buzzard," yelled a familiar voice. It was The Gambler. The dead bird took off into the air with a loud fluttering. "It's your lucky day, Jack." He stooped down before me and held the feather before by teary eyes. I slowly took it from his wrinkled fingers. "Don't lose this. Next time you won't be so lucky." Again he laughed in my face, only this time his breath smelled like death.

I lay in the back parking lot of the Digger's Nugget, hugging the feather to my heart for several minutes as I watched the crazy old Indian limp away into the night. Gradually, I got to my feet and went around to the front of the building to look for my rusted Chevy Love, when I saw several police cars and an ambulance parked on the sidewalk surrounded by an audience of bloodthirsty rubber-neckers.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I joined the crowd. I arrived in time to see medics wheeling the blood-soaked bodies of two people into the back of the ambulance. In unison, the collective groaned with repulsion at the grizzly sight. The woman standing nearest to me (platinum blond and fat) fainted after nearly vomiting her three courses at the buffet. I think a hearse would have been better because these two were incontestably dead. A shiver shot down my spine as I recognized the victims as the couple who had unfortunately stumbled upon my lucky feather. The red haired woman wasn't so beautiful now. It looked as if something had pecked their eyes out.

As I drove home that night, I thought about The Gambler and for some reason, I felt confident that I would cross paths with him in the future. I kept glancing into my rear view, expecting to see the vulture. I never did, but I knew that it was out there waiting for me to drop its feather. Perhaps I am cursed; perhaps I am lucky. But I do know one thing: if I ever lose this feather, I am a dead man, Jack.