This story was first published in 1995 in Weavings, an annual literary anthology of the San Diego Writing Center.

SNAKE EYES

by

Tom Scanlan

I should have driven away and found a motel after finishing that beer. Instead I was still outside the bar, standing by my car listening to that poor slob inside the saloon pleading with a crowd of drunks.

"Please, fellas. Please give it back. It's mine."

The evening had started simply enough. I was dead tired from driving all day on a narrow road that alternately lurched inland through dark, conifer forests and then swung back into the harsh glare of the August sun, winding precariously along the edge of crumbling cliffs overlooking the Pacific. It was getting dark when I finally entered this small bayside town and found its only watering hole. I parked as close as I could to the plain brick building on the corner whose neon sign flickered, 'CAFE CO KTA LS'.

The air inside the place was even warmer and muggier than the air outside. I was sweating before I'd settled onto the only available barstool--vacant, I supposed, because it was next to the swing-out slatted doors that separated eaters from drinkers.

I looked around, trying to adjust to the glare of indoor light The bartender was huddled over the far end of the bar, vigorously shaking a black, cardboard tube. When he rattled the dice onto the bar top, the half-dozen customers shouted and laughed. He expertly scooped up the dice and handed the tube to a burly, dark-bearded customer in a faded, red tank-top.

"Let's see you beat that, Eddie boy."

Eddie boy rolled the dice. More laughter and shouts. The man next to him whose grease stained T-shirt made Eddie's tank-top look dressy, slapped him on the back and reached for the dice while Eddie, fishing for his wallet, said, "You take em', Bill. It ain't my night."

I cleared my throat and called out, "Bartender! Can I get a beer?" My throat was too dry, and my timing was bad. A new wave of shouting and laughter drowned out my hoarse request. I stood up from the stool as conspicuously as I could and walked toward the noisy end of the bar. No one looked up, least of all the bartender. I tried again. "I could sure use a cold beer."

The one called Bill turned around and looked at me with squinting, bloodshot eyes. He thrust the dice tube toward me. In a voice that was too loud and slurred, he said, "Roll for it, mister."

I wasn't sure if he was asking or demanding, but it sounded more like a demand. Well, I'm not too lucky when it comes to gambling, and I had no intention of buying all these strangers a drink. I waved the tube aside. His drunken smile faded. Several of the other customers turned and looked at me. The bartender made no move to get me a beer. Everyone quit talking. The only sound was the whup-whup-whup of the four-bladed ceiling fan. My throat was really dry, now. I tried to swallow. I looked past Bill, directly at the bartender and asked, "What do you have on tap?"

"Bud or Miller's Light. Same price."

"I'll have a Miller's, thanks."

Then this Bill fellow, unwilling to take no for an answer, shook the dice tube real close to my face and rolled the dice out onto the bar. They skidded to a stop in a ring of water left on the bar top by someone's drink...directly in front of where I was standing. He cackled sadistically and said, "Snake eyes! Looks like you buy this round, mister." His buddies all laughed, delighted at this new fish they'd caught in their net. And at the prospect of a free drink.

The bearded one, Eddie, off the hook now, turned to the bartender and shouted, "Set em' up all around. Make mine a double." He was watching me closely when he asked for the double.

The bartender topped off a beer and set it down hard on the bar in front me. Foam splashed out toward me. He glanced down at the dice and then looked at me and asked, "You buying?"

I watched the foam run down the side of the frosted glass. Bubbles were streaming up from the bottom of the glass like they do from those little air pumps in aquariums. I looked at the motley group of men sitting at this end of the bar. I didn't like what I saw. Not one smile in the bunch. Damn it, all I had wanted was a cold beer and a good night's rest before I hit the road again in the morning.

I tried to stay cool. The yahoos in this backwater little town were probably bored to tears most of the time. Harrasing strangers was just something they did to break the monotony. But numb as I was from driving all day, I wasn't going to be suckered. I nodded toward Bill. Trying to sound indignant without being too provocative, I said to the bartender, "I thought whoever rolled the lowest score had to buy. I didn't roll any dice. He did."

Bill almost whined, "I rolled em' for you. Same as if you'd done it." His squinty eyes avoided mine. I thought I saw a look of guilt, or maybe doubt, flicker across his reddening face. Encouraged, I looked directly into his shifting, bloodshot eyes and said, trying to keep my voice from shaking, "I'm afraid not, friend. You rolled, not me. And if I was to roll the dice now, I couldn't do worse than snake eyes." He sputtered and started to say something, but I knew I had him now. I smiled, hoping it didn't look as phony as it felt. "But you don't have to pay for mine. I wasn't really in on the game."

Eddie, the bearded guy next to him, shook his head and started to laugh. "He's gotcha' there, Bill. Anything beats snake eyes. You gotta' buy."

I found myself suddenly liking Eddie, or at least disliking him less than his friends. The others joined in, laughing, and started shouting their orders to the now smiling bartender. His mouth hanging open in an exaggerated expression of defeat, Bill pulled a ten slowly out of his wallet and let it flutter down to the bar. He turned his head part way toward me and made a funny grimace with the side of his face. I think it was meant to be a wink. Picking up my beer, I raised it and tipped the glass slightly toward him. Smiling at the others, I handed the bartender a dollar and walked back to my stool at the end of the bar.

Christ, what a hassle to get a glass of beer. It reminded me of grade school, and the games a newcomer had to play to be accepted by the inner circle. I'd always hated that even though I was a quick learner. Instead of gloating, I felt guilty for smiling at the bastards and pretending like the whole thing was all right.

I sat there, trying to forget all this, enjoying a final, deep swallow of cold beer as it burned deliciously down my throat, when a new customer walked into the bar. He was short, balding, and overweight, wearing a crumpled business suit. Wheezing and sweating, he looked like like he was overdue for a heart attack. He stood there a minute, just inside the entrance, blinking and looking around the room like a kid who'd been separated from his mother and was lost. Spotting the bartender, he walked self-consciously toward the group of men clustered at that end of the bar. In a voice that sounded like an apology, he asked the bartender if he could have a scotch and soda.

The room grew quiet. A big guy with unruly blond hair hanging down in front of his face swung around on his stool. The new customer looked at him, puzzled. The big guy smiled wickedly and held out the black cardboard tube.

"Roll for it, mister?"

These guys never give up. Well, it's the new guy's problem, now. I put my glass down and pushed away from the bar. I could hear the newcomer stammering something about being short of cash. He was showing them his wallet. Then I heard Bill, loud and slurring worse than before, "I don't think he likes us, boys. He won't even join us in a friendly little game."

I left a quarter on the bar and headed for the door, wondering why Bill's parents hadn't brained him when they saw what a little bastard he was going to be. Assholes like him were troublemakers from day one. I glanced over at the newcomer and his eyes caught mine. Poor guy looked terrified. I looked away and pushed open the screen door. Let them play their silly game. The most it would cost the little guy is five or six bucks.

"He don't like us. Just like that sonovabitch leaving..."

I felt my face flushing. Ignore it. You didn't hear it. The door slammed behind me and I fished the car keys from my jeans. Bill was still raving on inside, loud enough that I could hear him clearly from my car. "Goddamn it, I say yer' gonna roll the dice!"

I stood there, holding my car door open, listening for the newcomer's response. There was no sound for a minute, and then I heard dice clattering on the bar.

"Boxcars?! Yer a goddamn cheat! Nobody gets boxcars on the first roll."

Silence.

"Roll em' again, goddamn it."

I couldn't make out what the newcomer said, but I could hear Bill's slurred reply. "You calling me a liar?"

A beer glass tipped over, followed by the sound of someone scuffling to his feet. Then there was a sickening splat of flesh against flesh followed by stumbling noises and a loud thud. More laughter and shouting. But not enough to mask the pained groans of the newcomer

"Git outta' here and join that other tight-ass."

A moment later the little man whose luck with dice had worked against him stumbled out the screen door, moaning and holding a blood-drenched handkerchief against his nose. He looked around and saw me still standing by my car.

"He broke my nose. I played the dice game, and then he broke my nose." There was outrage as well as anguish in his voice. He almost blubbered, "Didn't want to play dice in the first place."

I was feeling uncomfortable, especially when he started to walk over toward me. Why tell me about it?

Bill's voice bellowed from inside. "Hey, asshole! You forgot your wallet."

The newcomer checked his back pocket and looked toward the screen door. I shook my head at him. "Don't go back in there."

He stared at me, still holding the handkerchief against his nose. "I have to. My driver's license, credit cards..."

"You can get new ones. People lose their wallets all the time."

He removed the handkerchief. "Would you leave your wallet?"

"Sure. Under the circumstances. They aren't stupid enough to steal it. Check with the bartender tomorrow, when those jerks are sleeping it off."

I slid into my car and started to close the door.

"I can't just leave my wallet." Holding the handkerchief to his nose, he stumbled back into the bar.

The damned fool. Me, too, for that matter. What was I waiting around for? Get out of here. Find a room. Get some sleep. But I rolled down the window and waited, listening to the laughter that greeted the newcomer's entry.

Bill's slurred voice answered the newcomer's question. "Wallet? I don't see no wallet. Hey, Eddie, you seen a wallet anywhere?"

Those creeps. I'd seen this all before, dozens of times. A new kid on the playground, usually short and a little chubby. Some of the bigger boys swipe his cap and throw it back and forth while the poor kid runs from one to another trying to snatch it back. Usually it ended with the cap torn, the new kid in tears, and everyone else laughing about what a baby he was. And like most of the other kids, I had stood and watched it all and then laughed along with them. Later, though, I'd always felt bad about it.

Like I was starting to feel now.

With a sigh, I got out of my car and walked toward the screen door. The evening was cooling slightly and the air felt good. Just before I pushed through the door, I glanced up at the neon sign.

"CAFE COCKTAILS"

The End