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By Root 631 0

jeans and hitch a ride to Shelbyville: start out playing Texas hold ’em at the Indian casino with farmers and truck drivers who’d been up all night to build up her stack. She lost the twenty grand sitting in cigar smoke, the five no-limit gentlemen in their suitcoats watching her, not saying a word. She folded, threw in her ace-five against her better judgment. She would have called if these guys were wearing work clothes. She watched an ace come up on the flop and she would have won with the pair of bullets. It would’ve told her it was possible to take these guys; at least give her the feeling. Say, “Oh, you waiting for me?” and raise on the ace-five. But she’d folded. Telling herself the odds said to fold. Why didn’t she tell herself to fuck off? She let herself be cleaned out and was down to three hundred in her sneakers when the cops came in.

In the morning, Buddy, who drove Jackie out to 74, where she’d get out to thumb the thirty miles to Shelbyville, said, “Isn’t that my backpack?”

Jackie told him he’d loaned it to her last night and Buddy said, “I did?”

“I’m starting out with three hundred,” Jackie said. “I’ll make enough today to buy a bus ticket and only stop to play poker, all the way to Tunica, Mississippi, last stop before Las Vegas and the World Series of Poker. What I need to make is the buy-in money, win the tournament, pay off Reno and get back to Butler in time for graduation. How does that sound?”

Buddy in his hungover state said, “Hey, why not.”

He didn’t have enough gas to drive to the casino and back. Jackie told him not to worry about it, kissed Buddy on the mouth holding her breath, said, “See you,” and walked out to the highway, Buddy watching her, the backpack hanging from one shoulder. She hadn’t even raised her thumb and cars were slowing down for a look. Buddy thinking, Two minutes she’ll have a ride.

He watched a car pull over and creep past Jackie for a close look and Buddy realized, holy shit, the car must be fifty years old but so what. It was a Rolls-Royce Phantom repainted its original green body color and looked brand-new.

He watched a black guy in a chauffeur’s outfit get out and open the rear door, taking her backpack. Buddy watched her wave to him and get in the Rolls.

The chauffeur, still holding the door open, was saying to Jackie, “The gentleman offering you a ride is Mr. Harry Burgoyne of Lexington and Burgoyne Horse Farms.”

Harry, watching her duck into the Rolls, said, “Don’t tell me you’re runnin away from home. We cross a state line I could end up in jail.” He said, “No, you’re a student, huh? Don’t say Butler. I had to give Butler five points the other day so I could bet on Duke and lose ten big ones.”

“I’m Jackie Nevada, and yeah, I go to Butler. I bet Duke even,” Jackie said, “and won twenty grand.”

Harry had a grin on his face now behind his sunglasses and plaid sport coat. “You’re kiddin me. Takin bets at school?”

“Mostly,” Jackie said. She was sitting with Harry now, heads turned to each other, the Rolls cruising along the highway. “By the time we played Duke everyone’s so high on Butler, they bet the game even. I did give Butler a point to some of my dad’s customers. Duke won by two, so I still beat everybody.” Jackie said, “Actually Reno Nevada’s my stepdad.”

Harry said, “Why they call him Reno?”

“It’s his name. He wanted to call me Sierra before I was born. Sierra Nevada would’ve been cool, but he named me after my mom instead. She walked out on us before I had a memory of her. They never married and Reno wasn’t even my dad. I did see pictures of Mom posing nude in the backyard Reno left on the dresser one time and I had an intimate look at my mother. I favor her somewhat, but she’s more of a babe than I’d ever be.”

Harry was frowning at her. “You never saw your own mother?”

“Lots of people haven’t seen their moms. Or their dads.”

“What’re you doin now? Where you going?”

“Shelbyville, that casino called Indiana Live? I’ll play poker the rest of the day.”

“I was thinkin of stoppin there,” Harry said. “Yeah, I could watch you go through your twenty