Thirteen--Quincy Meets a Nice Girl

Finishing a three-hour session at the Venetian, Quincy headed to the elevators to return to his room for a quick nap and some mac and cheese.  The elevator door opened and he pressed his floor.  Just before the door shut, a woman hurried inside.

She was wearing a black leather miniskirt and a white tube top.  Quincy noticed that she didn't push a button for her floor.

As the elevator slid shut, she turned to him and said, "You did pretty good at that table."

Quincy shrugged.

She blinked, and Quincy saw white eye shadow that sparkled.  "You must've left with over twenty thousand," she continued.

"I showed up with fifty thousand."

"Oh.  What do you plan to do with the twenty you have left?"

"Prolly lose it," he said.  "Or save it for another Masarati."

She tapped a silver hoop on her wrist with a fingernail.  "There are better things you could do with twenty thousand than lose it at a poker table."

He stared at her in amazement.  "Like what?"

Now it was her turn to stare in amazement.  "How old are you?"

He shrugged again.

She asked, "What's your room number?"

"1614."

"1614."  She shifted her balance from one foot to the other.  "If I came along with you, what would we do?"

"Prolly GTA."

Her eyes widened.  "GTA.  What's that code for?"

"Just a game."

She raised an eyebrow.  "I don't do any rough stuff."

After some careful consideration, Quincy replied,  "GTA isn't for you then."

"Try me."

"We could bet on it."

"Bet on it?  How?"

"We could play.  You and me.  Winner takes a thousand."

"How do we know who the winner is?"

Quincy shook his head, baffled.  "The winner is alive and the loser is dead.  Duh."

Her eyes became saucers.  "What kind of sicko are you, kid?"

Quincy realized that she might be a simpleton.  He decided to simplify.  "It's a game.  A video game.  You shoot people and run them down.  You can even steal a tank and kill cops.  It's the best invention ever."

"Oh."  Now she laughed.  "All right then.  I'm in."  She stepped next to him, ran her finger down his arm.  "But I don't have a thousand," she purred.  "If I lose, will you take it out in trade?"

Quincy looked at her.  Aside from high heels, a miniskirt, tube top, and some costume jewelry, she had nothing on her.  No purse.

"Okay, but what do you have to trade?"

A tone sounded, and the door opened.  Quincy stepped out.  He turned, and she was still in the elevator.  Scowling.

"I could take any baseball cards you have," he began--but the door shut, and the elevator carried her away.