“What’s two-up?”
“An old gambling game that’s been played since modern Australia began. Deceptively simple—all you need to do is bet on how two coins will land.”
“Sounds likes it’s pretty easy to get into.”
“The best traps are.”
Andy found another option with a snap of his fingers. The barman. “Back in a moment.”
He pushed through the crowd and leaned on the bar as the tanned, sinewy young man in the red, yellow, and blue shirt downed the last of his beer. “Just in time, mate. Your shout?”
Shout? “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll keep my voice down.”
The young man clapped a hand on Andy’s shoulder with a laugh. “Shout. It’s Aussie for your turn to buy.”
Andy shrugged off the hand whose grip was tightening. “I’m sorry, I’ve got no money.”
The man’s smile slid away at the rebuff, as from the jukebox the brassy horns slid down the scale into silence, broken by more familiar finger-picking guitar. “On a warm summer’s evenin’ . . .”
The barman’s meaty forearm landed on the bar. “It’s okay, Tex, I’ve got this one.” His expression hardened, his eyes like flint. “What can I do you for?”
Andy tried his broadest smile. “I was hoping to use your phone.”
The barman jerked his head toward the door. “There’s a pay phone out there. Takes coins.” He reached for the cloth hanging over his shoulder and polished his way down the bar as he collected empty glasses.
Another dead end. Andy made his way back to the table, and Smithy drained his glass. “How did you do?”
“He’s no help.”
“Well, I can help you work out how to get you back on track.”
The coins spun in the air again. Andy’s little finger twitched as the coins clinked on the polished floorboards and rolled to a stop. All he had to do was guess how two coins would land, not pull off the point spread in the NBA Eastern Conference. How easy was that?
He reached for his drink, and Smithy’s eyes clouded with a stern concern. “You’ve got a gambling problem, mate.”
A statement, not a question. “How did you know?”
Smithy’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “I’ve seen it before. Can’t take your eyes off it. Each time you look for a little bit longer, the corners of your mouth twitch. Gotta tell ya, it never ends well.”
“It’s only two coins.”
Smithy cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “It’s more than that. Much more. It’s the rush, the temporary denial of consequences. It’s the devil-may-care concern for the future to feed the uncontrollable desires of the present.” The rough Australian in front of Andy appeared to have gone.
The doors to the kitchen swung open as the waitress hefted the largest deep-dish pizza Andy had ever seen. The waft of onion and tomato drifted in her wake, and Andy’s mouth dropped open at the mound of meat and cheese now sitting on the table next to them. Andy implored Smithy. “Don’t you have any more money?”
“Do you?”
“I’ve got to find a way . . .”
Smithy placed a hand on the table between them. “This is how it always starts, doesn’t it?” His eyes hardened as they drilled into Andy’s soul. “The desire rises and you justify how easy it is, how it won’t be like last time. First with something small, then something larger. You dig to fill a small hole that your first gamble created, only to find that when it’s full, you’re standing in a larger hole. And that needs filling too.”
Smithy’s oddly poetic language belied a blunt, rough-and-tumble man still covered in the dust of the outback as he described every morning of Andy’s year and his journey from college, starting with a first bet placed at Lincoln’s insistence, whose insider news on the Flagstaff College basketball team made it a sure thing.
A wide crack ripped down the middle of Andy’s resolve, and he could no longer hold back his story. Staggering through the outback while he lost hope. Waking on a cliff with no memory of getting there. Surviving an overnight dust storm. Enduring a campfire intervention by friends horrified at the depths to which he’d sunk. Lodging at the campsite in a crater in the middle of nowhere.
Smithy took it all in. “That’s not all, is it?”
Andy dropped his head. “I thought I could disappear for a while. Get away from some big gambling debts.” Guilt covered him like a heavy blanket. “Big ones.”
“How big?”
Andy started to answer, then stopped. He swallowed hard and gave it a second run as he owned the size of the millstone around his neck. “In total? Seven hundred thousand dollars.”
Tears formed in the corners of Smithy’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Why?”
“You’ve been able to admit that to yourself.”
Who was this guy? This dusty, solid water tank of a man had pried secrets from him in minutes and he somehow felt better for it. “Who are you?”
Smithy’s voice was quiet. Soothing. Unthreatening. “I’m a guide. We all are.”
“All?”
“Yes, all. We’re here to help you on your journey.”
“To get back to the campsite?”
“It’s far more important than that.”
Andy’s stomach growled. Like a lion caged with its meal outside the bars. “If you want to help me on my way, I really need something to eat.”
The waitress placed another pizza on the bar, and Andy’s resolve deserted him. The steam rose to the shimmering heat flickering beyond the window. He couldn’t venture back into the oven of outback Australia with no transport, no phone, and no idea of where he was headed. His hunger needed attention. “This is crazy. I should be able to talk the barman into helping a lost tourist.”
Smithy shook his head. “That’s not your biggest need.”
Andy made his way back to the bar. The barman absentmindedly picked at his fingernails with a corkscrew and raised an eyebrow. “Found some money, did you?”
Andy pushed aside the shame and nodded to the menu board with imploring eyes. “I’m a visitor to your country and I’m lost. My friend here is out of money—”
“Friend?”
Andy threw a glance back to the table. Smithy was gone. He would have to fix this on his own. “Look. I need something to eat, so maybe I could wash some dishes for you?” He lowered his head, hoping for mercy, expecting the inevitable crushing blow of rejection.
Andy looked up into the barman’s nearly complete smile. “I tell you what, mate. You look like a bloke who likes a flutter, so how about you gamble for some lunch?”
Twenty-Two
This had to be a setup. The leather chair cracked as Lincoln retreated one seat back from Alinta. “What’s going on?”
She offered him another shy smile but nothing else. “I can help.”
“Help what? Get me back to the campsite?”
“No.” She reached a hand toward him. “I can help you get out of the mess you’ve made of your life. Get back on track.”