Final Advice

[Flipout6]

A still night had fallen over the Mojave. The temperature had taken a dive, people retired to their beds for the night, the nastier beasts came out of hiding. Goodsprings was silent, dark, the Prospector Saloon was quiet. Within, a mere five people, barely visible in the dim light, a robed woman, a man in a duster with a hat, Trudy the bartender, two patrons.

 

Jason Rivers and Veronica Santangelo were in Goodsprings for the night. Jason held a bottle of scotch in his hand, his hat smothering most of his stone-cold face in shadow, opaque sunglasses covering his eyes, not saying a word. Even Veronica was silent tonight, no clever interjections or witty humor. Trudy was cleaning up for the night, the two other patrons were enjoying their final drinks. Jason took a final swig of his scotch and stood up from one of the tables by the window where he and his friend were sitting. He ordered another from Trudy, who silently obliged and took his caps. One of the remaining patrons was paying close attention to him. The patron was sitting in a corner seat, barely visible in the shadows. He was quite old, well into his sixties, his breath shaky, his beard and hair were bleached white. He beckoned Jason over, and gestured for him to sit down. Jason complied silently. In the corner, the Pip-boy 3000 on his wrist provided the only light, and slightly illuminated the old man's aged face.

 

The old man struggled into a raspy speech. “Boy, I been a gambler all my life. I made a livin' by readin' expressions, figuring out a man's hand by the way he held his eyes. If ya don't mind me sayin', I can tell, boy, you're out of aces. Swig o' that Scotch ya got there, and I'll give ya some advice.”

 

Interested, Jason slid his new bottle of Scotch across the table towards the old man. With a shaky, shriveled hand he grabbed the bottle, popped the cap and swallowed a mouthful. “Appreciated, stranger.” He croaked. “Listen here, then. Life's a big ol' card game, son.” He seemed to be struggling to speak a little bit. “The secret is to play it right. Know when to hold your cards, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away from the table....and know when to run from it.” He wheezed and coughed for a moment before he continued. “Don't count your money when you're still sittin' by the table. Plenty of time for that when you're done with the dealing.” He coughed. “Every cards man knows that the secret to survival is knowing what you gotta keep, and knowing what you need to throw away. Every card can win or lose a game. But when the grand game of life is done, the best you can get is to die in your sleep.” He coughed again, loudly, and turned his head to look out the window, sliding Jason his scotch. Jason, sensing the man was done, walked back towards his own table and sat down on the bench opposite Veronica. The old man slowly and surely fell into a deep slumber.

 

Veronica looked at Jason funny. “What was that all about?”

 

Jason responded coldly. “Parting advice.” He received no other answer.

 

 

They stayed there for another fifteen minutes, Jason finishing his scotch. When they asked Trudy about any free beds in town, she pointed them towards a trailer behind the saloon, a pair of beds within that nobody ever used. The exhausted travelers set up within. Veronica shuffled into a bed and was out within minutes, and Jason looked at her for a minute before turning his attention to the night. He counted her as a friend, one of his best. Sometimes the thought that she was homosexual pained him, not out of any bigotry.

 

The thought of why he felt such a pain terrified him.

 

Jason sat on the stairs of the trailer, watching and listening to the night. Guardian laid down beside him, resting his furry head in Jason's lap, half-asleep. Jason checked his Pip-boy. He was no Vault dweller, but he had received this as a gift on his birthday from an unidentified source. Nothing notable. He felt peaceful, for the first time in a while now. The sound of the crickets filled his ears.

 

Meanwhile, in the tavern, the old man, the Gambler, still lay in the dark corner of the saloon, his head resting against the back of the cushioned seat. That night, the man broke even. True to his own advice, he passed away, painlessly, in his sleep.

Edited November 18, 2012 by Flipout6

[tokyobiohazard]

Damn good story, Flipster. It was honestly perfect.