![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janie_tangerineTitle: I've Been Everywhere 11/14
Rating: PG-13, will reach NC17 overall
Characters for this part: Sawyer, Jack, Sayid
Word counting: 4124 this part, 50000 ca overall.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine and all the folk songs used here are not mine. The places really exist and I've never been there.
Summary: Sawyer is a rambling musician during the Dust Bowl, Jack a former doctor from L.A. traveling with him.
Thanks to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elliotsmelliot for the great beta job for which I can't be grateful enough and to fosfomifira for the title. I'd still be searching for one otherwise.
A/N: Sawyer's quote about folk music being basically stealing was half stolen from a Pete Seeger interview but I figured he'd know best. The song of the title of the chapter and the one referenced at the beginning is Philadelphia Lawyer by Woody Guthrie. Also, I didn't come up with the way to cheat at roulette Jack uses here, it's all on Wikipedia.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV
Rating: PG-13, will reach NC17 overall
Characters for this part: Sawyer, Jack, Sayid
Word counting: 4124 this part, 50000 ca overall.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine and all the folk songs used here are not mine. The places really exist and I've never been there.
Summary: Sawyer is a rambling musician during the Dust Bowl, Jack a former doctor from L.A. traveling with him.
Thanks to:
elliotsmelliot for the great beta job for which I can't be grateful enough and to fosfomifira for the title. I'd still be searching for one otherwise.A/N: Sawyer's quote about folk music being basically stealing was half stolen from a Pete Seeger interview but I figured he'd know best. The song of the title of the chapter and the one referenced at the beginning is Philadelphia Lawyer by Woody Guthrie. Also, I didn't come up with the way to cheat at roulette Jack uses here, it's all on Wikipedia.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV
10. Reno, Nevada, Where Romance Blooms and Fades
Jack suggests Reno the morning after and Sawyer can’t help asking him whether he’s gone crazy and really wants to go gambling. When Jack calmly answers that it’s exactly what he wants to do, Sawyer is so put off that he just nods and they find themselves on a Greyhound going straight through Arizona. Sawyer sincerely had hoped for one straight ride there but nope, they get to change in Yuma and Carson City. What the hell.
He doesn’t even like this idea of gambling much, he never was lucky in casinos, but he figures it’s part of his daily appointment of discovering-things-about-Jack-Shephard-you-didn’t-know-before. It’s been an hour since they got into the coach and until now he has read some of the novel Desmond’s girl sold him (with the glasses, of course, since the bitch thankfully hadn’t touched his backpack; oh, the shame), while Jack has been just staring out of the window.
He figures it’s time for conversation. Or something.
“Are you sure you’re goin’ to Reno for gambling?”
Jack rolls his eyes, but he’s half smiling. At least. “I’ve already been to Reno and it wasn’t for gambling then.”
“So you really did divorce?”
“She wanted it. We went there by train and she left alone. I stayed there. For a while. Then I took the coach east.”
“Doesn’t sound like a good experience,” Sawyer answers as he remembers the evening before.
And I followed her to the station with a suitcase in my hand.
“So, how come you have so many hidden talents?”
“What?”
“Doc, you can play the piano just fine and you don’t even mention it, you know fucking blues music that I ain’t ever found any rich guy like you knowin’ and now you want to go gambling of anythin’. That’s some hidden talent.”
“It isn’t anything too special.”
“I disagree, I’d really like to know.”
“Oh, whatever. I told you I worked in the camps for six years. It’s not like I went searching for the blues myself, it just found me. Or something. Regarding the gambling, it’s the only way we have to make some quick money. And regarding the piano, my mother made me study it. I never liked it much.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Sawyer has an idea that it isn’t it, not all of it at least, but for now he lets it go. After all, it’s not like Jack has ever asked him anything personal up to now and he doesn’t want to push it, even if right now he just wants to know it. Why he does so much, he has no idea. He shakes his head, then goes back to the book. It’s a long ride until Yuma anyway.
--
The biggest little city in the world welcomes them with shining lights and the greatest number of people they found themselves in up to now; it’s evening already when they get off the coach and head onto the main road. It’s still early after sunset, but there’s already a large crowd around, mostly men, quite some women, most of them alone. The chattering is loud, there’s a casino every three houses or so; Sawyer wonders how many of these people are here to divorce and how many are here to gamble.
“Doc, you searchin’ for some place in particular? ‘Cause there ain’t lack of casinos here.”
“I’m searching for one that has an hotel on the upper floor.”
Sawyer nods, figuring it’s a good idea; he already knows he’s probably going to get very, very bored since he’s no good at gambling and he couldn’t play music even if he wasn’t momentarily incapacitated. He wonders whether he should just go find himself a hooker, but he kind of doesn’t feel like getting laid right now. Maybe because since he got off the coach he has that song stuck in his head. The one where there’s the Philadelphia lawyer getting killed in Reno by a cowboy whose wife said lawyer is screwing; he just can’t shake it out. He follows Jack into some place that has indeed some hotel up in the second floor and asks him whether he should just check in. Jack just shakes his head and looks at the prices, then nods and gives him four dollars.
“What’s that?”
“Enough for a room tonight if I don’t win anything.”
“And you’re hopin’ to win something betting six dollars?”
Jack shrugs and goes straight to the roulette; Sawyer shrugs and follows, since he really doesn’t have anything better to do. The noise is incredible; he takes a better look at the place. It’s fairly big, bright lights shining down directly on him. There are eight or nine rows of slot machines in the other side of the hall, which could be sort of be divided in three imaginary blocks (slot machines part one, slot machines part two and the tables) and there’s a lot of people playing here actually; he wonders if it is because they have money to spare or if because they’re desperate for anything they might get without having to bet large sums. In the first case, good for them. It’s a luxury to have money to spare, but since he’s in a gambling town maybe he should change his mind for a while. He turns where Jack is sitting, seeing that he just bet the incredible sum of three dollars, minimum for the table; he doesn’t even notice that half of the room is in the dark, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling deliberately shut down. Considering how the other people at the table are looking at Jack, he figures that this won’t end anywhere near good.
Then he notices that Jack is scribbling something on a piece of paper before placing his bet; then he bets on red and Sawyer is already ready for black or the zero to come up when the small ball starts spinning; he lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when it lands on a red number. Jack smiles as he gets his chips back; Sawyer doesn’t know how much he has won but now he’s looking at the piece of paper again and betting eight dollars on the second dozen.
Fuck, he’s an idiot, now it’s not even one possibility on two and...
Sawyer’s train of thought stops as the ball stops over the edge between 24 and 25 and then lands slowly on 24. He can see Jack biting his lip as he gets more chips on his side.
Now he’s betting ten dollars on odd.
The son of a bitch can’t be that lucky, but 21 it is and odd it is.
Sawyer is starting to wonder what’s on that piece of paper that Jack writes on so religiously.
And then he has to be surprised again. There’s a series of five bets. First dozen, black, even, a vertical line and a six line.
Jack just wins them all and leaves the table with a hundred dollars’ worth in his pocket. Sawyer looks at him with wide eyes as his lips finally break into a very, very smug smile that Sawyer doesn’t like at all.
“What the fuck was that?”
“How good were you at maths at school?”
“I was shit.”
“Then I can’t explain it, but it works.”
He goes to cash his reward, then turns in Sawyer’s direction again. “Take these.”
He shoves sixty crispy dollars into Sawyer’s hands, then turns around and looks at a poker table where it looks like there’s a need for a fourth man.
“Doc, you’re crazy. You don’t need to lose...”
“Keep calm. I’m sure I won’t be losing anything and anyway, I’m not touching the money you’re keeping.”
Sawyer just shakes his head and finds the rest of the money he gave for the Greyhound tickets in his pocket; not wanting to witness Jack’s downfall, he sits at the first free slot machine and figures he can give it a try; he barely notices some guy on a ladder fixing one of the broken chandeliers. He just shrugs; surely if they closed the electricity there, then he won’t die in front of him.
He had two dollars in his pocket and he loses them all; disgusted with the outcome (but he was never a slot machine’s best friend) he heads back to the poker table, where he finds Jack and another guy only, looking intently at each other, five or six people looking at them as they stand up.
Sawyer gets nearer and touches one on his shoulder.
“What happened?”
“Guy with the California accent won his money doubled. They’re having the last hand now. Either he wins one hundred and sixty dollars or he’s broke.”
Sawyer whistles and goes back on the table, where they guy in front of Jack looks intently at his cards. He has a better look; definitely Texas Hold ‘Em.
“So, what are you doing?” the guy in front of Jack asks.
“I’m betting it all.”
“All, huh? Fine, let’s see it.”
Jack shows his cards and the guy hisses.
“You can’t have bet eighty dollars with a couple of nines!”
“Well, what have you got?”
The guy slams his cards down and Jack calmly collects his winnings as Sawyer looks at him wide-eyed. He actually bursts out laughing as he catches his look.
“Doc, what the fuck? Seriously! Firstly, I find that you can actually play the piano and then I find out that you’re also a professional gambler? What’ll be the next, that you won the Nobel prize for literature?”
“Oh, that’d be quite impossible. I’m not inventive enough. And I’m nowhere near professional.”
“Really.”
“Really. Maybe one day I’ll tell you. And so now, you want a nice room tonight or what?”
--
Now, Sawyer really thinks that electricity was the greatest invention in history, except when you pay fifteen dollars for your room, what a luxury, and the light doesn’t work. When he asks a maid, she tells him that they’ve been having electricity problems for a couple of days but there’s a guy under there who works for the local company that can really do some magic and he’ll probably fix it just fine. She walks away to get him and Sawyer wonders if it was the fellow on the ladder near the slot machines. He really doesn’t care, though; frankly, he just wants to get a night’s sleep. He doesn’t care if Jack says they could always crash at the bar; he might be high from the winnings, but Sawyer just feels fucking tired.
So Jack goes drinking and Sawyer agrees to stay there and wait for the electrician. He sits outside the door trying not to get his legs in the way and takes his book and the glasses out of his backpack, it’s not like he can read anywhere else since there isn’t light in his room; he has gone through at least three chapters when someone coughs from above him and he quickly takes out the glasses and stands up.
“I believe this is room number 8? They said there was some damage to repair.”
Sawyer shakes his head as he looks at the man in front of him, definitely the one on the ladder near the slot machines. He’s some inches shorter than he is, with a dark skin that makes Sawyer think he’s from India or Arabia or something; he’s dressed completely in black, the name of some electric company on the breast pocket of his uniform, while his curly, thick black hair is tied up into a ponytail and there’s some bag with tools in his hand, while he has just put the ladder against the wall.
“Oh. Yeah, sure. Light doesn’t work.”
Then he moves from the door as the guy nods and takes a small flashlight out of his pocket; he moves it until he locates the electricity meter in the right corner opposite from the entrance.
“Well, at least I am not going to need the ladder,” he mutters before taking his bag and getting into the room. He gets close to the meter and puts the flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder, reclining his head over it; Sawyer figures that it’s not like he has to, but he could ease the guy’s work a bit.
“Hey, you want me to hold that thing?”
The electrician turns to him and Sawyer can’t distinguish his expression in the moonlight. He doesn’t speak before a few seconds, though.
“Well, if you do not mind, that would make things quicker.”
“Fine, wait a sec.”
He throws the backpack into the room, then gets closer to the electrician and picks the flashlight up; the guy then opens it, takes a closer look, nods, pulls a couple of levers up, then picks up a wire cutter and Sawyer can’t really see what he’s doing with it. But then he closes the meter and turns to Sawyer.
“Would you mind turning the light on?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He gives him the flashlight, then gets where the switch was and turns it; the light comes back, alright, and that’s a good room indeed. It’s big, there are two nice beds with clean blankets, there’s even a private bathroom. He figures it’s worth its price.
“Good job,” he remarks even if his back is turned to the electrician.
“Thank you. And I am quite glad to say that it’s also my last for the evening.”
“You were down near the slots?”
Sawyer turns and the guy is there, closing the bag and nodding.
“Yes, and that was not such an easy job as this one. Oh, I am sorry for the wait. There were a couple of slot machines not working.”
“No problem, I was busy ‘nough here. But if you work for a company why are you alone?”
“It’s a week-end and I need the extra hours. Well, it has been a pleasure to help you.”
The guy is gone before Sawyer can even reach into his pocket to tip him; but then he notices something falling from his uniform as he leaves, a piece of paper or maybe a picture.
He picks it up; it’s a black and white picture, of a beautiful woman, definitely Arabic, too; there’s something written behind it, but he can’t read the alphabet.
He really shouldn’t, no one forces him to, but he just picks up his key, switches the light off, closes the door and runs behind the electrician, stopping him on the stairs.
“Hey, you! You lost this!”
The guy turns and he snatches the picture with trembling hands as soon as he sees it; then he puts it back in his pocket and looks back at Sawyer.
“Thank you. I am... well, sorry for being so... not professional.”
“Oh, cut that. Ain’t a problem really. So, your girl?”
He wonders whether he should have asked it, maybe it was too personal, but the electrician looks at him with a kind of glint in his eyes and then nods.
“Well, I might tell you since you were so kind to bring it back to me, but maybe you would like to have this conversation while sitting? There is a nice bar near here.”
Sawyer figures it isn’t a bad idea and that as long as it isn’t the casino’s bar everything is fine.
“Why not. But at this point we might introduce, don’t you think? I’m Sawyer.”
The electrician nods and politely shakes his hand. “Well, nice to meet you, then. I am Sayid.”
--
The bar Sayid brings him to is a small, nice room in a pretty quiet back alley (and Sawyer wouldn’t have ever bet on a quiet back alley existing in Reno of all places); the bartender doesn’t comment when Sayid asks him for some strong coffee and suddenly Sawyer understands why they’re in this place and not anywhere else. After all it’s definitely not usual to drink coffee at this hour in a place where people go to either gamble, divorce or find a hooker.
“Yes, the bartender does not have religious quibbles. You were wondering about it?”
“Pretty much. Well, then better for all of us I guess.”
Sawyer drinks a bit of his beer and then turns to Sayid, who is still turning the picture in his hands.
“So, your girl?”
“Yes. She is my wife, actually.”
“I bet she ain’t here now.”
“She is in Iraq.”
So he was right; both Arabic. He wishes he knew exactly where Iraq was even if he has a general idea; he will check as soon as he has a chance.
“What’s written behind that?”
“Well, I figure you have the right to ask since I would have lost it if it wasn’t for you. See you in this life if not in another one.”
He shakes his head and puts the picture back in his pocket, sipping his coffee. Sawer knows it isn’t really his place, but his job made him curious when he stumbles into potential interesting stories.
“Listen, I know I might seem nosy.”
“I have dealt with nosier people than you.”
“Yeah, but thing is... you know, that looks like an interesting story. Uhm, let’s say it’s ‘cause of what I do.”
“Really? And what are you, a journalist?”
“Probably you’d be luckier if I was. I’d have much more money to spare for sure. No, I’m a singer.”
His shoulder suddenly hurts a bit, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows it’d be too good if it didn’t.
“Why, are you searching for some songs material?”
“Kinda. I like hearin’ interesting stories. And then yeah, they sort of become songs material.”
Sayid smiles just slightly, his thin lips discovering strikingly white teeth surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard.
“Well, it is not really interesting. We both wanted to come to America, Iraq is not a nice place to live right now. But there was the money just for one person and I figured that if I came and worked hard for some time, I might pull together enough for having her here, too.”
“This was when?”
“Four years ago.”
“You ain’t chosen a nice time to come here, if you want my opinion.”
“I understood it as soon as I noticed I was making barely enough money to survive myself. I... I traveled around a while. I have been here just for some months, but it is better than most places.”
“Why, ‘cause they got money?”
“Mostly. And because they pay you better when you work for a big company, and no one cares where you come from as long as you get the job done, than when you work in small towns.”
Sawyer nods, understanding the situation too well. He figures that this isn’t the town where you go questioning about people’s appereances; he has had enough time to learn that when there’s enough money around to make everyone happy, no one usually complains about who gets it.
“So, was it interesting enough?”
“Oh, it was. I definitely think it was. Anyway, you’re good with that stuff.”
“What, circuits?”
“If they’re called like that, yes.”
“It was my job when I was in the military.”
“You were?”
“A long time ago.”
Sawyer nods, his tiredness suddenly crashing upon him.
“You were, too?”
He shakes his head and blinks as he realizes that Sayid has just asked him a question.
“No, not me. My dad. Never came back though. And ‘twas a long time ago, too.”
He finishes his beer; Sayid’s coffee was long finished. He pays the bill and Sayid tries to stop him, but he does anyway and then he breathes deeply as soon as they’re out in the fresh air.
They walk slowly back to the casino, but before they’re there Sayid speaks again.
“That place would need the entire system re-done.”
“Really?”
“They call every two days and I always get sent there, alone or not. It is kind of a mess.”
“I had figured out. Hey... well, good luck. I really hope you manage to bring her here.”
“Thank you. But I am sure you’re not saying this just out of politeness.”
“Right, I ain’t. Is just... I had a wife too. Once.”
“You left her?”
“You could say she left me, but it’s ‘cause she died. It’s... well, ‘twas a long time ago. I just miss her sometimes.”
Sayid nods understandingly and Sawyer is thankful that he doesn’t speak; he wishes he could say something more, but Cassidy isn’t a subject he touches directly often or that he can allow himself to dwell on.
“Though hey, your wife’s a pessimist.”
Sayid laughs at that; well, at least he isn’t offended.
“I used to tell her all the the time. She said that it’s safer than being an optimist. This way, either you’re always positively surprised or you just knew it in advance.”
“Well.... that ain’t too wrong.”
“I know. That’s why I never minded it. So, are you really writing a song about it?”
“Hey, folk music is stealin’. I’ll probably take someone else’s music, change the lyrics and you might hear it in three months from someone else.”
“Why, if you write something you don’t want to get paid?”
“If there was money to pay us this country would probably see better days. And anyway, it wouldn’t be as fun as it is.”
“And fun is everything?”
“More than you can hope for these days.”
They shake hands a couple of minutes later; Sayid thanks him for the coffee, Sawyer thanks him for the quick and efficient service and he goes back up the stairs. Jack isn’t here yet; he just hopes he didn’t decide he wanted another round of poker. But there’s some paper on a desk in a corner; why not? He tries to think about a good base. After all, he said it. Folk music is stealing and everyone encourages it; and anyway, he couldn’t come up with a tune right now.
He settles on this nice love song he heard some time in Arkansas of which he can’t remember the exact title for the life of him and starts writing down; he has one stanza done when Jack comes into the room, his cheeks flushed and his shirt with a couple of buttons off.
“Had fun?”
“Not really. I just did the same thing I did last time I was in Reno.”
“What, gambling?
“Not really.”
“A hooker?”
“Yeah. Same one as last time.”
“Doesn’t look like ‘twas the best you ever had.”
“It wasn’t even close.”
“Then why the same hooker?”
“She didn’t give me syphillis once, figured she wouldn’t give it to me now.”
“So what, did she let you take her stocking off or she did?”
“And why would you be interested?”
“Just to know.”
“She took them off herself.”
“See, that’s what I like about Shannon. She lets you take ‘em off.”
“I can’t seriously believe we’re discussing... I guess I should know by now. Well, I’m just going to bed. I’d rather forget the whole thing soon. So, California tomorrow?”
“Oh, sure. I got a couple places you might just like.”
“Really?”
“Sure. The second is a working camp but definitely nicer than usual. While the first is a gambling house much better than this place. At least they don’t need their lights repaired.”
“I’m done gambling for the next ten years, though.”
“No one said you had to gamble.”
Jack chuckles, mumbling something like fine, and then disappears under the covers of his bed. Sawyer leaves the desk leaving the last sentence undone.
TBC
Jack suggests Reno the morning after and Sawyer can’t help asking him whether he’s gone crazy and really wants to go gambling. When Jack calmly answers that it’s exactly what he wants to do, Sawyer is so put off that he just nods and they find themselves on a Greyhound going straight through Arizona. Sawyer sincerely had hoped for one straight ride there but nope, they get to change in Yuma and Carson City. What the hell.
He doesn’t even like this idea of gambling much, he never was lucky in casinos, but he figures it’s part of his daily appointment of discovering-things-about-Jack-Shephard-you-didn’t-know-before. It’s been an hour since they got into the coach and until now he has read some of the novel Desmond’s girl sold him (with the glasses, of course, since the bitch thankfully hadn’t touched his backpack; oh, the shame), while Jack has been just staring out of the window.
He figures it’s time for conversation. Or something.
“Are you sure you’re goin’ to Reno for gambling?”
Jack rolls his eyes, but he’s half smiling. At least. “I’ve already been to Reno and it wasn’t for gambling then.”
“So you really did divorce?”
“She wanted it. We went there by train and she left alone. I stayed there. For a while. Then I took the coach east.”
“Doesn’t sound like a good experience,” Sawyer answers as he remembers the evening before.
And I followed her to the station with a suitcase in my hand.
“So, how come you have so many hidden talents?”
“What?”
“Doc, you can play the piano just fine and you don’t even mention it, you know fucking blues music that I ain’t ever found any rich guy like you knowin’ and now you want to go gambling of anythin’. That’s some hidden talent.”
“It isn’t anything too special.”
“I disagree, I’d really like to know.”
“Oh, whatever. I told you I worked in the camps for six years. It’s not like I went searching for the blues myself, it just found me. Or something. Regarding the gambling, it’s the only way we have to make some quick money. And regarding the piano, my mother made me study it. I never liked it much.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Sawyer has an idea that it isn’t it, not all of it at least, but for now he lets it go. After all, it’s not like Jack has ever asked him anything personal up to now and he doesn’t want to push it, even if right now he just wants to know it. Why he does so much, he has no idea. He shakes his head, then goes back to the book. It’s a long ride until Yuma anyway.
--
The biggest little city in the world welcomes them with shining lights and the greatest number of people they found themselves in up to now; it’s evening already when they get off the coach and head onto the main road. It’s still early after sunset, but there’s already a large crowd around, mostly men, quite some women, most of them alone. The chattering is loud, there’s a casino every three houses or so; Sawyer wonders how many of these people are here to divorce and how many are here to gamble.
“Doc, you searchin’ for some place in particular? ‘Cause there ain’t lack of casinos here.”
“I’m searching for one that has an hotel on the upper floor.”
Sawyer nods, figuring it’s a good idea; he already knows he’s probably going to get very, very bored since he’s no good at gambling and he couldn’t play music even if he wasn’t momentarily incapacitated. He wonders whether he should just go find himself a hooker, but he kind of doesn’t feel like getting laid right now. Maybe because since he got off the coach he has that song stuck in his head. The one where there’s the Philadelphia lawyer getting killed in Reno by a cowboy whose wife said lawyer is screwing; he just can’t shake it out. He follows Jack into some place that has indeed some hotel up in the second floor and asks him whether he should just check in. Jack just shakes his head and looks at the prices, then nods and gives him four dollars.
“What’s that?”
“Enough for a room tonight if I don’t win anything.”
“And you’re hopin’ to win something betting six dollars?”
Jack shrugs and goes straight to the roulette; Sawyer shrugs and follows, since he really doesn’t have anything better to do. The noise is incredible; he takes a better look at the place. It’s fairly big, bright lights shining down directly on him. There are eight or nine rows of slot machines in the other side of the hall, which could be sort of be divided in three imaginary blocks (slot machines part one, slot machines part two and the tables) and there’s a lot of people playing here actually; he wonders if it is because they have money to spare or if because they’re desperate for anything they might get without having to bet large sums. In the first case, good for them. It’s a luxury to have money to spare, but since he’s in a gambling town maybe he should change his mind for a while. He turns where Jack is sitting, seeing that he just bet the incredible sum of three dollars, minimum for the table; he doesn’t even notice that half of the room is in the dark, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling deliberately shut down. Considering how the other people at the table are looking at Jack, he figures that this won’t end anywhere near good.
Then he notices that Jack is scribbling something on a piece of paper before placing his bet; then he bets on red and Sawyer is already ready for black or the zero to come up when the small ball starts spinning; he lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when it lands on a red number. Jack smiles as he gets his chips back; Sawyer doesn’t know how much he has won but now he’s looking at the piece of paper again and betting eight dollars on the second dozen.
Fuck, he’s an idiot, now it’s not even one possibility on two and...
Sawyer’s train of thought stops as the ball stops over the edge between 24 and 25 and then lands slowly on 24. He can see Jack biting his lip as he gets more chips on his side.
Now he’s betting ten dollars on odd.
The son of a bitch can’t be that lucky, but 21 it is and odd it is.
Sawyer is starting to wonder what’s on that piece of paper that Jack writes on so religiously.
And then he has to be surprised again. There’s a series of five bets. First dozen, black, even, a vertical line and a six line.
Jack just wins them all and leaves the table with a hundred dollars’ worth in his pocket. Sawyer looks at him with wide eyes as his lips finally break into a very, very smug smile that Sawyer doesn’t like at all.
“What the fuck was that?”
“How good were you at maths at school?”
“I was shit.”
“Then I can’t explain it, but it works.”
He goes to cash his reward, then turns in Sawyer’s direction again. “Take these.”
He shoves sixty crispy dollars into Sawyer’s hands, then turns around and looks at a poker table where it looks like there’s a need for a fourth man.
“Doc, you’re crazy. You don’t need to lose...”
“Keep calm. I’m sure I won’t be losing anything and anyway, I’m not touching the money you’re keeping.”
Sawyer just shakes his head and finds the rest of the money he gave for the Greyhound tickets in his pocket; not wanting to witness Jack’s downfall, he sits at the first free slot machine and figures he can give it a try; he barely notices some guy on a ladder fixing one of the broken chandeliers. He just shrugs; surely if they closed the electricity there, then he won’t die in front of him.
He had two dollars in his pocket and he loses them all; disgusted with the outcome (but he was never a slot machine’s best friend) he heads back to the poker table, where he finds Jack and another guy only, looking intently at each other, five or six people looking at them as they stand up.
Sawyer gets nearer and touches one on his shoulder.
“What happened?”
“Guy with the California accent won his money doubled. They’re having the last hand now. Either he wins one hundred and sixty dollars or he’s broke.”
Sawyer whistles and goes back on the table, where they guy in front of Jack looks intently at his cards. He has a better look; definitely Texas Hold ‘Em.
“So, what are you doing?” the guy in front of Jack asks.
“I’m betting it all.”
“All, huh? Fine, let’s see it.”
Jack shows his cards and the guy hisses.
“You can’t have bet eighty dollars with a couple of nines!”
“Well, what have you got?”
The guy slams his cards down and Jack calmly collects his winnings as Sawyer looks at him wide-eyed. He actually bursts out laughing as he catches his look.
“Doc, what the fuck? Seriously! Firstly, I find that you can actually play the piano and then I find out that you’re also a professional gambler? What’ll be the next, that you won the Nobel prize for literature?”
“Oh, that’d be quite impossible. I’m not inventive enough. And I’m nowhere near professional.”
“Really.”
“Really. Maybe one day I’ll tell you. And so now, you want a nice room tonight or what?”
--
Now, Sawyer really thinks that electricity was the greatest invention in history, except when you pay fifteen dollars for your room, what a luxury, and the light doesn’t work. When he asks a maid, she tells him that they’ve been having electricity problems for a couple of days but there’s a guy under there who works for the local company that can really do some magic and he’ll probably fix it just fine. She walks away to get him and Sawyer wonders if it was the fellow on the ladder near the slot machines. He really doesn’t care, though; frankly, he just wants to get a night’s sleep. He doesn’t care if Jack says they could always crash at the bar; he might be high from the winnings, but Sawyer just feels fucking tired.
So Jack goes drinking and Sawyer agrees to stay there and wait for the electrician. He sits outside the door trying not to get his legs in the way and takes his book and the glasses out of his backpack, it’s not like he can read anywhere else since there isn’t light in his room; he has gone through at least three chapters when someone coughs from above him and he quickly takes out the glasses and stands up.
“I believe this is room number 8? They said there was some damage to repair.”
Sawyer shakes his head as he looks at the man in front of him, definitely the one on the ladder near the slot machines. He’s some inches shorter than he is, with a dark skin that makes Sawyer think he’s from India or Arabia or something; he’s dressed completely in black, the name of some electric company on the breast pocket of his uniform, while his curly, thick black hair is tied up into a ponytail and there’s some bag with tools in his hand, while he has just put the ladder against the wall.
“Oh. Yeah, sure. Light doesn’t work.”
Then he moves from the door as the guy nods and takes a small flashlight out of his pocket; he moves it until he locates the electricity meter in the right corner opposite from the entrance.
“Well, at least I am not going to need the ladder,” he mutters before taking his bag and getting into the room. He gets close to the meter and puts the flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder, reclining his head over it; Sawyer figures that it’s not like he has to, but he could ease the guy’s work a bit.
“Hey, you want me to hold that thing?”
The electrician turns to him and Sawyer can’t distinguish his expression in the moonlight. He doesn’t speak before a few seconds, though.
“Well, if you do not mind, that would make things quicker.”
“Fine, wait a sec.”
He throws the backpack into the room, then gets closer to the electrician and picks the flashlight up; the guy then opens it, takes a closer look, nods, pulls a couple of levers up, then picks up a wire cutter and Sawyer can’t really see what he’s doing with it. But then he closes the meter and turns to Sawyer.
“Would you mind turning the light on?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He gives him the flashlight, then gets where the switch was and turns it; the light comes back, alright, and that’s a good room indeed. It’s big, there are two nice beds with clean blankets, there’s even a private bathroom. He figures it’s worth its price.
“Good job,” he remarks even if his back is turned to the electrician.
“Thank you. And I am quite glad to say that it’s also my last for the evening.”
“You were down near the slots?”
Sawyer turns and the guy is there, closing the bag and nodding.
“Yes, and that was not such an easy job as this one. Oh, I am sorry for the wait. There were a couple of slot machines not working.”
“No problem, I was busy ‘nough here. But if you work for a company why are you alone?”
“It’s a week-end and I need the extra hours. Well, it has been a pleasure to help you.”
The guy is gone before Sawyer can even reach into his pocket to tip him; but then he notices something falling from his uniform as he leaves, a piece of paper or maybe a picture.
He picks it up; it’s a black and white picture, of a beautiful woman, definitely Arabic, too; there’s something written behind it, but he can’t read the alphabet.
He really shouldn’t, no one forces him to, but he just picks up his key, switches the light off, closes the door and runs behind the electrician, stopping him on the stairs.
“Hey, you! You lost this!”
The guy turns and he snatches the picture with trembling hands as soon as he sees it; then he puts it back in his pocket and looks back at Sawyer.
“Thank you. I am... well, sorry for being so... not professional.”
“Oh, cut that. Ain’t a problem really. So, your girl?”
He wonders whether he should have asked it, maybe it was too personal, but the electrician looks at him with a kind of glint in his eyes and then nods.
“Well, I might tell you since you were so kind to bring it back to me, but maybe you would like to have this conversation while sitting? There is a nice bar near here.”
Sawyer figures it isn’t a bad idea and that as long as it isn’t the casino’s bar everything is fine.
“Why not. But at this point we might introduce, don’t you think? I’m Sawyer.”
The electrician nods and politely shakes his hand. “Well, nice to meet you, then. I am Sayid.”
--
The bar Sayid brings him to is a small, nice room in a pretty quiet back alley (and Sawyer wouldn’t have ever bet on a quiet back alley existing in Reno of all places); the bartender doesn’t comment when Sayid asks him for some strong coffee and suddenly Sawyer understands why they’re in this place and not anywhere else. After all it’s definitely not usual to drink coffee at this hour in a place where people go to either gamble, divorce or find a hooker.
“Yes, the bartender does not have religious quibbles. You were wondering about it?”
“Pretty much. Well, then better for all of us I guess.”
Sawyer drinks a bit of his beer and then turns to Sayid, who is still turning the picture in his hands.
“So, your girl?”
“Yes. She is my wife, actually.”
“I bet she ain’t here now.”
“She is in Iraq.”
So he was right; both Arabic. He wishes he knew exactly where Iraq was even if he has a general idea; he will check as soon as he has a chance.
“What’s written behind that?”
“Well, I figure you have the right to ask since I would have lost it if it wasn’t for you. See you in this life if not in another one.”
He shakes his head and puts the picture back in his pocket, sipping his coffee. Sawer knows it isn’t really his place, but his job made him curious when he stumbles into potential interesting stories.
“Listen, I know I might seem nosy.”
“I have dealt with nosier people than you.”
“Yeah, but thing is... you know, that looks like an interesting story. Uhm, let’s say it’s ‘cause of what I do.”
“Really? And what are you, a journalist?”
“Probably you’d be luckier if I was. I’d have much more money to spare for sure. No, I’m a singer.”
His shoulder suddenly hurts a bit, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows it’d be too good if it didn’t.
“Why, are you searching for some songs material?”
“Kinda. I like hearin’ interesting stories. And then yeah, they sort of become songs material.”
Sayid smiles just slightly, his thin lips discovering strikingly white teeth surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard.
“Well, it is not really interesting. We both wanted to come to America, Iraq is not a nice place to live right now. But there was the money just for one person and I figured that if I came and worked hard for some time, I might pull together enough for having her here, too.”
“This was when?”
“Four years ago.”
“You ain’t chosen a nice time to come here, if you want my opinion.”
“I understood it as soon as I noticed I was making barely enough money to survive myself. I... I traveled around a while. I have been here just for some months, but it is better than most places.”
“Why, ‘cause they got money?”
“Mostly. And because they pay you better when you work for a big company, and no one cares where you come from as long as you get the job done, than when you work in small towns.”
Sawyer nods, understanding the situation too well. He figures that this isn’t the town where you go questioning about people’s appereances; he has had enough time to learn that when there’s enough money around to make everyone happy, no one usually complains about who gets it.
“So, was it interesting enough?”
“Oh, it was. I definitely think it was. Anyway, you’re good with that stuff.”
“What, circuits?”
“If they’re called like that, yes.”
“It was my job when I was in the military.”
“You were?”
“A long time ago.”
Sawyer nods, his tiredness suddenly crashing upon him.
“You were, too?”
He shakes his head and blinks as he realizes that Sayid has just asked him a question.
“No, not me. My dad. Never came back though. And ‘twas a long time ago, too.”
He finishes his beer; Sayid’s coffee was long finished. He pays the bill and Sayid tries to stop him, but he does anyway and then he breathes deeply as soon as they’re out in the fresh air.
They walk slowly back to the casino, but before they’re there Sayid speaks again.
“That place would need the entire system re-done.”
“Really?”
“They call every two days and I always get sent there, alone or not. It is kind of a mess.”
“I had figured out. Hey... well, good luck. I really hope you manage to bring her here.”
“Thank you. But I am sure you’re not saying this just out of politeness.”
“Right, I ain’t. Is just... I had a wife too. Once.”
“You left her?”
“You could say she left me, but it’s ‘cause she died. It’s... well, ‘twas a long time ago. I just miss her sometimes.”
Sayid nods understandingly and Sawyer is thankful that he doesn’t speak; he wishes he could say something more, but Cassidy isn’t a subject he touches directly often or that he can allow himself to dwell on.
“Though hey, your wife’s a pessimist.”
Sayid laughs at that; well, at least he isn’t offended.
“I used to tell her all the the time. She said that it’s safer than being an optimist. This way, either you’re always positively surprised or you just knew it in advance.”
“Well.... that ain’t too wrong.”
“I know. That’s why I never minded it. So, are you really writing a song about it?”
“Hey, folk music is stealin’. I’ll probably take someone else’s music, change the lyrics and you might hear it in three months from someone else.”
“Why, if you write something you don’t want to get paid?”
“If there was money to pay us this country would probably see better days. And anyway, it wouldn’t be as fun as it is.”
“And fun is everything?”
“More than you can hope for these days.”
They shake hands a couple of minutes later; Sayid thanks him for the coffee, Sawyer thanks him for the quick and efficient service and he goes back up the stairs. Jack isn’t here yet; he just hopes he didn’t decide he wanted another round of poker. But there’s some paper on a desk in a corner; why not? He tries to think about a good base. After all, he said it. Folk music is stealing and everyone encourages it; and anyway, he couldn’t come up with a tune right now.
He settles on this nice love song he heard some time in Arkansas of which he can’t remember the exact title for the life of him and starts writing down; he has one stanza done when Jack comes into the room, his cheeks flushed and his shirt with a couple of buttons off.
“Had fun?”
“Not really. I just did the same thing I did last time I was in Reno.”
“What, gambling?
“Not really.”
“A hooker?”
“Yeah. Same one as last time.”
“Doesn’t look like ‘twas the best you ever had.”
“It wasn’t even close.”
“Then why the same hooker?”
“She didn’t give me syphillis once, figured she wouldn’t give it to me now.”
“So what, did she let you take her stocking off or she did?”
“And why would you be interested?”
“Just to know.”
“She took them off herself.”
“See, that’s what I like about Shannon. She lets you take ‘em off.”
“I can’t seriously believe we’re discussing... I guess I should know by now. Well, I’m just going to bed. I’d rather forget the whole thing soon. So, California tomorrow?”
“Oh, sure. I got a couple places you might just like.”
“Really?”
“Sure. The second is a working camp but definitely nicer than usual. While the first is a gambling house much better than this place. At least they don’t need their lights repaired.”
“I’m done gambling for the next ten years, though.”
“No one said you had to gamble.”
Jack chuckles, mumbling something like fine, and then disappears under the covers of his bed. Sawyer leaves the desk leaving the last sentence undone.
TBC
