Page 45 of Lady Luck

Her eyes narrowed, studying me with deep suspicion. “How do you know my name?” She cast her gaze up and down the rows of slots. “Who sent you?”

That was… alarming. I frowned, my fingers starting to move in a rhythmic pattern on my leg as I considered how to respond. It may be best to play along and figure out what exactly was happening here.

“No one,” I answered cautiously, slumping my shoulders a bit and keeping my hands loose at my sides, stilling my fingers.

It didn’t appease her.

“Comps! I have comps!” She clutched her purse to her chest and turned away, scowling over her shoulder in my direction. “And you cannot have them.”

That’s when I noticed the deep-red flush of her neck and the sweat dampening the back of her hair.

No. Something really wasn’t right.

I discreetly looked around for help, not wanting to spook her, and spotted the stocky blond dealer from Saturday talking to an equally stocky older man with a ponytail. Not my first choice of help, but maybe the older man would prove less useless. With Miss Barb clearly being a regular here, they probably knew her well enough to figure out what was happening and what to do.

I raised my hand slightly to try to get their attention, but Miss Barb did that for me—and then some—by putting her player’s card into the nearest slot machine and aggressively punching her closed fist onto the spin button.

She gritted the letters between each hammer of her fist, her agitation escalating. “V–” Punch. “I–” Punch. “P—” Punch.

“Miss Barb! Miss Barb, what’s wrong? Is this man bothering you?” Ponytail-man exclaimed as he reached us, the dealer following behind him, immediately confirming that my hope for their utility was in vain.

She continued her assault on the slot machine—an older-looking one that still had a mechanical reel—her gaze fixed on the whirring red, white, and blue icons.

I glanced at the blond guy—the one who my “everyone is great” brother hated—and explained the situation with a serious, hushed tone. “Something’s not right with Miss Barb. I think she’s having some kind of episode. She’s flushed and not making sense.”

The blond scoffed. “Well, if you do actually know her, you know she’s always like that.”

What.

A.

Dick.

I instantly felt protective of the older woman. “No. This is not eccentricity. We need to get her medical attention and call her family.”

A completely inappropriate smile carved the blond guy’s face as he replied, “Oh, I can do that.” He produced his phone and immediately made a call, but after barely a second, he took the phone from his ear and examined the screen, then smirked before muttering to himself, “So that’s how you’re going to play it, then.”

I viscerally understood Liem’s opinion now.

“Dad,” the blond addressed Ponytail man, who had apparently given up on trying to talk to Miss Barb and was instead just watching her play the slot machine, which she’d thankfully ceased punching. So that was something. “You might have to call her. It seems she’s pouting after our little talk and has blocked me.”

The word finally registered. Dad. The incompetence must’ve been genetic.

“Well, she seems to have calmed down…,” Ponytail hedged.

The blond narrowed his gaze at Miss Barb, who had her back turned to us now, and said, “She’s out of money.”

Ah. He wasn’t looking at her but at her slot’s screen. The reels were no longer spinning, though she kept pressing the button.

A couple of beats later, Miss Barb finally glanced away from the machine and up at the older man beside her.

“Oh! Hello, Big Daddy.”

I choked on air. This was really taking a turn. I pulled out my phone, ready to call 9-1-1, when he replied, “Hi, Miss Barb. It is great to see you today. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You could make these machines hotter before I take my business elsewhere,” she answered matter-of-factly, removing her player’s card from the machine with an unimpressed frown on her dark-painted lips.

“See? She’s fine,” the blond said with a shrug of his shoulders.

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