Chapter 5: The Casino Shill

I became a casino shill, working the floor.

My new uniform was sharp—black vest, pressed slacks, name tag that read "Alex" in neat block letters. I moved like I belonged, even when I felt like an imposter.

I watched every gambler who came and went, always calculating how to make them lose their last penny.

I learned the tells—the twitch of a finger, the nervous laugh, the way people clung to hope as their stacks dwindled. I became fluent in desperation.

My first target? An old acquaintance—the bald man who had framed me.

The sight of him made my skin crawl, but I steeled myself. This was business now.

He stayed in the casino for three days, winning and losing a million dollars each day.

He blew through chips like confetti. Sometimes he’d roar with laughter, sometimes he’d curse so loudly security would step in. But he always came back for more.

When he lost everything, he’d go upstairs to sleep with Lila, then come down the next day in a bathrobe and slippers to try his luck again.

It became a routine—a sad, expensive spiral. I wondered if he even noticed me watching, waiting.

It was as if something here had him under a spell.

I saw the haunted look in his eyes. He was chasing something he’d never find, running from demons only he could see.

At first, I tried to chat with Lila while standing behind her, but he noticed and drove me away with a glare.

She barely acknowledged me, her eyes fixed on the cards. He shot daggers at me until I backed off, but I caught her glancing my way once or twice.

I didn’t go far.

I lingered near the bar, pretending to check the sports scores on my phone. I kept an ear out for any sign of trouble.

He called the casino manager over and demanded to know why I was there.

He pointed at me, voice dripping with disdain. The manager just raised an eyebrow.

But now I was part of the casino. The manager didn’t explain my role, just said the casino was open to everyone.

He played it cool, like I was just another patron. It was the first time I felt like I had some power—however small.

Anyone could be there.

The words hung in the air, a quiet warning.

He was rebuffed, and I was glad to see it.

A small, bitter satisfaction. Score one for the underdogs.

It was my way of letting him know: I was no longer the driver he could push around.

I stood a little straighter, my chin lifted. I was done being invisible.

The carpets reeked of spilled whiskey and old cigarettes, and the slot machines never stopped chiming.

On the fourth day, he lost again.

He slammed his fist on the table, face red with rage. The dealers didn’t flinch.

On the fifth, he grew irritable.

His voice sharpened, snapping at everyone. Lila kept her distance.

On the sixth, he started betting wildly, placing chips at random.

He seemed desperate, reckless. The other players whispered behind his back.

On the seventh day, my chance finally came.

He looked exhausted, his hands shaking as he pushed chips forward. I waited until the perfect moment.

With Lila nowhere to be seen, I went over and deliberately pressed my arm onto his shoulder. "Out of money? Who are you going to accuse of stealing your tip this time?"

He jerked away, glaring. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.

"Get lost!" he spat, cursing at me.

His words didn’t sting anymore. I was beyond caring.

I just smirked. "Need a loan? I’m doing pretty well these days."

I let the words hang, savoring the reversal of fortune. He bristled, but had no comeback.

He looked up, contempt written all over his face.

He tried to look down on me, but I could see the cracks in his armor.

"So you’re a casino shill now?"

His sneer was half-hearted. I smiled back, unbothered.

He saw right through me.

I didn’t care. I wanted him to know I was different now.

Then he composed himself and looked at me with a mocking smile. "You’re not a driver anymore, but you’re still trash."

He tried to put me in my place, but it didn’t work. I just stared him down, refusing to blink.

I didn’t get angry.

His insults rolled off me. I was done playing by his rules.

I tossed a ten-thousand-dollar chip onto the table. "Here’s a tip for you."

The chip spun in the air, landing with a satisfying clack. Heads turned. Even the dealer looked impressed.

In Shreveport’s casinos, chips and cash are both accepted.

Money talked, and right now, I had a voice. The power felt good.

Derek had given me a fifty-thousand-dollar limit.

He said it was an investment in my education. I intended to make it count.

The way I threw out that chip got under his skin—he was about to explode, but the dealer interrupted.

The dealer’s voice was calm, but you could see the excitement in his eyes. This was the drama people came to see.

"Excuse me, whose ten thousand dollars is this?"

All eyes were on the table. The chip gleamed under the bright lights, a symbol of everything that had changed.

Ten thousand dollars, right on the dice.

It was more money than I’d ever held at once. The thrill was intoxicating.

I can still remember the look on his face—shock and disbelief.

He stared at the chip, then at me. For a moment, I saw the fear—pure, unfiltered. I knew, in that instant, that the tables had finally turned.

"Mine," he said, without hesitation.

His pride was gone, replaced by naked greed. I watched him claim the chip, and felt the last pieces of my old self fall away.

In that moment, he had no pride left in front of me.

And for the first time since I landed in Louisiana, neither did I. But maybe, just maybe, that was the only way to survive.

I’d crossed a line, and in this city, there’s no going back.