It takes a lot to be a professional loser. And brother, I'm the best loser there ever was.

People see me around. A lot of the same faces week after week, mostly offering a broken-hearted but friendly smile. They don't care so much about me, my apparent existential misery. No-- their pain isn't sympathy for their fellow man, but the stabbing fear of what I represent. 'There, but for the grace of god go I', they whisper to themselves as I push my way past 'em to the craps table.

In me, they see what they loathe. Themselves in some hypothetical future after whatever gravy train they were riding derailed somewhere between Jacksville and Shit Station. But I give 'em five years on the odds. Maybe ten. But what do I know, I don't rake in many pots.

So I push past. Some of 'em won't even look me in the eyes, like they're doing me some kinda favor by not forcing me to make eye contact with men more honorable than myself. If they only knew that the disgust and pity are more than mutual. Some nights I find the loudest, most obnoxiously high-on-life asshole in the place and plunk my sad sack ass down right next to them. High stakes blackjack with my new pal Moneybags. Just watch him clam the fuck up, because a loser at the winner's table might as well be Death Himself crashing your dinner party. Ruin his night. Fuck 'em.

Everybody in the place will give me the once-over. Look at me with my dusty overcoat, my tattered trousers. Worn soles on my shoes, a suit about two or three years out of fashion, and badly in need of a shave. I don't cause much of a stir, and I'm careful not to break up business in the place. I'm only there a few hours a night, once a week. Friday--payday. I come in, lose my ass, and slink away.

They can't help but watch the freakshow idiot clutch the last few threads of his dignity while he desperately humps the dream that he knows will never come true. Double scotch, double down. They watch and swear to never be me. They pledge silent oaths to change their dumbass ways if they ever start going sideways. But they don't see that they're already so turned around they couldn't find the front with three friends and a flashlight. Whatever, I can live with being a false inspiration.

There are certain rules to losing. You can't just walk in and dump a small fortune hitting on 19. That raises eyebrows, and not even the most self-conscious of gamblers will take pity on a hopeless moron. You have to play slow. Bet on black. Chase the numbers, but run behind the pack. With the right kind of mind and a lot of practice, you can turn all the right moves into a miserable failure.

When the betting's done, I've spent a pittance on booze, and a life's savings on bad luck. All the other chip hounds are glad to see me go, my black cloud parting from above their dimwitted picnic. But they're quietly having a crisis of conscience. How long can they go until their nut cracks?

I drain the last few precious drops of my watery drink and put myself back out on the street, careful not to walk too quickly. My car will be a few blocks over, in a quiet lot. I don't have to worry about being followed.

I change my clothes and head over to my favorite nightspot to unwind after a hard days work, waiting for the kid from the casino to bring me my check. And waiting for the next dime-a-dozen ignorant thug to come knocking down my door, begging me to clean up his filthy money. The service doesn't come cheap, and sometimes the money doesn't come back at all. It's amazing how quickly a budding young thief can find himself disappeared when he shows up with a large haul and no friends on the wrong side of town.

Oh yes, the house always wins. So you've got to look around, be aware of who's with the house, and who's not.

Archer smiled knowingly as his friend concluded his speech.

That's a clever scheme you've got worked out with the casinos. Wish I'd've though of it actually...

He considered how he had been going about laundering money, and how very sick of Chinese food he was. Archer stepped closer and spoke a bit more quietly. He tried not to let desperation come through in his voice.

Anyway, I don't suppose you'd give a discount to a family member?

His stomach churned suddenly, and Archer ran off without waiting for a response.