THE SHARK CHRONICLES: POSTCARD THE 28th

Darren could not look at the Nevada card too long. The lights in the picture showing the Las Vegas Boulevard Strip seemed to constantly flash on and off, causing some disorientation. Or maybe the plane had just gone through some turbulence and Darren had sensed it underneath his sensory experience of the Nebraska card. Rubbing his eyes quickly, Darren began to read-

DISAPPEARING ACT

     Overhead the dancing blinking lights coat everything all around in fluorescent pinks, electric purples and the kind of red that seems to move and waver whenever one looks at it. I adjust my cuffs and my bow tie (which is a real one, hand tied by yours truly) while Bob fidgets in his seat. He glances up at me and I flash him my trademark smile. He jerks one corner of his mouth up nervously, and then realizes he is broadcasting his anxiety, frowns, and then pastes a huge fake grin on his face. It doesn’t suit him. Very few people know how to smile properly. After all, they can’t all be me.
     I stand patiently. It’s late into the night and Bob is the only one at the table, so I don’t give him my usual patter, which serves the dual purpose of distraction and moving the pace along. Finally, Bob gestures, and I slide him a new card. He turns it up and grimaces. He turns over all his cards- 23.
     I gather up the cards and his chips. Bob pulls his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks the display to look at the time. I incline my head in an indication of curiosity. "Another hand, sir?" I inquire. Bob glances down at his rather small pile of chips and purses his lips, shrugging slightly.
     "I dunno, Chaz," he says to me, rubbing his chin. He glances down at his chips again. While he does, I quickly signal one of the cocktail waitresses, well out of Bob’s field of vision. By the time he looks back up, I’m smiling at him. Fiona, who is actually one of the younger waitresses who doesn’t manage to appear as artificial or depressingly caked in makeup as some of the older employees, comes over with an open bottle of beer on her tray.
     "Complimentary drink, sir?" she asks Bob, leaning over just enough to allow a generous view of her cleavage. Bob blinks, trying to avoid staring exactly where he wants to, and stammers a bit. Finally, he smiles weakly, and takes the bottle. He looks over at me, and nods.
     "Sure. Another hand, Chaz," he says, his voice sheepish.
     I’ve worked here for about seven years now, at Bally’s Casino. Before that, I drove a taxicab in New York City for quite some time- I forget just how long, but before that, I helped build The Golden Gate Bridge. Yes, I’m older than I look, and I do look quite fantastic. Not as wondrous as I would be if I could be in my beloved homeland, but it is what it is. That path has been closed to me for several lifetimes.
     Hindsight of course is twenty-twenty, but not a single one of us, even the Hare, really believed that the Mad Hatter was truly mad in the sense that he was psychotic. I mean, how could we really evaluate his behavior, since we all considered ourselves mad as well? I remember when I watched the Tim Burton Batman film. The Joker character made me feel a little ill. I nearly vanished right there and then, in spite of years of practicing my self-control. The character just felt too familiar.
     I currently introduce myself as Chaz to the guests at the casino, as well as my co-workers, but that’s not my real name. I won’t share my real name, because-well just because. T.S. Eliot actually got that right.   However, Chaz is based off my most well-known sobriquet: the Cheshire Cat.
     How could a cat find work as a blackjack dealer in Las Vegas, you might be wondering. That’s the thing- I’m not a cat. I’m a Cat. A sentient species with very a specialized skill set. If you’re thinking about the disappearing trick, you’d be on the right track. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We Cats can perceive matter on a quantum level. Therefore, quantum mechanics are easy for us to quantify, configure, and manipulate. In more simple terms: Cats can change matter, including their own bodies.
     Just before I deal Bob the new hand, another Bob wanders over and sits down at the table. I call all the men Bob, (To be honest, all the people on this side of the Looking Glass all look the same to me) and all the women Dulcinea. Some of them even get the reference. Don Quixote was a friend of mine, after he crossed over into the homeland. He found work with the White Court. I always found his perspective on things quite refreshing. I miss him.
     I begin my patter as I open a new deck of cards. It took me quite a while to get used to cards here as being mere objects. I still jump sometimes when the Queen of Hearts comes up. She was pretty scary, although of course in the end the Mad Hatter far exceeded her worst behavior. To this day, I cannot stand the smell of pepper- it brings back too many disturbing memories from when the Mad Hatter showed up at the home of the Duchess in the middle of his murdering spree. If the pigbaby hadn’t been so loud before forever silenced by Hatter, he might have gotten me in my sleep. As it was, I was able to vanish softly and suddenly away. Never to return. From what I hear, it’s more of a wasteland these days.
     I set up the deal, tuning into the cards as I shuffle them, reading them. You see, not only can I make myself transparent; I can do the same with pieces of layered paper in coated wax. I have earned Bally’s Casino hundreds of thousands of dollars in revenue off the gamblers at my table. I don’t cheat, though. I just . . . test the confidence of my players. I play aggressively on behalf of the house. How is it my fault if the gamblers don’t have any faith in their own hands?
     All of a sudden, a commotion arises nearby- a large group of people dressed in various versions of Santa suits and helper elves has entered the casino area- and from their demeanor and noise level, they’re all rather inebriated. In July.
     I can’t help myself. I break out into a huge grin. Las Vegas. I might be mad to do so, but I love it here. After all, it’s the closest thing to the crazy, topsy turvy Wonderland I still call home.