She didn't know how much longer she could take it. Myra hated her job and this lousy apartment. It was 110 in the shade and her air conditioner was shot. It made a lot of racket, but no cool air. The fridge didn't work either, couldn't even make ice in the freezer, just trays of cold water. Those clear skeleton cubes melted before she could get them into a glass. There hadn't been a breeze through here in a hundred years and if there was a breeze it wouldn't have any place to go. The only two windows in this rat hole are on the same outside wall, no possibility of air flow. It would be hot air anyway.

The heat was so close, like a second skin even though it was desert dry. She can't get enough to drink, her insides are just as dusty as the flat, brown view outside. She can't even see the Strip from her apartment, only the glow through the dust at night and then it keeps her awake. She can't turn it off. Twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year, those lights tout fortune. Take a chance. Beat the odds. The promise teases her and Myra can't turn it off.

If she could just get enough money to get the hell out of here and start somewhere else... but there's never enough. There's only enough to survive and get her as far as the tables and then there's nothing left for escape. Myra has been here for seven years, lucky seven, if you count bad luck. She's had lovers here and there, but hasn't had much luck at that game either. If only the tables would pack up and leave her like they did, maybe she could get away. She doesn't have the will to leave.

What is it they say? Can't win, can't break even, can't even quit the game? That's Myra for sure. She just knows the game can pay off, that's the kicker. She thinks that if she had a big enough bank roll, she could ride out the cards until they turned for her. Sooner or later she'd have to hit a run, right? A good run, that is... Myra had about all the bad runs she could take. Seven years of trying to beat the odds.

Among the ever steady stream of customers, Myra checked a group of four college guys into the hotel today. They obviously had more dollars than sense. They were gonna do well at the tables. She could tell by watching them. All the time she watches. It's the ones who couldn't give a shit that win. These jocks will gamble just so they can get the free drinks. They don't have a fever for the game of it. Their type usually hits the craps tables. They don't think they have to understand the game, just throw the dice.

She's always standing on the sidelines watching the winners come and go. They saunter up to the cashier and slide the stacks in and money comes out. She hates them. There's always a jerk at third base who splits tens and takes the dealer's bust card but leaves the table with more chips anyway. That old bag, who can barely walk, manages to make it to the slot Myra just left and inserts her last coin to win all the money Myra just fed the damn thing. Myra hated them all. She needed a break, and soon, or she'd have to break something herself. This heat was choking her. This town was choking the life out of her too. This town wouldn't give Myra what she wanted, so she decided to take it.

Last night after work, Myra picked off a couple of old ladies. They should have been off the streets. It was way past their bedtime. They were carrying around their slot coins and none too careful about them either. It was easy to just breeze past them and snatch their bags. What were they gonna do about it anyway? So now she has a little found money. It's not nearly enough but it'll take the pressure off for an evening.

There was another thing about taking the money from the old bags. It was exciting. There was a chance they might scream and Myra would be caught, arrested. But it didn't happen. She got away with it. Maybe she'd treat herself to a night out. Maybe even get laid. At this point she'd settle for about anything but Myra needn't jump the first thing she sees. She's not a bad looker, maybe she could even turn a buck. Yeah, maybe she ought to get a nice dress and a night out in it. Maybe a night out of it, a little bonus. Tonight she'd help herself to a some fun.

Myra was dressed out and flaunting it. She stood atop stiletto heels in a tight short electric blue dress with a purpose. It had a split in the back showing everything up to and sometimes including her ass. The front was double-breasted and so was Myra, so the cleavage on display was more than just a hint. As she walked, the garters holding up her black stockings would peep out from the open split.

For work she usually wore her hair up in a rubber band or something, but tonight she wore it loose. It was a thick, dark mane sweeping around her face and just over her shoulders. Her daily work face had been made-up carefully with eyeshadow and mascara to play up her deep brown eyes, blush to accent her high cheekbones, lipstick and gloss to fill out her lips. She applied the works and she did it well. As Myra walked toward the hotel she took several side glances at herself in the glass fronts. She may be getting close to forty, but tonight she could give eighteen year old prom queens a run for their money.

Myra saw the four guys from this afternoon leaving the hotel. She followed them, at a distance. The Sands, Flamingo, Bally's. roulette, black jack, craps. They started winding down after what would have been last call in any other town. They'd been comp'd enough drinks to get thrown out of the last casino and started weaving back toward the hotel. As they staggered up the street, near the front of the hotel, she slipped into their little group. They may have had enough drinks to incapacitate them, but their youth and arrogance ignored that possibility. They whooped and whistled when she showed up. She looked sharp alright but they could hardly have appreciated it. In their condition, they had to be seeing at least two of her, both fuzzy. It was time to up the ante.

"Here's the deal, fellas. One at a time and fifty dollars each, up front. If you don't think that's a deal, take your business elsewhere and see what you get."

"What do we get for that?" This particular jock was Derek. His speech was slurred but the other guys seemed to appreciate his business attitude under the circumstances. She stepped in front to stop him and played him a game of pocket pool right there on the street. "I'm willing to negotiate", Myra said. They couldn't get to the room fast enough. Somehow those sodden legs found a way to get them into the hotel, up the elevator and keep them standing while Derek attempted to negotiate the lock on the door to one of their two adjoining rooms.

"Here, I'll help you stick it in.", Myra said and took the key from him. They all piled into the room. There were two double beds in this room and through the open door Myra could see the same arrangement in the other room. It had been a while since she'd seen anything more than the hotel's front desk, but nothing had changed much. It wasn't the classiest place on the strip. Still, the rooms were air conditioned and it felt good.

"We'd better get him first, looks like he won't stay awake for the finish." She referred to Derek who was slumped onto one of the double beds and was still conscious but fading fast. As she walked him into the other room and closed the door behind her, the other three were yelling for him to hurry up. Patience eluded all of them.

Derek's hands had some mind left, even if he didn't. They felt good on her body but his concentration was lacking miserably. "Like me to do all the work?", she said. He fell back onto one of the beds, belt undone and jeans unzipped but that's as far as he got. "Do all the work? Oh, yeah..." he slurred. He sounded relieved. He sounded like he was going to be sick. She'd already made a preliminary feel and knew he was a lost cause. "Poor dead soldier." She said it quietly so he wouldn't hear, but he was already passed out cold. She rolled him onto his side and covered him up. When she opened the door again, two of the other three almost fell in on her.

"Nothing to hear guys. He passed out and I tucked him in. I see we lost another one over there." She referred to John who lay spread eagle on one of the double beds. His snoring was loud enough to be heard over the whirr of the air conditioner. "Are either of you still able?"

There was a quick discussion between Mack and Jim that was barely intelligible but ended with Jim taking the next turn. "Don't worry", she tossed words at Mack, "there will be plenty left for you. Don't fade on me now."

"I'm not worried!" he said as he stripped out of his pants and began stoking himself. He'd stay awake.

"Jim, was it? You're up."

"No shit! I can't wait anymore."

One look at him and she knew this was true. She stripped down to her garter and stockings and lay back on the bed. That was all the invitation Jim needed. His pants were still wrapped around his ankles so he practically fell onto her. This guy was drunk and it was a fairly short trip but not bad. Jim rolled off her and lay back. He was instantly asleep or passed out, hard to tell. Myra got up and looked herself over in the mirror before going back in the other room for the last round.

"Looks like you're it." she said to Mack who was practically stroking in his sleep until she spoke and brought him to again. She took over the job for him and was pleasantly surprised to find that a lot of the alcohol had worn off. Once they were fully engaged, Myra let go of all the frustration she'd been feeling lately and really enjoyed it.

When they were through and Mack joined the others in their snoring chorus, Myra allowed herself the luxury of just lying there in the air conditioning before putting herself back together to go home.

None of the sleepers heard her as she dressed. Nor did they wake up to catch her going through pockets collecting whatever money they had. What the hell, they deserved it. They would never be able to identify her as the desk clerk who checked them in. She just slipped away.

They could have caught her. They could have been the kind of guys that beat women for fun. But she had picked the right table. She had played the game well. She beat the odds.

When she got back to her hot, dusty old apartment, the dress and heels went into the closet. Half the money she took from the sleeping jocks went into a little box she kept for Black Jack. The other half would buy a new window air conditioner.

Myra had found a new game, higher stakes than Black Jack but a bigger payoff. It was exciting to wonder what might have happened. More exciting to take the chance and win.

She couldn't wait to see who might check in tomorrow.