Lucky - by Erin Latimer

Winning

Kiran and the owner of the house continued to talk for a little while, and the owner said he hoped that Kiran would tell all of his friends where he’d won the money. Kiran was buttering the man up, telling him how he would send all of his friends here, and how he would tell everyone he met how fine the establishment here was.

            After what seemed like hours, the owner beckoned to the bar tender, who threw Kiran a leather purse to put the silver in.

            “You’ve got a carriage waiting I hope, sir?” The owner began escorting Kiran to the door, and I was left to trail behind him, shooting venomous looks at the both of them. Of course the stupid oaf didn’t think I’d pulled the lever and won, since I was a woman.

            Just as  I was debating kicking the backs of his knees, Kiran reached around the man and grasped my hand, pulling me forward until my hip bumped his. He drew one arm around me tightly, pulling me against him so tightly that I knew he’d spotted the poisonous looks I was shooting at the man.

            He was probably worried I would do or say something and mess this all up, but there was no way I was jeopardizing that much silver, regardless of how much I wanted to kick the man.

            “Oh certainly,” Kiran said. “Yes, yes. Wouldn’t do to walk down the street like this.” He shook the man’s hand again, and the owner gave him a business card, bidding him to return again when he could.

            “I think that’s my luck for the year,” Kiran joked. “But I’ll certainly bring other gentlemen to try theirs, sir!”

            Finally we were out the door, and Kiran released the death grip he had on my arm. As we walked I could hear the metallic clinking of the coins in his pocket. His eyes were darting up and down the street and he muttered nervously, “Damn it all, Gregor, where’ve you gone off to?”

            The hackney cab that should have been waiting for us just down the street was absent, and Kiran and I continued walking, both of us searching the steady stream of traffic. It was a mixture of steam driven wagons and horse drawn carriages, and the occasional collector automaton, which was given a wide birth.

            “That’s what you get for hiring a cheap driver, I suppose,” I snapped at Kiran. “We’re just going to walk through broad daylight with a sack full of coins now?”

            “Daylight in a busy street,” Kiran pointed out. “It’s not dangerous until we’re…” he trailed off suddenly, staring straight ahead, muttering quietly, “Blast it.”

            There was a little alley ahead and to the right. A gentleman was leaning out of it, craning his head around the corner to stare at us. “Gentleman” could only be used in the most imaginative way possible, since his coat was torn and shabby and even his bowler hat was dented and worn.

            Kiran slowed down to a very casual pace. “Do you know that gentleman?”

            “I don’t.” I narrowed my eyes, squinting to try to see him better. “Someone Boxcar is employing, do you think?”

            “Impossible to tell.”

            We both glanced over at the street, though at that moment it would have been impossible to cross, it was thick with traffic. And we couldn’t stop there on the sidewalk, the flow of pedestrians was too much.

            “They won’t attack us surrounded by people?” I hesitated, gravitating closer to Kiran as we continued to be swept forward.