Our lives are dictated by time. A time to be born, a time to die, and in between the way we mark our time on earth is by before and afters. It may be a marriage, and how life was before we were married and how life is after. It may be an illness, and how life was before we were stricken and how life has been after words. But to a few people, a very few people, they get to experience how life was when they were poor, and how life is after they strike it rich. For some not much changes. They buy a new car first, and then comes the new cloths, a vacation, and new digs. Some quit their jobs but most don't.

Weather they like their jobs or not they can't picture themselves waking in the morning without having somewhere to be. They might even hate their jobs, hate the boss, but no matter how much money they come in to, like most of us, are creatures of habit and after the shower and the coffee we just hop in the car and do the right thing. But some, just a very few get even. And even fewer get really EVEN. This is the true story of one who did. It was passed on to me by one of his fellow workers who were there the day this incident happened…and since that day…the casino has never been the same.

Harry Bean worked as a dealer in a casino. He was a fifty seven year old dealer who after fourteen years in the business had replaced brown hair with white, lost most of what was in front anyways, had sprouted thick glasses and had days where he could barely straighten up in the morning to make it to work where he struggled through the hours of standing at the tables pitching blackjack or bending into a craps table. At his breaks he could barely make it to a chair for the twenty minutes he had to recuperate for the next hour at the table. He would struggle to a seat at one of the slot machines and breathe deep while stretching his back into place. Some times for the last five minutes he might pop a five or ten dollar bill into a poker machine or slot machine, push a few buttons and hobble back to the pit for the next grueling hour.

On a Thursday morning in late December he took his break like he had hundreds of times, but this time his luck was about to change. He was late coming to work and walked into the pit a full two minutes late. Most businesses wouldn't pay it too much mind, especially an employee who had managed to show up on time every day of his ten years at his present job, but his shift boss was a particular prick and tapped his watch impatiently as Harry walked into the pit. "Two minutes Harry." The boss pointed out.

"This ain't war Bob, we ain't launching nuclear weapons here, and it's only blackjack." Harry retorted. Harry was a good worker, but he was born in Cleveland and had a mouth on him and wasn't afraid to use it.

"Harry if I give you two minutes you'll take three next time, then four then five…"

"Yah, I get the idea Bob, you wanna talk or you want me to get on the game?" By three o'clock Harry could hardly stand up. His boss decided that with three players average on each of the open tables, and his dealers working hours with a twenty minute break, that with a little bit of cleaver juggling, he could open a few more tables and have his dealers work an hour-twenty or even an hour-forty without a break and stretch the casino as thin, as well as his workers, and get more tables open with less cost.

Makes sense to him, and his boss, although when the dealers heard this wisdom they were ready to mutiny and hang him from the nearest surveillance camera. Harry had the honor of getting stuck with the first hour-forty and after an hour could barely stand, after an hour-twenty he was in great pain and called the floor man over to complain about his predicament.

"I don't think I can make it Al, how much longer?"

"Hour-forties going around Harry, another twenty minutes unless you want to talk to the boss about it."

The shift boss was in the pit and walked over when he over heard the conversation. "You got a problem Harry? You want to do two hours instead? Or you could always quit pal."

His boss had no sympathy for Harry or any of his other dealers and as far as he was concerned were only warm bodies to stand in front of the tables and deal the games and complain and they'll just hire an Asian break-in to fill your spot, and they won't complain, they won't show up late, they'll stand on the game until they're tapped out or die, which ever comes first, and they don't get sick or even give a shit about insurance or 401K's.

Harry had wanted to quit for years, throw the towel in and tell the boss to stick it but at his age they weren't exactly knocking doors down to get an old dealer who could hardly stand anyway. But he was practical and kept his mouth shut when he knew he had to. The twenty minutes had passed and Harry got tapped out. He grimaced as he walked out of the pit and his boss was there to greet him, if nothing else, to just waste as much of his break making him stand as he delivered his little sermon to Harry.

"Ya know Harry, I'm getting tired of listening to this shit. If you're not feeling good then stay home, if you can't make it to work take a leave of absence or better yet, just quit if you can't take it."

He pulled out a stack of papers from under the podium where they stood talking. "These are applications for dealers Harry; I could replace the whole shift before 6 pm so do us both a favor and dummy up and deal."

Harry was ready with a come-back, but thought twice and kept his mouth shut. He looked at his watch and with only fifteen minutes left of his break; he didn't have time to walk to the break room. So he walked over to the sports book to find a chair to try to heal his back, but with brisk business in the sports book, he could only reach the chairs at the Quarter-Mania machines that looked comfortable enough for the next ten minutes or so.

After stretching for the next five minutes or so, he took a ten-dollar bill from his front pocket and shoved it into the bill accepter. He wasn't into slot machines so much, and so just hammered the spin button until the reels cut loose and when they stopped he just hammered them again and again until they spun and stopped, and repeated this until the ten dollars would be gone and by then the break would be over and back to the tables.

And so that's how it went. Back to the tables and while trying to make it through the next hour, over-heard the shift boss tell the floor man "Let Harry do another hour-forty since he likes to complain the loudest." Harry didn't like that but he knew he had to keep his mouth shut remembering the statement "I could replace the whole shift before 6pm" his boss dropped to him during his latest lecture.

An hour and forty minutes later Harry was tapped off the game. He hobbled to the Quarter Mania machines again since they were the closest to the pit and had comfortable chairs rather than the unusually uncomfortable slot machine stools. He put a $10 in the machine and pumped the spin button and hung his head down and winced in pain as he stretched his back out after the hour-forty. Pump again and stretch, pump and stretch, pump and stretch, pump and…wait…something wasn't right.

He could see even with his eyes closed the bright lights. He opened his eyes and wondered if the fire alarm had gone off in the casino. The lights on his machine were flashing along with the progressive meter that read "JACKPOT MACHINE #7, then flashed "$1,909,163.54" back and forth it flashed and as he looked up and down the isle of machines realized he was the only one sitting there. Then he scanned down to the machine and the three "QUARTERMANIA" symbols were perfectly lined up in the center. He stood straight up and froze for a moment as the change girl recognized him sitting there and threw her arms around him. "I can't believe it! You did it, you really hit it, all of it." Harry turned red as his heart pounded as his brain began to realize his life was forever changed from BEFORE to the AFTER.

Although the Quarter Mania machines were close to the pit, it was in the next row of machines so the dealers didn't see what was transpiring. Harry looked at his watch as the security guards and slot floormen gathered around to congratulate him. His break was over and he had to be back on the game…or did he? His head was swimming, what to do? The slot floorman told Harry it would take some time to call the Quarter Mania people and get them out there with the check for $1,909,163.54 but no matter if it took until next month, Harry was suddenly a millionaire weather he was ready for it or not. And Harry was ready.

He walked into the pit two minutes late and there was the shift boss pecking at his watch like a starved pidgin. "Harry, I'm getting tired of this shit, you come in late again and I'm going to write you up." Harry retorted "I'm sorry boss (he never called him "boss") forgive me please…or better yet, just write me up." Harry smiled as he walked back onto the game for what would probably be the last time in his life.

The first couple of rounds of blackjack went just fine. Winners were paid, losers weren't. Then a particularly fine looking young lady bought in for $20 and Harry was off. The first hand for $5 was a 17, Harry flopped over a 19 and paid the girl $25. The next hand she busted, Harry picked up the cards and dropped four $5 chips on her original bet. Then when she snapped a blackjack, Harry just paid her in green $25 chips. She didn't understand, neither did the other players until the floor man looked over and saw a $50 payoff on a $10 win. Harry tried to explain it off as a casino promotion, but the surveillance people didn't get the memo since the phone rang off the hook.

Harry took two handfuls of chips and laid them on the table telling the players to take what they wanted, he was done. Off came the apron, as the shift boss ran over from the other pit, Harry flung the elastic strap into his face like a slingshot, grabbed the shoe full of cards and dumped them upside down on the floor, kicking them around as he saw the Quartermania people arrive with the first payoff. The bosses face changed from rage to horror as Harry accepted the congratulations of the group.

The head of casino operations drove over from his office in the other casino only to walk in to the realization that one of the surfs had just become the king. Harry took $10,000 in cash and the rest in a check, along with the 20 years of annual payments. He gave each dealer he was friends with $500, gave the shift boss a big hug and kiss along with a $5 bill and told him to buy a cheap hooker, that he needed to get laid in the worst way, walked up to Cindy on the roulette table, gave her a kiss she'd never forget, and disappeared into the Las Vegas night, never to be seen again.

Although I did hear some three years later, that Harry was working as a pit boss in an Indian casino in New Mexico going by the name of Big Bear. But it was assumed by all, that with a million bucks, even Harry Bean could now afford happiness.

Coming next month, The Last Days of the Ice Man.

-Ken Pearlman