Touch Of A Button

OK, so I am stupid. It was easy to see why I am stupid, I was sitting on a chair in an Indian casino pushing buttons on a 3 coin slot machine.

$15.00 each little push of the button, real clever.

Unless a person is so flush with capital that losing makes no difference at all, let me tell you, that is stupid.

I can't say I was exactly flush with capital.

What I was, was mad.

My name is Roy Hill. That is what it used to be, anyway, I will get to why it isn't now.

I was financially better off just a few months before but the wife, now ex-wife, got the lion's share of some 16 long years of working all day plus overtime to keep her in trinkets.

Sometimes fucking Saturdays, too.

No point in even mentioning her name for this story, just ex-wife works just fine because even saying her name causes me to have to take a pill.

Oh, what the hell, it's Jennifer, and that's JENN..I..FER, not "Jen" as she would remind anyone who dared shorten that.

She even griped at me for calling her that.

One thing I might mention here is that Jennifer looks a lot like the gal that was married to that Tom Cruise guy in the movies, you know the one. The one that had all of those closeup shots of her bare behind?

Yep, same kind of slim figure, nice little titties, the kind any man just loves.

She knows that, too.

That alone was enough to make my IQ drop 40 points.

The day JEN (teehee) told me she was moving on was still fresh in my mind. Her reason (she claimed) was that we had "grown apart."

Then she mentioned that she was only 30, and I was coming up on fifty.

That wasn't correct, I was only 47 but I guess the truth is I did look 57. And she was 33 years old, which I happen to know very well.

Probably something to do with working 16 hour days to keep her in fucking trinkets.

Jennifer? I was thinking she was just going into the middle aged crazies, a few weeks to get that out of her system and she would come crawling back.

By the time I found out about the bank accounts it was too late. The brand new Mercedes was in her name, the 1976 Toyota was in my name. Why? She asked me to do that, saying something about how it would make her feel good knowing it was all hers right after giving me a blow job that would cross any man's eyes.

I did tell you I was stupid, right?

The apartment I moved to was fairly nice though. Why did I have to move? I still don't know, lawyers were talking and saying this and that and I was so upset I didn't stand up and yell.

She was also awarded a nice monthly check since she had never worked a day in her life.

It was nearly two weeks later when I saw Jen and MY lawyer eating lunch at the fancy place down on main street.

I sat down the street in my truck and watched as they came out, then turned and walked down the street to a hotel.

My lawyer sent me a bill but I didn't have any money and I was so pissed off I quit my job and told him to sue me. I also told him I had a bunch of photos of him fucking my wife so he could just consider the god damn bill paid.

I didn't have any pictures but he didn't know that, I also never got another bill.

I thought of taking my pistol and popping both of them, then just stick the fucking thing in my own mouth.

I was in love with Jennifer and I hated her guts at the same time.

It was a full two months later, lonely and bored I went over to try and talk to her. The truth was I loved her so damn much that I had put up with all of her shit for years, knowing deep inside it had never been like I wanted things to be but I did that anyway.

Some guy about 25 years old answered the door wearing a bathrobe that I know damn good and well was one of mine.

"Hi, pops! Something I can help you with?" He said, grinning at me.

I did get my robe back, a piece of it anyway. He looked funny on the lawn with nothing on but the other half of the bathrobe.

I saw his dick, too, just before I kicked it. It wasn't even as big as mine. Jen did come out and talk to the Cops for awhile, then she just looked over at me standing there in handcuffs, and went back inside.

They let me go after three days for that one.

A funny thing happened. I no longer loved and hated the fucking bitch, now I just plain hated her.

I mean....I REALLY fucking hated her!

Our last taxes got filed jointly and I honest to God don't think she even thought about that. Hell, it was barely January when she gave me the news. I had put our joint bank account number down as where to send the $936.00 refund, but now it was my bank account number.

I had taken her name off of it, even though the $11.00 that was still in the account was half hers according to the courts.

There had been almost 18 grand in there and when I brought that up at the meeting with the lawyers, they showed me the records where it had been pulled out over the previous six months.

Then we talked about the IRA account, it was only $12,000.00 but it had been closed. Something about online access and a password?

Another surprise to stupid old me.

Sure as hell she would be wanting her share of the tax refund money, I made up my mind the cunt was not getting another single damned penny from me no matter what!

Now I was in an Indian casino doing my level best to lose all of that $936.00 and doing a damn fine job of it too.

Anything to keep the good old ex-wife from getting her hands on any of it. Hell, if she knew what I was thinking she probably would just let me be, it was still in my head to shoot her.

The waitress kept bringing me drinks right along, that surprised me since the last time I was in the place they didn't serve drinks. With the economy in the toilet I guess they figured if they got us drunk we would spend more.

That probably works, too.

The waitress wasn't one of those cute things like down in Nevada, she was around 40 or so and slightly chubby and I was flirting with her, she was flirting right back.

I had managed to get deep enough into the bag that I had almost forgotten how much I hated women.

OK. It had been ages since I had gotten laid and the gal was being real friendly so I was thinking along those lines.

I had just gotten my drink, turned to hand her a couple of bucks for a tip and maybe another glimpse down the front of her blouse when she looked up at the machine I was playing.

"OH....MY....GOD!!" She said, her eyes going huge.

I looked over at the slot machine, not entirely understanding why the thing was making a dinging sound, then saw that there sat all three tens!

"WOW! Twenty five grand!!" I jumped up and was waving my arms, good lord almighty! Impossible, $25,000.00????

"No, honey. That's the progressive." She said.

I looked again. Up above was a screen with numbers, I hadn't even noticed that. Those things were on half the machines in the place.

$14,362,935.00, the sign read, and it was flashing. I looked at the tiny little fourth reel, the one that came up smack dab between the numbers nearly 100% of the time?

The one that once in awhile stopped on a re spin if you hit a cherry and paid you $60 whole dollars?

It had stopped on the 100.

I fainted deader than a post.

+++

Some fat guy was leaned over me washing my face with a damp towel.

"Are you OK, sir?" He asked.

I sat up, not sure what had happened. There was one hell of a lot of people gathered around, for a moment I thought I had had a heart attack or something.

I looked at the machine I had been playing, it still had those three golden 10 icons and the little "100" on the last reel.

Mayhem. Complete and total mayhem, the best I can say about that is it seemed like a dream, then it didn't, then it did again.

Paperwork, lots of it. Taxes to pay, decisions to make.

"You get to choose, we can pay it out in annual checks over 20 years, or we can pay half of it, minus taxes of course." A woman with thick glasses and white hair told me.

"Gimmee the half!" I said instantly, Jen's face popping into my head. Once that bitch got wind of this she would be on me like stink on shit!

For a few seconds there I was a genius, hell, I could put that Einstein guy to shame.

So it was a third or so to Federal, 9% to the State of Oregon. They cut the check right there on the spot. Everybody wants their cut, of course, so I ended up with about half of half of it.

They handed me two little packets of hundred dollar bills, $5000.00 in each. The rest was a check, they laughed when I told them I wanted it all in cash.

Something about they didn't have that much in the entire place.

The waitress's name was Brenda, I never did get her last name but I went looking for her. I asked her to dinner since she was my good luck charm and she acted all tickled at that.

Then she showed her appreciation that night at my apartment.

Yep, a shade on the chubby side but she sure did have a lot of energy. Plus I had never stuck my dick up anybody's butt before, to Jen that was a NO NO.

Brenda not only liked it but in the shower she tried to get me to do it again. I would have, too, but I could feel that I was about to develop some blisters.

Another funny thing, Jennifer didn't enter my thoughts all night.

She did the next morning as I watched Brenda get dressed. Brenda was tugging on her bra over what were actually a pair of very nice melons, damned if I didn't get another hard on going and she ended up undressed again.

I was like I was cheating on Jen, and she had it coming.

"Are you going to give me a call?" Brenda asked as she finally really was leaving.

"Sure!" I lied.

+++

I went to see an accountant, hoping he had some idea of what to do. He obviously did, he sent me a bill for $3000.00 for hitting a button on one of those tax programs, hell, my entire total deductions was me.

Probably I could have written off the accountant but I didn't pay him either.

The next day I drove 200 miles to eastern Oregon, opened an account, stuck the whole thing in there except for the cash in my pocket.

Those folks were sure nice and friendly.

Then I drove all over hell, writing and depositing checks in every bank and credit union I could find.

I had to get myself a little notebook to keep track of it all.

I spent almost a week in a ratty motel no one would ever dream of finding me in, then I started cashing checks, stuffing the cash into a duffel bag in my trunk.

I left just one dollar in every one of the accounts, thinking that sure as hell Jennifer would get a judgment against me. That would be great fun, attaching all of them.

+++

I remembered this spot I used to go to with my Dad during the Fall. We were always after the big Buck, most of the time we got a nice one but we never did get the really big one.

The camp spot was still there, the little trail led up the hill and then back down through the brush to a spot high above a small stream. I had found it when I was 13, got my first forked horn right there. The Toyota made it up there with a struggle, no way would any car ever make it.

I dug a hole a solid three feet deep, buried the duffel bag I had placed inside a waterproof carry bag, covered it up.

It was kind of heavy.

With 50 grand in my pockets, I got back in my truck and drove away.

In a rather bustling city named Bend, I ran a private party ad and sold the Toyota, getting half what it was worth.

Then I got a bus ticket to Medford, a distance to the South. There I found a nice little house to rent, the landlord was happy to take cash.

"No drugs, no wild parties." He told me.

I just nodded, I had plans to be quiet as a mouse for awhile. I found an old 1962 Chevy pickup for sale for $500.00, bought that.

I didn't bother to transfer the title. I didn't bother with insurance, either. Let's face it, the only thing I owned in the world was a hole in the ground that nobody knew about.

It took me nearly two weeks to find the right guy, but find him I did.

The Oregon liquor control card photo looked just like me, I got a fishing license also in my new name of Jeremiah McCluskey, don't ask me why, that is what my guy came up with.

Hell, he even handed me a Social Security card in that name. A valid one, the guy was good at what he did.

He never asked a single question about why I wanted to change my name, just took the two thousand dollars and grinned at me.

At 48 years old, I went down and took my driver's license test, telling the clerk I was from New York and never had a car before because of the bus and subways, he even bought my fake accent.

I managed to pass the written test, just barely.

Hey, who ever thinks about what shape a fucking road sign is anyway, it's written right on them what to do.

Then on the way home in the old Chevy, damned if I didn't get a ticket for missing a damned sign that said "No right turn on red." Another one for no proof of insurance, I told the cop I had just gotten my license and that was where I was headed.

That scared the piss out of me but the Cop just wrote it out, I mailed in a money order to pay the fines. I went and bought an insurance policy, the minimum one and damned if the courts didn't refund that part of the fine when I sent them a copy of it.

Nobody in government ever checks on anything, it seems. No problem at all, I began to relax.

A month later, I was driving downtown to get something to eat and I saw a bright red Corvette sitting on a dealers lot. It was sprinkling at the time and there was no way in hell anyone could miss that car.

I pulled a U turn and went back to look.

The machine had just 9000 miles on it, and it was perfect. I put a couple grand down on it in cash, told the salesman I would be back in 3 days.

"Cash OK?" I asked. He didn't blink an eye, just grinned and nodded.

It seems that in that area, larger purchases in cash were actually rather normal. I had already learned quite a few words in Spanish.

The old Chevy made the trip with no problems. Once again the area was deserted, I was back right on time. But I was worried about the ground being disturbed so I had taken some tent stakes, scraped and leveled the spot and drove the stakes in.

Anyone stumbling onto it would just see someone's old camp. I even built a small fire, sat there as it burned out.

Back at the dealer, I handed over the cash and the salesman grinned. He had waved me into their back room and shut and locked the door.

I drove out of there in that Corvette, it was perfect. I also got myself some new threads, had the remains of my hair styled, grew a mustache. It grew in almost stone white, I have no idea why but some of that comb in crap fixed that nicely.

Jeremiah McCluskey was soon a well known figure around town, something of a playboy.

48 years old be damned, combine a bright red Corvette with hundred dollar bills and a man can pick up 21 year old females with no problem at all.

I did exactly that, two. The new place I rented had a hot tub, a pool, a nice yard and some guy named Jose that came by three times per week to trim the bushes and mow.

I did so much dancing and...well..."other activities" that I lost my small pot belly. My California King bed had room for three with no problem at all and more than once it was four with me of course being the only male.

Once every few months or so I would get into the old Chevy truck which I had kept, and take a little drive up into the mountains. The duffel bag was getting lighter and lighter, I was pulling out over $100,000 each time.

I really was pissing away one hell of a lot of money, but then young pussy costs money when you are a old fart like me.

One trip back I stopped at a little cafe, I had become something of a regular there. I liked the place because they not only had good food but the old woman running the joint made a Banana Cream pie that would nearly make me cry, it was so good.

I finished eating, tipped her a nice $10 bill like I always did.

"See you next trip, Jerry." The old woman said as I went outside.

No Chevy!

I looked around, confused, thinking for a second I had parked it in a different spot.

Shit! Just fuck! God Damn it! Some son of a bitch stole the old piece of crap, why in the hell would they do that? No way was it worth more than maybe $300.00.

Mad, I went back inside and called the cops.

Just two days later the phone rang, they had found the truck. The battery was gone, both front fenders and the hood too and all the headlight and tail light rings.

Other than that, it was all there.

"Come on by and pick it up." The cop told me pleasantly.

It was just over 100 miles, I took a taxi.

There sat the old green Chevy in their storage lot. Hell, the place was wide open, I guess Cops don't figure on anyone stealing stuff from Cops.

The steel box behind the cab was still on it. I had the key in my pocket, so I opened it, knowing what I was going to find since the end of it was bent upwards.

Sure enough, the little case I used was gone.

I sighed, nothing to be done for it.

"Please step inside, sir." A Cop asked me. I went in, a different Cop in a suit told me to sit down.

I sat.

"Mr. McCluskey, I would like you to explain this." He said, reaching down and setting my case on the desk.

"That is mine, I won some money in a casino." I told him.

"I see. You carry it around like this? You don't perhaps.."invest" any locally, do you?"

"No. I just use it for day to day expenses." I told him.

"We ran the fingerprints, they come back to be a man named Roy Hill." He smiled at me.

"That is the name I used to use, I changed it to get away from my ex wife." There was no point in lying to them. Then I just told him the entire story.

He laughed hysterically at that.

"Well, what's really funny is the kids that stole your truck just wanted some parts to fix up their own, they didn't even look in the box, they just hot wired it and drove it into some bushes to strip it. One of our officers spotted it before they could finish the job."

"We do know who did that, easy to figure out since their brown Chevy has two green front fenders and hood on it!"

"They were so busy yanking off the parts they never looked in the back, I can hardly wait to tell them about this." He laughed again.

I just looked at him.

"Well, Mr. Hill. Or should I say Mr. McCluskey? You can go, there is no law against changing your name."

"Thank you." I picked up the bag, started for the door.

"No, thank you!" He grinned at me.

I left the old Chevy right there, no point in paying a tow truck to drag it home. I could just buy something else.

Back home I counted the packets, two of them, $5000.00 in each one was missing.

I got that part, and knew there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. The surprise was the Cop didn't just steal all of it, there wouldn't have been a damned thing I could do about it but accuse.

I think he figured rightly that I wouldn't say a word about it, and he was correct.

What I didn't think about was the police report. Police reports generate news stories, and I never read the newspapers.

If I had, I would have been long gone.

A few days later I saw the white van parked across the street, two men in it. They didn't even look up, the next day I saw it again parked farther down the street.

The next day after that a man knocked on my door and handed me some papers.

"You have been served!" He told me and walked away.

It seemed that Jennifer was demanding added spousal support, and she wanted half of my winnings.

I dropped the papers in the trash can, went out and got into the Corvette. I had just $180,000.00 in the bag in the back.

Maybe someone tried to follow me, good luck with that. I hit some speeds that it would take an airplane to keep up with.

At a village near the little spot, I rented a four wheel drive SUV and went up the trail.