CHAPTER 6--THE MAGIC BOX

December 1991

R

emember the first time I turned Louie on to the magic box. He was beside himself, Queen. And I swear to you, this cat was so full of contradictions and double standards. Like how he could be so high-minded and talk God and stuff, and then gleefully rip off the casinos with me as we rambled from town to town.

Hey man, it's like Robin Hood, ya know.

It was raining. When I started to head for the Impala, I left him at a bus stop. It occurred to me to ask him if he needed a ride. Being a lifelong fugitive doesn't afford one the opportunity to develop the right social graces. Maybe it was the fact that he was standing underneath a bus stop shelter looking like a sad puppy dog. I doubled back.

"Hey my little friend, need a ride?"

As we drove home we learned a little more about each other.

"I'm depressed, Mister," he said.

"The name's Jack. Actually, John Daniel Morrison. But it's Jack. Sometimes my friend Rooster calls me the Jack of Hearts."

"Well, I'm bummed out, Mr. Hearts."

"Just call me Jack."

"I'm sad, Jack."

"Why?"

"I blew all my money in the dollar slots. And now I'm going home to my uncle's mobile home. You'd be bummed too."

$500, bucks, Queen. We're talking $500. The money we'd won playing video poker. That's when I began to realize the guy was probably manic depressive and a compulsive gambler to boot. But of course, courtesy of the Rooster, I knew I had the cure for compulsive gambling: the magic box.

"What's the story with your uncle?"

"He doesn't like me," was Louie’s reply.

Well, wasn't sure what I could do about his uncle at that point, but at the next huge sign of glaring neon, I pulled the van into the parking lot and said to him, "Do you believe in magic, Louie?"

"I sure do," he said.

"Well, get a load of this."

I handed the box to Louie. He grabbed hold with his one hand. Dumbfounded, he pressed me for more information.

"What is it, amigo?"

"Magic," I replied as esoterically as I could. Louie fingered the flat, small black metallic box with the one red button in the middle.

"What does it do?" he asked with a puzzled look.

I took it back and said, "Let's go."

We got out of the Impala, and headed for the casino.

Approached the first quarter machine that I saw. Felt the box in my front pocket with my left hand. My right hand fished for a quarter in my other pocket. Found a silver nugget and dropped it into the slot. Pressed the button, and just as I pressed the button on the slot machine, my other finger depressed the red button on the magic box.

Three sevens. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Quarters filled the catch basin and assorted casino patrons gazed enviously in our direction. Scooped up the loot and headed for the cash booth, with Louie in tow.

"Wow," he managed. The coin totaled about $80. Later, I opted to treat my new friend to a righteous meal of prime rib, and a few beers.

"How does it work, amigo?" Louie pressed with an astonished look on his face.

"Hell if I know."