Short story: The Outback Casino

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The Outback Casino

I hit the brakes and turned the ute into the deserted parking lot. 

‘What the heck!’ Fred scrutinised the GPS on his mobile phone. ‘This thing says we’ve got another 8 km before the next fuel stop at Tambo.’

 ‘That’s weird, who’d build a Casino in the middle of the desert. Mind you, they built ‘Las Vegas’ in the middle of the desert. ‘ I chuckled as I checked the Google map on my phone. ‘This place is brand new; it’s not even open yet, that’s why it’s not on the map.’ I enlightened my companion. ‘There’s nowhere to refuel, but let’s stop and stretch our legs. Anyway, I need a piss.’ We climbed out of the ute, slammed the doors, and ambled towards the entrance. 

Fred and I were an odd pair. I was short and stocky with long hair tied at the nape of my neck, while Fred was tall and lanky. He was proud of the limited hair surrounding his Friar Tuck bald head. 

Swinging open the glass doors of the Casino, a burst of cool air wafted over us. A relief after the hot, dusty roads of the Australian outback. I leaned against the black marble counter to inhale the scent of the fresh flower display. 

‘Bonzer place – kind of big city,’ Fred remarked looking around and taking in the surroundings. There were all the mod cons, from sunken ceiling lights to plush autumn carpets, glossy wall hangings, and shiny melamine tables and chairs. Kenny Rogers singing “The Gambler” completed the scene. 

‘Where’s everyone?’ I asked as I followed Harry into the gaming den, then towards the Men’s room.

‘A real ripper, hey, Harry.’ The urinal flushed a blue, sweet-smelling dye; the taps gushed water as soon as our hands hovered above the basin. 

Back in the foyer I had a bad feeling about the place and started for the front door. ‘Let’s get out of here; this place gives me the creeps.’ 

Fred being inquisitive took a quick look behind the reception counter. 

‘Where do you think everyone is? This place is ready to open. There are boxes with business cards and stationery back here.’ He tapped on the computer keyboard. ‘The computers are working – maybe the staff are in a training session.’ 

‘Yeah, maybe. We can’t refuel here so let’s keep moving.’ 

At this moment, an old grey-muzzled black Labrador wagging his tail appeared from the direction of the Pokie machines. 

‘Hello, Old fella.’ We patted the dog and looked around, expecting his owner to appear. 

‘Someone must be here if there’s a dog in here. He couldn’t open the door and get in by himself.’ Fred relaxed. ‘He doesn’t look like a stray. He’s well fed, and look, he’s wearing a collar.’ He bent over to read the tag. ‘Hello, Digger, me old mate.’ He laughed. ‘I bet you were a digger in your younger days. Where’s your boss?’

Fred and I wandered through to the Pokie machines, then drifted towards a well-stocked bar. 

‘Is anybody here?’ I shouted—no reply. ‘I’m going to grab a can of beer; do you want one, Fred? I’ll leave $20 on the bar counter. ‘I lifted a heavy kangaroo-shaped bottle opener off a stack of coasters and placed it on top of the $20 note on the counter for the barman to find when he arrived. 

‘Same for me, Buddy.’ He called over his shoulder as he headed towards glass doors leading to an outside entertainment area with a swimming pool and water slide. ‘Bring the drinks out here. We’ll have a quick dip, then get back on the road.’ Digger followed and plonked himself down next to the recliner where Fred lay. He flipped the can open as soon as I handed it to him. ‘Aaah, what a pleasure – the first swig of an ice-cold beer.’ 

I unlaced my shoelaces, removed my shoes, and pulled off my khaki shirt. Then, emptying my shorts’ pockets of mobile phones and cigarettes, I stepped into the crystal-clear water, lay down for a few minutes, then jumped to my feet and started across the knee-deep pool. 

‘Beat you to the top of the slide, Mate.’ I tried to pick up speed but wading through the water was harder than I thought. 

…

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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