Dauber's Gambit
By Jamie F. Bell
It wasn't a prayer, what Paulie was doing, but it was close. A frantic, internal mantra timed to the clatter of numbered balls in the tumbler. The air in the St. Jude's Community Hall was thick with the scent of boiled hot dogs, cheap perfume, and the kind of low-grade desperation that clings to places where luck is the only currency. He wasn't here for the jackpot. He was here for a number.
