Mission: Undercover Bingo
Or, how a young rural-county woman teaches a cheatin' curmudgeon a lesson at the casino's Bingo Hall | Flash Fiction
759 words | 5 minutes
Mission: Undercover Bingo
“Robin,” Grandma’s voice floated from my cell phone. “I need you to take my place at Bingo tonight.”
“What? Grandma, it’s a 45-minute drive one way from my ranch to Cliff Rock Casino! You know how much gas costs a gallon now, don’t you?”
“I know. I’ll reimburse you for the gas. But Chico has colic and the equine vet’s on her way now.”
“I’m sorry about Chico, but why do you need me to go to the casino? It’s after dinner, Grandma, it’s late!”
“Sweetie, I need you to spy on Old Man Wilson. He’s been winning the top prize every week for months. I think he’s cheating and others do, too. They’ve complained to me but they’re afraid to look into it. I’m a bit afraid, but I’m also curious. He’s up to something.”
“Not Old Man Wilson? He’s one of the wealthiest ranchers in the county, Grandma. Why’s he at Bingo, anyway?”
“I suspect he’s wrangling for spending money. His kids have him on a retirement budget now that they’ve taken over the ranch. He complains to everyone that he can barely buy a can of chewing tobacco.”
I let out a hiss. Old Man Wilson has never liked me because I’m the only woman in the county who competes in our local rodeos in what he calls “the men’s events”. Last year, my cousin Tom and I won the top prize in team roping. When Tom and I walked back to the stock pens, Old Man Wilson spit a stream of his ugly, diarrhea-looking chewing tobacco right on top of my brand-new boots. That memory jolted me back to Grandma’s request.
“Yea, sure, Grandma. I’ll go and spy on Old Man Wilson.” I love her too much to turn her down.
I drove my pickup truck down the dark, two-lane highway. My bitterness grew as I thought of Old Man Wilson. He and my Grandma go way back because they both used to breed and train champion quarter horses. Grandma’s ranch horses almost always won the top prizes in the reining competitions. Not to be outdone by a woman, Old Man Wilson hired Ron Stargazer, a respected trainer from the reservation. It always stuck in Old Man Wilson’s craw that it took two men to win over my Grandma. So, he’d spread false, ugly rumors throughout the county about her training methods. Grandma just had a natural way with her horses, but she always had to fight back against those rumors to save her reputation.
I finally reached the bright lights of the reservation’s casino. Inside the Bingo hall, I walked slowly down the aisle, in shock, when I saw that Ron Stargazer was the official caller. I swallowed hard as I sat down next to Old Man Wilson. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like the hairs on a cornered javelina.
“What are you doing here?” He snarled. “Where’s your grandmother?”
“Chico’s sick. If you don’t like me sitting here, I’ll leave.”
I watched him watch me leave. I stood in the lobby, counted to 50, peered back into the hall, and saw Old Man Wilson hunched over his Bingo cards, his dauber held high. He listened to Ron Stargazer call out the numbers. As his voice faded, Stargazer slipped a quick look at Old Man Wilson, who nodded his head, and then mouthed something back to Stargazer.
“Whoa! Those two are running a game!” I called Grandma and gave her my report.
“Maybe it’s not my place to shake things up.” She sighed. “Thanks for taking the time, sweetie. But, you know….”
We ended the call. I felt frustrated for making the trip, but I knew Old Man Wilson hated her, and he still had enough influence in the county to stir up some new, ugly rumors about my dear sweet Grandma.
I moved my hand from the front pocket of my blue jeans to my lips. I walked back to my chair at the Bingo table and sat back down next to the old coot. I watched Old Man Wilson as he raised his dauber to land on his final Bingo card, destined to win the top prize yet again.
“N-13”, yodeled Ron Stargazer as he snuck a peek at Old Man Wilson.
Faster than a hungry rattlesnake striking at a field mouse, I opened my lips and sent an ugly, diarrhea-looking stream of chewing tobacco spit onto his Bingo card, onto N-13.
“Mr. Wilson”, I hissed as I got up from my chair. “Bingo!”
About this Story
A flash-fiction story prompt, Mission: Undercover Bingo, from Writer’s Digest editors, inspired me to write this flash piece. In 2011, I moved from West-Coast-Big-City to a rural county in north-central Arizona where the deer and the antelope still play with the cattle on vast expanses of grasslands surrounded by the mountains of our national forest.
And, I live near two Native American tribes and their casinos with Bingo halls. Naturally, any thought of a Bingo game would conjure up in me a tale set in my rural county’s environment.
I wrote this story several years ago, and posted it on WattPad for reader reviews:
Now, Bingo games in casinos are high tech. They use electronic tablets.
I miss the days of inking up the daubers.
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In HE NEVER DIED, Henry Rollins plays a lot of Bingo.
I imagine the old man was rarely happy in life.