Free Numbers by Dana Dane

is hard to beat.”
Tracy
was slang for “three.” “She got you quaking in them fake gators.” Archie tried his hand at intimidating Crispy Carl.
    Before Crispy Carl moved toward the dice, he unbuttoned his single-breasted olive-green gabardine jacket. Then he kneeleddown, raising his left pant leg to reveal beige, olive, and brown argyle socks. His shoes weren’t new, but they shined like they were fresh out the box. He’d barely picked up all three dice off the ground when he let them slide back out of his hand proclaiming, “Show ’em how a bottom bitch roll.”
    The dice fell into line: 4 … 4 … 4. Trips—instant winner.
    “Yeah, baby, pimpin’ ain’t easy, but it’s a living,” he said while taking the money from Archie’s hand. “My bank. The bank is sixty dollars. You see, Numbers, you gotta talk to ya dice and let ’em know you in control, that’s the key. If you don’t mean it”—he fingered the dice—“ya dice will know and they’ll break you!”
    Archie peeled some bills from his pocket, “That’s some bullshit, Crispy. I just broke your ass right here last week.” He laughed. “I got the bank stopped. Now what?”
    Carl squatted down, this time schooling the dice (flipping them over in front of him without really rolling them). “That’s another thing,” he said, finally picking up the dice and shaking them. “You gotta have a short memory for your losses and disappointments.” He tossed out the dice. “Make that money for your pimp, bitches!” he hollered as if he was preaching a sermon. 1 … 6 …
    “Ace, motherfucker!” Archie screamed, waiting for the last chuck to stop spinning. Archie needed it to fall on 6 to give him the win without having to shoot. Crispy Carl, on the other hand, needed the rock to stop on an ace. The last cube spun for a long time before finally coming to a halt.
    … 1. “Head-crack baby, pay up.” Crispy Carl showed no expression waiting for Archie to pay.
    Archie was huffing, puffing, and cursing under his breath as he flung the money into Crispy Carl’s hand. With his back to everyone so no one would know what his stash looked like, he pulled out his wallet and peeled off a few more bills.
    “This is the final lesson, Numbers,” Crispy Carl said, grinning. “The bank’s a buck twenty.” Carl called out what the bank was worth to whoever was listening.
    The cipher began calling out their bets. Silver bet twenty, the other young dude wagered fifty, and another young dude in the cipher put down thirty.
    “That’s what I’m talking ’bout … twenty dollars open. Who want it?” Crispy asked, schooling the dice again.
    “I got the whole one hundred and twenty dollars right here.” Archie slammed the money down at his feet.
    “Like I said, Numbers”—Crispy Carl stopped schooling the dice for a moment and turned to Numbers from his squatting position—“the last thing you need to know, when you got ’em down, is to keep ’em there.” With a smile, he started shaking the dice extra elaborately before letting them roll from his fingers. “Bitches, get that trick!” he shouted at the dice.
    They landed: 4 … 6 … and 5.
    “That’s right, four, five, and six. C-Lo, baby, the name of the game!” Crispy Carl yelled excitedly to everyone in earshot.
    “Damn!” Archie kicked the money at his feet. It was evident it was his last. He stood there mumbling to himself, pissed off and broke. Not a good combination.
    “Now we cut the bank,” he told Numbers, schooling him on the finer points of the game. “When you roll C-Lo you can do that.”
    Numbers watched Crispy Carl make the bank forty. He passed the other two hundred off to Numbers to hold. By the time Crispy Carl was finished ten minutes later, he’d made an additional three hundred bucks. When all was said and done, Numbers and Crispy Carl walked away with $250 each.
    “That’s how you finish,” Crispy Carl instructed.
    Numbers ran home and gave most of the money to