Colton Booker placed a large bet at the roulette table. He’d won before, making his winners unimaginable – and that was why he was being watched by not only the cameras mounted above, but also Eldorado’s security team. Even though both men were dressed as vacationers, he knew they weren’t.
“I feel lucky,” called Colton. “Red twenty. Give me Red twenty.” The tiny ball spun around and around until it fell into the slot—Red 20.
“Yahoo!” shouted Colton as he jumped up from his seat. Both men moved in a bit closer to eye his winnings.
“Winner—Red twenty,” repeated the elderly croupier. He gathered the winning chips and slid them to Colton.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Lucky. Pure luck. Right, old man?” he said as he scooped his enormous pile of chips into a blue velvet bag with a gold drawstring.
“Mr. Booker. Congratulations on your win. I’m Carlton Harris…general manager of Eldorado. We’d like to extend a welcome by providing you a with complimentary presidential suite for two nights.”
Colton glanced up at the tall man and his cleanly shaven face. His suit was neatly pressed in all the right places. He couldn’t be more than forty years old. Almost the same age as Colton.
“Well, well, Mr. Harris. I will have to politely decline your offer. I know how it works. You’re hoping I stay and lose the money I made here at Eldorado. I caught on to that little trick a long time ago. Thanks…but no, thanks.” Colton patted his pocket, filled with casino chips.
“If you should change your mind, the offer still stands, Mr. Booker. Have a pleasant evening.” The general manager turned around and disappeared behind an unmarked door.
Colton went directly to the cashier’s cage. The young woman behind the bulletproof glass partition smiled at Colton.
“May I help you, sir?” she said. Her blonde curls bounced on her slim shoulders.
Colton smiled back. “You’re a looker, aren’t you, sweetheart?” said Colton. He leaned in so only she could hear him. “How about you and I…you know…get to know one another in a biblical sense…what about it, Sugar?” He winked at the blushing woman.
“Sir, your winnings total twenty-five thousand dollars. Would you like cash or a voucher?” she asked, ignoring his crude remarks.
“Cash, baby. Only cash.” He cleared his throat as the general manager reappeared.
The flustered cashier counted out the bills. When she was finished, she slid them under the partition to Colton.
“Thank you, sir. Come back to visit the Eldorado. Have a pleasant evening.” This time, there was no smile. Just a glare.
Colton felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The general manager stood close.
“Can I help you, Harris?” Colton stepped to the side.
“Mr. Booker. I will escort you to your vehicle. It is unwise for customers with such large winnings to keep them in cash.” Carlton Harris gestured with his large hand toward the front entrance glass doors.
“No need, my good man. I can see myself out,” insisted Colton as he gently pushed aside the man.
The ride back to the hotel didn’t take long. Traffic was light on the freeway. Colton hummed to a song playing on the radio. Upon reaching the Hilton, he pulled out his card for the private parking garage. A spot was plainly marked for Unit 3. Minutes later, Colton was inside his plush suite. All the amenities anyone could ask for, Colton had inside the humongous room.
Immediately, he opened the safe within the closet. He stashed his stacks of bound bills, adding to his already growing total of over $100,000 – and that didn’t include his bank accounts. Colton was a millionaire. No doubt about it. But not from working a job. From winning at casinos and conning money from the unsuspected. Sometimes he felt bad about stealing a senior’s life savings. But once he got a taste of being rich, the guilt from stealing was overrun by feelings of being wealthy and never having to worry about debt—any kind of debt most people live with their entire lives.
A sudden knock at his door jolted Colton back to reality. He wasn’t expecting anyone. In fact, due to his circumstances, he was a loner. Colton walked to the door and took a gander through the tiny peephole.
Colton yanked open the heavy door. “What do you want?” he said in a gruff tone.
An old man in ragged clothes stood with drooping eyes and shoulders. “Colton…may I come in?” he asked in a whisper.
Colton’s anger rose into his face. He knew exactly why the man had showed up and knocked on his door.
“Sure…why not,” said Colton as he moved to one side.
The aged senior shuffled inside and stood next to the overstuffed white sofa.
“Have a seat, Pops,” gestured Colton to his father.
Aaron Booker sank down and ran his shaky hand over the fine fabric.
“Yeah, it’s expensive. What is it now, Pops?” Colton stood with his arms crossed.
“I don’t mean to bother you, son, but I’m a little behind on my rent at the senior home. They told me if I didn’t catch up…they’d rent my room to someone else who could pay. I haven’t got the money. I barely make it on my Social Security each month.” Aaron glanced down at his wrinkled, oversized pants.
Colton plopped down on the white cushioned chair across from his father. His eyebrows scrunched together. “Is that awful smell coming from you?” he asked, with his nose in the air.
“I haven’t showered today, and I ran out of laundry detergent,” explained Aaron. He lightly sat back against the fine fabric.
“You stink, old man!” shouted Colton. “Get the hell off my couch! What’s wrong with you? Geez. Hard to believe you and I share the same blood.” Colton quickly stood up and moved to the marble counter.
Aaron Booker tried to get up, but his arthritic spine burned with pain. “I’m sorry, son.” He grasped the arm of the couch for support, but as he tried to heave himself up, the pain intensified.
“I can’t…I can’t…” Aaron’s words trailed into silence as he collapsed onto the floor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” muttered Colton as he rushed to the old man’s aid.
His father felt light as a feather. Placing his dad on the floor, Colton called 911. Minutes later, the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. Two female paramedics were issued into Unit 3. By now, Aaron Booker had stopped breathing.
“Sir, please move aside.” The taller of the two felt for a pulse.
“Did you perform CPR?” asked the other paramedic as she checked Aaron’s other vital signs. The taller paramedic had already started compressions on the old man.
“You’re kidding, right? Can’t you smell him? I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, let alone put my lips on that old coot’s mouth,” muttered Carlton.
Both paramedics glared at Colton, who just shrugged and moved aside. After several minutes of compressions, it was obvious Aaron Booker had passed away.
“He’s gone,” she said. “Do you know this man?”
“I do. He’s my dad, I hate to say. Came here begging for money, as usual. Then he went to stand up and just fell over. I guess he won’t be needing a loan after all.” He chuckled.
Both paramedics stopped for a brief moment.
“This man was your father. How insensitive can you be?” asked the taller woman.
Colt had lost his patience. The smell intensified. He pinched his nose with two fingers.
The shorter woman shook her head. “I’ll go call it in and bring the gurney to transport the body.”
The other paramedic shook her head slightly as the two of them stood near the body. Tears filled her eyes. How can someone be so cold?
Colton noticed her filmy eyes. “You’re crying for my bum father?” He crossed his arms.
“Well, it sure isn’t for you.”
Suddenly, the door pushed open, followed by the gurney. Minutes later, Aaron Booker was loaded onto the gurney.
“The body should be released in a day or two,” said the shorter paramedic as she slowly pushed the gurney out the door.
“It doesn’t matter to me. You can drop him in one of those pauper’s graves. No way am I paying for his funeral!” shouted Colton as he shut the door.
His thoughts raced. His mother died when he was young, and his father wasn’t a father at all. Or at least that’s the way he felt. He resented the fact that his father remained alive while the only person who ever cared about him was dead. But now his father was dead, leaving Carlton basically alone. No siblings. No girlfriend or boyfriend. Not even someone he could call a friend. No one.
Colton could still smell his father’s corpse. It was as if his juices remained embedded in his furniture and carpeting. Immediately, he called the front desk.
“Front desk,” answered a deep voice.
“I’m in Unit Three, and I need a crew up here to clean my carpet and sofa. How soon can you arrange it?” asked Carlton, stifling a yawn.
“Unit Three? Mr. Booker, we can have a cleaning crew within the hour. Is that suitable?” asked the deep voice.
“Oh, all right. How long will it take to clean?” Carlton asked in an irritated tone.
“I would say at least an hour for it to be done properly, sir.” Silence filled the air in-between them. “Mr. Booker…are you still there?” asked the voice.
“Yes, yes. It’s fine. I’ll be heading out while it’s being cleaned. I will hold you responsible. Understand?” asked Colton.
“Yes, sir, understood.”
Colton terminated the call, then gathered up a few items and snagged his car keys.
Thirty minutes later, he was cruising down the single lane highway in the darkness. The desert air was dry and cool. Thousands of stars lit up the night sky. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to think of his father. Was he really a bad father? Or did Colton make him out to be, out of spite and the fact that his mother had left him at such a young age?
As his thoughts swirled, he accelerated. The Cadillac SUV hummed as it reached 95 mph. He knew he should slow down, but it didn’t matter. He was Mr. Lucky! Or was he really? Sure, he had money—lots of it. But he had no family. No one to call his own.
As Colton rounded the sharp curve, his headlights touched on an object in the road. Instinctively, he jammed on the brakes and heard the screeching and tearing of the squealing tires as he desperately tried to control the huge vehicle. But within seconds, his fate had been sealed.
The smell of gas permeated his SUV. A warm liquid dripped into his closed eyes. He started to cough as the flames grew inside. Colton forced his heavy, sticky eyelids to open. His head pounded in protest. Finally, overcome with nausea, he willed himself awake. Blurry eyed and lungs filled with smoke, Colton reached to unbuckle his seatbelt, only to realize he’d never strapped himself in. With shaky hands, he tried to push open the door. Pain surged through his battered body and heat rose to his face as the creeping flames crawled across his expensive, custom-made upholstery.
Sensing danger, and maybe even death, his body took over. With every ounce of strength he could muster, the dented door creaked open. Colton fell to the dry desert ground with a thud. For a brief moment, he thought his head would explode. Inching away from the burning vehicle, he dragged himself to the side of the road. It was then he saw it.
Another vehicle. Inside, a little girl, no more than nine or ten, screamed for help as she pounded on the closed window. Colton didn’t move, frozen to his small spot of safety. He tried to stand up, only to collapse once again to the graveled ground. He could see her face, begging for help, in the light of the flames. Yet Colton still didn’t try to save the little girl’s life. Instead, with shaky hands and lungs full of smoke, he sat and watched as the cars burned. Minutes dragged on, and the helpless little girl succumbed to the overpowering smoke within the confines of the car.
Sirens could be heard in the distance. Minutes ticked by as an ambulance and two fire trucks raced to the scene. Upon reaching the accidents, the firefighters raced into action, hosing down the flaming pile of scorched metal. A female paramedic rushed to his side.
For a brief moment, Colton recognized the young woman. She’d been one of the paramedics who tried to save his father’s life. She leaned in and began checking his vitals. Moments later, a second paramedic knelt by Colton’s side.
“Sir, how do you feel?” asked the tall middle-aged man. His hair was peppered with gray, and he had a semi-muscular upper torso leading into a thin waist and long legs. His blue uniform fit snug against his body. “Sir…can you hear me?” He placed a stethoscope against Colton’s chest as he listened to the wheezing in his lungs.
“Yes,” Carlton replied in a scratchy voice. “I’m…I’m bleeding from my head.”
The male paramedic turned on his penlight to examine Colton’s skull.
“Looks to be superficial. Why don’t we get you into the ambulance and take you to the hospital to get checked out,” he suggested.
“Fine with me. You two bozos seem incompetent. Superficial, my ass! It’s a full-blown crease in my skull,” Colton mumbled.
The two paramedics looked at one another. The female didn’t say a single word as she glared at Colton.
The firefighters had the roaring blaze extinguished. The air filled with the stench of burnt metal.
It was then one of the firemen called out to the fire chief. “We’ve got two bodies inside.”
Several of the firefighters rushed to try to pry open the collapsed doors.
“Hey…let’s get a move on! I don’t have all night. It’s bad enough my car is a total loss!”
Both paramedics left Colton and moved toward the burnt-out car.
“Where are you going? I’m hurt. It’s your job to get me to a hospital!” shouted Colton in a raspy tone.
The firemen had pulled out the two bodies, a woman and a small child. The paramedics felt for a pulse, but it was too late. Both were victims of the tragic accident.
Minutes later, Colton was loaded on a gurney and placed inside the back of the ambulance. The female still hadn’t said a word. As the ambulance began to move, Colton couldn’t help himself and became more of an inconsiderate jerk than he already was.
“Hey, sweetheart. I know you. You came and tried to save my old man—the bum. Remember me?” asked Colton as he shifted on the gurney.
The ambulance siren was loud. She glanced back at Colton, then turned back to face the windshield.
“Just for the record…I didn’t cause the accident. That woman and the kid must have been broken down. Why she stopped on the bend…well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I tried to stop. She’s lucky I’m still alive and she’s the one who bit the dust, or I’d be suing her for every penny she had, or would have.” Colton laid back.
“Lucky?” asked the female paramedic. Betty Salva clenched her teeth. She couldn’t believe how insensitive, cruel, and demeaning this man could be. First his own father, and now two strangers, including a little girl—neither one deserved to die in such a horrendous way.
“Betty,” said Nelson Libby, the male paramedic. He glanced at his partner as he maneuvered in and out of traffic.
“Let’s hear it, sweetheart! Tell me what you think of the great ‘Lucky Colton Booker,’ or does the cat have your juicy tongue?” Colton said, with a laugh.
Betty clenched her fists by her side. More than anything, she wanted to dump this pile of human waste on the side of the road. But she knew it would never happen. Someday, Colton Booker would get what he truly deserved.
“Mr. Booker, we’re here at the emergency entrance. Betty will get you a wheelchair and take you in,” explained Nelson.
Betty narrowed her eyes. She felt more like pushing him off a cliff. But she was a trained professional, sworn to save lives—not take them.
The back doors flew open. Nelson ducked as he stepped inside to release the straps holding Colton to the gurney.
“About time…these damn straps cut off my circulation. What’s wrong with you people? Do you know what you’re doing? What kind of racket is this?” Colton slid out.
Betty was already waiting with the wheelchair. “Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” she muttered.
Colton plopped down. “What did you just say to me?” He swiveled to face Betty.
“I said, Mr. Booker, once you fill out the necessary forms, you’ll be put in a room for a doctor to look you over.” She pushed him inside.
“That’s not what you said!” he exclaimed.
The heavy-set nurse behind the reception desk began asking Colton questions as Betty slipped away.
“I want to see a doctor—now! I don’t care about filling out forms. I’m hurt. Can’t you see I’m bleeding?” shouted Colton. “I guess you don’t know who I am, do you? I’m Lucky Colton Booker—that’s who I am. Hence the word ‘lucky,’ baby.” His lip snarled.
The nurse behind the desk raised one eyebrow and gave a glassy stare. She wasn’t impressed by Colton’s theatrics.
An older man in scrubs came around the back of the wheelchair. The nurse held up three fingers, signifying which room to wheel the patient.
After sitting in Room 3 for over an hour, a short, pudgy doctor came in, holding a clipboard with papers.
“Mr. Booker…I’m Doctor Winston. How are you feeling?” he asked.
Colton crossed his arms. “I’ve been waiting over an hour, Doc. What took you so long?” said Colton, with a frown.
“Mr. Booker, you do realize this is an emergency room and people who are brought to the emergency room need prompt attention, depending on the severity of their injuries. And according to the statements from the paramedics who brought you in…well, let’s have a look.”
Dr. Winston went to place a stethoscope on Colton’s chest. Without hesitation, Colton swung at the instrument. The doctor lurched back.
“Get that cold piece of metal off me. In fact, I’m done. You’ll hear from my lawyer. I would assume a head injury gets priority treatment.” Colton stood up and pushed the doctor to one side. “Get out of my way—you’re useless!”
The following day, Colton had his private physician attend to his slight but few injuries. After a stiff drink, he thought he’d head over to the casino. He felt lucky!
As he closed the door behind him, he noticed two men dressed in suits waiting near the elevators.
“Mr. Colton Booker?” asked the thick-necked man.
Colton stopped. “It’s ‘Mr. Lucky Colton Booker’ to you. Who are you, and what do you want?” Colton shoved his hands inside his pockets.
“I’m Detective Grayson, and this is my partner, Detective Williams. We’re here to talk with you about the accident on Highway Seventy-three. Do you have a minute?” The elevator had opened and shut.
“They send two suits for a lousy car accident that wasn’t even my fault? I got nothing to say to either one of you.” Colton pulled out a small card. “Talk to my lawyer,” he said as he tossed the card toward the two men. “Now get out of my way…you’re infringing on my rights.”
The two men parted, leaving Colton to get on the elevator.
“So long, fellas…you got nothing on me. I’m Lucky Colton, and don’t you forget it!” he shouted as the doors slid closed.
“…and luck always runs out,” replied Detective Grayson.
The hearing lasted no more than an hour. Colton Booker had lucked out—again. Bail was set high, but he had plenty of money to keep himself out of jail.
“I don’t get it; I didn’t cause the accident. That damn woman and kid were sitting ducks stalled in the road. I tried to swerve, but it was too late,” explained Colton for the tenth time.
His lawyer, Jacob McCormick, let out a sigh. “There was a witness. The witness insists you were speeding way above the posted speed limit of the curve in the road. The investigation showed the stalled car was clearly marked with four flares. In fact, they were awaiting a tow truck.” The lawyer shuffled the papers and placed them inside his expensive leather briefcase.
“I told you before. There were no flares. I didn’t see any. It wasn’t my fault the cars got torched and the woman and kid got stuck in the car,” said Colton. He was sweating, even though it was cool inside the courthouse.
“You didn’t even try to help them. You watched them die,” whispered McCormick.
Colton pulled back away from his lawyer. “Who…who told you that? I had a head injury. I was in shock,” he asked in a shaky voice.
“That’s not what the two paramedics will testify to…in fact, they insist you were fine with superficial wounds. Far cry from head trauma,” said McCormick. “And to make matters worse, you stormed out of the emergency room without being treated for a single cut!” He started to walk away from Colton.
“Wait! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to hit her car. And the kid? I froze. I was scared. I didn’t want to get burned,” blurted Colton.
His lawyer stopped in mid-step. Colton rushed to his side and leaned in close for only McCormick to hear him.
“I’m a coward. I watched as the little girl died. She begged me to help her. I just looked at her. I’m not proud of what I did, but I don’t deserve to go to jail for it either,” said Colton.
Jacob McCormick glared at his client. His stomach churned. He disliked Colton Booker. In fact, he despised him. But he was his client and deserved the best possible defense money could buy.
“How do you live with yourself?” asked McCormick.
Colton gave a half-grin. “It’s not hard when you’re Lucky Colton Booker!” he exclaimed, with a wink.
McCormick bit his tongue and left Colton standing alone inside the empty courtroom.
The trial was tiresome. It didn’t look promising for Colton Booker. His lawyer had prepped him for the worst possible scenario. But Colton brushed it off. His cockiness and overconfidence oozed within the courtroom walls. The jury wasn’t impressed with his embellished testimony of self-worth and how he was truly the victim in this horrible accident the woman had caused.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the presiding judge.
“Yes, Your Honor. We’ve a reached a unanimous verdict,” said the jury chair.
“Bailiff, please read the verdict handed by the jury,” instructed the judge.
A heavy-set, dark-skinned bailiff took the sheet handed to him by the jury chair. “In the case of the State of Idaho versus Mr. Colton Brooker, we the jury find him guilty of voluntary vehicular manslaughter in the first degree,” he read.
The small courtroom, filled with the woman’s family and spectators, erupted in cheers.
The judge banged his gavel several times. “Order! Order in my courtroom!” shouted the judge. “Mr. Colton Booker, you will be remanded to the Idaho State Penitentiary until sentence is passed. Bailiff, please escort Mr. Booker to his cell.”
“No! Wait! There must be a mistake! I’m Lucky Colton Booker…I can’t go to jail! I’m lucky!” He grabbed at his lawyer’s arm. “Do something…I paid you a ton of money to keep me out of jail! I can’t go to jail!” whined Colton.
Jacob McCormick yanked his arm from Colton’s grip. “And I tried, Mr. Booker. I really did. I advised you not to testify in your own defense. But you didn’t listen and sealed your fate.” McCormick shook his head. He piled the folders and stuffed them within his leather case. “We’ll file an appeal. Hopefully, the judge will show mercy in your sentencing.”
The bailiff stood behind Colton. “Mr. Booker, please put your hands behind your back.”
Colton lunged for his lawyer. The bailiff instinctively wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Please…please help me!” Colton called out as his lawyer straightened his jacket and walked away.
Minutes later, Colton was stripped of his glamour suit and provided with his new prison wardrobe.
Alone in his dank, cold cell, Colton silently wept. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He was the luckiest of lucky. How could he wind up in prison?
The appeal. For a brief moment, he felt relieved. His appeal! He’d get lucky with his appeal. Yup, that’s what would happen. He’d be out in no time. He just had to keep his wits about him inside these deadly walls filled with criminals. How hard could it be? He was the one and only Lucky Colton Booker.
The courtroom was filled once again for the sentencing. Colton stood alone at the defense table, with shackles around his ankles and cuffs around his wrists. His face showed signs of bruising from his many fights with the violent prisoners. He couldn’t take much more. His lawyer had to come through on his appeal.
“Mr. Colton Booker…we are here today for your sentencing. Before this court passes sentence, victim impact statements will be read. At the end of them, you will have a chance to speak. Do you understand, Mr. Booker?” the judge said.
Colton gave a slight nod, then dropped his head and stared at his cuffed hands. He blocked out the words spewing from people he couldn’t care less about. He just wanted out. Out of this nightmare. Out where he could be free again—lucky again at life.
“Mr. Booker, did you want to say anything before the Court passes sentence on the crime you’ve been judged and found guilty of?” asked the judge.
Colton stood up and smiled. He was missing a front tooth. He glanced about the courtroom, cleared his throat, and began.
“You got it all wrong. And you’ll see. I will walk away a free man. You know why? Because I’m lucky—Lucky Colton Booker! You’ll see—each and every one of you—you pathetic bunch of losers.” Colton laughed.
Murmurs filled the courtroom.
“Quiet! Quiet!” shouted the judge while banging his gavel. “Mr. Colton Booker, please remain standing while the Court passes sentence. You will be remanded within the walls of the Idaho State Penitentiary for no less than fifteen to twenty years, at which time you will be eligible for parole after serving three-fourths of the recommended sentence.” Uproars sounded throughout the courtroom. “This Court is adjourned.” Once again, the judge wacked the gavel down hard.
Colton couldn’t believe his ears. Fifteen years! Fifteen long years inside those grungy walls, eating crappy food. Living and breathing with a bunch of murderers and rapists…fifteen long, terrifying years.
“Let’s go, Booker,” said the muscular bailiff. “Move it.” He tugged on Colton’s arm.
Colton’s eyes filled with tears as he shuffled silently out of the courtroom back to his dungy cell.
As the guard clicked and locked the door, he smiled at Colton. “Welcome to Paradise, Mr. Lucky. We’ll see how long it lasts! Who’s the loser now?” howled the guard.
Colton flopped down on the dirty, thin mattress. He thought about what McCormick had told him after he was found guilty. It could take years for a chance at an appeal.
Colton lay down and wept. It would seem, after all, his luck had finally run out.
[Photo by Conor Sexton on Unsplash]
by 
Alice Baburek
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