The Referee

THE REFEREE
Everybody loves games, fancy casinos fine ass bartenders serving drinks, expensive escorts blowing on your dice. The fact that each outcome has a chance of happening gives you a rush, like the first hit of cocaine, the snow going up your nose reaching your brain and humping every last one of your precious neurological brain cells.
But in the kind of game we play the last thing they worry about is cocaine, or the fancy drinks. They just want to win and crawl the fuck out.
My childhood was a game, from the second I woke up until the time I got some shot eye. I could have been shot dead before lunch, or even sent to Nazi extermination camps. I was playing a game with the shittiest odds in my favor and the guy holding all the cards was WWII, imagine the rush that gave me.
After a couple of years the war ended, the city was mostly destroyed, the poor living in the cruelest ways possible and the rich, well they already started building their empires. I lost my family, my sister was captured by a German general to be a sex slave, my brother got shot by a firing squad trying to save her, god knows where my dad could be, two weeks back the army came to get the Jews and Roma for the forced labor program, after that I never heard of him again, and my mother god bless her soul she died giving birth to my little sister. Between all of us who knew she was god's favorite?
The City was in anarchy, no jobs, no foods, gangs rising, the police was out of the picture, poor bastards couldn't lift a finger without permission. Chaos was the new peaceful order.
I had nothing to do. Couldn't go back to my old job, there was no job. My best option was to work at the flea market Maybe join the venders on the side of the street selling food for money. The money was shit and the food was shit too, but it was better than starving to death. You could trade anything, yesterday I got a pair of shoes for loaf of bread pretty sweet deal.
One day a guy stopped in front my wagon, I think he was a war hero, he had a military suit on with the honor badges neatly pinned to their places, clean cut shaved face, combed white and gray hair, he had a gentle voice with a French accent, that made you more gallant, more courageous.
How          much for this loaf of bread and boots monsieur?
         50          pengos sir
         Nom          de Dieu! I can pay you only in francs monsieur!
         Sorry          sir I can't use that kind of money around here.
I could see the hunger in his eyes, he looked pale and tired he must have walked miles to get here, and his boots, not suitable for an army man. His toes where sticking out the front.
-how about a trade monsieur?
- depends on what you're offering sir.
He opened his bag and pulled out a wooden box, dark polish, with a golden eagle looking to the right and a silver snap on the side, he opened the box.
This          is worth more than your whole wagon and life monsieur, but I'm not          that kind of man anymore, I have no use for it, you can have it.
I picked it, cold heavy steel between my fingers.
- What is it?
WHAT          IS IT? Crin! This is 1892 service revolver issued by the French          army, best of its kind. Many great men used this to fight for their          country, this is a symbol of our honor, each scratch on this piece          of weaponry is a soldier running up the hills and pissing on the          enemy's lines!
A gun can come in handy, with the gangs patrolling through the streets and starting to harass people, protection was needed.
As I was taking the box from him, he seemed relived as if that piece of weaponry was the last thing chaining him to his old self.
Use          it for good monsieur, au revoir!
Never met him again, but he changed my life.
After a few months the gangs gained more power, they set curfew hours for each district, extortion for protection money from people, they had their own mafia going on and because the economy was doing better they set up gambling houses.
After a while I got out of the business, joined the gangs. It was better money. I had no other choice though but it kind of grew on me. I started from the bottom, went out on patrols, beat civilians who protested all un-ethical but I didn't give a flying fuck back in those, I just wanted to get myself through the day.
After shifts all guards hung out at the gambling houses in their districts, so I went there too. It was just like a casino blackjack, poker, roulette, skanky bartenders, the whole rotten package, it was good fun. I started playing blackjack sine it was the only game I knew how to play. The dealer won a couple of hands but after that I was on a roll! Just that night I tripled my money! It was like finding the gold pot at the end of the rainbow, in one night! After that I got hooked and I mean hooked. Every day I woke went on patrol beat the shit out of anyone who got in my way, it was like each punch and baton hit got me closer to the end of my shift, to that stool at the blackjack table with the friendly dealer.
After a few months I became a regular, they'd throw people out for me just because they were sitting in my spot or just because I didn't like the way they looked, drinks on the house, VIP lounge, best days of my life.
I was playing roulette, 21 black bam! 5 white damn yeah! I was becoming THE high roller.
Sir          you're robing the casino blind!
He said as he laughed
- excuse me?
- Mine name is Vladimir Kereshnov, I own this casino!
Mr. Kereshnov was a very strange character, medium height, strong build, short blonde hair, Black suit, leather black waxed shoes, with three golden rings on his right hand, one with a golden eagle looking to the right, one with a golden eagle with spread wings and one with a crossed hammer and sickle on it.
- Pleasure to meet you Mr. Kereshnov, I always wanted to meet the man who ran this casino.
- Oh please, I do nothing, the customers do all the work hahaha. You've made quite an impression in this casino, would you accompany me to my office perhaps for a little friendly chat?
- No, actually I was just leaving...
- Oh I insist. Please be my guest.
Kereshnov's room looked like Hitler's commanding office, tall ceilings, wooden walls, stone floors, fine leather furniture, you could almost hear Hitler's speeches in the air, hail Kreshnov!
Drink          Mr. high roller?
         Whiskey,          no rocks if it's not any trouble.
         Oh          nonsense, Please have a sit. I must apologize for bringing you to my          office with such manner, you must be scared!
         Not          at all a little bit concerned that's all.
         No          need to be concerned. It'll be all clear in a few minutes. you          see, every now and then a lucky man such as yourself comes to our          casino, wins every night every game, has the time of his life and          goes to his routine life and comes back again, but you must know          this kind of wining doesn't come without a price, if you know what          I mean...
         What          is the meaning of this? Are you accusing me of cheating Mr.          Kreshnov? I am leaving
         Please          call me Valadimir. No one is accusing anybody of anything, the price          is not what you think, to settle this debt, or a favor if you will,          you'll work for this gambling house for a period of time, and          after this favor you'll be free.
         This          is nonsense, I won't do it.
Sound of guns being cocked.
Please          let us handle this as friendly as possible, there is no need for          violence.
         As          it seems I do not have a choice Mr. Kreshnov, what kind of work is          it that you want me to do?
         Well          it's very simple, every game needs a dealer or referee if you          will, and as you can see all the tables on the floor have one dealer          assigned to them, but there is one game that has lost its dealer and          it needs a replacement.
         Which          game? Every table on the floor had a dealer behind it.
         But          this game is not on this floor, it is two levels down to be exact,          let me show you.
At the end of the office there was dark and small stairway, we were going down for about two minutes till we reached the bottom. It was an empty room, just a round table in the middle, two chairs faced against each other and one chair next to them, a lamp hanging from the ceiling and a revolver on the table.
It's          called Russian roulette. Each player gets a turn, putts one bullet          in the cylinder spins it, cocks it, points it to his forehead, and          pulls the trigger and BAM! If he's dead the other player wins and          if his still alive it's the other bastards turn.
         I'm          not playing this kind of shit!
         But          you're not to play, see that third chair that's for you! You          oversee the game that no one cheats or there is exactly one bullet          in the cylinder and the gun is cleaned, you're THE REFEREE.

The first game was a couple of nights later, Valadamir made sure I was ready and was rested very well. As I walked down the stairs I could hear the chanting, men screaming from top of their lungs, cursing, betting, laughing, you could smell the filth from miles away. When my foot touched the floor everyone cheered me like I was a fucking hero like I was the one that set up this suicide event. As I sat down on my chair, I stared at the gun, the bullets, the cloth, am I really doing to this? Have I gone this low? But I had to, I picked up the cloth polished the gun, the barrel, the trigger, the cylinder, I put down the gun and waited, waited for the poor fuckers that were risking their lives for this game to come and sit down on their death beds, and choke themselves to death with their own hands.
He was tall, muscular probably a bully back in high school he couldn't even fit in his chair, his eyes were raging with bravery , stupidity, but the other one was fragile, a working man, probably a farmer, this was his last chance to earn some money for his family. Two very different people with two very different reasons are the muse for one crowd of filth.
-SHUTUP! I shouted, the only thing you could hear was heavy breathing.
This          is Russian roulette! When the gun stops spinning, the player which          the barrel is pointing at will begin the game!
My hands were shaking I put the gun on the table counted to five and span the gun, the spinning was getting slower and slower, with each spin I felt younger, childish, I felt like a boy missing his dead mom, his abused sister, his honorable brother, his father who sacrificed his self for his three children, I was a child, I was naked, I was braking.
Then the gun stopped, it was pointing at me, I couldn't hold myself any longer, one tear slipped out and ran across my face, then I realized, I judge these people, I watch them kill themselves, I watch them throw their lives away, , I am the referee.
I span the gun again, this time it pointed at the pale poor man, he muttered:
- What do I do?
I grabbed the gun opened the cylinder put a bullet in it. Can I choose the fate of these people? Or is it chance? I span the cylinder closed it! Handed the gun to the man, I was sweating, needles were being forced in my back, sweat coming down my nose, he grabbed the gun with his shaky hands, pointed to his forehead, and pulled the trigger, CLICK, and he jumped up out of his chair like he just fucked a million whores. The filth was cursing him!
Sorry          man, you didn't cock it.
The smile on his face had a subtle bitterness, like the irony of the whole world was summarized into his smile, he sat down on the chair, picked up the gun span the cylinder, cocked the gun and pointed it to his forehead. With each step I had a war inside me, a little boy that needed to be saved, and grown man in a gang that craved the violence, my face was twitching. when he pulled the trigger, I felt warm, just like when you sneak under a blanket in the winter, with a warm cup of tea, when I opened my eyes the smile I saw before was red, the warm blood on my face was the thing that calmed me, the grown man inside me was laughing and the child was fading away, then I heard it, the cheering the shouting the laughing, the other guy taunting and shouting for what? He didn't even play, he didn't even try. I ran off, jumped the stairs like I was running from all my fears. Was I losing myself? Was I becoming the thing I feared?
I wondered for hours on the streets. It was 5 in the morning the blood on my face was starting to itch, drunken by the smell of blood, I went back to the room. The smell of dead body was still in the air, the sound of the gun going BAM was echoing through the room, I sat on the chair of the poor guy, his blood was dripping from the handle. I stared at the chair in front of me, it was empty, but I felt some one there, a presence, somebody needed to be there, I reached into my pocket grabbed the wooden box and put it on the table, after all these years good as new, polished dark wood, the eagle still shining. I opened it slowly, green velvet lining on the inside, one bullet, the revolver, and this gun was made for a Russian roulette game. I picked the gun cleaned it polished it, put the bullet in the cylinder span it, closed it, cocked it, put the gun on the table and span it. with every spin I felt the child again, holding on to something, pulling himself to come back, then it stopped, it was pointing to the other chair, he picked the gun up, pointed at me and with a low Manish voice said:
- What makes you think I wouldn't kill you right now?
- It's against the rules, plus you can't do that.
-you're weak you only get in the way nobody needs you, you're just a memory.
- I am what everybody is but are afraid to show it!
- You're wrong only the unforgiving will survive.
- Better play the game then.
He cocked the gun pointed it to his forehead pulled the trigger.
there was no blood, no cheering, no betting, no filth, just me sitting in the third chair, crying, screaming, I was a child, I could feel, I was naked, I BROKE.
"They call me the referee but I have only one side to judge now..."
Every gun needs good cleaning after a while. Brushing the barrel, oiling the trigger, fixing the chamber. Or else the gun might blow in your face.