“Maybe so, but I want to go to Cuba.”

“And what about me?” Bob 2 says. “That bitch left you high and dry, but I’ve been loyal for twenty-five years, never once let you down, always had your back.”

“You’re a good dude for sure. The best.”

“But fuck me anyway, right?”

Bob 1 looks away, uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m not just giving the kid up to you,” Bob 2 continues. “I made the hit and earned the right to feed too.”

“I know that,” Bob 1 says, “and that’s why I’m willing to gamble for it, double or nothing.”

“Gamble how?”

“Liar’s poker, roshambo. We can flip a coin, if you want.”

The baby cries again, a reminder to the Bobs that every minute they draw this out is one more when trouble might find them. An idea comes to Bob 2, one that’ll put Bob 1’s resolve to the test. He draws the snub-nosed .38 he carries.

“The game’s Russian roulette,” he says.

“Jesus,” Bob 1 says.

“It’s that, or let’s get to feeding.”

“You don’t think I’m serious, do you?”

“Prove it.”

Bob 1 stands there chewing his beard. He’s played Russian roulette a few times before, wagering with other rovers. He won twice and lost once, took a bullet to the brain. The pain was excruciating, and he’s always wondered if he’s not a little dumber now than before. But he’s determined to see Maria again and get answers to the questions that have tormented him for half a century.

“Roulette it is then,” he says.

Bob 2 is nervous. He only suggested the game thinking the other Bob would back down. With trembling hands, he opens the cylinder of the revolver and drops the cartridges into his palm. Retrieving one, he slides it back into an empty chamber, closes the cylinder, and spins it.

“Who’s first?” he says.

Bob 1 takes the gun from him. Might as well get it over with. He presses the muzzle to his temple and pulls the trigger.

Click.

Relief weakens his knees, but he keeps a blank face as he spins the cylinder and passes the gun to Bob 2.

“Goddammit,” Bob 2 says. He swipes at the fear sweat dripping off his nose. “Goddammit.” He puts the gun to his head. “Goddammit!”

Click.

“Ha!”

He spins the cylinder and thrusts the gun at Bob 1, who moves a little slower this time, who takes a deep breath and twists the tension out of his neck before raising the pistol.

Blam!