Anthony had just left the Gamblers Anonymous meeting, his new 6 month chip jangled against his key as he walked. He had parked on the street, and was just getting to his car, when a black Lincoln Towncar pulled up to the curb in front of him. The tinted back window was rolling down, and inside was an older gentleman sharply dressed in a dark suit. He had a neatly trimmed white Van Dyke and a silk kerchief square in his pocket.
"Excuse me," he asked in a clipped, foreign voice. "Do you know where there is a Gambler's Anonymous meeting nearby? I thought it was close to here, but I'm afraid that my driver is not too familiar with this area." The man spoke fast. It was a little difficult for Anthony to follow.
"Yeah, it's right there," Anthony said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the VFW. "We meet every Wednesday, but you missed our meeting tonight. We meet from eight to ten. Come back next week at 8." Anthony pulled out his keys, and started unlocking the driver's side of his dented Ford Taurus.
"Yes, yes, but so, you were just there? You are a gambling addict?"
"I'm not going there for fun, let's put it that way."
The man's pink tongue darted around his lips. "Do you owe money?"
At this, Anthony straightened. He walked around his car, and leaned his meaty forearms on the Lincoln. "It ain't your business, bub. Just who do you think you are anyway?"
The man pulled out his handkerchief and patted his forehead. "Yes, yes, I too am a gambler. I cannot stop. The stakes, when they are high..." He shook his head. "You know what it is like. All gamblers know what it is like to owe -- something."
Anthony straightened. "Well, geeze buddy. I thought you was some bookie or something. Yeah, it's a tough thing. You gotta hang in there, you know? Listen, what's your name? I'm Anthony Visorelli, but everyone calls me Tony." Anthony reached out his hand. The small man shook it. He was wearing a leather glove.
"My name is Bernard... Bernard Jurgen."
"You German or something?"
"Austrian."
"Yeah? Bernard, huh?"
The man nodded.
"Well, Bernard -- come back here next week, and you'll be able to meet some of the guys. It's nice to meet ya."
"Wait--please. May I ask you something?"
"Yeah sure."
"What if I told you I could erase your debt?"
"I'd tell you pigs could fly."
"No, please, I am serious. I can erase your debt."
"You don't even know how much I owe. More importantly, you don't even know who I owe it to -- and he ain't the forgiving type."
"I could pay him."
"And why would you do that?"
"You would do a favor in return for me."
"A favor, huh? Sorry bub, I'm not interested. Come back next week for the meeting, ok?"
"Please. It is a simple favor. I will pay double your debt."
"You don't know what my debt is."
"It does not matter." The man leaned forward and spoke to the driver in a harsh, guttural tone. A briefcase was passed back. The man undid the clasps and showed it to Anthony. It was filled with stacks of money, each wrapped with a purple and white striped band. "Luck has been with me lately, you see?"
Anthony's mouth was suddenly dry. "How -- how much is that?"
"How much is your debt?"
"I owe $34,000."
The man picked up four of the stacks. "This is $40,000. And I'll give you 6 more after. One hundred thousand dollars."
"What do I have to do?"
"There is something I owe. I need you to deliver something for me."
"Why don't you drop it off yourself?"
"I do not trust those whom I owe."
"What's the catch?"
"How did you fall into debt?"
Anthony looks confused. "What?"
"How did you fall into debt?"
"Gambling."
"Yes but -- was it the casino? Was it the horses?"
"Boxing matches."
"Ah, I see. A betting man. That is good."
"Why?"
"Because they may shoot you. Then again, they may not. It is because of this that I need a betting man. The odds are 40/60 in your favor."
"Are you being serious right now? Is this for real? This like a test or something?"
"No, I assure you this is real. You can wipe out all your debt and more."
"You're a betting man. You do it."
"No, I gamble, but I do not bet. It is the casinos for me. Blackjack."
Anthony looks around at the wet street. It had rained during the meeting. "How'd you figure those odds?"
The man smiled darkly. "Past experience. Three of the last five they did not shoot."
Three out of five.
"Is it drugs?"
"It is not drugs, but please do not ask me what it is. I cannot tell. You must accept it without knowing what it is. It does not affect the odds though."
Three out of five. Anthony could feel his neck flush. He knew what this meant. He reached for the money. "Let me see it."
The man handed the four stacks of bills to Anthony. He flipped through them. They were hundreds. The four bundles were surprisingly light. They did not seem like $40,000. He hefted them again. Three out of five.
"When?"
"Excellent," the man said, opening the door. "We go there now."
==============================
Anthony got out of the Lincoln. He was standing in front of a single story motel.
The man thrust a small white envelope out of the window. it was sealed with red wax. Anthony took it.
"I just give them this and say 'I'm here to deliver Mr. Jurgen's payment?'"
"Yes, yes. That is all."
Three out of five.
Anthony crossed the street. He walked around to the back of the motel, and stood in front of room 19.
Three out of five.
Anthony knocked. Nothing. He went to knock again.
The door opened and a man grabbed Anthony and dragged him in. Another man, holding a gun, shut the door. The first man frisked him.
"I'm -- I'm here to pay for Mr. Jurgen."
The man frisking him pulled the four bundles of cash from his pocket. "That won't cut it."
"No..." Anthony handed the man the envelope. "Here."
The man took the envelope and opened it. He read the note inside.
"You're here for Mr. Jurgen?"
"Yes."
"For his debt?"
"Yes."
The first man looked at the other. "Where does he find these people?"
The second man shrugged, and then hit Anthony on the head with the butt of his gun.
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