One

Sammy is at a crossroads in his career and Nick presents him with an idea

Sammy was street smart but he was not book smart.  He knew this about himself.  The one field of knowledge in which he excelled was street math.  As the neighborhood bookmaker this was an absolute requirement.  It would not be a good idea to make a mistake on a payout or a vig.  These kinds of mistakes came out of his own pocket or worse.

At twenty five Sammy was at a crossroads.  Even though he was making a good living as a bookie he knew that this was not his calling in life.  The problem was he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing and he really couldn’t think of anything else that he was good at.

He liked the finer things in life.  As he slowly drove his new to him but gently used 2014 black Mercedes Benz SLK hardtop convertible South on 2nd Street, one eye on the road and one along the line of parked cars, looking for a parking spot, he considered if he’d be willing to give them up.

He thought about his girlfriend.  Emerald was smart.  She had a college degree in Fine Art from Moore College of Art.  She made a good living painting her pictures but she never cared about money.  She lived the starving artist mentality, painting for its own sake and was just fortunate that people liked her stuff and paid thousands of dollars for just one little canvas square with her name on it.  If her paintings didn’t sell though, not much would change in her life.  She’d just get a job in a bar or coffee house, move to a cheaper loft and keep painting and being happy.  Could he do the same thing?

If it had not been for the insistence of his mentor and business partner, Wookie, that he finish up high school or else lose his job as runner, he would have dropped out the same day his parents finally had enough of his “Western Degenerate” lifestyle and kicked him out of the house at age 15.  He finished high school but not even Wookie could convince him to continue on to college.  Even Wookie’s offer to pay for Philadelphia Community College, to get a math degree, the one area where Sammy shone, could make Sammy endure another day of sitting in the confines of a classroom or enduring another lecture .

So here he was, rolling down 2nd, wondering where he should really be.  Ahead on the right he spotted his opening.  It was the kind of spot that only a local would park in because the signs are so ambiguous that fear of the dreaded Philadelphia Parking Authority would dissuade all but the most stalwart.  Sammy felt no fear at all.  He knew from experience that while technically not a legal spot, even the PPA officers were not certain about this one and they rarely if ever ticketed this block unless you did something particularly egregious, like blocking a hydrant or a crosswalk.  He pulled up slightly past the spot and put the car in reverse.  The side view mirror automatically rolled in and down so that he could use it to finesse the car closer to the curb.  He turned the wheel and maneuvered perfectly into the space, not needing to utilize the rear view camera or the audible warnings.  He put it back in drive and finished parking by situating his car perfectly in the middle of the space between the neighboring cars.  He killed the engine and opened the door, pleased with the realization that here was one more thing he excelled at, parallel parking.

At six foot four inches and two hundred fifty pounds, getting in and out of the low slung Mercedes was an exercise in agility.  From all of the hours spent in the gym, religiously addressing the lower body days as well as the more impressive uppers, Sammy had no problem doing it but any time he drove Wookie anywhere he felt a stab of guilt for not having bought a more ergonomic vehicle.  Wookie was roughly the same height as Sammy and give or take ten pounds. But where Sammy was all muscle, Wookie, at age seventy nine, had gone to flab.  A huge part of Sammy’s existential crisis was that he feared that once Wookie was gone he would not be able to run things on his own.

Sammy clicked the lock fob as he crossed the street and walked into Gunners Run.  As he walked in he saw that it was Big Joe at the bar.  At eleven in the morning Big Joe amounted to the entire front of the house.  Sammy made his way to his usual table and settled in for his workday.  Before Big Joe got around to checking in with Sammy, Sammy’s first business was already sliding into the booth.  

Nick Rojas, a small, dark skinned latino with strong Indio features underscored by his long, straight, black hair seemed incongruous in his conservative business suit.  Before he slid in he removed his jacket and carefully hung it on the hook attached to the pillar that separated the booths.  

He quickly settled in, “Yo Amigo. What’s the spread on the birds Sunday?”

Sammy knew that the Eagles were the six point favorites against the Redskins but his mind was still elsewhere. “I don’t know.”

Undeterred, Nick said, “I think the birds are giving six.  Put me down for two bills on the birds”

Halfheartedly, Sammy reached into his pocket and pulled out his two inch by three inch leather bound Moleskine notebook.  From another pocket he got his pen, a Montblanc Meisterstuck ballpoint.  He opened the notebook to the correct page and using the code system that Wookie had taught him he made the notations to indicate Nick Rojas’ request to bet two hundred dollars on Sunday’s Eagles game.

“You got the dough?”

“I’m good for it.”

It was simply a routine question he was conditioned to ask.  Sammy knew that Nick, a long time client, was good for it and didn’t worry about collecting a measly two hundred dollars up front. Before Nick departed he’d be laying about a thousand dollars anyway. In any given week Nick’s action spanned all of the pro sports currently playing and in addition to the straight up bets like the one he’d just taken he went for all sorts of side bets as well.  Sometimes he won sometimes he lost.  He lost more than he won but not as badly as some other clients.  

Sammy didn’t really care who won or lost because Wookie’s odds making was sound and it was designed to encourage betting on both sides of any contest, even when it included the home teams.  They made their profits on the vig and not on the actual bets .  Over the next two days, climaxing at 1:00pm Sunday afternoon but not ending until the last game started around eight thirty , each of Sammy’s clients would reach out to him, one by one, and make their predictions about the events and outcomes of all of the upcoming games.  Sammy never got over how good Wookie was at causing the bets to fall so evenly that the weekly payouts almost never exceeded the weekly take.  Wookie once jokingly explained that he’d set the vig to match the governor’s vig.  Sammy needed Wookie to explain that Philadelphia sales tax was 8% too.  Therefore a loss of one hundred dollars would result in the bettor owing $108 but a win would only garner a $100 payout.

Staying true to form Nick asked, “What’s the over under?”

Sammy sighed, checked his notes and said, “twenty seven point five”

“Wow!  That’s low! Who set that?  Have they seen our offense?  Give me another two for the over.”

Once again Sammy made the notations.  The beauty of the vig was that, likely as not, Nick would win one and lose one.  The bets would offset and Nick would end up paying the $16.  Even if Nick won both, some other combination of schlubs would lose $400 and their vigs of $32 which, when combined with all of the other clients’ bets and vigs would yield a weekly rake in the high thousands.  Not bad work if you could get it.  But the key was setting the odds to balance the betting. Even though Wookie had shown Sammy how he did it many times, Sammy still didn’t quite get it.  

Nick was still sitting there, waiting for his inspirations to guide him how to bet the rest of his weekly budget.  He began to catch Sammy’s vibe.  “Dude.  What’s the matter?  You look really bummed.”

At first Sammy was going to keep his thoughts bottled but then he decided to try stating what he’d been thinking out loud to see if it led him anywhere, “I don’t think I’m going to do this much longer.”

“Do what?”

“Be a bookmaker, man.”

“Really?  Aw, man.  That would really suck.  You and Wook have been the the only game in town forever.  Who’m I going to lay my action with if you quit?   What are you going to do instead?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.  I was just thinking about it.”

Usually Nick just came in, placed his action and took off after a few minutes, but as he was still sitting there, Big Joe finally finished up his bar preparation tasks and came over to check on them.

“I’ve got fresh brewed coffee?” Big Joe stated in a question form.

Sammy nodded.

Nick asked, “Can you make one in a to go cup?”

Gunners Run was not the sort of place that people came to get coffee to go.  Big Joe said, “I’ll see what I can do” and departed to fulfill the order.

“You got any other action you want to lay? Sammy asked Nick

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it.  Let me think.”  Nick replied, “You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m good”.

“Ok.  You just seem...distracted”

“I’m good.”  Sammy repeated.

“So, you don’t want to take bets anymore?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I know.  I know. But you said...Nevermind. It’s cool.

Big Joe returned with the coffees.  He set them down on the table  along with a carafe of cream and then extracted a handful of assorted sweeteners from his apron pocket.  “Sorry we don’t have any to go cups but if you promise to bring the mug back next week you can take it with you.”  Big Joe knew that Nick was a regular.  “Either of you guys want to order any food?  Want me to tell you about the specials?”

Nick said, “I’m good”

Sammy said, “Not yet.  Let me think about what I want.”

Big Joe departed to continue preparing his bar for the crowds that would not be arriving until around dinner time.  Wookie had chosen Gunners Run as Sammy’s “office” because is was open for lunch, but totally dead most days until dinner.  The decor was dark and the jukebox was loud, making it easy to conduct illicit business without being overheard.  

Sammy could be found at Gunners Run every Thursday through Sunday from the time they opened at eleven until seven in the evening when the crowds started to arrive and the character of the place started to change from neighborhood pub to wild party nightclub.   He understood that part of doing what he did was making himself available to his customers.  Since Wookie was old school and would not allow Sammy to ever do any business over the phone or online, Sammy had to be where people could find him and make their bets.  Wookie paid the owners of Gunners a weekly “rent” for the table and Sammy was extremely generous with the staff.

Nick told Sammy the rest of his weekly bets and Sammy dutifully noted them.  Nick was lingering and it was beginning to make Sammy uncomfortable.  “You wanna lay any more action?” Sammy asked.

Nick hesitated but finally came out with, “Listen, Sammy.  Maybe we can help each other with something.”

Sammy was puzzled.  Nick was acting out of character.  He was usually decisive and in and out.  “Help each other how?” He settled on.

“I was thinking,”  Nick went on, “You maybe want out of this gig and I have a little situation back home that maybe you could help me with.  If this works it would make us both enough money that neither one of us would ever have to work another day in our lives.”

Sammy was intrigued but extremely leary.  “I’m not looking for any trouble.  I’m not going to do anything illegal for you.”

“No man, it’s nothing like that.” Came Nick’s quick reply, “Look, I’m not sure exactly how you come in, I was just thinking out loud.”  He took a sip of coffee, “Aright, let me tell you about it and you tell me what you think.  Okay?

Sammy decided to be polite.  He figured that at the end of Nick’s story he would just refuse whatever help Nick was looking for but he didn’t want to burn any bridges by shutting him down before he started.  He looked at his Rolex Submariner wristwatch and saw that not even ten minutes had gone by.  Usually after Nick left his next customer wasn’t until around twelve thirty so he had plenty of time.  “I’ll tell you what.  Buy me breakfast and you can tell me anything you want for the next thirty minutes.”

“Deal!”

Sammy waved Big Joe over.  He came from around the bar and stood at the table.  “What’ll ya have?”

Sammy ordered, “I’ll have a bacon, egg and cheese on sourdough, lunch fries instead of home fries.  He’s buying.” he nodded at Nick.  

Nick asked for the same and Big Joe lumbered off to the kitchen to put in the order.

“So let’s hear it. “ said Sammy.