Was I pissed that I’d lost? Yes. But the trade-off had been somewhat satisfying since Ward lost his first fight.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” the man in the opposite aisle swore.
He paced frantically as if trying to decide how he was going to get out of this one.These guys were so predictable. He clutched a can of beer and then brought a tiny stub of a cigarette to his lips with his other hand. I watched him for a few minutes before I decided to reel him in.
“Hey, what’s the problem?” I raised my voice so he could hear me over the noise of the sportsbook.
“I lost,” the man said.
I laughed and nodded.
“No shit, man. Everyone here who bet on Ward lost.”
“The Dragon doesn’t lose, though! How the fuck did he lose?” the man continued to pace.
“He’s human. He can lose.”
“Shit. Shit. What the fuck am I going to do?” he mumbled to himself.
Perfect. Get him.
I stood and adjusted my cap before I walked over to him. He was probably about six feet tall, thin, and lanky. Possibly sickly. He had a hint of a beer belly starting and messy, thinning hair. His teeth were crooked and stained from coffee and cigarettes.
“How much did you lose?” I asked. I had him pegged as a small gambler and that he’d bet on whatever he could get his hands on.
“A grand,” he said as he paced.
I refrained from laughing out loud. He wasn’t even a small gambler. He was a pathetic gambler.
“Come on, buddy. A thousand bucks is hardly anything to get uptight over. Go home, get laid, and think twice before betting on Ward again.”
“Easy for you to say. That grand was my rent and food money for the month,” he barked at me. Because of the way he was talking to me, I knew for certain he had no clue who I was.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
He looked up at me and narrowed his beady eyes before asking, “What?”
“What is your name?” I repeated the question, already growing annoyed with him.
“Joel.”
“Do you have a last name Joel?”
“Barnes. What the fuck do you care?”
My right hand twitched, begging to make contact with this scrawny fuck. Even being partially blind in one eye, I could still kill this guy.
“Because I like to know who I’m loaning money to.”
His eyebrows raised, as if he was checking to see if I was for real. I opened my wallet and pulled out two grand in one-hundred-dollar bills. I offered the stack of cash to him, but my grip held firm.
“Now, Joel Barnes. When do you get paid, so I know when you’ll be able to pay me back?”
“In two weeks. I got paid yesterday and put it all on the fight,” he said.
“Okay. This is a loan and comes attached with five percent interest. Can you handle that?”
I always started them slow just to see the level of addiction I was playing with.
