Bookmaker, The (14 page)

“Thanks
, Preston, I appreciate that. It means a lot to me. I doubt anything will happen, and hopefully we can get back to friends status.”

“Just know I’m rooting for you
, son,” he said, painfully pulling himself up off the couch. He’d noticed the conversation was getting quite lively with Jay and the girls and he wanted in. I didn’t feel like joining their group, so I stayed put and pretended to occupy myself with the late game—UCLA was handing Arizona their ass, fifty-two to seven, another $500 winner I gave Preston. When I saw that my presence wouldn’t be missed, I snuck back to my place to get some rest. Tomorrow was a big day.

Otto’s phone call woke me
. The clock read 9:17am. “Wake up, motherfucker. Today’s the day.”

I was still half asleep
. “Who is this?”

“You know exactly who this is, this is your conscience calling, giving you shit about abandoning me.”

“What you got for me today, Otto?” I asked, knowing he’d be a wealth of insider knowledge.

“I got plenty, you ready?”

“Actually no, let me pull myself together, get some coffee, and I’ll give you a ring back, games don’t start for two hours.”

“Cool, I got a few calls to make anyways.”

NFL opening day, the best day of the year, the first week of sixteen—Christmas morning for any fan, bettor, and especially bookmaker. This was our busy time. The time that got us through the off-season, through the lean action of basketball and the non-existent baseball play—it was time to make money. I had to get the lines and fix them but first, coffee and a smoke.

Otto was
a busy man, working the phones since six, scanning all his sources for information then dishing out his own when he had any juicy items. This was fun for him, made him feel like a mover and shaker and gave him just enough of the old Jersey neighborhood to satisfy the inner mobster he’d so idolized growing up.

“Okay, what ya got,” I said
, ready to go after my coffee, a shower, and two smokes.

“First things fucking first, did you tell all your players to come in and drop off money with me here at the bar, ‘cause they’ve been coming in droves
. If you include what Jay collected and what I got this week, I think we are all paid up.”

“Had to man, with Jay and I out here it’s the only way, this gonna be cool with you?”

“I guess, what else can we do? But you know I don’t like the exposure.”

“It’s just temporary ‘til we can get a guy to collect for us.”

“Then we gotta pay him 15%.”

“At least that.”

Otto broke down and said, “Fuck it, just have ‘em come in for now. They can pay me, but my percentage just went up to 60%.”

“It’s only fair,” I said. I couldn’t fight it. He had a point; he was taking over one of my jobs.

“Okay then, I’ll just hold the money that I got for you here, might be the only way I can lure you back.”

“I’ll be back. I just need to take care of some business out here.”

“Whatever you say, T, whatever you say,” he could see through my bullshit almost as well as Jay.

Otto was right. He had a laundry list of privileged info for me this morning: hidden injuries, severity of known injuries, point spread anomalies, coaching strategies and tendencies, weather and turf conditions, players
’ personal problems, alcohol and drug addictions, and team infighting…on and on he went. The info was too much to take in. Can’t they just play the games was always my thought, but we needed all the help we could get, anything to give us an edge.

Preston came in about an hour before kickoff. He wanted to witness the mayhem, said he got a kick out of watching me work. He went to the kitchen and started making a bloody mary—how all the ingredients got there
, I don’t know. I had him make me one too. When he finished in the kitchen, he gingerly sat down, watched one of the pre-game shows, and lit up a joint. He tried to pass it to me, but I refused, had to keep sharp today. Soon after his arrival, the phones began to ring.

“Two twenty-two,” the voice said.

“Yo
, Kev, how we doing this morning?”

“Good, now that football’s here. By the way
, did Otto tell you I’m all paid up?”

“Yes
, he did. Good work. It’s kind of nice starting at zero, huh?”

“Whatever
, T, just give me a run-down.”

“Two twenty-six.”

“Hey
, Mark, so you want three plays all for a buck? Let me read them back: $100, Pitt -7, $100, San Fran -10, and $100 on Dallas -7.5.”

“That’s right
, T, and you know what, that sounded even better when you read it back, parlay those three for a buck as well.”

“You got it. You’re looking at
$800, or you're looking at nothing.”

“Two twenty.”

“Hey
, Scott, what you looking at?”

“What you got in the Green Bay
-Detroit game?”

“Green Bay by
6.”

“And what you got on Tampa
-Minnesota?”

“Minnesota by
7—just moved up from 6.”

“Fuck, give me Minny anyways for
$50, same on Green Bay, and tease them motherfuckers down for $50 as well.”

“You got it, both Bays for $50 and the tease.”

“
Two twenty-four.”

“What’s the good word
, Matt?”

“Just give me a run-down and I’ll call you back.”

“
Two twenty-one.”

“Wilson, what do you need this morning?”

“Give me a buck on Green Bay over 48 and a buck on Baltimore under 36.”

“You got it.”

“
Two eighteen.”

“Well if it ain’t my old friend Petey, heard you had a nice little meeting with Otto the other day.”

“Yeah, T, and I’m all paid up, had to put it on my credit card, but I’m all good. You gonna let me play today? It’s opening day, man, you got to.”

“You’re paid up, you can play.”

“Thanks, T, give me a run-down.”

“No problem. Ready?”

“
Two fifteen.”

“Well if it ain’t Rob the parlay king
. Coming to crush me this fine morning?”

“You know it
, T, I’m coming hard today, you’re gonna wish I never called.”

“I already do.”

“I’ve been studying this shit for months, I’m ready to go.”

“Okay my man, but be gentle.”

“Let’s start off with my five star lock of the year parlay: Raiders +7, to the Seahawks +4, to Atlanta +9, for a buck.”

“Nice, I’m liking the dog plays.”

“You’re going down today, T, I’m feeling it. Let me analyze some more and I’ll call you back.”

“Good
luck.”

The calls kept coming until kick off—I couldn’t even come up for air. My bloody mary was untouched, the ingredients separated and stacked in the glass. Preston, now on his third, was trying to get my attention. I turned my phone off to have a
much-needed smoke and see what he wanted.

“Trent, you’ve been giving me nothing but winners so far, go down the list of today’s games and give me your three best plays—only your locks, just the top three that jump out at ya.”

“My three best plays of the day, huh? Let me give these lines a good once over.”

While I was looking over the list, Preston said, “I’ll tell you what
, son, I could watch you answer them phones all day, you really got this down to science, don’t ya?”

“Been doing it for seven years,” I said
, concentrating on the games as I knew Preston would heed my advice like the gospel and play them heavy.

“You ever want a new backer, I’d be happy to be your bank. Win or lose, I’d be in it just for the action and the fun.
”

“Oh we’d win, and that’s the fun,” I said without looking up.

Then they came to me, I had them, my three winners, “Okay, my three best plays of the day are Tennessee -3 at Cincinnati, Seattle -7 at Philadelphia, and New Orleans -3 at the Rams. And as far as having you as a backer, that’d be great, but I’ve been with Otto forever. He was the only one who had the balls to put up the money in the first place. I can’t leave him.”

“I admire your loyalty
, son, and as far as your three picks go, put a nickel on all three and parlay them for a nickel as well.”

“That’s $1
,650 with the juice if you lose,” I said, suddenly feeling less confident in my picks.

“Yeah, but I trust you, you ain’t steered me wrong yet, and it’s $4
,500 when I win.”

“Okay, I’ll put you down, and by the way
, I made sure the games I picked were all morning games, so if all goes wrong we can try and play catch-up with the afternoon games.”

“That’s my boy,” he said
, then swallowed his bloody mary.

“And you’re still playing with house money, so why not, let it ride
.”

After the phones stopped ringing and the first games kicked off, Preston and I made our way up to the back balcony to catch the games. Preston got the NFL season package
, so he had all the games. His set-up was nice, but my first choice would have been the Grotto—nothing beats a noisy, crowded bar with every game going on opening day. Other than St. Patty’s day, you won’t see so many people with a legitimate reason to start drinking before noon. The best day of the year, hands down. But watching four games at once on the back balcony during a steamy late summer morning wasn’t bad either. Hell, the thought of my blowing it with Corynne couldn’t even bother me.

Matador and Jay eventually shook off their hangovers and joined us for some hair of the dog. The morning moved slowly
, the first few beers went down hard. With four choices available, we all gravitated towards our own game. Matador and Preston were watching the Tennessee Titans game on the big screen. When Memphis lured them from Houston a few years ago, they were overjoyed to have an NFL team only seventy miles away and were quick to adopt them as their own. Jay found the Raider game—probably the least interested in football of all of us—but he took to the Raider’s outlaw image and watched the game while nursing his bloody mary. I had a vested interest in all the games and tried to catch them all. When you’re in my line of work, having a favorite team is a luxury you can’t afford. Money always trumps allegiance.

L
azy morning hangovers finally gave way to televised, violence-fueled inebriation. Day-after drinking is a different animal than going in fresh. Any drinker can tell you that; from grizzled street sleeper to frat boy binger. Day two is a sloppy drunk, there’s no gradual build-up, you’re dragging, and then you’re slurring, no in-between. And with Matador behind the bar mixing stiff drinks, we were all crossing that line by kickoff of the afternoon games. Preston, in particular, was getting quite boisterous as all three games I gave him hit. Some were easy covers while others made us sweat, but he hit them all and was up $4,500 on the morning. Outside of his Ole Miss loyalty play, they were all my picks. I was feeling pretty good about myself by this time, and when he asked who I liked in the afternoon games, I thought I couldn’t miss.

“All right, what you got
, boy genius, give me a couple winners,” he said, massaging my shoulders in both praise and in an attempt to loosen up the parts of my brain that picks winners.

I decided to get bold and take a couple big dogs that looked good on paper. “You ready for this? I’m gonna go out on a limb this afternoon. I see a couple dogs with too many points to play with.”

“Who you got?” Preston asked, eager for my latest lead-pipe locks.

“All right
, brace yourself, you sitting down?” I took the chance on an off-color joke, feeling our relationship could take it.

“Of course I’m sitting down you little shit, I can barely stand up,” he said a little offended, but with enough play in his voice to make it okay.

“All right, as long as you’re sitting down,” I said, the booze spurring me on to push the boundary between humor and mocking.

“Don’t push it
, T,” he said seriously.

I did
n’t push it further, although, I did like the familiarity of him calling me T. “Okay, I like Arizona +7 at Dallas and the Jets +10 at San Fran.”

“Bold picks
, son,” he said, surprised that I chose such weak teams. “Well, I’m gonna milk ya until you dry up. Put a nickel on each and par them both for a nickel.”

“You got it, my good man,” I said
, picking up the phone to call my book, who was gonna be pissed at the money I was up with them. But they were big time, they could handle it. And they did, always happy for the play. They knew what the eventual outcome would be. All they had to do was keep us playing.

Once I stopped taking action for the later games
, I noticed Jay had passed out on one of the wicker couches, and Matador had once again snuck off somewhere, it was just Preston and I—the two die-hards. I made us both some fresh drinks, rolled another joint under Preston’s orders, and we settled into the games. As the dust-filled sunlight went from white to gold, the games fell into place. The Jets were down by three, and barring a miracle they would cover. However, Arizona was down by twenty-four late in the game in Dallas and had no chance.

Preston took the loss in stride
. “Can’t win ‘em all, goal is to win most, and that’s what we’ve done.” I felt like apologizing, but didn’t, he was still doing very well following my counsel.