do. You know, Sports. Like sports betting, Sports gambling. You know…Sports Karen.”
So that was it, sports betting! I just had to decipher exactly what he thought I knew about sports or betting. Neither of these were things that had ever even crossed my mind, as they were subjects far removed from my life.
I was looking at him as it slowly dawned on me. Oh, my God! He was a bookie! I mean a big time bookie! This was his real business. He wasn’t just some guy that managed the neighborhood bowling league money. In his world, he was a serious businessman, and there was a lot of money on the line.
He proceeded to explain in great detail the exact nature of his business. What it really was, and to clear up any question I might have had, regarding exactly what he wanted from me. He stressed his importance to me that he was the guy that handled all of the sports bets.
Every dollar that was placed, and/or paid out on the West Coast, went through his hands. He wanted an edge. Like I said, in his mind, this was big business, and he was right, it was very big.
I fidgeted in my chair and nervously said, “Umm, I’m sorry, but I don’t do sports.”
My obvious discomfort didn’t move him in the least. He clearly didn’t care how I felt, or what I did, or didn’t do. This man was used to getting what he wanted, and my ethics were of no concern to him.
He brushed my refusal off as though I hadn’t said it. Narrowing his stare, and with the slight hint of a threat in his voice he continued, “But you will do it for me.” It wasn’t a question. For him, it was a statement of fact. All pretense of warmth had vanished pretty quickly as he continued talking about his business. The more he talked, the colder and more aggressive he became. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had changed. It had become steely, threatening and dark.
There was a fearful chill circling around me. I am sure, like all sharks, he could smell my fear, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. No sense of false bravado was going to stop this man. He had a plan, and that was the way it was.
Stiffening in my chair as he continued, “You know I take the bets, and there’s a bunch of games this weekend, so why don’t we do this.”
My complete lack of interest didn’t mean a thing to him, as he kept laying out his plan. “I’ll give you the list, and you’ll pick the games for me.”
It was so simple for him. He delivered this information to me, as if I actually had a voice in his plan.
Again his tone changed. Now leaning in closer and looking at the floor, he continued speaking to me in this conspiratorial, “we’re in this together” or “now that you’re on board,” buddy-buddy kind of manner. The only thing he lacked was sincerity. He made my flesh crawl.
He leaned back in his chair, pulling out the top desk drawer sliding a neatly typed sheet of paper out on to the space in front of him. Upside down, it looked like a spreadsheet to me. He picked it up, running his eyes over the columns as though trying to make a decision. In one swift move, he turned it right side up, pushing it in front of me.
I picked up the paper and he reached over snatching it out of my hand to place it back on the desk in front of me. “Leave it there!” he barked. “You don’t have to hold it, just look at it.”
I stared at the paper without a word. I felt like a statue sitting there, motionless and cold. I still had no idea what he wanted, or what this piece of paper had to do with me.
More quietly, while tapping on the paper he informed me, “There are ten or twelve games this weekend. You’ll do those.”
I tried pleading ignorance, “But I don’t even know what teams are playing. What do you want from me?”
He was not convinced, and was getting angry. He started poking his index finger repeatedly on the paper, “I want you to pick the winners, so just look at the paper, do whatever it is you do, and put checks next to the winners, okay? It’s
So that was it, sports betting! I just had to decipher exactly what he thought I knew about sports or betting. Neither of these were things that had ever even crossed my mind, as they were subjects far removed from my life.
I was looking at him as it slowly dawned on me. Oh, my God! He was a bookie! I mean a big time bookie! This was his real business. He wasn’t just some guy that managed the neighborhood bowling league money. In his world, he was a serious businessman, and there was a lot of money on the line.
He proceeded to explain in great detail the exact nature of his business. What it really was, and to clear up any question I might have had, regarding exactly what he wanted from me. He stressed his importance to me that he was the guy that handled all of the sports bets.
Every dollar that was placed, and/or paid out on the West Coast, went through his hands. He wanted an edge. Like I said, in his mind, this was big business, and he was right, it was very big.
I fidgeted in my chair and nervously said, “Umm, I’m sorry, but I don’t do sports.”
My obvious discomfort didn’t move him in the least. He clearly didn’t care how I felt, or what I did, or didn’t do. This man was used to getting what he wanted, and my ethics were of no concern to him.
He brushed my refusal off as though I hadn’t said it. Narrowing his stare, and with the slight hint of a threat in his voice he continued, “But you will do it for me.” It wasn’t a question. For him, it was a statement of fact. All pretense of warmth had vanished pretty quickly as he continued talking about his business. The more he talked, the colder and more aggressive he became. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had changed. It had become steely, threatening and dark.
There was a fearful chill circling around me. I am sure, like all sharks, he could smell my fear, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. No sense of false bravado was going to stop this man. He had a plan, and that was the way it was.
Stiffening in my chair as he continued, “You know I take the bets, and there’s a bunch of games this weekend, so why don’t we do this.”
My complete lack of interest didn’t mean a thing to him, as he kept laying out his plan. “I’ll give you the list, and you’ll pick the games for me.”
It was so simple for him. He delivered this information to me, as if I actually had a voice in his plan.
Again his tone changed. Now leaning in closer and looking at the floor, he continued speaking to me in this conspiratorial, “we’re in this together” or “now that you’re on board,” buddy-buddy kind of manner. The only thing he lacked was sincerity. He made my flesh crawl.
He leaned back in his chair, pulling out the top desk drawer sliding a neatly typed sheet of paper out on to the space in front of him. Upside down, it looked like a spreadsheet to me. He picked it up, running his eyes over the columns as though trying to make a decision. In one swift move, he turned it right side up, pushing it in front of me.
I picked up the paper and he reached over snatching it out of my hand to place it back on the desk in front of me. “Leave it there!” he barked. “You don’t have to hold it, just look at it.”
I stared at the paper without a word. I felt like a statue sitting there, motionless and cold. I still had no idea what he wanted, or what this piece of paper had to do with me.
More quietly, while tapping on the paper he informed me, “There are ten or twelve games this weekend. You’ll do those.”
I tried pleading ignorance, “But I don’t even know what teams are playing. What do you want from me?”
He was not convinced, and was getting angry. He started poking his index finger repeatedly on the paper, “I want you to pick the winners, so just look at the paper, do whatever it is you do, and put checks next to the winners, okay? It’s
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