Topic 30(C): Scared Money Never Wins
Jun. 18th, 2012 04:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
java_fiendAnd here is #3 of 6...
“You’re seriously delinquent in your payments, Mr. Whitlock,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “If we don’t receive payment by the twentieth of the month, we’ll have no choice but to repossess the vehicle.”
Adam glanced at the calendar mentally noting that it was the seventh and still had thirteen days to meet his obligation. He ran a hand through his hair, his head spinning and fighting the nauseous feeling that was creeping up from the pit of his stomach.
“Mr. Whitlock?”
“What?” Adam said. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you can make a payment over the phone right now?”
His stomach turned over on itself again. “N-no, I can’t right now,” he stammered. “Look, I’ve been out of work for a little while. Is there anything we can work out? I need my car if I’m to find a job.”
“You’re more than sixty days in arrears, Mr. Whitlock,” the voice said. “I’m sorry, but if we don’t have payment by the twentieth, we’ll have no choice but to repossess the vehicle.”
Adam dropped the phone back into the cradle and sighed. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, attempting to stop the pounding in his head and the roiling in his gut. He’d been laid off thirteen months ago and hadn’t had a sniff of another job since. He must have sent out a thousand resumes and reached out to a hundred different staffing agencies. Desperate to bring in some form of income, he’d even gone so far as to put in applications to his local Starbucks and grocery stores. All with the same result, nobody was hiring.
Seeing that their savings were dwindling and their situation was growing more dire by the week, his wife Tracey had been searching for jobs as well. But she hadn’t had any more luck than he had. So they set about cutting out all of the non-essentials from their life. Gone was the timeshare in Tahoe, they’d let the Jaguar be repossessed, cancelled the vacation plans to Hawaii and the one that really drove a stake through his heart, the trip to Disneyworld with the kids. They were too young to understand what was going on but through the tears in their eyes, they told him it was okay and that they’d go next time. And then they’d hugged him as tears streamed down his face. He had never felt like more of a loser or useless piece of shit than he had in that moment. All of the extras had been cut and it still wasn’t enough. The day to day cost of raising a family, the car payment and the mortgage were combining to bleed them dry. If things didn’t improve soon, they were going to find themselves out on the street.
“Come to bed, Adam.”
Tracey stood in the doorway of his office, a faint smile touching her lips. He knew her too well and could see the swirl of worry beneath her gentle smile. Though she put on a brave face, as always, their situation was getting worse and she knew it. She was as worried as he was but did a far better job of hiding it.
“I just don’t know what we’re going to do, Trace,” he said.
She crossed the room and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around Adam and squeezing him tightly.
“We’ll figure it out, honey,” she said softly. “But it won’t happen tonight so come to bed.”
He kissed her hands and stood up, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“I love you, Trace.”
“I love you too.”
*******
He stepped out of another fruitless and frustrating meeting at the temporary staffing agency. They still hadn’t found anything for him. With his level of education, they simply refused to put his name in for jobs he was overqualified for despite the fact that he’d told them to. Repeatedly.
Adam walked down the street, lost in his thoughts and problems, oblivious to everything around him. A cold wind swept up the street as a light rain began to fall. People rushed by him, some bumping into him but not bothering to apologize. He didn’t care. He wasn’t feeling the cold, the rain or the idiots slamming their shoulders into his. He had to figure out how to feed his family and how to keep a roof over their heads and he had to do it quickly.
In a daze, he found himself in a park and took a seat on a bench. He watched people huddled under their umbrellas scurrying down the street completely oblivious to the human suffering and deprivation around them. He’d been one of them once… so busy living his life and chasing the almighty dollar that he never took the time out to even notice the less fortunate around him. Let alone do anything to help them. He sighed and shook his head, his worries multiplying and swirling around in his mind.
“You look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Adam gave a start. He’d been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the man take a seat on the bench next to him. Sitting beneath an umbrella was a man dressed impeccably in what Adam knew was a very expensive designer suit. His hair was perfectly coifed and despite the breeze, there wasn’t a hair out of place.
“I’m sorry?” Adam asked.
“Well, you’re sitting out here unprotected from the rain and cold,” the man said. “You must have some particularly heavy thoughts on your mind.”
Adam shrugged. “I’ve been out of work for more than a year and have a family to take care of,” he said. “Those seem to be the only kinds of thoughts I’m capable of these days.”
The man nodded as if he understood. Though Adam didn’t think the well-dressed man could even come close to possibly understanding his predicament.
“It’s an unfortunate reality for so many these days,” he said. “And there are so few opportunities for good people to get ahead.”
Adam remained silent but nodded. The man turned to him and looked him over, as if appraising him. As if coming to a decision, the well-dressed man smiled.
“What would you say if I told you that I know of an opportunity for you to make a hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “Would that help ease your situation?”
Adam chuckled. “I’d say that whatever it is, it can’t be legal.”
The man smiled. “It’s not nearly as illegal as you think,” he said. “I’m not talking about muling drugs across the border or harvesting body parts for the black market.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
The man looked him in the eye. “I’m offering you an opportunity to compete in a very unique contest,” he said. “A contest that requires confidence, courage and nerves of absolute steel.”
“And the winner of this little game wins a hundred thousand?”
The man leaned forward a little. “What would a hundred thousand dollars do for your family?” He asked. “Would it keep you in your house? Feed your children?”
Adam leaned back on the bench, feeling the raindrops falling softly upon his face. A hundred thousand dollars would do a hell of a lot for his family. But what were the strings attached to the money? He somehow doubted that it was as simple as playing a game.
“A hundred grand to play a game, huh?”
“A hundred grand should you win the game,” he replied. “And of that, there is no guarantee.”
The man reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a card and handed it to Adam. He turned it over in his hand and saw an address written on the back in a neat and precise hand.
“Should you care to take a chance,” the well-dressed man said. “Be at that address at ten tonight. But think it over carefully. A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money but you know the old saying about scared money and all that.”
Adam nodded. He’d heard the phrase before but never really understood its meaning. He still didn’t. The well-dressed man stood up and looked up at the dark clouds overhead before turning his gaze back down to Adam.
“Well then,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll see you this evening.”
*******
He sat in the living room staring at the clock on the wall as Tracey put the kids to bed. It was just after eight and the rain that had been thundering down outside finally stopped. The wind whistled softly through the eaves of the house but the brief storm had passed. A hundred thousand dollars. It wouldn’t solve all of their problems but it would certainly help. A lot.
“Why are you so quiet tonight?”
Tracey sat down on the couch next to him, interlacing her fingers in his.
“Just trying to find a way out of this mess.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “We’ll find a way,” she said. “I might have a lead on a part time job down at the craft store.”
Adam felt like his heart was being squeezed within his chest. The last thing he wanted was for Tracey to have to work outside of the home. He wanted her to be able to stay home to raise the kids. That was the life they wanted; the life they’d had. And Adam wanted it back. He kissed her forehead and stood up.
“I’m going to go out for a little bit,” he said.
He could see the questions and the concern in her eyes. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I just want to clear my head a bit,” he assured her. “I won’t be gone long.”
A short while later, Adam sat in his car, parked across the street from the address on the back of the card the well-dressed man had given him. It was nearly time so Adam got out and walked across the street to the building. The small, simple brass plaque on the red brick column outside read “Scaldina’s Social Club.” He pulled the glass doors open and stepped into a room filled with cigar smoke. Dark leather and deep reds dominated the large, tastefully furnished room. A long oak bar stood to his right tended by a very fit looking young man in a white shirt and black vest. He was dutifully cleaning the glasses and barely glanced at him. The room was largely quiet as several groups of men sitting in plush wingback chairs sipping glasses of Scotch and carrying on hushed conversations. Another man in a dark suit with his hair slicked back approached him. Adam’s first thought was that he’d stepped into a mobster’s club.
“May I help you?” He asked.
“Umm… yeah,” Adam stammered. “I was given this card and told to be here for a contest of some sort?”
“Oh yes,” the man said. “Please, follow me.”
Adam followed him through the room and toward the back of the club. He could see the eyes of the men in the wingbacks followed him as he passed. They approached a door that was virtually invisible from a distance. The man with the slicked hair pressed a small button set into the wall on the right and waited until a buzzer from the other side sounded. A fist of apprehension slammed into Adam’s heart as he followed the man through the doorway. The man led him toward another door and held it open for him.
“Please, step inside,” the man said. “Mr. Pritchard will be here momentarily.”
Adam hesitantly stepped into the dimly-lit room and found it occupied by seven other men. Obviously, his fellow competitors. Nobody spoke or looked at one another but the same look of apprehension as well as desperation was on all of their faces that he was sure was on his own. Adam took an open seat on one of the benches and waited. A few minutes later, a second door opened and the well-dressed man stepped into the room.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad you all decided to participate. This should be a most eventful evening.”
“So how’s this work?” Asked one of the other participants. “And when do we get paid?”
“Straight down to business then. Very good,” the well-dressed man said. “This is how it will work. I will explain the rules of the competition to you. You will be given one opportunity and one opportunity only to opt out. Is this clear?”
There were nods and grunts of assent from around the room. Adam remained silent.
“Very good,” said the well-dressed man. “Let me cut to the chase. You all are here for one thing, the chance to win a lot of money. But to win the money, you have to have a tremendous amount of courage and also be willing to die for it. To win the money, you will have to play, and survive, our version of Russian Roulette.”
The well-dressed man fell silent and let his words sink in. Adam looked around at the others who sat stone-sill with the same look of shock and disbelief that he was sure was reflected on his own face.
“Russian Roulette?” Asked one of the men. “Like with real guns and bullets and shit? Are you serious?”
“Very,” the man said simply.
A few more moments passed in silence and Adam started to stand. There was no way in hell he was going to risk blowing his own brains out. The well-dressed man surveyed the room and opened his mouth to speak. Adam sat back down, morbidly curious and wanting to hear the punchline or the catch to this whole thing.
“Before you decide,” the man said. “Let me explain a few things. The operation we run here caters to a very discriminating clientele around the world. Our competition, while attended live by some, is broadcast over the internet.”
“Why?” Somebody called out.
“So our clients can wager on the outcome, of course.”
Adam sat back, stunned. Nameless and faceless people around the world were putting money on people’s deaths.
“Of course, with great risk comes great reward,” the man continued. “The winner of our competition receives twenty-five percent of our night’s receipts. The winner is guaranteed a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars but the purse can sometimes be much larger.”
Adam saw the men in the room looking at one another, sizing each other up. He shook his head, strength and speed wouldn’t do them any good in a game of Russian Roulette. Fools.
“How much larger?” Somebody asked.
The well-dressed man cleared his throat. “Several months back, the winner took home one million tax-free dollars,” he said. “We cater to a very wealthy client base, gentlemen.”
Somebody in the room whistled low as Adam’s mind spun. A million dollars. If he won. Otherwise, he was dead and his family had nothing.
“I know that some of you have families and we are sympathetic to that,” the well-dressed man went on as if reading his mind. “Should you not win this competition, your spouse will receive a ten-thousand dollar payout and an additional five thousand for each child.”
Adam couldn’t believe that he was giving this any thought at all. He looked around the room and knew that each of the others was in the same boat that he was. Desperate and without a lot of hope or options. A hundred thousand dollars at a minimum was tempting. But would he really risk his life for it?
“I will give you gentlemen a few moments to think it over.”
The well-dressed man exited the room leaving the eight of them alone with their thoughts. He knew that each of them was weighing their odds of surviving to collect the money. He thought of Tracey and his kids. Could he leave them without a father? Could he live with himself if they found themselves out on the street and unable to eat? Five minutes passed when the door opened and the well-dressed man stepped in.
“Gentlemen, you have a decision to make,” he said. “Stay and compete? Or you can walk out that door right now. But I must caution you, if you decide to compete, you are in this until the end. There is no backing out. If you wish to compete, please stand.”
Adam watched as slowly and uncertainly, one by one, all of the other men in the room stood. His heart thundering in his chest, he remained seated a moment longer before feeling his body rising as if by its own accord. He had to take care of his family by any and all means available to him.
“Excellent,” the man clapped his hands together.
Another man stepped into the room carrying a small box.
“We will draw for the order,” the well-dressed man said. “The two who draw the black stones will face each other in the first round.”
Adam let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he drew a white stone. The two men who drew the black ones turned a shade of green and Adam could see their hands trembling.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time.”
Adam retook his seat and felt his body begin to shake as the first two left the room with the well-dressed man and his assistant. What in the hell was he doing? He had to get out of there. He stood and walked to the door he’d entered through, pulling it only to find it locked tight. The other men in the room watched him as he walked to the other door, pulled on it and found it locked as well.
“The man said there was no backing out.”
Defeated and terrified, Adam took a seat and tried to figure a way out of the mess he was in. Several minutes later, the door opened and the well-dressed man stepped in, his assistant carrying the bag of stones.
“Round two awaits, gentlemen.”
“Look,” Adam said. “I made a mistake. I can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “You had your chance to leave and opted to stay. You are in until the bitter end for better or for worse.”
“And if I refuse?”
“That would be unwise,” he said calmly. “Now please, step forward and draw your stone.”
“No.”
The well-dressed man’s assistant stepped forward and pressed the barrel of a gun to Adam’s forehead.
“You have one chance,” the well-dressed man said. “Draw your stone or die here.”
With a trembling hand, Adam reached into the bag and felt his stomach drop when he withdrew a black stone. When the draw was complete, Adam and his opponent were escorted by the well-dressed man and his assistant down a long hallway and into a large, dimly lit room. Bleachers sat along one wall and were filled with men dressed in expensive suits who had bloodlust on their faces. The room was nearly silent but a feeling of anticipation hung heavy in the air. A podium stood in the center of the room, cones of bright light shining down on either side. Their spotlights. And in the center of one of those lights stood a fresh pool of blood.
“Please, step into those lights,” the well-dressed man said.
Adam’s opponent strode to his boldly, confidently, turning to Adam and giving him a small smirk.
“I had a feeling about you when I first saw you on the park bench today,” the well-dressed man said in a hushed tone. “The purse is six-hundred and fifty thousand dollars tonight. Be quicker on the trigger than your opponents and it can be yours. Half a second can be the difference. Now go.”
Adam shuffled toward the podium in a daze. On the podium lay two revolvers. Adam didn’t know enough about guns to know what they were. Not that he even cared. The assistant stepped forward and took the first gun, opening it and dropping the shell to the ground. He was careful to keep his hands visible at all times as he loaded a single bullet into the cylinder, spun it and snapped it shut. He set it back down on the podium and repeated the process with the second gun. Adam could feel the energy in the room ramping up as they moved closer to what these twisted fucks came to see… somebody’s death.
“The rules are simple, gentlemen,” the well-dressed man intoned. “You will pick up your gun, place the barrel against your opponent’s forehead and on my mark, and only on my mark, pull the trigger. We will proceed in this fashion until somebody wins the round. Is this clear?”
Adam felt himself nodding as a feeling of dread descended upon him.
“Now, please pick up your weapons and ready yourselves, gentlemen.”
Adam’s opponent already had his gun pressed against his head by the time he picked his up. His hand trembled like he had palsy and the barrel wavered up and down, never connecting solidly with the man’s forehead. He took a deep breath and steadied his hand as best as he could.
“Gentlemen,” the well-dressed man said. “Fire.”
Adam sighed with relief when neither gun fired.
“Fire.”
Neither gun fired again. Though Adam noted that his opponent was squeezing the trigger faster than he was. He recalled the well-dressed man’s admonition to be quicker on the trigger. Not that being quicker on the trigger would matter much if his opponent had a bullet in his cylinder and he didn’t.
“Fire.”
No shots were fired for a third time. Three empty cylinders and three left. Adam could see the fear hiding behind the mask of bravado in his opponent’s face. Inexplicably, a sudden and powerful feeling swept over Adam. He knew that he was going to win, that he was going to be able to take care of his family because he knew that the game was fixed. The well-dressed man had told him as much. Secure in the knowledge that he was going to be okay and more importantly, that his family would be, a smile slowly spread across his face.
“Fire.”
He heard the roar of a gun and felt the recoil jolt his body. He was dimly aware of the crowd roaring all around him but they sounded like they were miles away. He stared up at the ceiling and at the cone of light shining down on him as darkness began to creep in at the edges. He felt his body growing colder as the wave of darkness washed over him, pulling him under.
This has been my entry for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
therealljidol Season 8, Topic 30(C): "Scared Money Never Wins." As always, thank you so much for your support over these very long weeks of competition. We're starting to wind things down so the heat is really ratcheting up and your support means more than ever. Thank you guys so much for reading (and continuing to read) all of this stuff I'm pouring out. It is very much appreciated, folks. Seriously. Who knows if there is going to be a poll but if there is, don't forget to swing on by, read some of the other fantastic pieces and spread a little voting-love around!
“You’re seriously delinquent in your payments, Mr. Whitlock,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “If we don’t receive payment by the twentieth of the month, we’ll have no choice but to repossess the vehicle.”
Adam glanced at the calendar mentally noting that it was the seventh and still had thirteen days to meet his obligation. He ran a hand through his hair, his head spinning and fighting the nauseous feeling that was creeping up from the pit of his stomach.
“Mr. Whitlock?”
“What?” Adam said. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you can make a payment over the phone right now?”
His stomach turned over on itself again. “N-no, I can’t right now,” he stammered. “Look, I’ve been out of work for a little while. Is there anything we can work out? I need my car if I’m to find a job.”
“You’re more than sixty days in arrears, Mr. Whitlock,” the voice said. “I’m sorry, but if we don’t have payment by the twentieth, we’ll have no choice but to repossess the vehicle.”
Adam dropped the phone back into the cradle and sighed. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, attempting to stop the pounding in his head and the roiling in his gut. He’d been laid off thirteen months ago and hadn’t had a sniff of another job since. He must have sent out a thousand resumes and reached out to a hundred different staffing agencies. Desperate to bring in some form of income, he’d even gone so far as to put in applications to his local Starbucks and grocery stores. All with the same result, nobody was hiring.
Seeing that their savings were dwindling and their situation was growing more dire by the week, his wife Tracey had been searching for jobs as well. But she hadn’t had any more luck than he had. So they set about cutting out all of the non-essentials from their life. Gone was the timeshare in Tahoe, they’d let the Jaguar be repossessed, cancelled the vacation plans to Hawaii and the one that really drove a stake through his heart, the trip to Disneyworld with the kids. They were too young to understand what was going on but through the tears in their eyes, they told him it was okay and that they’d go next time. And then they’d hugged him as tears streamed down his face. He had never felt like more of a loser or useless piece of shit than he had in that moment. All of the extras had been cut and it still wasn’t enough. The day to day cost of raising a family, the car payment and the mortgage were combining to bleed them dry. If things didn’t improve soon, they were going to find themselves out on the street.
“Come to bed, Adam.”
Tracey stood in the doorway of his office, a faint smile touching her lips. He knew her too well and could see the swirl of worry beneath her gentle smile. Though she put on a brave face, as always, their situation was getting worse and she knew it. She was as worried as he was but did a far better job of hiding it.
“I just don’t know what we’re going to do, Trace,” he said.
She crossed the room and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around Adam and squeezing him tightly.
“We’ll figure it out, honey,” she said softly. “But it won’t happen tonight so come to bed.”
He kissed her hands and stood up, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“I love you, Trace.”
“I love you too.”
He stepped out of another fruitless and frustrating meeting at the temporary staffing agency. They still hadn’t found anything for him. With his level of education, they simply refused to put his name in for jobs he was overqualified for despite the fact that he’d told them to. Repeatedly.
Adam walked down the street, lost in his thoughts and problems, oblivious to everything around him. A cold wind swept up the street as a light rain began to fall. People rushed by him, some bumping into him but not bothering to apologize. He didn’t care. He wasn’t feeling the cold, the rain or the idiots slamming their shoulders into his. He had to figure out how to feed his family and how to keep a roof over their heads and he had to do it quickly.
In a daze, he found himself in a park and took a seat on a bench. He watched people huddled under their umbrellas scurrying down the street completely oblivious to the human suffering and deprivation around them. He’d been one of them once… so busy living his life and chasing the almighty dollar that he never took the time out to even notice the less fortunate around him. Let alone do anything to help them. He sighed and shook his head, his worries multiplying and swirling around in his mind.
“You look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Adam gave a start. He’d been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the man take a seat on the bench next to him. Sitting beneath an umbrella was a man dressed impeccably in what Adam knew was a very expensive designer suit. His hair was perfectly coifed and despite the breeze, there wasn’t a hair out of place.
“I’m sorry?” Adam asked.
“Well, you’re sitting out here unprotected from the rain and cold,” the man said. “You must have some particularly heavy thoughts on your mind.”
Adam shrugged. “I’ve been out of work for more than a year and have a family to take care of,” he said. “Those seem to be the only kinds of thoughts I’m capable of these days.”
The man nodded as if he understood. Though Adam didn’t think the well-dressed man could even come close to possibly understanding his predicament.
“It’s an unfortunate reality for so many these days,” he said. “And there are so few opportunities for good people to get ahead.”
Adam remained silent but nodded. The man turned to him and looked him over, as if appraising him. As if coming to a decision, the well-dressed man smiled.
“What would you say if I told you that I know of an opportunity for you to make a hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “Would that help ease your situation?”
Adam chuckled. “I’d say that whatever it is, it can’t be legal.”
The man smiled. “It’s not nearly as illegal as you think,” he said. “I’m not talking about muling drugs across the border or harvesting body parts for the black market.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
The man looked him in the eye. “I’m offering you an opportunity to compete in a very unique contest,” he said. “A contest that requires confidence, courage and nerves of absolute steel.”
“And the winner of this little game wins a hundred thousand?”
The man leaned forward a little. “What would a hundred thousand dollars do for your family?” He asked. “Would it keep you in your house? Feed your children?”
Adam leaned back on the bench, feeling the raindrops falling softly upon his face. A hundred thousand dollars would do a hell of a lot for his family. But what were the strings attached to the money? He somehow doubted that it was as simple as playing a game.
“A hundred grand to play a game, huh?”
“A hundred grand should you win the game,” he replied. “And of that, there is no guarantee.”
The man reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a card and handed it to Adam. He turned it over in his hand and saw an address written on the back in a neat and precise hand.
“Should you care to take a chance,” the well-dressed man said. “Be at that address at ten tonight. But think it over carefully. A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money but you know the old saying about scared money and all that.”
Adam nodded. He’d heard the phrase before but never really understood its meaning. He still didn’t. The well-dressed man stood up and looked up at the dark clouds overhead before turning his gaze back down to Adam.
“Well then,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll see you this evening.”
He sat in the living room staring at the clock on the wall as Tracey put the kids to bed. It was just after eight and the rain that had been thundering down outside finally stopped. The wind whistled softly through the eaves of the house but the brief storm had passed. A hundred thousand dollars. It wouldn’t solve all of their problems but it would certainly help. A lot.
“Why are you so quiet tonight?”
Tracey sat down on the couch next to him, interlacing her fingers in his.
“Just trying to find a way out of this mess.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “We’ll find a way,” she said. “I might have a lead on a part time job down at the craft store.”
Adam felt like his heart was being squeezed within his chest. The last thing he wanted was for Tracey to have to work outside of the home. He wanted her to be able to stay home to raise the kids. That was the life they wanted; the life they’d had. And Adam wanted it back. He kissed her forehead and stood up.
“I’m going to go out for a little bit,” he said.
He could see the questions and the concern in her eyes. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I just want to clear my head a bit,” he assured her. “I won’t be gone long.”
A short while later, Adam sat in his car, parked across the street from the address on the back of the card the well-dressed man had given him. It was nearly time so Adam got out and walked across the street to the building. The small, simple brass plaque on the red brick column outside read “Scaldina’s Social Club.” He pulled the glass doors open and stepped into a room filled with cigar smoke. Dark leather and deep reds dominated the large, tastefully furnished room. A long oak bar stood to his right tended by a very fit looking young man in a white shirt and black vest. He was dutifully cleaning the glasses and barely glanced at him. The room was largely quiet as several groups of men sitting in plush wingback chairs sipping glasses of Scotch and carrying on hushed conversations. Another man in a dark suit with his hair slicked back approached him. Adam’s first thought was that he’d stepped into a mobster’s club.
“May I help you?” He asked.
“Umm… yeah,” Adam stammered. “I was given this card and told to be here for a contest of some sort?”
“Oh yes,” the man said. “Please, follow me.”
Adam followed him through the room and toward the back of the club. He could see the eyes of the men in the wingbacks followed him as he passed. They approached a door that was virtually invisible from a distance. The man with the slicked hair pressed a small button set into the wall on the right and waited until a buzzer from the other side sounded. A fist of apprehension slammed into Adam’s heart as he followed the man through the doorway. The man led him toward another door and held it open for him.
“Please, step inside,” the man said. “Mr. Pritchard will be here momentarily.”
Adam hesitantly stepped into the dimly-lit room and found it occupied by seven other men. Obviously, his fellow competitors. Nobody spoke or looked at one another but the same look of apprehension as well as desperation was on all of their faces that he was sure was on his own. Adam took an open seat on one of the benches and waited. A few minutes later, a second door opened and the well-dressed man stepped into the room.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad you all decided to participate. This should be a most eventful evening.”
“So how’s this work?” Asked one of the other participants. “And when do we get paid?”
“Straight down to business then. Very good,” the well-dressed man said. “This is how it will work. I will explain the rules of the competition to you. You will be given one opportunity and one opportunity only to opt out. Is this clear?”
There were nods and grunts of assent from around the room. Adam remained silent.
“Very good,” said the well-dressed man. “Let me cut to the chase. You all are here for one thing, the chance to win a lot of money. But to win the money, you have to have a tremendous amount of courage and also be willing to die for it. To win the money, you will have to play, and survive, our version of Russian Roulette.”
The well-dressed man fell silent and let his words sink in. Adam looked around at the others who sat stone-sill with the same look of shock and disbelief that he was sure was reflected on his own face.
“Russian Roulette?” Asked one of the men. “Like with real guns and bullets and shit? Are you serious?”
“Very,” the man said simply.
A few more moments passed in silence and Adam started to stand. There was no way in hell he was going to risk blowing his own brains out. The well-dressed man surveyed the room and opened his mouth to speak. Adam sat back down, morbidly curious and wanting to hear the punchline or the catch to this whole thing.
“Before you decide,” the man said. “Let me explain a few things. The operation we run here caters to a very discriminating clientele around the world. Our competition, while attended live by some, is broadcast over the internet.”
“Why?” Somebody called out.
“So our clients can wager on the outcome, of course.”
Adam sat back, stunned. Nameless and faceless people around the world were putting money on people’s deaths.
“Of course, with great risk comes great reward,” the man continued. “The winner of our competition receives twenty-five percent of our night’s receipts. The winner is guaranteed a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars but the purse can sometimes be much larger.”
Adam saw the men in the room looking at one another, sizing each other up. He shook his head, strength and speed wouldn’t do them any good in a game of Russian Roulette. Fools.
“How much larger?” Somebody asked.
The well-dressed man cleared his throat. “Several months back, the winner took home one million tax-free dollars,” he said. “We cater to a very wealthy client base, gentlemen.”
Somebody in the room whistled low as Adam’s mind spun. A million dollars. If he won. Otherwise, he was dead and his family had nothing.
“I know that some of you have families and we are sympathetic to that,” the well-dressed man went on as if reading his mind. “Should you not win this competition, your spouse will receive a ten-thousand dollar payout and an additional five thousand for each child.”
Adam couldn’t believe that he was giving this any thought at all. He looked around the room and knew that each of the others was in the same boat that he was. Desperate and without a lot of hope or options. A hundred thousand dollars at a minimum was tempting. But would he really risk his life for it?
“I will give you gentlemen a few moments to think it over.”
The well-dressed man exited the room leaving the eight of them alone with their thoughts. He knew that each of them was weighing their odds of surviving to collect the money. He thought of Tracey and his kids. Could he leave them without a father? Could he live with himself if they found themselves out on the street and unable to eat? Five minutes passed when the door opened and the well-dressed man stepped in.
“Gentlemen, you have a decision to make,” he said. “Stay and compete? Or you can walk out that door right now. But I must caution you, if you decide to compete, you are in this until the end. There is no backing out. If you wish to compete, please stand.”
Adam watched as slowly and uncertainly, one by one, all of the other men in the room stood. His heart thundering in his chest, he remained seated a moment longer before feeling his body rising as if by its own accord. He had to take care of his family by any and all means available to him.
“Excellent,” the man clapped his hands together.
Another man stepped into the room carrying a small box.
“We will draw for the order,” the well-dressed man said. “The two who draw the black stones will face each other in the first round.”
Adam let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he drew a white stone. The two men who drew the black ones turned a shade of green and Adam could see their hands trembling.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time.”
Adam retook his seat and felt his body begin to shake as the first two left the room with the well-dressed man and his assistant. What in the hell was he doing? He had to get out of there. He stood and walked to the door he’d entered through, pulling it only to find it locked tight. The other men in the room watched him as he walked to the other door, pulled on it and found it locked as well.
“The man said there was no backing out.”
Defeated and terrified, Adam took a seat and tried to figure a way out of the mess he was in. Several minutes later, the door opened and the well-dressed man stepped in, his assistant carrying the bag of stones.
“Round two awaits, gentlemen.”
“Look,” Adam said. “I made a mistake. I can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “You had your chance to leave and opted to stay. You are in until the bitter end for better or for worse.”
“And if I refuse?”
“That would be unwise,” he said calmly. “Now please, step forward and draw your stone.”
“No.”
The well-dressed man’s assistant stepped forward and pressed the barrel of a gun to Adam’s forehead.
“You have one chance,” the well-dressed man said. “Draw your stone or die here.”
With a trembling hand, Adam reached into the bag and felt his stomach drop when he withdrew a black stone. When the draw was complete, Adam and his opponent were escorted by the well-dressed man and his assistant down a long hallway and into a large, dimly lit room. Bleachers sat along one wall and were filled with men dressed in expensive suits who had bloodlust on their faces. The room was nearly silent but a feeling of anticipation hung heavy in the air. A podium stood in the center of the room, cones of bright light shining down on either side. Their spotlights. And in the center of one of those lights stood a fresh pool of blood.
“Please, step into those lights,” the well-dressed man said.
Adam’s opponent strode to his boldly, confidently, turning to Adam and giving him a small smirk.
“I had a feeling about you when I first saw you on the park bench today,” the well-dressed man said in a hushed tone. “The purse is six-hundred and fifty thousand dollars tonight. Be quicker on the trigger than your opponents and it can be yours. Half a second can be the difference. Now go.”
Adam shuffled toward the podium in a daze. On the podium lay two revolvers. Adam didn’t know enough about guns to know what they were. Not that he even cared. The assistant stepped forward and took the first gun, opening it and dropping the shell to the ground. He was careful to keep his hands visible at all times as he loaded a single bullet into the cylinder, spun it and snapped it shut. He set it back down on the podium and repeated the process with the second gun. Adam could feel the energy in the room ramping up as they moved closer to what these twisted fucks came to see… somebody’s death.
“The rules are simple, gentlemen,” the well-dressed man intoned. “You will pick up your gun, place the barrel against your opponent’s forehead and on my mark, and only on my mark, pull the trigger. We will proceed in this fashion until somebody wins the round. Is this clear?”
Adam felt himself nodding as a feeling of dread descended upon him.
“Now, please pick up your weapons and ready yourselves, gentlemen.”
Adam’s opponent already had his gun pressed against his head by the time he picked his up. His hand trembled like he had palsy and the barrel wavered up and down, never connecting solidly with the man’s forehead. He took a deep breath and steadied his hand as best as he could.
“Gentlemen,” the well-dressed man said. “Fire.”
Adam sighed with relief when neither gun fired.
“Fire.”
Neither gun fired again. Though Adam noted that his opponent was squeezing the trigger faster than he was. He recalled the well-dressed man’s admonition to be quicker on the trigger. Not that being quicker on the trigger would matter much if his opponent had a bullet in his cylinder and he didn’t.
“Fire.”
No shots were fired for a third time. Three empty cylinders and three left. Adam could see the fear hiding behind the mask of bravado in his opponent’s face. Inexplicably, a sudden and powerful feeling swept over Adam. He knew that he was going to win, that he was going to be able to take care of his family because he knew that the game was fixed. The well-dressed man had told him as much. Secure in the knowledge that he was going to be okay and more importantly, that his family would be, a smile slowly spread across his face.
“Fire.”
He heard the roar of a gun and felt the recoil jolt his body. He was dimly aware of the crowd roaring all around him but they sounded like they were miles away. He stared up at the ceiling and at the cone of light shining down on him as darkness began to creep in at the edges. He felt his body growing colder as the wave of darkness washed over him, pulling him under.
This has been my entry for
therealljidol Season 8, Topic 30(C): "Scared Money Never Wins." As always, thank you so much for your support over these very long weeks of competition. We're starting to wind things down so the heat is really ratcheting up and your support means more than ever. Thank you guys so much for reading (and continuing to read) all of this stuff I'm pouring out. It is very much appreciated, folks. Seriously. Who knows if there is going to be a poll but if there is, don't forget to swing on by, read some of the other fantastic pieces and spread a little voting-love around!
