[Glimpse] Coming Home to Roost
Feb 26, 2021 17:49:38 GMT -8
Kai Rose, Riley Sorsa, and 1 more like this
Post by Ian Black on Feb 26, 2021 17:49:38 GMT -8
In a rundown part of Whitney there sits a rundown house and in that rundown house there sits a rundown man. Rumour has it that man takes bets. On everything. It will snow next Monday. My wife will come back. My grandmother will die in June. If you win, you get a wish. If you lose, well, you probably didn’t have much to lose anyway.
“No, I really don’t take those kinds of bets.” Ian massages the bridge of his nose. “Frankly, I don’t think anybody would.”
The small boy fidgets with his silver bracelet. “But I heard-“
“-a rumour, kid, nothing more. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
--
The auburn-haired woman stands with arms crossed, shivering slightly. “God, it’s freezing in here. What the hell do you have the air con set to?”
“I’m afraid it’s been stuck on Polar since I bought the place,” Ian says, neatly stacking the piles of bills.
The woman intently watches the ever-growing piles and smiles. “This’ll be enough for next semester!”
Ian looks up without breaking pace counting the bills. “Oh? What’re you studying?”
“Biology. Hey, what’re my odds on this guy?” says the woman pointing at the board with today’s horse race wagers.
Ian stops counting the money, slips it into an envelope, and slides it through the window. “Miss, listen carefully. Take this and run. The House rarely loses and never loses for long. Take your win and quit now.”
He never saw her again.
--
A disheveled man places an envelope on the counter. “I’m sorry, this is all I have. I promise to get the rest to you next payday.”
Ian cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t look up as he counts the money. “Do you have enough to live on?”
“I’ll make due,” the man says through a grimace.
Ian slides half the stack of bills back through the window. “I’ll take half now. Pay the rest over the next month. I can’t collect if you starve to death.”
As the man is leaving he turns to the old box TV playing a football game and lights up. “Hey, think I could try and make some of that money back?”
Ian sighs but rips a stub from his sheet. “Liverpool or Manchester?”
--
He pulled the rusted shutters down over the window, groaning with the effort. He bought this simulacrum of an English Betting House years ago and it wasn’t in the best of shape then either. This place is falling apart faster than he was. He needed a lucky break.
He has a way with luck though. A way to get what he needs. He knows people and those people owe him. Why shouldn’t he collect?
After all, everyone’s chickens come home to roost.
“No, I really don’t take those kinds of bets.” Ian massages the bridge of his nose. “Frankly, I don’t think anybody would.”
The small boy fidgets with his silver bracelet. “But I heard-“
“-a rumour, kid, nothing more. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
--
The auburn-haired woman stands with arms crossed, shivering slightly. “God, it’s freezing in here. What the hell do you have the air con set to?”
“I’m afraid it’s been stuck on Polar since I bought the place,” Ian says, neatly stacking the piles of bills.
The woman intently watches the ever-growing piles and smiles. “This’ll be enough for next semester!”
Ian looks up without breaking pace counting the bills. “Oh? What’re you studying?”
“Biology. Hey, what’re my odds on this guy?” says the woman pointing at the board with today’s horse race wagers.
Ian stops counting the money, slips it into an envelope, and slides it through the window. “Miss, listen carefully. Take this and run. The House rarely loses and never loses for long. Take your win and quit now.”
He never saw her again.
--
A disheveled man places an envelope on the counter. “I’m sorry, this is all I have. I promise to get the rest to you next payday.”
Ian cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t look up as he counts the money. “Do you have enough to live on?”
“I’ll make due,” the man says through a grimace.
Ian slides half the stack of bills back through the window. “I’ll take half now. Pay the rest over the next month. I can’t collect if you starve to death.”
As the man is leaving he turns to the old box TV playing a football game and lights up. “Hey, think I could try and make some of that money back?”
Ian sighs but rips a stub from his sheet. “Liverpool or Manchester?”
--
He pulled the rusted shutters down over the window, groaning with the effort. He bought this simulacrum of an English Betting House years ago and it wasn’t in the best of shape then either. This place is falling apart faster than he was. He needed a lucky break.
He has a way with luck though. A way to get what he needs. He knows people and those people owe him. Why shouldn’t he collect?
After all, everyone’s chickens come home to roost.