Robert Asprin - Dragons Wild

“They can actually calculate things that close?” Griffen said.

“Sure. Of course, different services have different formulas they use or different things they consider. I mean, there’s one that factors in who the referees will be and their track records for making bad calls. Because of that, the results aren’t always the same. That’s where our experts sit down with the service results along with the latest betting lines from the newspapers and Vegas and come up with the spreads we’ll use.”

“And then you take bets based on those point spreads?” Griffen said.

“Oh, we take some direct bets on single games,” Mose said, “but most of the money comes from the bar cards.”

“The bar cards,” Griffen repeated. “I’ve seen some of those around, but never really got into them myself. How do they work?”

“It’s a really sweet system,” Mose said. “Whoever came up with it should get some kind of reward. I’d say they should get a piece of the action, but there would be no way to control it.”

“What we do is print up a bunch of cards that list all the NFL games and the top fifteen or twenty college games along with the point spreads. We have runners that take them out and drop them off with certain bartenders around town. If someone wants to play, they take one of the cards, circle the teams they think are going to win, put their name or a nickname on it, and give it to the bartender along with their bet. The runners pick up the cards and money and bring them to us before the games are played. After the results are in, they take the money for the winners and drop it off at the bars for the players to collect.”

He paused to laugh and shake his head.

“The thing is, most people kill themselves getting greedy. You see, on the back of the card are the payoff odds. The more games you pick and the more you bet, the more you stand to win. Folks would usually be okay…break even or come out a little ahead…if they stuck with picking just three games. Instead, they get sucked into picking five or seven games because the payback is bigger. Of course, to win all their picks have to be winners…and the more games they pick, the worse the odds are that the games will all go the way they think. Folks like us who run gambling operations just love the players who go with long shots and try to buck the odds.”

While Mose was speaking, Griffen got up, unasked, to freshen their drinks. Returning from the kitchen, he set his mentor’s drink in front of him, then resumed his seat.

“So, when you say I’ll be working the management side,” he said, “what exactly does that entail?”

“Well, first of all, you’ll have final say on who we take on as runners,” Mose said. “That can be harder than it sounds. The people we want representing us have to be dependable, presentable, and able to interact with folks from all walks of life and levels of income. People like that aren’t all that easy to find these days.”

“You forgot to mention ‘honest,’” Griffen said.

Mose sighed.

“Now that’s another part of management,” he said. “Every so often, one of your runners is going to try to steal from you. You’re going to have to sort it out and decide what to do about it.”

“I’m missing something here.” Griffen frowned. “How can they steal from us with the setup you’ve got going?”

“The most common way is when they start skimming,” Mose said. “As you can see, most of the people who do the bar cards don’t get any money back because they lose. A runner can figure that out, so he gets the idea to hold a couple cards back along with the money instead of turning them in. If the cards are losers, he gets to pocket those bets free and clear. Of course, if there’s a winner in there, he has to cover the payoff out of his own pocket.”

“How do you catch something like that?” Griffen said.

“Just like the players, the skimmers get greedy,” Mose said. “If they settle for a couple cards a week, they can probably get away with it. If they do, they start holding more and more back. That’s when we can spot it. A runner’s take is pretty consistent from week to week with some minor variations for big game weekends. If someone’s turn in starts consistently falling short of what we’ve learned to expect, there’s probably some skimming going on.”

“Then what do you do?”

“What you get to do is investigate.” Mose smiled. “You have to check around and find out if there really is some skimming going on, and if there is, if it’s the runner or the bartender or both who are doing it.”

“And if we find out that someone is skimming?” Griffen said. “What do we do?”

“Now don’t be thinking Hollywood gangster scenes again,” Mose said. “If it’s the runner, we fire him and put in a replacement. If it’s the bartender, we just take that stop off our list…or recruit another bartender.”

“That seems fair enough,” Griffen said. “Do we do anything about recovering…”

Just then, his cell phone started ringing.

“Excuse me a minute, Mose.”

He glanced at the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the caller. For a moment he debated letting it go to voice mail, but decided it might give Mose the wrong impression about his diligence.

“Griffen here,” he said into the instrument.

“Mr. Griffen? This is Jumbo. You may not remember me.”

It took a second, but Griffen placed the name and voice. If was the man who had been serving as Gris-gris’s bodyguard when they first met.

“I remember you, Jumbo. What’s up?”

“Something’s happened I thought you should know about,” Jumbo said. “I hate to bother you, but…”

“No problem,” Griffen said. “Tell me what’s happened.”

He listened for several minutes, his mouth tightening into a grimace.

“Okay. I think I get the picture,” he said at last. “Are you on a cell phone? I’ll get back to you in a little while and let you know. Thanks for the call.”

He flipped his phone shut, cutting off the connection. Then he leaned back in his chair and thought for a few moments.

“Okay, Mose,” he said. “You’ve been saying that we have to take care of our people. Exactly how far does the definition of ‘our people’ extend?”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Well, it seems that Gris-gris has been picked up by the police under some rather strange circumstances,” Griffen said. “Is he considered one of ‘our people’? Should we do anything about it?”

“You tell me,” Mose said.

“Excuse me?”

“Gris-gris pulled out of our network under my management, then signed back on directly with you,” Mose said. “Since then, he steered a lot of new independents our way. More important, Jumbo called you, not me. I figure that makes it your call as to whether or not he’s one of ours. He thinks so, and Jumbo thinks so. The only question now is if you think so.”

Griffen took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, puffing his cheeks.

“In that case, I guess he’s one of ours,” he said.

“In that case,” Mose said, “there’s an attorney and a bail bondsman we usually use when our people get into trouble. Hang on and I’ll get you their numbers.”

“Actually, Mose,” Griffen said, “let me try something else, first.”

He flipped his cell phone back open, scrolled through his directory, and hit the “send” button.

After four rings, there was a pickup on the other end.

“Yeah?” came a gruff voice.

“Good evening, Detective Harrison,” Griffen said with a smile, even though he knew it couldn’t be seen at the other end. “This is Griffen McCandles.”

There was a brief pause. Mose’s eyebrows went up and Griffen smiled at him.