Crooked
Daniel Ocean
"Hello?"
"Uh, yeah, hi there, Rich."
"Good evening there, Mark." Rich Marion at this time had also retired for the night; he was in his four-star hotel room as the bellboy brought in the phone on the platter, complete with parsley sprig. "Checking in, I see?"
"I want us out." Marcus Payne sounded direly desperate. "I think someone has the phone bugged. Someone called about the fix. There's others that know."
"Deny it."
"They aid that they would be betting on Oceanos unless they got word the competition was square."
"Dodge the question. Come on, you're a pilot. You guy lie all the time to keep your plans from leaking, don't you? How hard could it be?"
"Hard!"
"Don't be a child. You deadline to get out was this evening and you missed it. You guys are in for the full run."
"No way."
"Yes, you are." Marion said it firmly enough to paint a picture of what would happen otherwise. "Pleasant dreams, Mark. Tell that to the rest of your teammates." He hung up, and switched from the mobile phone to the supplied hotel phone. "Guess what, Mark?" he aid to himself, in a low voice. Her was not pleased by the new developments. He had been in the game long enough and had seen other fixes. He knew exactly what had happened. Typing in the secret code after Marcus's phone number, he heard the phone on the other side ring twice, then felt his beeper vibrate. He hung up and put in the new number.
The phone rang several more time before an older gentleman with a Hispanic- sounding voice answered, "Hello?"
"What are you doing to my boys?"
"Your boys and one lady, I believe you mean."
"Whatever! What'd you do?"
"Five million dollars, young man." There was a pause. "Considering you are calling at such an hour with such a tone of voice, should you not introduce yourself?"
"My name is Richard Marion, and my nickname is Mortally Pissed Off. Now. What exactly did you say to him?"
"Five million dollars. Do not think that your plan is so secret, Mr. Marion. My name is Edgar Santurce, perhaps you know of me. I am almost sure you do not know me, I would remember an angry young gambler." There was a pause. "Now with the air clear, we need not be enemies. I know you have three million, and I can certainly match that. Six million would please them, no? I have the money and you have, er, gambling connections. We could help each other. Why, we both could make quite a bit of money, us and the pilots, and some other pilot too. Surely Oceanos or High Wire or some other powerful team must take the title-but it would be difficult with Southern Shore on the square. Those teams could win and bring home a bigger prize-and there is more happiness, is there not?"
"Ah. Are you just in it to make everyone a great big happy family or are you in it for...you know?" Saying 'money' for Marion seemed too obvious.
"If the latter makes the former, it is all the better. I shall be visiting the Sand Colony soon; do you know the location of the Algiers Restaurant? Very good. On Tuesday meet me there, one in the afternoon, to show you are interested." The old man on the other side simply cut the connection.
Marion put the phone back onto the hook and turned out the light. He needed his sleep. Especially now, with the mystery member in the fix. Santurce was an unfamiliar name to him; he wasn't connected to Zoids. Marion would have to do a little bit of research the next day.
He laid there in bead for a few minutes, in the darkness. An imitation cookoo clock ticked away each second, the only sound in the room. The room's curtains were open, showing the Sand Colony's modest show of lights. Then, Marion at up and said, "What the hell?" He flicked the light back on, took the notepad, and jotted down "One PM, Tuesday-Algiers, Santurce."
Mark uneasily shifted his necktie from one side to the other, until he was pleased at the fit. He never was comfortable with fancy gigs, and Algiers often put even the best of its competitors to shame. It had a long concrete walkway ended by a twenty-foot indoor waterfall, separating a faux desert and oasis. He had to go, to be Marion's "second." His job was to be there, eat in silence, and give Santurce Marion's letter of introduction.
He left the men' room and discovered that at the very least, the third of his jobs would not go out as planned. Marion, an old guy, and, presumably, the old guy' second were all out, next to the men's room, waiting for him.
"Ah..." Mark gave the letter to the old man. "Mr. Santurce?"
"That is correct. How do you do." They shook. "This with me is Walter Noll, my second in command within Santurce Fuels Incorporated." Santurce paused, then said, "Er, you are one of the pilots, are you not? Within Southern Shore?"
"Yes, that is right." Marion took the liberty to answer for his new employee.
"Ah! Extraordinary." Santurce peered around and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "No further need to wait, gentleman, follow me. I know where the table is."
He lead the group to the oasis side, on a wide wooden boardwalk, and down a narrow beach until they were next to a wide, shallow, and spectacularly clear pond, full of sunfish and surrounded by palm trees. Santurce sat at a table just a few feet from the water's edge, with menus already at each setting. "First, gentlemen, a warning. Mr. Marion, you may already know this. At this restaurant, only order the lobster if you truly want it."
"Why?" Mark buried his head into the menu quickly.
"You must pick specifically which lobster you want from the pool."
Mark first looked up, incredulously, then behind him, toward the water. Looking down, he noticed several entrees, still very much alive, lounging on some rocks maybe a foot underwater. "They look content," said he.
"They are fed well. Anyway..." Santurce looked at the menu for just a few second, then closed it, as if he already knew what he wanted. "Anyway, this lunch must be business. We must work out a payment plan for the team, Mr.'s Marion and Payne. A figure of six million dollars was agreed upon, was it not, Mr. Marion?"
Marcus looked up. "Six? I, uh..." He shifted nervously. His share of the added million would be nice lining his pockets, but he wondered what affect it would have on his loyalty to the gamblers. "Okay."
"Yes, that is fine." Marion was still searching for something to jump out at him. Everything sounded far too tasty. "But how is the money to be paid out? We need a minimum of one million to start, but surely we can't pay it all out at once."
"Exactly. One million down at least? How about this: I shall start the payment, at two. If the team does not advance in the first round, you will pay, say, a million. If they stay like that after the second round, then I shall pay another million. And then, as soon as the team is eliminated, the rest of the cash will be paid out by you. Let's see, that's even, isn't it? I pay three and you pay...yes, even. And of course, all profits from betting shall be split evenly amongst the two of us."
"A little complicated, don't you think?"
"I've been thinking about a payment method, yes, it's had two days to be built on. But it is fair. At least a good amount of money is not paid until the end. And for each bit of time that the team stays in contention, a little bit of money is paid gradually. And if the team moves to the championship bracket early, then much more money is withheld until they are eliminated."
"You have been thinking about it."
"Yes."
Marion finally decided on a dish and put his menu down. "This doesn't feel like a business lunch. This isn't supposed to be done before the waitress comes over."
"I do trust that you do much of the work in the middle; I am inexperienced in placing the bets." Santurce leaned over. "I am experienced in getting business deals in any way needed, however. A cheated bet will not be welcome with my money in play."
"Very well." Marion grimaced on the inside. There was no such thing as easy money in this plan. He hadn't ruled out simply funneling some of Santurce's money into his own account, but it didn't seem to be such a great idea anymore.
"Oh, one more thing." Santurce sat back up again. "It is quite necessary for the middlemen to assume false names. In case the rumors snowball." He nodded his head toward Noll. "Walter will be known only as White from now on. Forget the name you heard given to him walking in here."
"No problem," said Mark. "White's" real last name was already lost on him. The setting was so impressive that Mark was starting to forget his own last name.
A server walked on over. "Hello, gentleman. Have any of you enjoyed Algiers before? No matter. Would you like to start off with some drinks?..."
"Here."
It was Thursday night, in a hotel room in a sand Colony suburb. Santurce counted out two hundred $10,000 bills, and handed them to Marion. It was dark, and no spies that they knew of where on their tail, but all windows were shaded, the lights turned down, and the door, while unlocked, slightly barricaded by a chair.
Marion took the bills and just stared at them, dumbly. He hadn't expected the fix to advance so quickly, or even this far. The fix idea sounded great on paper, but he had seen a couple of plans to throw regular season games go to the wayside. The major players were too fearful of discovery, or the plan often simply evaporated away, as the desire to win pushed a few hundred or thousand extra dollars out of the way.
Santurce noticed his new comrade's face. "Do not say that you are afraid of discovery." In the past four days the businessman had eaten up the idea of the fix. It had twice the enthusiasm that Marion-the experienced one, or at least more experienced than he-had for the plan.
It was rookie enthusiasm. That or Santurce was quite bold. Marion remembered him talking about his use for muscle for business. "Not at all." He turned to the door, put all he had into a large black duffel bag, and headed out. "Next week," he said, "the morning of the first matches- come to my pool hall and bring a credit card without a limit. We start making money there."
"Very well." Santurce just nodded as Marion slipped out into the hallway.
The gambler went out to the lobby and out the door, to his waiting car. Before he went to the layers, he had one place else to go. He had to deposit half of it under his name. Marion didn't know how much muscle Santurce's men could have, but he might as well take a chance. If it worked, the profit would be split, just as agreed.
A few blocks later he pulled over and made a quick call. "Yes, hello there. Listen-could you tell me the betting odds for Oceanos and High Wire. For the championship." He waited a couple seconds. "Eight-to-one and ten-to-one? That's fine. I would like to make five hundred thousand dollar bets on each. Yes, I can pay all of it now. Yes, I have a legal credit card. Let me just pull it out..."
He threw one million dollars onto Marcus Payne's bed, upon his entrance to his room at the Dunes hotel, a not-fancy hotel and, for the next two weeks, the home of Southern Shore.
Payne counted out the amount, then looked up. "This-"
"You're lucky that you got what you got. There's rumors all over the place and you guys have to be careful. The lid can't be blown now."
Mark was only paying some attention; he was more busy closing all of the shades and locking the door. Inside, he was moaning. He had to give every penny to Ed Colner. He, and all the others, would have to wait if they wanted money later. "Fine," he said, annoyed.
"Very good." Without another word Marion unceremoniously left.
After he left, Mark picked up the cash and held it to his nose. After pausing for a second, he screamed and threw it down onto the hard bed. "DAMMIT!" After another moment, he sighed. "Gotta take one step back to go two steps forward, I guess."
He piled the cash into a backpack and set foot to Ed's room. The captain was out; he had to place the cash somewhere he-and only he-would find it.
Ed Colner opened up the safe, looking for his watch, when he saw money spill out, all over, onto the carpet.. A lot of it. In ten thousand dollar bills.
"Wow." He was not easily impressed, but he was stupefied by the amount now. He couldn't have imagined what a million dollars was like when he had demanded it. After a few seconds of simply holding it, looking at it, enjoying its wealth, he went to the bathroom to find the sewing kit. He needed to hide it in his jacket. He could spend it perfectly freely later.
Daniel Ocean
"Hello?"
"Uh, yeah, hi there, Rich."
"Good evening there, Mark." Rich Marion at this time had also retired for the night; he was in his four-star hotel room as the bellboy brought in the phone on the platter, complete with parsley sprig. "Checking in, I see?"
"I want us out." Marcus Payne sounded direly desperate. "I think someone has the phone bugged. Someone called about the fix. There's others that know."
"Deny it."
"They aid that they would be betting on Oceanos unless they got word the competition was square."
"Dodge the question. Come on, you're a pilot. You guy lie all the time to keep your plans from leaking, don't you? How hard could it be?"
"Hard!"
"Don't be a child. You deadline to get out was this evening and you missed it. You guys are in for the full run."
"No way."
"Yes, you are." Marion said it firmly enough to paint a picture of what would happen otherwise. "Pleasant dreams, Mark. Tell that to the rest of your teammates." He hung up, and switched from the mobile phone to the supplied hotel phone. "Guess what, Mark?" he aid to himself, in a low voice. Her was not pleased by the new developments. He had been in the game long enough and had seen other fixes. He knew exactly what had happened. Typing in the secret code after Marcus's phone number, he heard the phone on the other side ring twice, then felt his beeper vibrate. He hung up and put in the new number.
The phone rang several more time before an older gentleman with a Hispanic- sounding voice answered, "Hello?"
"What are you doing to my boys?"
"Your boys and one lady, I believe you mean."
"Whatever! What'd you do?"
"Five million dollars, young man." There was a pause. "Considering you are calling at such an hour with such a tone of voice, should you not introduce yourself?"
"My name is Richard Marion, and my nickname is Mortally Pissed Off. Now. What exactly did you say to him?"
"Five million dollars. Do not think that your plan is so secret, Mr. Marion. My name is Edgar Santurce, perhaps you know of me. I am almost sure you do not know me, I would remember an angry young gambler." There was a pause. "Now with the air clear, we need not be enemies. I know you have three million, and I can certainly match that. Six million would please them, no? I have the money and you have, er, gambling connections. We could help each other. Why, we both could make quite a bit of money, us and the pilots, and some other pilot too. Surely Oceanos or High Wire or some other powerful team must take the title-but it would be difficult with Southern Shore on the square. Those teams could win and bring home a bigger prize-and there is more happiness, is there not?"
"Ah. Are you just in it to make everyone a great big happy family or are you in it for...you know?" Saying 'money' for Marion seemed too obvious.
"If the latter makes the former, it is all the better. I shall be visiting the Sand Colony soon; do you know the location of the Algiers Restaurant? Very good. On Tuesday meet me there, one in the afternoon, to show you are interested." The old man on the other side simply cut the connection.
Marion put the phone back onto the hook and turned out the light. He needed his sleep. Especially now, with the mystery member in the fix. Santurce was an unfamiliar name to him; he wasn't connected to Zoids. Marion would have to do a little bit of research the next day.
He laid there in bead for a few minutes, in the darkness. An imitation cookoo clock ticked away each second, the only sound in the room. The room's curtains were open, showing the Sand Colony's modest show of lights. Then, Marion at up and said, "What the hell?" He flicked the light back on, took the notepad, and jotted down "One PM, Tuesday-Algiers, Santurce."
Mark uneasily shifted his necktie from one side to the other, until he was pleased at the fit. He never was comfortable with fancy gigs, and Algiers often put even the best of its competitors to shame. It had a long concrete walkway ended by a twenty-foot indoor waterfall, separating a faux desert and oasis. He had to go, to be Marion's "second." His job was to be there, eat in silence, and give Santurce Marion's letter of introduction.
He left the men' room and discovered that at the very least, the third of his jobs would not go out as planned. Marion, an old guy, and, presumably, the old guy' second were all out, next to the men's room, waiting for him.
"Ah..." Mark gave the letter to the old man. "Mr. Santurce?"
"That is correct. How do you do." They shook. "This with me is Walter Noll, my second in command within Santurce Fuels Incorporated." Santurce paused, then said, "Er, you are one of the pilots, are you not? Within Southern Shore?"
"Yes, that is right." Marion took the liberty to answer for his new employee.
"Ah! Extraordinary." Santurce peered around and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "No further need to wait, gentleman, follow me. I know where the table is."
He lead the group to the oasis side, on a wide wooden boardwalk, and down a narrow beach until they were next to a wide, shallow, and spectacularly clear pond, full of sunfish and surrounded by palm trees. Santurce sat at a table just a few feet from the water's edge, with menus already at each setting. "First, gentlemen, a warning. Mr. Marion, you may already know this. At this restaurant, only order the lobster if you truly want it."
"Why?" Mark buried his head into the menu quickly.
"You must pick specifically which lobster you want from the pool."
Mark first looked up, incredulously, then behind him, toward the water. Looking down, he noticed several entrees, still very much alive, lounging on some rocks maybe a foot underwater. "They look content," said he.
"They are fed well. Anyway..." Santurce looked at the menu for just a few second, then closed it, as if he already knew what he wanted. "Anyway, this lunch must be business. We must work out a payment plan for the team, Mr.'s Marion and Payne. A figure of six million dollars was agreed upon, was it not, Mr. Marion?"
Marcus looked up. "Six? I, uh..." He shifted nervously. His share of the added million would be nice lining his pockets, but he wondered what affect it would have on his loyalty to the gamblers. "Okay."
"Yes, that is fine." Marion was still searching for something to jump out at him. Everything sounded far too tasty. "But how is the money to be paid out? We need a minimum of one million to start, but surely we can't pay it all out at once."
"Exactly. One million down at least? How about this: I shall start the payment, at two. If the team does not advance in the first round, you will pay, say, a million. If they stay like that after the second round, then I shall pay another million. And then, as soon as the team is eliminated, the rest of the cash will be paid out by you. Let's see, that's even, isn't it? I pay three and you pay...yes, even. And of course, all profits from betting shall be split evenly amongst the two of us."
"A little complicated, don't you think?"
"I've been thinking about a payment method, yes, it's had two days to be built on. But it is fair. At least a good amount of money is not paid until the end. And for each bit of time that the team stays in contention, a little bit of money is paid gradually. And if the team moves to the championship bracket early, then much more money is withheld until they are eliminated."
"You have been thinking about it."
"Yes."
Marion finally decided on a dish and put his menu down. "This doesn't feel like a business lunch. This isn't supposed to be done before the waitress comes over."
"I do trust that you do much of the work in the middle; I am inexperienced in placing the bets." Santurce leaned over. "I am experienced in getting business deals in any way needed, however. A cheated bet will not be welcome with my money in play."
"Very well." Marion grimaced on the inside. There was no such thing as easy money in this plan. He hadn't ruled out simply funneling some of Santurce's money into his own account, but it didn't seem to be such a great idea anymore.
"Oh, one more thing." Santurce sat back up again. "It is quite necessary for the middlemen to assume false names. In case the rumors snowball." He nodded his head toward Noll. "Walter will be known only as White from now on. Forget the name you heard given to him walking in here."
"No problem," said Mark. "White's" real last name was already lost on him. The setting was so impressive that Mark was starting to forget his own last name.
A server walked on over. "Hello, gentleman. Have any of you enjoyed Algiers before? No matter. Would you like to start off with some drinks?..."
"Here."
It was Thursday night, in a hotel room in a sand Colony suburb. Santurce counted out two hundred $10,000 bills, and handed them to Marion. It was dark, and no spies that they knew of where on their tail, but all windows were shaded, the lights turned down, and the door, while unlocked, slightly barricaded by a chair.
Marion took the bills and just stared at them, dumbly. He hadn't expected the fix to advance so quickly, or even this far. The fix idea sounded great on paper, but he had seen a couple of plans to throw regular season games go to the wayside. The major players were too fearful of discovery, or the plan often simply evaporated away, as the desire to win pushed a few hundred or thousand extra dollars out of the way.
Santurce noticed his new comrade's face. "Do not say that you are afraid of discovery." In the past four days the businessman had eaten up the idea of the fix. It had twice the enthusiasm that Marion-the experienced one, or at least more experienced than he-had for the plan.
It was rookie enthusiasm. That or Santurce was quite bold. Marion remembered him talking about his use for muscle for business. "Not at all." He turned to the door, put all he had into a large black duffel bag, and headed out. "Next week," he said, "the morning of the first matches- come to my pool hall and bring a credit card without a limit. We start making money there."
"Very well." Santurce just nodded as Marion slipped out into the hallway.
The gambler went out to the lobby and out the door, to his waiting car. Before he went to the layers, he had one place else to go. He had to deposit half of it under his name. Marion didn't know how much muscle Santurce's men could have, but he might as well take a chance. If it worked, the profit would be split, just as agreed.
A few blocks later he pulled over and made a quick call. "Yes, hello there. Listen-could you tell me the betting odds for Oceanos and High Wire. For the championship." He waited a couple seconds. "Eight-to-one and ten-to-one? That's fine. I would like to make five hundred thousand dollar bets on each. Yes, I can pay all of it now. Yes, I have a legal credit card. Let me just pull it out..."
He threw one million dollars onto Marcus Payne's bed, upon his entrance to his room at the Dunes hotel, a not-fancy hotel and, for the next two weeks, the home of Southern Shore.
Payne counted out the amount, then looked up. "This-"
"You're lucky that you got what you got. There's rumors all over the place and you guys have to be careful. The lid can't be blown now."
Mark was only paying some attention; he was more busy closing all of the shades and locking the door. Inside, he was moaning. He had to give every penny to Ed Colner. He, and all the others, would have to wait if they wanted money later. "Fine," he said, annoyed.
"Very good." Without another word Marion unceremoniously left.
After he left, Mark picked up the cash and held it to his nose. After pausing for a second, he screamed and threw it down onto the hard bed. "DAMMIT!" After another moment, he sighed. "Gotta take one step back to go two steps forward, I guess."
He piled the cash into a backpack and set foot to Ed's room. The captain was out; he had to place the cash somewhere he-and only he-would find it.
Ed Colner opened up the safe, looking for his watch, when he saw money spill out, all over, onto the carpet.. A lot of it. In ten thousand dollar bills.
"Wow." He was not easily impressed, but he was stupefied by the amount now. He couldn't have imagined what a million dollars was like when he had demanded it. After a few seconds of simply holding it, looking at it, enjoying its wealth, he went to the bathroom to find the sewing kit. He needed to hide it in his jacket. He could spend it perfectly freely later.