The Last Race

"How am I going to tell Marie that I got laid off from my job?" Gary thought aloud, as he pulled up to the driveway of their new home. "Dang!" he exclaimed as steam came pouring out of his radiator. "If it's not one thing it's another."

Gary sat in his pick up brooding and feeling sick to his stomach. Marie would be understanding about getting laid off, but there was no way she would be understanding about what happened yesterday evening. Gary decided he had no choice but to tell his wife the truth, and the truth was, he had become desperate after he learned of his lay off.

Gary opened the door to his pick up and glancing towards his neighbor's house he saw a man that he thought he recognized, sitting in a blue SUV. He watched the man get out of the SUV, and slowly shut his car door and then go inside the house next to his. Racking his brain Gary just couldn't figure out why he recognized that face. Bewildered, but with enough on his mind, he shook it off and went inside his house.

In the meantime, Gary's neighbor came back outside and stood still on the front porch staring at a small plain white envelope in his hand, trying to convince himself that he shouldn't do it, but then he sat on his front porch step, took the sealed envelope, placed it in a small box, taped up the box, and then placed the box in a plastic shopping bag. He attached the bag to the drone's hook, got up and slowly stepped onto his front lawn with the drone in his left hand and the controller in his right hand.

He stared at his neighbor's green 1971 Chevy truck billowing steam through the crack of it's rusting hood. Still trying to convince himself not to follow through with the delivery, the man decided to give himself more time to think about it. He turned to go back inside, but the neighbor's children slamming their screen door as they rushed inside caused him to halt in his tracks and think about his wife and kids. What would they think if they knew what he was about to do? He knew his wife would be furious with him. And then he thought about his former customer. He had no idea what his former customer would do if he ever found out. He just knew that he was in between a rock and hard place. The man's thoughts were interrupted with the sound of his neighbor's wife screeching disbelief at her husband as he lugged a green water hose out of their garage. He watched his neighbor's stooped posture hook the water hose to an outside faucet, and carry it over to the heated hood of his pick up.

With his neighbor's back turned towards him and the children inside, the man made up his mind. He placed the drone on the sidewalk, took the drone's controller and carefully maneuvered the drone towards his neighbor's front door. He lowered the drone until the plastic bag touched the front door step. Sensing the solid ground beneath it, the drone automatically dropped it's delivery. The man held his breath as he witnessed a breeze swoop up the bag and turn it upside down, and then filling it up with air like a mini parachute. The bag retained it's parachute-like form and took off with the breeze. A relieved look came across the man as he realized the small box had fallen through the opening of the bag and landed onto the sidewalk leading to his neighbor's front door.

The hard plopping sound coming from the neighbor's truck startled the man into realizing that he was in full view, so he quickly hid himself behind a hedge. Peeping through the leaves he watched his neighbor turn around and head towards his front door, and then trip over the box. Holding his breath the man watched his neighbor pick up the box, rip it open with his pocket knife, and look inside. Realizing that he was holding his breath, he slowly and quietly blew the air out of his lungs and continued to watch his neighbor pull out the white envelope, drop the box and tear open the sealed flap of the envelope. With a puzzled expression, his neighbor peered into the small envelope much longer than expected. He then carefully folded the white envelope, straightened his posture, and placed it in his front shirt pocket.

Filled with mixed emotions of what he had just done the man went inside to get ready for his job interview. He didn't know whether to feel relief or dread now that his seasonal job had come to an end. He took a shower, groomed himself, and put on black slacks and a white button up shirt and then looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't know if he liked or disliked who he saw in the mirror. He tried practicing for his interview, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could do was replay over and over the conversations and the events that took place the evening before: It was the 10th race and everyone stood around the TV monitors that hung from the cement and steel columns on the track level of the racetrack grandstand. In the day time the track level was empty, but at night the horsemen and gamblers gathered around to watch their horse win or lose.

At the track level bar, Marcus was the head bartender, and Thomas was his apprentice. They knew the horsemen and gamblers were fairly good tippers so they made sure each got what they wanted as fast as they ordered.

"Last weekend Bugsy tipped me over $200." Marcus bragged to Thomas.

"Why?" Thomas asked.

"He won the Twin Trifecta." Marcus replied.

"How much was the payoff?"

"I think it was over $33,000."

Thomas scoffed and stated, "Then he should of tipped you more."

"Can't complain," said Marcus. "He tips me every time he orders a drink."

The two bartenders stood together behind the concession bar that was close to the security office and watched the attentive faces of the horsemen staring at the horses being loaded into the starting gate. After the race, a disgruntled man walked up to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila. Marcus handed him the shot and the man downed the shot without salt or lime.

"He's losing his paycheck," Marcus said lowering his voice so the disgruntled man couldn't hear him.

"What does it matter if he's having a good time," Thomas replied.

Marcus whispered, "I don't know that it matters. It's just that he's probably on a losing streak and it's impossible to win once you're on a losing streak."

The man came back to the bar after the 11th race was over, and was even more disgruntled. Marcus met him at the bar and asked, "Another shot?"

The man nodded his head.

"Did you lose?" Marcus asked. Ignoring Marcus's question, the man flipped his racing program to the last race of the season and circled horse number 6 with his ball point pen. He downed the shot and then stumbled back into the crowd.

"He'll lose if he bets on that horse! Marcus exclaimed to his colleague. "That horse is 99 to 1. No wonder he's losing. He's betting on long shots."

Marcus then noticed Bugsy heading his way. He took a bottle of premium whisky and poured a double shot into an ice-filled cup, then he topped the glass off with a squirt of Coke.

"Who's the tequila drinker?" Bugsy asked Marcus.

"I don't know," Marcus replied, "But I do know he's not going to win if he keeps betting on those long shots."

"Who did he bet on?"

"The horse that's picked to run dead last," Marcus answered.

"You mean the number 6?" Bugsy asked studying the odds displayed on the monitor above the bar.

"Yeah," Marcus replied.

"What's he doing betting on the number 6?"

"How should I know?" Marcus replied irritably.

"He might as well go home now. That's if he's got a home," Bugsy said under his breath.

"He probably does, and I bet he's got a wife and 6 kids." Marcus said.

"You think so?"

"Losers like him usually do. They bet all their measly paychecks hoping to get rich quick, but they never do. Then they lie to their wives trying to cover up their stupidity. It's a disease. I know because I had it once." Marcus wished he hadn't disclosed that part of his past to Bugsy, but it was too late.

"It's called 'gambling fever'," Bugsy said, "I have it but I ain't got no kids to feed."

"I do," stated Marcus.

"That's right. You sure do. In fact, you told me you and your wife have triplets; two girls and one boy. If I recall right, they're teenagers." Bugsy seemed pleased with his ability to remember details.

"Three minutes to post time, and then we get to close up for the season, and I get to go back home!" Thomas happily sang out, and then exclaimed pointing towards the crowd, "There he goes!"

"Who?" Marcus asked

"The tequila drinker," Bugsy interrupted, "Pour him a double shot on me. The poor bastard's gonna need it after this race."

"One minute to post time," the track's speaker announced.

Bugsy slid off his bar stool and waddled to the mutual window where the tequila drinker was wagering his bet. Standing behind him, Bugsy overheard his slurred command to the teller, "A $100 to win on the number 6."

When the transaction was over Bugsy took his turn and laid down three $100 bills in front of the teller and confidently requested. "$200 to win on the number 7, and $100 to place on the number 6." The mutual teller typed in the order and the tickets flew right into Bugsy's fat hand.

"And they're off!" The announcer hollered into his mike.

"I wonder who Bugsy bet on?" Bugsy's bartender asked.

"I don't know, but he'll probably win." his colleague remarked.

"I hope so." Marcus crossed his fingers because he needed Bugsy's tips. His rent was due tomorrow, and he was over a $100 short.

"He's the luckiest man I know," Thomas said.

"He's got confidence." Marcus stated matter-of-factly.

"It's not confidence. It's pure luck." Thomas retorted.

"Who's winning?" Marcus asked a gambler as he poured a draft beer for him.

"The number 7."

"Who's second?"

"What do ya know. It's the number 6 horse." The gambler said with disbelief.

"Who's the favorite?"

"Odds show that's it the number 7 horse."

"What!" Marcus shouted. The crowd's noise level rose as the horses neared the quarter mile pole.

"The 7 horse!" The gambler yelled.

Marcus grabbed two shot glasses and said to his colleague, "I better pour that double shot of tequila for the tequila drinker. Odds are he bet on the number 6 to win. What a fool. He should of bet on that horse to place."

"How do you know that he didn't?" asked Thomas.

"Because here he comes and he's not smiling."

"Who won?" Marcus asked the unhappy customer.

"The 7 horse. The 6 came in second," the customer replied, and downed both shots without saying another word. He took a crumpled $20 dollar bill and laid it on the bar top.

"Don't worry about it," Marcus said. "it's already been paid for."

"Thanks," he mumbled under his breath.

"You better use that money to call a cab," Marcus advised his customer, "You're in no condition to drive."

Marcus watched his inebriated customer pocket the last of his paycheck and stumble out into the crowd, leaving his $100 mutual ticket on the bar between the two empty shot glasses.

"Did ya win?" Marcus asked Bugsy as he shuffled up to the bar.

"I don't know yet. The race is still unofficial. I see our tequila drinker downed the shots I bought for him."

"Yeah. I told him he should call a cab. Hopefully he did because I don't see him around." Marcus poured Bugsy his usual.

"Thanks my friend," Bugsy said as he placed a $5 bill in Marcus's tip jar. Looking down in between the empty shot glasses Bugsy picked up the tequila drinker's ticket and slipped it in between 2 fifties he had in his wallet. Feeling smug, and wanting to get away from the bar as quickly as possible, he picked up his drink and joined the horsemen and gamblers at a TV monitor further away.

The jockey on the number 8 horse had placed an objection on the number 7 horse. The crowd waited in anticipation for the official results. There was a gasp from the crowd as the screen showed the number 7 switched from first place to third place on the tote board. The number 6 took the winning place. The speaker announced that horse number 7 did in fact interfere with the number 8 horse. The tote board displayed the order of finish. "Win: 6, Place: 8, Show: 7." Bugsy watched the replay. The crowd moaned and threw away their tickets when the tote board lit up with the word, "Official."

Bugsy calculated his new found winnings in his head, downed his whisky and whistled under his breath. He didn't quite know the pay off for the place ticket he bought, so he decided to calculate all of his winnings at the bar before it closed.

"You know what l like to drink," he said winking at Marcus, as he drew out his wallet and pulled out two $50 bills and placed them in the tip jar in front of him.

"Sure do," Marcus replied, placing the whisky glass into Bugsy's sweaty palm; and then picking up the two empty shot glasses he noticed the tequila drinker's ticket was missing. Bugsy drank his whisky and coke like it was water, calculated all of his winnings, slapped the glass on the counter and then hurried to collect his money.

Marcus grabbed the cash out of his tip jar, counted the money and drew in a sigh of relief and then disbelief when he realized what was in between Bugsy's two $50 dollar bills. He quickly placed all of the cash back in his tip jar, took the winning ticket and secretly placed it in a small white envelope. He then carefully sealed the envelope and hid it underneath the change drawer of his cash register.

"Bugsy must have won," the young bartender commented as he eyed the fifties in Marcus's tip jar.

"Yeah. I suppose he is lucky after all," Marcus replied.

"The tequila drinker must have lost his confidence on that 6 horse and bet on another one. Poor guy picks the winner and doesn't even bet on him. Like you said, he was on a losing streak," Thomas said shaking his head.

"I suppose so," Marcus said warily looking out towards the crowd of people leaving the track.

Pulling down the aluminum door and securing it with a padlock, Marcus informed his colleague, "It's time to balance our cash drawers and pocket our earnings." The two register drawers popped open simultaneously revealing their monetary contents. Each bartender counted their drawer and placed the money in their deposit bag.

"Go get security, so they can escort us to the treasury room." Marcus ordered. The young bartender eagerly obeyed and escaped through the supply room door leading to the corridor behind the mutual windows.

Hearing the back door slam shut, Marcus lifted the change drawer and took possession of the small plain white envelope. He then lifted the sealed envelope up towards the fluorescent light. Convinced that it still held the mutual ticket, he carefully folded the envelope and placed it underneath the insole of his left shoe, and anxiously waited for security.

The next morning Marcus got up and made breakfast for his kids, and gave his wife a kiss as she headed out the door to go to work. He couldn't help but see the furrowed brow of his wife. He knew she was worried about how they were going to make ends meet, even though the night before, he had assured her that he had made enough in tips to pay the rent for another month. He hadn't told her about the winning ticket because he hadn't decided if he was going to keep it or give it back to Bugsy. He was torn with making a decision because he knew the ticket wasn't originally Bugsy's, but it also wasn't his. He also knew that last night was the last time that he would ever have to see Bugsy. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know who the original owner was or where he lived.

After his wife and kids left, Marcus scoured for jobs on the internet and applied for several bartending jobs. He still had not decided what to do about the winning ticket. Late that afternoon he got a call for a job interview at the downtown Ritz hotel. They wanted to interview him that evening for a big event coming up.

Before the interview Marcus had to pick up his last paycheck from his former job, and with the white envelope in his front shirt pocket, Marcus left the house, now knowing he would do what was right for him and his family. Opening his car door, Marcus's face went white when he saw his neighbor step out of the steaming truck. He had heard there was a family moving in the house next door, but he had no idea it would be the tequila drinker from the evening before. Marcus slowly shut his car door and went back inside his house. He grabbed his son's drone and controller, a small box, some packing tape, and a plastic shopping bag; and then stepped outside onto his front porch.