Odd's Lot, a serial novelette (3)
Wicked Good Odds
Odds sat in the front seat of the police car and flashed for a second on the fact that for all the times he had been in a cruiser this was the first time he was ever in the front.
"What's goin' on Squires? What'ya mean exactly that you charged my old man with murder?" Officer Billy Squires headed out toward the downtown station not turning on the siren.
"Just what I told you Odds. Your father confessed to killing Johnny A and we charged him with..."
"Whoa, wait a second. Say that again, my old man confessed?"
"Yeah, but they probably woulda booked him anyway, he was still holding the gun sitting in a chair across from Abignale when they got there." A quick siren flash went off as they motored through a red light. "He's the one that called 911."
"What the hell."
"Was there any bad blood between the two of them?" Another light, another siren flash. "Your father mixed up in some things he maybe shouldn't be?"
"My father ain't done nothing illegal in his life, for Christ sake his doc tried to give him a handicapped sticker and he wouldn't take it 'cause he thought it would be a cheat. You're barking up the wrong tree there Squires."
"He does run an illegal book outta the bar."
"What're you talking about we don't even do Superbowl squares on account my old man's worried it ain't kosher. Costs us money every year."
"No the other thing."
"The baby game? C'mon man that's a stretch. What? Johnny Abignale one of the biggest crime bosses in the country was pissed 'cause my father wouldn't cut him in on baby lotto? Besides I run the joint now my old man ain't even been around there in months." They made a turn to come into the backside of the station.
"I'm just telling you what I know Odds, as a friend. One of the Detectives was talking about it is all I know" The officer pulled in and parked his cruiser near the back door. "I'm not even s'possed to be talking to you at all." He started to get out.
"I know Billy thanks man." Odds got out of the cruiser. "Hey why'd we park back here?" Officer Squires talked over the hood of the patrol car as he headed to the door.
"Too many reporters out front. C'mon this way I'll take you to him." Squires said moving up the stairs to the door.
"Reporters? Jesus Christ Dad what the hell did you do?" Odds followed the officer into the station.
Knockers yelled over his shoulder as he headed into the club level to place the bet. "I'll grab a cab once I collect, somebody call me and tell me where I'm going." He was through the doors as Easy and Pops jumped into Easy's Lincoln and pulled out. It was never in question that the bet Odds had in the eighth would pay-out or that in spite of the crazy circumstances the bet would still be made. Last year the boys split two paydays from similar bets each taking home over $4,000. The entire group day off had been planned around it and they had been saving money for weeks. "Two G's across the board on Witch's Gold in the eighth." Knockers said to the attendant as he pulled out the $6,000 in cash from an envelope in his pocket.
"What're ya deaf Murray? Two G's across the board on Witch's Gold in the eighth."
"You mean the #4? Wicked Good? He's 9-2?"
"What?" Knockers looked at the racing form "Yeah, yeah Wicked Good sorry about that Murray."
"9-2? Odd's has got himself a good one today. " The attendant punched some keys.
"Prolly need it for figgin' bail."
"What's that?" Murray looked up and over his glasses.
"Uh nothing Murray. Same as always keep it to yourself and we'll catch you up next week."
"Mums the word Knockers." He took the cash and slid Knockers the bet slip.
Odds got a bet like this a couple times a year, something he'd tracked, worked on and followed. After a few years of success track regulars started to get on his band wagon and look for his bets. Before Odd's learned who he had to grease to keep his action quiet tag-along bettors had ruined a few good pay days for him by dumping huge money on his picks and killing the odds. Murray would keep the bet to himself, for a price of course. Knockers looked at the tote board, the seventh race was at the post. He pulled out his phone, held it in his hand and waited.
Easy turned left out of the parking lot and maneuvered his way into traffic.
"Cut across Franklin Easy, so we can swing by his sisters house first."
"You sure Pops? Odd's said to go to the bar."
"He also said to tell his sister and I ain't telling Pickles her old man's just got locked up for murdering a mob boss over the phone. Unless you wanna call her?"
"No way man not me."
"It's kinda on the way anyway just jump on it." Pops got on the phone calling another friend from the neighborhood Vic Mancuso. Well not really a friend, in fact Vic was kind of a cocky asshole but he was the only lawyer any of them knew and he did all the legal work for the Fiorelli's most recently Anthony Sr.'s will. The phone barely even rang.
"Where is he at?"
"No Pops it's your mother," Pops thought-Again with the mother shit? "yeah it's Vic. Where's he at?"
"Where's who at?"
"Odd's old man. They pick him up already?"
"Uhm...Yeah they got him locked up at Metro I guess. Cops rolled up on us and-" Vic Mancuso cut him off.
"Tell Odd's I'm on my way. I'll be there in twenty. And tell him not to let his old man say anything."
"Yeah Ok I'll tell him."
"Alright see ya over there."
"Hey Mancuso?" Pops yelled into the phone before the lawyer could hang up.
"How'd you know why I called?"
"It's all over the news and who else you jamoke's gonna call." The call disconnected and Pops threw it on the seat next to him as he dug a cigarette out of his jacket.