THE GAMBLER - SIDE FICTION

(3 Days before Orientation Day)

"And let me tell ya, that’s when I knew I was never gonna gamble again," Ron said, his voice shaking a little as he finished his story. The big burly guy with the thick beard sat hunched forward in the metal folding chair, eyes still wet.

The Gamblers Anonymous meeting was small this afternoon. Just five of them in the cold church basement, coats still on because the radiator barely worked. The air smelled like old coffee and damp concrete.

Aaron, a thin, balding guy in a faded gray sweater, nodded slowly. “Thanks for sharing, Ron. Maybe one day your daughter will get past the college fund thing and give you another chance.” He looked around the circle, his tired eyes stopping on Jake. “Anyone else want to talk before we call it?”

Jake stared at his scuffed boots, snow still melting off them onto the dirty cement floor. He let out a heavy sigh, then finally lifted his head.

“I’ve probably said this shit before, but this time, it’s real. I think this might actually be my last fucking meeting.”

Vic, the skinny guy in his early thirties with messy blonde hair and a nervous twitch sitting right next to him, let out a low snicker.

Jake shot him a look, then kept going. “This morning I woke up to an eviction notice taped to my door. Can you believe these fucking bastards? I can’t keep living like this anymore. I’m done being another broke loser destined for shit. I gotta do something about my life and fight back. I’m going cold turkey and I’m gonna get my pathetic life together once and for all.”

Vic leaned in closer. “Yeah? Well that drug trial I told you about is still open. You could live there for free, eat all the food you want for nothin’ and they pay you when it’s over.”

Paul, a heavyset older man with a gray goatee, let out a short laugh. “Drug trial? That ain’t nothing but another fucking gamble, Jake.”

Francis, a meek looking middle-aged guy in a faded baseball cap who almost never spoke at the meetings, stared at the floor and muttered, “I tried one of those once, didn’t do nothing to me.” And then let out a long sigh.

Aaron sat up a little straighter in his chair. “We don’t push stuff like that here, Vic. If you’re serious about changing your life, Jake, we’ll help you any way we can. But shortcuts like that usually end up making things worse. It’s one day at a time, remember that.”

Vic shrugged, still grinning. “I’m just saying. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. I mean the man’s electricity is off and they’re kicking him out into this fucking zero degree weather.” Vic looked at Jake with raised eyebrows, “Bro, you know I’d let you stay with me, but the woman ain’t fucking having it. Let’s get in that trial, we’ll do it together.”

The room got quiet again. Jake just sat there, jaw tight, staring at the floor.

Aaron clapped his hands once. “Alright, that’s a wrap for today, everyone. Stay safe out there in the storm.”

Jake left the meeting and lumbered through the deserted city streets coated in fresh snow. The cold cut right through his thin jacket, sinking into his bones. Every step felt heavier than the last. He kept thinking he should have taken Vic up on that ride he offered on the way out, but he needed time to think.

His mind kept replaying Vic’s words. Three hundred bucks a day. That kind of money could buy him some time. It would definitely help him settle up with the Manzonis and get them off his back, but he still had to figure out rent and his other debts. It seemed like a good idea, but the thought kept fighting with another voice in his head telling him it was probably a bad idea.

Fifteen minutes later he pushed open the door to Brown Street Goods. The bell jingled above him and a blast of warm air hit his face. The place smelled like hazelnut coffee and old newspapers. For a second, Jake forgot all his troubles and welcomed the warmth.

He stomped the snow off his boots and walked to the counter. The store had that beat-up look with an old dingy tile floor, shelves crammed with candy, chips, toilet paper, cat food, and the usual goods like Beefaroni and Spaghetti-O’s.

Guilt hit him when he saw the dirty footprints he’d tracked in. He rubbed his frozen hands together and cleared his throat when he reached the counter.

Old William looked up, silver hair sticking out under his cap, bushy mustache twitching with a small grin.

“Cold enough for ya, Jake?” the clerk asked.

“Brutal out there, Bill,” Jake muttered. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it, son. Cleaning keeps me young these days. Looking for your smokes?”

Jake hesitated, then forced a half-smile. “How ‘bout a job?”

William chuckled. “If only business was good. Economy’s a real shit show, but I don’t have to tell you that. How long you been on the hunt?”

Jake frowned and sidestepped the question. “Just give me a pack a Camels and if you’ve got last week’s Sunday paper left, throw that in too.”

As William rang him up, Jake’s eyes drifted to the scratch tickets on the left. He looked away fast, but the pull was already there. One ticket. Just one. What could it hurt?

“Let me get one of those two-dollar scratchers,” Jake said, already wishing he hadn’t.

“Hmm, alright. Which one’s your pick, son?”

“You make the call, old man,” Jake answered, eyes locked on the case. One ticket kept pulling at him… the one promising “$2,000 a week for life.” But he didn’t want to jinx it, so he let William pick for him.

The old man slid a different ticket across the counter and placed a penny on top.

“That’s ten bucks, all in,” William said.

Jake pulled out his worn debit card and handed it over.

“I can put the cigarettes on the card, but for the ticket I need cold cash.”

“Damn it… ATM working today?” Jake asked through gritted teeth.

“Yup, it’s right where it always is. But there’s a three-buck charge. So this ticket’s gonna cost you five bucks total,” the clerk warned.

“Well, let’s hope I hit the jackpot then.”

Jake hustled to the back, slid his card in, and reminded himself not to let it spiral. Just this one ticket. That’s it. The state had been giving him $300 a week in unemployment, but like clockwork he burned through it at the casino every time. He entered his pin, hesitating for a second. Should I even be doing this right now? He thought.

For a moment he almost cancelled the whole thing. But then his eyes caught the glowing sign above the counter: “$40,000,000 Lottery Jackpot.” Next to it a smaller sign read, “You can’t win if you don’t play.”

“Therefore, I must play,” he said out loud.

“WHAT?” William called from the front.

“Nothing!” Jake yelled back.

He pulled out $280, leaving just $17 in his account. He pocketed the cash, kept a twenty for the ticket and smokes and walked back to the counter.

“May luck be on your side,” the clerk said with a grin.

“Thanks. Mind if I scratch it here? Just in case I win?” Jake asked, already thinking about the cold walk home.

“I already picked your penny,” William replied with a wink.

Jake picked up the penny and started scratching. He checked it once. Twice. Three times.
Loser.

“Damn. I was really hoping for something to break my way,” he muttered, stuffing the smokes in his pocket and grabbing the paper.

“It was worth a shot, son,” William chuckled.

“Sure was,” Jake said, forcing a disappointed smile.

He was about to leave when his eyes landed on the ticket that had caught him earlier, the one promising “$2,000 a week for life.” The words kept echoing in his head. Why does that one feel like it’s calling to me?

“What the hell,” he said, turning back. “I’ve got no use for this ten-dollar bill anyway. Give me five of those tickets over there.”

The seasoned store clerk fetched five tickets and slid them across the counter. “Here you go. Feeling lucky now?”

“I don’t know,” Jake said, already hating himself for it. “But for some reason that one ticket keeps whispering to me. It’s like it’s trying to tell me something. I got a good feeling I might actually win something big this time.” He set the paper back down on the counter.

“Alright then, here’s to your win,” William said as he took Jake’s payment.

Jake started scratching the tickets fast, one after another. His frown got deeper with every loser. He tossed each losing ticket in the trash with shaking hands. He was pissed at himself for getting sucked back in, but he couldn’t stop.

He shot the clerk a weak grin and picked up the paper. “Here’s your penny…”

Jake looked at the penny as he was handing it back. Something felt off. He checked the date: 1990. One of those cheap new pennies without the copper. He flicked it in the air and listened, but all he heard was a dull tick. He grinned, realizing why his luck had been garbage.

“Mind if I pick my own penny from the cup?” he asked, setting the paper down again.

“You got some kind of penny superstition, huh?” the old man chuckled.

“Sort of. These new pennies are like magnets for bad luck,” Jake said while digging through the cup. He pulled out a darker one and held it in his palm. 1978, his birth year. That felt like a sign. He flicked it upward and heard a solid metallic ping. Copper. Good one.

“This one’s my lucky charm,” he said. “Give me ten more of those tickets.”

The clerk shrugged and handed him a fresh batch of ten.

Jake took a deep breath, separated the tickets, and started scratching. He was laser-focused now, like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Each winner he found gave him a tiny rush. When he was done he had three cards that paid out ten dollars total, half of what he’d just spent.

“These ones not living up to the hype?” William teased.

“Give me ten more,” Jake said, fishing another twenty out of his pocket.

“You sure about this, kid? Ain’t you supposed to be on the job hunt?”

“Don’t worry, old timer. I’ve got savings,” Jake lied.

“Well, alright then. Let’s have a bit of fun.”

The old man handed over the new tickets and placed the twenty in the register. He cashed in the small winnings and asked if Jake wanted the cash or more tickets. Jake took more tickets. He was lost in it now. Nothing else mattered. Just the next scratch. Just the next chance that this one would finally be the big one. Bills paid. A real apartment. No more sleeping in the cold. No more Manzonis. Everything fixed.

An hour later Jake stood at the counter, one ticket still unscratched. He had lost everything. The old clerk stared at Jake, his eyes widening a little and forced a chuckle. For Jake it wasn’t funny. Not even a little. He had just blown his whole week’s money. The broken man would spend another week eating cheap food in his dark apartment as the timer ran out on his eviction deadline.

“I hope that one’s the winner, son.” William said with a stern face, perhaps realizing for the first time that the young man in front of him was playing for his life.

Jake flinched. He met the old man’s eyes and let out a shaky breath. “I hope so. Really, damn well hope so.”

With a heavy heart he scratched the final ticket. Another loser. Just like him. Another fucking failure. He crumpled the card in his fist and tossed it in the trash with the rest of them. He closed his eyes, rubbed his face hard, and tried to swallow the sick feeling rising in his throat. All he wanted to do right then sink into oblivion and leave the world behind.

He turned toward the door.

“Your paper!” William called after him.

“Keep it,” Jake muttered without looking back.

Jake trudged through the dim and icy evening, head hung low. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he wandered the empty streets of Boston. The realization that he had only seventeen dollars left on his card hit him like a punch to the gut. Another week of Dollar Store garbage and no way to cook it. Another week of cold showers in the dark. Another week of wondering how much longer he could keep this up.

For a moment, a thought hit him hard, maybe it would just be easier to end it. Walk into the river or find a tall building and just stop fighting. The idea sat there, warm and inviting, like an old poker table sat with familiar faces. No more tossing and turning in his cold bed. No more Manzonis. No more waking up just another loser in a world that had no mercy for the weak.

He stopped on the sidewalk, surrounded by the massive buildings towering over him, and just stared at the falling snowflakes. For a moment everything went quiet in his head. The world felt dimmer, smaller, like it was pulling away. He stood there frozen, snow landing on his face, completely disconnected from everything around him.

Then Vic’s words came back to him.

That drug trial.

Jake took a long drag from the cigarette, the smoke burning deep in his lungs. His mind kept drifting to the possibilities. There would be food, a bed and heat. A place where he wouldn’t have to fight off the world every single day. No casinos, no loan sharks and no temptation pulling at him around every corner. In the trial there’d be walls, rules and a hefty paycheck at the end. A slight smile appeared on Jake’s face.

But then another voice kicked in. He still had to apply and getting in was no guarantee. Nothing in his life ever was.

The shivering man checked his watch and it was just past five. The Boston Public Library would close in two hours.

He turned and started walking faster, his boots stomping through the snow.

As Jake started to feel almost like a functioning human again, a silver Buick SUV rolled up beside Jake and gave a hard nudge, knocking the surprised man off balance and sending him sprawling onto the cold ground.

Out stepped Jimmy and Tony Manzoni, both in dark jeans and leather jackets, grinning as they ambled toward their prey.

“Hey Jakey boy, did ya miss us?” Tony said, flashing his typical shark smile.

“Did you have to use your fucking car as a battering ram?” Jake groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow, snow soaking through his pants.

They both burst out laughing. “Oh, poor Jake. Got a little ouchy? Baby gonna cry?” Jimmy mocked. “Where’s our money, Jake? It’s been over a month. You owe us five big ones and the boss is getting real tired of waiting.”

Jake tried to joke through the pain. “Tell the old fuck to apply for a loan if he needs it so bad.”

The words barely left his mouth before Jimmy’s boot slammed into his gut like a sledgehammer. Jake buckled instantly, dropping face-first into the snow, coughing hard. Tony stepped in, grabbed Jake by the collar, and drove another punch into his ribs. While Jake was curled up gasping for air, Tony casually reached down, yanked Jake’s wallet from his back pocket, slipped a small flat device inside it, and tossed the wallet back onto his chest like it was nothing.

“You’ve got one week,” Tony said coldly, crouching over him. “The boss still respects what your old man did for the family, but his patience is running out. One week, Jake. Or the next conversation’s gonna be a lot more painful. Capisce?”

Jimmy delivered one last kick to Jake’s ribs for good measure. The two of them climbed back into the SUV and drove off leaving Jake lying there alone on the sidewalk.

He stayed on the ground for a long time, snow melting against his neck, pain radiating through his body with every breath.
​
Slowly and painfully, Jake pushed himself up from the frozen earth and brushed the slush off his jacket with numb shaking hands. The tortured man began moving again, slowly and with a slight limp, boots carving through the fresh powder. His mind was locked on one thing now, getting to the library before it closed. He was going to apply for that fucking drug trial and get out of this mess once and for all.

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