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Post by Administrator on May 14, 2007 0:40:34 GMT -5
Chances are good you'll find Higgins here, this is where you place your bets.
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Jun 24, 2008 13:52:42 GMT -5
Felix the bookie leered at Racetrack as he approached. "How ya doin', Pennies?" the bookie chuckled, thinking himself real sharp. Felix was Racetrack's regular bookie, and the unpleasant-looking man had taken to calling Race "Pennies" because Race always placed his bets in pennies. Needless to say, Race didn't appreciate it. He usually ignored Felix, but it was kind of hard when Felix thought he was the most clever thing on the planet for thinking it up.
In reply, Racetrack dug into his pockets with a sneer. "Likewise, Felix," he said curtly. He took out the handful of pennies he had and clattered them onto the counter. "A'right...Sheepshead, seventh race, twenty cents to show on number three." He always recited his bet in the appropriate manner; some of the bookies would get miffed if you did it wrong. Felix would deny Race's bet just to try and get under his skin.
Felix made note of the bed and shoved a race card toward the newsboy. Racetrack took it, and walked away without another word. He stuck around the betting booth area, looking over the race card he'd been given. Morning Glory was the horse he'd bet on. The odds were good, and he had a good feeling about today. But there was something unsettling to Racetrack about having bet on a horse named after a flower...
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Post by tracks on Jul 9, 2008 19:49:48 GMT -5
Tracks walked to the betting booth and stood on her tip toes. Being short meant that her neck was up against the booth.
"Heya Felix i would like to bet on my usual" Tracks' usual was morning Glory, Morning Glory wasn't just a fast horse but she was her horse before she became a newsie. Tracks loves Horses weather its a foal or a mare she loves them all.
Felix made a note of the bet and handed Track the race card, tracks decided to just stick around the betting booth. Whenever she stuck around the betting booth it meant that she had someone to talk to weather it's Felix or someone else.
Track looked down at her race card, today Track felt confident in her bet, Morning Glory was a very good horse, and a Lucky one to.
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Jul 14, 2008 15:12:16 GMT -5
Standing around the betting area before the race started, Racetrack struck a match against the heel of his shoe and lit his cigar. He had swiped a new one from the general store that morning, as he had been pretending to be interested in the new cookware the old man had on display. The befuddled old clerk never thought twice, even when a newsboy came in to ask about cookware or sewing needles.
As Racetrack smoked, he noticed others placing their bets. Most of them were adult men of various degrees of wealth. Noticing only the usual crowd, he looked down at his card again. Movement to his left caught his eye, and he glanced up again. When he saw a girl that couldn't have been more than seven years old, he did a double take. He took his cigar between his fingers, not thinking about the whole "rude to stare" rule. He could see from Felix's bold mark on the little girl's card that she had bet on Morning Glory, as he had. Was there no limit to how old you could be to place a bet around here?
Racetrack said with a sneer, "Ain't you a little young t'be puttin' in bets, girly?"
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Post by tracks on Jul 14, 2008 17:16:11 GMT -5
Tracks knew that people thought that people thought that she was young to be placing a bet, but she was 12, tomorrow she will be 13! Tracks smiled, thinking that she is almost 13.
tracks herd the short Italian ask if she was kinda of young to place a bet, it was more of saying that she was to young to place a bet.
"No i'se not to young" said Tracks crossing her arms and frowning.
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Post by dannyblue on Jun 8, 2009 13:06:22 GMT -5
<><><>NEW DAY<><><>
Danny Blue did not hover the booth, not at all. He merely stood to the side, as if attempting to do maths in his head, figuring the odds of the horses that day. He was dressed smartly, suit, tie, hat and all, and had the kind of face that exuded innocence and nativity. Perhaps his success gleamed from there. Because who would suspect such a man would lie?
He bit the pencil between his lips, brow furrowed in confusion. But no one had turned to him to give a suggestion, or ask if he might be ill from thinking so hard. Did no one in New York talk to one another?
Danny was out of the way, just leaning against the neighboring closed booth, waiting. Observing from his peripheral vision, occasionally putting pencil to his paper, but withdrawing before writing as if changing his mind. He glanced at the clock across the room. Ten minutes before bets were off.
Hawkeye's Gal was the new long shot. And the winning horse, his connections had told him. He hated working for anyone but himself, but this job was simple. He only had to place a bet on the winning horse.
Still, Danny Blue liked to have his fun. And if he could con a simple con for his own pocket change, he would.
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Post by Jensen Flynn on Jun 8, 2009 16:34:52 GMT -5
Jensen Flynn loved the races, though he never placed a bet. Gambling wasn't his thing. Winning tended to get you noticed by the wrong people, and notice was the last thing he needed.
He loved to watch other people betting, though. Emotions ran so high during the race, with so many people leaping to their feet to roar their horse to victory. He couldn't decide which set felt the stronger emotions--the winners or the losers. He'd seen losers weep in defeat, winners weep in triumph, losers throttle winners in jealousy, winners leap on losers in jubilation... So much fun, so much adrenaline to feed off of. Who needed to bet? You got the same high just being near the bettors.
Speaking of, Jensen spotted a man, roughly near his own age, leaning against the nearby closed betting booth, a look of deep concentration on his face as he scowled at his betting slip. He looked familiar, Jensen was pretty sure they'd met once before. Boss meeting, he thought to himself. The limey, right. After a moment of reaching, he remembered: Danny Blue.
Sidling up beside him, Jensen leaned over and spoke in low tones, "Yellow-Eyed Demon for the win, Blue." He gave the man a conspiratorial wink and tapped the side of his nose twice. "Gotta hunch."
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Post by dannyblue on Jun 10, 2009 0:54:54 GMT -5
Danny looked up hearing the gruff voice. He stared at the man for a moment, attempting to place him. Oh, of course. Who could forget a name like Jensen Flynn. Better to make friends than enemies. Jensen was the man with the serious frown and the smart mouth. And wasn't just curious that Jensen also lived down the hall from Danny's new apartment.
Danny smirked, "Hawkeye's Gal is my hunch. I think I'll stick with that. And..." Danny glanced around, before addressing Jensen again, "If you're willing to placed the bet, I'll pony up a bit and we can both cash in? Sound fit?"
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Post by Jensen Flynn on Jun 10, 2009 2:27:13 GMT -5
Jensen snorted inelegantly. "Good one, Blue," he chuckled, clapping a hand on Danny's shoulder, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, "but I didn't get the job yesterday, you get what I'm saying? I can smell that one a mile away. Please tell me you're just having an off day. The stories of Danny Blue are practically legendary. I'd just hate to find out that man and the myth are so far detached."
He was riding Danny, but only a bit. He had heard of Danny Blue, but probably no more often than others. People in their line of work loved to bandy about stories of the new cons in town. Danny's stories tended to stick with Jensen better than others, though, on two counts: first, Danny was British, which was unusual in a game dominated by wops and micks, and made him more easily recognized; second, "Danny Blue" was just about the best name a grifter could have. One of those names that rolled off the tongue and stuck in your mind, right up there with Johnny Torrio and Giuseppe Morello and Frank Romero. No need for an alias with a name like that (assuming that wasn't his alias in the first place).
Jensen shifted, leaning casually against Danny's shoulder to take a peek at his betting slip. "So, you runnin' something here? Eighty-twenty cut, I'll help you out. On the level," he assured, giving him a wink. He did like the limey, after all. Well, he hadn't given him reason not to, anyway...
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Post by dannyblue on Jun 10, 2009 12:34:46 GMT -5
Danny laughed. Loud. He couldn't help it. But this was just too good. Of course he wasn't about to loose any money himself. He'd already placed his bet. Or rather, their bosses bet.
"Eighty-twenty? You must be joking, mate." Danny shook his head, his wide smile sticking around a while longer. "Honest Bob, it's Hawkeye's Gal. Yellow maybe the favorite, but not for this one..." He paused, "I'm tellin' ya..."
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Post by Jensen Flynn on Jun 10, 2009 14:59:02 GMT -5
Glancing around surreptitiously, Jensen casually opened his jacket, flashing Danny the thick wad of bills stowed in the inside pocket. "Not if Mr. Kelly has anything to say about it," he murmured. "Heading back to the paddock now." He levered himself off the counter and took a step away, then returned. "Tell you what, how 'bout a little side bet, you and me. See who's boss has the most sway. Loser buys lunch. You game?" He gave Danny a grin, one of the few sincere grins he possessed, and picked a stray wood shaving from the shoulder of Danny's otherwise impeccable suit jacket. "We live in the same building and work the same game. No need to go stirring up any bad blood." |
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Post by dannyblue on Jun 11, 2009 14:58:05 GMT -5
"Bad blood?" Danny looked to him rather incredulous. "Flynn, I like you. I do. You seem all right. But are you aware of the term 'shoot the messenger'? I'm nothin' to the boss, no matter what I pulled back home. He's more'n made that clear to me."
Danny shook his head, tearing up the slip, slowly, thinking. He had made his bet more than fifteen minutes ago. He only grabbed another slip for show, the real one in his pocket. Jensen just happened to come along just now? Was he following Danny? Was the Boss testing him?
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Post by Jensen Flynn on Jun 11, 2009 19:37:05 GMT -5
Jensen watched, a little confused, as Danny tore his betting slip in half, and then the answer dawned on him. He threw back his head and laughed.
"Oh, Danny! You have been set up, man!" Still chuckling, Jensen settled against the counter alongside Danny again, scrubbing a hand through his short hair and putting an arm around Danny's shoulders. "They did the same thing to me. One of the bosses will give you an assignment, somethin' cut-and-dried that you couldn't possibly cock up, and then another guy's sent out to throw a monkey wrench into your assignment." He glanced furtively around before leaning in close to whisper in Danny's ear, "Boss sent you to put a bet on a rigged race, then sent me to come and unrig the rigging! They wanna see what you do under pressure, how you handle yourself when the plan goes balls-up, and who you're gonna play for when things get tight. Mostly, though, I think they just like to watch us squirm."
Jensen levered off the counter again and stretched, rolling out his shoulders. "Tell you what. I like you, so I'm gonna give you the crib notes. You already put in the boss's bet, right? On, uh, Hawkeye's Gal? Go set another bet, same amount, on Demon. Demon's got this one, I can feel it in my bones." He winked and placed a hand over his heart--and the pocket holding the fall money. "Demon comes in, you cash in the ticket, and bring the money to the drop-off." He paused, then grinned. "And, ah, if you wanna place a little extra, get yourself a little something on the side, well... You know where to put your money."
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Post by dannyblue on Jun 13, 2009 1:04:04 GMT -5
"If you're takin' the piss, Flynn, I'll give ya a good hidin'..." Danny muttered, looking every bit distrungtled as before. He ignored Jensen, letting him simply wait as put down another bet, higher, enough to cover the last bet, plus a bit extra, hoping Jensen was honest with him.
He smiled to the man behind the booth, pocketing that ticket and turned to Jensen, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving a good squeeze. "But, I'm a fair man. If you're being true, I'll buy you lunch. After all I suppose it's smarter to make friends than enemies in this business?"
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Post by Jensen Flynn on Jun 13, 2009 12:38:51 GMT -5
"Good call, Blue," Jensen said appreciatively. "You might make it to the end of the week with all your limbs intact after all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a little errand to finish. Meet me in the stands in twenty? If Demon doesn't come out on top, I'll even give you a free shot." He turned, walking backward while facing Danny, and held his arms out, jutting his chin to indicate what he meant: if Demon lost and Danny determined Jensen had been feeding him a line of bull, Jensen would let him get in one good suckerpunch before the brawl.
Jensen laid a hand over his bulging breast pocket and gave Danny a half-assed salute and wink before turning and disappearing into the crowd, heading in the direction of the jockeys' locker room.
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