The Next Sure Thing (8 page)
“Do you know what you cost me, Cree?” he asked.
“Ten large?” I asked.
“More than that, buddy boy. I needed this race. I needed the win. You have no idea how badly.”
“Actually, I do.” I said.
“You do?”
“Yeah. Your goons let it slip that you owe a lot of money to Solly Dario.”
He flashed a look at Vic and Jerry, who shrugged and looked away. I could see him grip the tools tighter in his fist. “Yeah, well, none of that matters now. What matters is that you played me. You took my trust and my ten grand and set me back. Again. Bigger. With more consequences. And I got to even up now.”
He stepped up to Ashton, and Vic moved in to press him into his seat by pushing down on his shoulders. Hardy knelt and held the edge of the chisel just below his kneecap. “You ever seen a sculpture being made, Cree?”
“No,” I said, barely above a whisper.
“Messy. Bits of stuff flying all over. But before I start, I just want to ask you one question.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Who fronted you the grand to lay down on the horse?”
“I did.” The voice came from the door of the loading dock, and the three gangsters spun around to see who spoke.
“Solly,” Hardy said. The tools dropped onto the plastic.
Solly Dario and four of his men strode into the warehouse. They were all business. Vic and Jerry stepped back away from us. Solly stepped up to Hardy and stood mere inches away, staring at him sternly. “Come to collect,” he said.
“I ain’t got it, Solly. I woulda. But the kid played me.”
“Oh, I’m not here to collect from you, Winslow. I’m here to collect from Cree.”
Hardy looked at me and just stared with his mouth hanging wide open.
“Y
ou got a good kid here, Winslow. Be a shame to see you put him out of commission.” Solly began peeling off his gloves finger by finger and eyeing Hardy all the while. Ashton and I watched and waited.
“He don’t play straight, Solly,” Hardy said. “He’s got no code.”
“Fact is, he does.”
“Whattaya mean?”
Dario finished removing his gloves, folded them gently and laid them in the pocket of his overcoat.
“He’s got a code and he’s got moxie. He come to me. Told my boys you sent him, and he told me about your issue.”
“My issue?” Hardy put a hand against his chest and bowed slightly.
“You gave the kid a week to come up with the juice you still owe me. That’s a big load to throw off on a young kid. Especially one who has such a good high end as this kid does.”
“Solly, I was just taking care of your end.”
“My end takes care of itself, Winslow. Always has, always will. Like this kid walkin’ through my door. Good things just come to me.” Solly looked at them, and his four boys all grinned. “So he tells me about his gig with you. Then he tells me how he needs a hand to get this done. So I listen like any good businessman would. Turns out he wants to teach you something, and me, I figure that’s a good thing on accounta you being into me for so much means you could use a lesson in how things work.”
“I don’t get it,” Hardy said.
Dario patted him on the cheek.
“I know you don’t. The kid needed someone to front the cash for a big roll out on this horse. Said if I did, he would earn me back the vig and the juice from you and a whole lot more.”
“I still don’t get it,” Hardy said.
“And that’s why you’ll never be a good businessman, Winslow. See, the kid knew the horse would win, but he needed someone to take the attention off him at the last minute. Hence your ten large.
“You dumped this big wager, and it shows up in the win pool. That gets every player in the joint drooling, and they lay out more and no one touches the money horse. In fact, his odds go up. When that happens, I lay down my wager at the very last minute, and next thing you know, I’m collecting big. Big. And the thing is, the kid would only do it if your debt was cleared with the winnings.”
“He still played me for the sap,” Hardy said.
“Get over yourself, Winslow. The kid knew you could handle the ten grand. You were only sweating what you owed me. You were the means to the end, and if he played you, he did it perfectly. Perfectly. Kinda like he plays the blues.”
“You heard him?”
“Naturally. I said he had a good high end. Kid’s gonna make a big splash, and I’m in the front door.”
“So I owe you nothing?”
“That’s right. Free and clear. Just like the kid and his pal here.”
“But he still belongs to me, right? He still plays the track for me?”
“Winslow, you don’t hear so good sometimes. I said free and clear. Along with clearing your debt, he cleared himself too. That means his family, all the connections to him you got too. Granted, every now and then he’s going to do me a favor when a sure thing comes up, and maybe I’ll let you in on that action when it happens. Then again, maybe I won’t.”
“So what’s the lesson I’m supposed to learn here?” Hardy asked. He looked beat.
“Tell him, Cree.” Dario grinned.
Hardy looked at me. “There is only ever really one sure thing,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” Hardy said coldly. “And what might that be?”
“You have to make your own luck, because there’s never really a next sure thing.”
“Still talking in song lyrics, aren’t you?” Hardy asked.
As it turned out, I was.
W
e finished recording my first cd within a month. It was called
Sure
Thing Blues
, and the critics hailed it for the force of its guitar work and its intelligent lyrics. By the end of that summer, it was the number-one blues recording in the country and I had three prime videos and a major concert tour opening for Buddy Guy. Ashton became my manager. He put together one of the hottest bands on the planet to back me up, and we worked the crowds like rock and rollers. We were a hit. My father came to one of our gigs. When he came to the dressing room after, there were tears in his eyes.
“I never knew,” he said.
“Never knew what, Dad?” I asked.
He grabbed me into the first real big hug I remember getting from him and held me tight for a long time. “Never knew the many ways we can be blessed. You’ve been blessed with incredible music, and I’ve been blessed with a musician and a son.”
We’ve been real tight ever since.
Hardy faded away, and even though I caught sight of him the few times I ventured to the track, he pretended not to see me. That was fine with me. Solly Dario financed the cd, the video and the equipment, and the buses and the trucks we needed to tour, but was content to be a silent partner. No one ever knew about our connection. Still, when there were good numbers in the racing form I let him know. I don’t know if he ever made the bets, and I don’t care. What mattered was that I was on my way to becoming the next great bluesman. I settled into the life of writing and playing and chasing my star across the heavens that had opened up for me.
Oh, and what Hardy said about talking in song lyrics? He was right. The first single from my debut album was called “The Next Sure Thing.”
You can make your money in the fields all day,
Or you can make your money in a different
way,
But you gotta get up and show your pluck,
Because winners are the ones who make
their own kind of luck.
There’s winners and there’s losers, and
here’s the thing:
You can waste a lot of time waitin’ on the
next sure thing.
RICHARD WAGAMESE
is one of Canada’s foremost Native authors and journalists. In a career spanning thirty-two years, he has worked in newspapers, radio, television and publishing, and has won numerous awards for his work. Awarded an Honorary Doctor of Letters degree from Thompson Rivers University in 2010, he lives outside of Kamloops, British Columbia, with his wife and Molly the Story Dog.
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Fit to Kill
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Generation Us
The Challenge of Global
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The Middle Ground
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The Next Sure Thing
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Orchestrated Murder
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Ortona Street Fight
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