Post by lucky on Mar 6, 2007 22:43:46 GMT -5
Gareth knew that if he could get that gnawing feeling out of the back of his mind, he'd totally be able to enjoy this newfound success. But until someone came along and cut the top of his head off, he doubted that was going to happen anytime soon.
He slumped down into his chair and finished the last of his beer. His brother, Michael, tall and slender and looking more like their mother than Gareth, sat his own empty down on a nearby counter, stacking it next to at least a dozen other empties. He handed his younger brother a bottle, opened his own, and sat down next to him.
"Three days in a row, Gar," Michael laughed, "I don't know how you got on such a hot streak, but I have to say I'm enjoying the rewards." Michael looked at the concerned expression on his brother's face and frowned.
"Apparently I'm enjoying it more than you are," he observed, "What's wrong?" Gareth shrugged and took a swig from the bottle.
"I dunno," he finally piped up after a few moments of silence, "All this luck lately seems to be somewhat unnatural."
It did seem a little odd. Earlier in the week, Michael and their other sibling David took him out to the racetrack to celebrate his 25th birthday. Gareth rarely gambled - he didn't like the idea of throwing away money when he could barely afford heat for his apartment - but his brothers insisted. They gave him $100 and told him to spend it on whichever horses he wanted. They handed him a pen and a racing form and told him to go to town.
And he did.
As he read over the form, he could almost feel the numbers clicking and adding in his head. Almost by instinct, he checked off which horses he expected to win. He turned in the form and by the end of the day that $100 had turned into $6,000. His brothers were stunned. And then thrilled. Gareth wasn't so sure. Two more trips and $10,000 later, and he was convinced something unusual was going on inside of him.
"Maybe you just have a natural talent for this, kid," Michael told him, "You know, like that retarded guy in that movie who could play the piano really good?"
"Are you calling me retarded?" he nearly laughed, flinging bottlecaps at the empties twenty feet away, nailing each one and knocking them over, causing each one to roll into a nearby wastebasket. It almost didn't occur to him to stop and think how in the hell did I just do that?
"Ok, here's what we do," Michael said, sitting up, looking very excited, "Mirah and I went to this great casino in Vegas last year. One of those Linderman Group places with the fancy waterfall. Let's go down there this weekend and see just how really good you are."
"I dunno."
"Come on! A weekend in Vegas isn't going to hurt you."
Will it?
He slumped down into his chair and finished the last of his beer. His brother, Michael, tall and slender and looking more like their mother than Gareth, sat his own empty down on a nearby counter, stacking it next to at least a dozen other empties. He handed his younger brother a bottle, opened his own, and sat down next to him.
"Three days in a row, Gar," Michael laughed, "I don't know how you got on such a hot streak, but I have to say I'm enjoying the rewards." Michael looked at the concerned expression on his brother's face and frowned.
"Apparently I'm enjoying it more than you are," he observed, "What's wrong?" Gareth shrugged and took a swig from the bottle.
"I dunno," he finally piped up after a few moments of silence, "All this luck lately seems to be somewhat unnatural."
It did seem a little odd. Earlier in the week, Michael and their other sibling David took him out to the racetrack to celebrate his 25th birthday. Gareth rarely gambled - he didn't like the idea of throwing away money when he could barely afford heat for his apartment - but his brothers insisted. They gave him $100 and told him to spend it on whichever horses he wanted. They handed him a pen and a racing form and told him to go to town.
And he did.
As he read over the form, he could almost feel the numbers clicking and adding in his head. Almost by instinct, he checked off which horses he expected to win. He turned in the form and by the end of the day that $100 had turned into $6,000. His brothers were stunned. And then thrilled. Gareth wasn't so sure. Two more trips and $10,000 later, and he was convinced something unusual was going on inside of him.
"Maybe you just have a natural talent for this, kid," Michael told him, "You know, like that retarded guy in that movie who could play the piano really good?"
"Are you calling me retarded?" he nearly laughed, flinging bottlecaps at the empties twenty feet away, nailing each one and knocking them over, causing each one to roll into a nearby wastebasket. It almost didn't occur to him to stop and think how in the hell did I just do that?
"Ok, here's what we do," Michael said, sitting up, looking very excited, "Mirah and I went to this great casino in Vegas last year. One of those Linderman Group places with the fancy waterfall. Let's go down there this weekend and see just how really good you are."
"I dunno."
"Come on! A weekend in Vegas isn't going to hurt you."
Will it?