Further Joy Read Free Page A

He had to wait fifteen minutes for the bank to open, and then he went in and withdrew everything he could from his checking without having to close the account—a little over two grand. He didn’t love the idea of using cash, of using a live bookie, but that last credit card didn’t have nearly enough room on it, so here he was, doing this the old-fashioned way. This was the way desperate people bet and he was desperate.
    The teller asked if he needed anything else and he said he did. Garner had an old money market he’d opened with the commission from his first big deal. He’d never touched it, had planned to leave it be until he was older, when he’d be able to tell people it was the first score he’d ever made. Then he’d do something magnanimous with it, maybe gift it to some ambitious young man he would have begun to mentor.
    It hadn’t had time to accrue much interest; it was still around five thousand. Garner drew a steadying breath and told the teller he wanted to close the money market.
    On the drive back to the coast, he felt a pang of contrition over the fact that he’d gotten the information for the bet he was about to make from Ainsley, information she wasn’t supposed to have shared with him, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. No one would find out why he’d made the bet, and no one was getting cheated except the bookie. He’d makethis one bet, and after he won he could figure out a better way to get some money coming in.
    He pulled up behind Cuss Seafood, an ancient, tidy diner where everyone knew the owner took wagers. Garner had never been in the place. He poked his head into the storeroom and asked for Cuss and after a minute a wiry black man with one of his eyes askew walked out and accepted Garner’s money like it was twenty bucks. Cuss reeked of harsh, outdated soap. It was hard to tell if he was looking at Garner or off into the live oaks. He peered at Garner’s driver’s license, scribbled in a little booklet, then slipped Garner’s cash into a blue envelope stamped LOWER COUNTRY ENTERTAINMENT . “You sure this just for entertainment?” he said. “We a entertainment outfit.”
    Saturday morning Garner’s mother’s hot water heater crapped out. He insisted to her that he’d take care of it, having no clue how much a hot water heater cost. He wasn’t going to look into it until after the game. A hot water heater would be the least of his worries if he lost the bet. He’d get to find out what rock bottom felt like.
    He skipped a cold shower. Down at the end of the block he puffed away at one of his Russian cigarettes and when he got back to the house his mother’s friends were appearing. They were putting hors d’oeuvres together for the game. They liked to watch it here, on the big TV.
    Garner said his hellos and returned each woman’s hug. The big woman who tottered around in high heels, the skinny one who always wore a ball cap. Lucas’s mother was there again. Lucas’s band was rehearsing, she said, or he would’ve come over. They were getting ready to record a demo, so they had to practice every chance they got. They always received terrific reviews in the local papers, Lucas’s mother told Garner. He should go listen to them sometime.
    â€œSure,” he said. “I just might do that.”
    He spent another couple minutes turning down the food the women offered him, then claimed he wasn’t feeling well and retired to his room towatch the game on a tiny old TV set that normally stayed in the back of the closet. Garner didn’t want to be around people for the game. He snuck out and fetched a beer from the fridge during the highlight show that aired during warm-ups, thinking the alcohol would dampen his nerves, but it tasted stale and he only got about half the bottle down.
    He saw the opening kickoff, saw the spheroid spinning end over end against the