bets to every ten you lose-52.38 per cent-just to break even.'
'Right, because thieves like your old man take ten per cent juice.'
'Bullcrap!' Scott said. 'Dad's entitled to his vig.
'Cool it, Scott,' Bobby said.
'What about this underdog stuff, Einstein?' LaBarca asked. 'You telling me you like Green Bay tomorrow?'
'A lot, a scabillion!' Scott said.
'Scott, let me handle this.' Bobby gave his son a sharp look.
'I would, Dad, but this is too important to me.'
'To you? It's my bet.'
'It's my life! I don't want to get punted to some nerdy boarding school where I gotta wear a coat and tie. So, please, just let me-'
'Scott! I'm your father.'
'And I'm not,' LaBarca broke in. 'I'm not related to either one of you, thank Christ. Gallagher, you can't even control your own kid. Ever try slapping him around?'
'No.'
'Didn't think so.' He fixed Bobby with a dark-eyed glare. 'A bet's a bet. You gotta know that, Gallagher.'
He turned back to his telescope and peered down toward the pool deck. 'Hey kid, you wanna see some topless babes? Even from this distance I can pick out the real from the silicone.'
'Maybe you've never heard of the letdown trend,' Scott said, not willing to give in.
'You should bet against the league's highest scoring team of the prior week. The probability is that they won't cover the spread, either as favorite or underdog.'
'I'm not sure Mr. LaBarca wants to hear this,' Scott,' Bobby said.
'Sure I do. Go ahead, kid.'
Scott smiled. 'If the team has two high-scoring weeks in a row, bet against them the third week, and always bet against any team that manages to score more than one hundred points over a three-game spread, especially if that team has held its opponents to nine points or less in the last two games. Dallas scored the most points and gave up the least in the playoffs. They're due to break some shop.'
'To break what?'
'You know, to do something janky and shiesty, to let down.'
Vinnie LaBarca regarded the boy suspiciously. 'In the conference championship game?'
'The stats apply to the playoffs, too. I have the numbers on my computer at home if you want to see them.'
'Are you sure?' LaBarca sounded dubious, but a note of uncertainty crept into his voice.
'Even if you don't believe the letdown theory, Green Bay is a home underdog in a big game. Betting the home dog is one of the best strategies.'
'I know. I know. I've been making money on home dogs before you were born.' He seemed to think it over, then stood up, wrapping a terrycloth towel around his midsection. After a moment, he said, 'Nine points.'
'How's that?' Bobby asked.
'The line has moved to nine. Betting Green Bay today, I'd get the home dog plus nine.'
Scott knew immediately where LaBarca was headed, and he did some quick permutations. If LaBarca wanted to hedge his bet, it could be very good for Dad. But it could be very bad, too. As the men continued talking, Scott quietly figured the odds of each possibility.
At first Bobby didn't understand, but then he brightened. 'You want to hedge the six hundred thousand? Good thinking. Very smart. Definitely. The smart money does that a lot when the line moves-'
'You ain't gonna fuck me up the ass, Gallagher, so save the grease job.'
'Okay, okay. But you do want to split the bet, right?'
Hoping, praying. God, let him do it. I'll never break any of the major Commandments again.
'Yeah,' LaBarca said. 'I'm gonna cut you a break, Gallagher, 'cause I always liked you and you got a good kid there, even with his smart mouth. I got six hundred thousand on Dallas minus seven. Now, I'm taking six hundred thousand on Green Bay plus nine. It's a good deal for you. If the bets cancel each other out, you make sixty thousand in vig. I win if either game falls right on one of the numbers. If Dallas wins by either seven or nine, one bet is a push, and I win the other bet for six hundred thousand. Are we on?'
Bobby's mind raced. It wasn't as good as canceling the bets. He still ran the risk of losing six hundred thousand he didn't have. But now, the odds were with him. He should win sixty grand unless he was monumentally unlucky. 'Of course we're on.'
'Don't do it, Dad!' Scott said, raising his voice.
'Now what?' LaBarca looked annoyed.
'You could really get hammered, Dad.'
'Look, Gallagher, I'm not gonna take all day with you. Do we have a bet or not?'
'Yes! Scott, keep quiet.'
'But, Dad…'
'You heard me!' Bobby's voice carried a threat.
'Kid, listen to your old man,' LaBarca said.
'I'm sorry, Vinnie,' Bobby apologized, grabbing Scott and pushing him toward the balcony door. 'We're outta here. Thanks.'
'Don't mention it,' LaBarca said, turning back to his telescope.
Bobby hurried through the apartment and into the elevator, hoping to get out of there before LaBarca changed his mind. Once the elevator door closed, Bobby turned to Scott and said, 'I don't know what got into you in there.'
Scott didn't answer, just stood there sulking.
As they exited into the lobby, Bobby laughed and said, 'My boy, I think my luck has changed. The momentum has shifted. Steady breezes and sunny skies ahead.'
They were inside the old Lincoln limo before Bobby realized that his son hadn't said a word since being hushed inside the apartment. 'Okay, what is it?'
Scott shrugged and said, 'Chances are you'll win the sixty thousand. And like Mr. LaBarca said, there's a small possibility that the game will fall right on one of the numbers and you'll lose the six hundred thousand. But there's another chance that something even more skanky could happen. If the Mustangs win by eight, you've been middled. Mr. LaBarca wins his bet on the Mustangs because they'll have covered the seven, and he'll win his bet on Green Bay because he gets nine points on that one. You'll lose both bets, one-point-two million dollars.'
Bobby was shaking his head. The math was right, but he wouldn't accept it. Couldn't accept it. He had a way out, and he wouldn't let the stone cold logic of the Kingsley genes defeat him. 'Nobody's luck is that bad,' Bobby said, praying it was true.
'It's not good for business if you care for a second whether blood is bubbling from a guy's mouth.'
— Joey Browner, former Minnesota Vikings safety
' Hurt is all in your mind.'
— Vince Lombardi
17
Sunday, January 29-Green Bay, Wisconsin
Bobby Gallagher looked out of the window and thought he was flying over Siberia. The frozen tundra of the American Midwest was below him, and he shivered just thinking about those poor cheeseheads who'd be sitting all
