Work First, Show Tunes Afterwards, Capisce?

It's easy hours in the city that never sleeps, and the after midnight crowd lingers along the shadows of its broken down bars and alley's. A couple of well greased drunks spill from the corner saloon where they shadow box a lone car as it passes. It's trash night, and the rats are feasting on the refuse of the masses. That’s my New York! On a good night, you can mask its acrimony with a stiff drink and night out with your girl. But, tonight, as it turns out, is not one of those nights. My name is Jake, Jake Tolliver, and an hour ago, I was standing outside my girl's apartment waiting on a call from her bookie about tomorrow's games. I love football – Teams, coaches, players, stats – I love it all. What do you want to know? Deon Sanders? He's an eight-time Pro Bowler with 53 career interceptions and ranks second in NFL history with 25.1-yards per interception return on average. Did I mention that I have a photographic memory? I live and breathe stats. I have to credit my dad for that. He helped me develop a mind for the game. It was one of the few relationships that seemed to flourish in my life, especially in the weeks leading up to football season. Here's the angle that I was working tonight. The Oakland Raiders have one of the highest injury rates in the league and they just signed Davonte Adams to a five year, hundred forty million dollar contract, to join their organization. Thing is, the Raiders don’t have a player problem, they have a coaching problem. The team has a weak offensive line, which will in all likelihood end up costing the Raiders a butt load of money in contract fees, while still ending the season without a Super Bowl bid. I know this because, from draft to preseason games, my dad and I pour over everything we can find on each team's players and coaching staff. After sifting through all that data we make our predictions. Lots and lots of predictions. Dad writes them down before each game and then afterwards we analyze game stats with our stats to see where our calls are right or why we got it wrong. It's all up here in my head. I could totally coach, but I don’t really have any connection to the game. I never played in school and got cut as a walk on in college. Then, a few years ago, my dad died. It's been hard without him. I didn’t have anyone else to connect with and no outlet for all this information floating around in my head. Then, one night about six months ago, I was feeling restless. So, I went out for a walk. Next thing I know, I’m in a bar in Queens watching the Cowboys play the 49ers. I start a tab with the bartender and plant myself at the end of the bar. I neatly placed five napkins around me. On the first, I jot basic player matchup stats and with the second, I keep track of downs per drive and used play calls. The third is for those pesky little poker tells players have that indicate a particular play call. With my fourth, I keep track of fumbles, blitzes and Sacs and with the fifth I make future call predictions. All these stats start swirlin' and connecting in my head and I’m talking out loud to myself and yelling at the coaches on the television set behind the bar. I’m four beers deep and five minutes into the fourth quarter when this chick, Cheryl, gets up from her seat in the corner and sits down on the stool next to me. She places her hand on my wrist and gives it a squeeze and says, “Hi, I’m Cheryl.” She makes small talk while I’m working out the game in my head. Then she casually says, “So you like football.” And I say, “Yeah, I guess it shows.” Next thing I know, she's asking me questions, like she’s interested in the game – or me – or both. Turns out, Cheryl's a gambler who likes to bet on better than even odds. We hit it off like clockwork, and now we’re going out every night; midnight boat tours on the Hudson, Crazy Golf, at “Swingers." rooftop bars and live jazz in Greenwich Village. This city comes alive at night for those who can afford it, and that's no problem for me, cause I’ve got Cheryl, and Cheryl’s got a bookie. 

That’s where it started anyway. We kept our betting's small to avoid big losses or attracting the attention of bigger fish. Next thing I know I’m driving a Beamer, living in a million dollar apartment and Cheryl's my girlfriend. Thank you brain!

I’ve got one small problem though, which, as it turns out, is really a big problem called, “The Mob!” You see, Cheryl told a few of her friends about our betting, who with Cheryl's help, started ghost betting larger bets on my bets. And because it’s gambling, and since the Mob isn’t in the business of losing money – well, here I am, standing in a bucket at the end of the East Atlantic pier with my hands tied behind my back. Goodbye apartment – goodbye Mercedes – goodbye Cheryl. You can’t win them all! Actually, that's not true, I did – which is why they’re mixing the cement. 

“Frank, who’s Cement Shoes talkin' to?” 

“I don’t know Nico, maybe he’s saying his prayers or something. Or, maybe he’s figured out the winner of the super bowl, eh Nico? Now that would be a game changer! Ha! Game changer – see what I did there? Hey, Nico, help me mix this cement here, will ya?”

A couple of regular Hammerheads. Excuse me while I work things out. “Listen boys, I'm starting to lose the circulation in my hands. What do you say we loosen these ropes and talk about how we can make this right?”

“Nico, I think Cement Shoes is talkin' to us.”

“Yeah, I heard him, Frank. Ain't a hammerhead a kind a shark?”

“Nah, I think he’s referrin' to us in the derogatory.” 

“That ain’t very nice Shoes. Just for the record, Frank and me, wants you to know that this ain’t personal!”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t even be doin this if we could find us a better way to make a living right Nico? Thing is, Nico and me got a gift for making money we learnt in the 4th grade. You could say we was ‘playground entrepreneurs’. At least, until the principal caught wind of us. Back then, we had these kids we would squeeze for their lunch money. Then one day, Nico here, was feelin ‘entrepreneurial,’ and says to me, ‘Hey Frank, let’s put the squeeze on all of 'em!’ Remember Nico, that was the day all of 4th grade showed up to the cafeteria without no lunch money.” 

“Even then, no one ratted. Frank made sure of that, right Frank. You see, Shoes, there was this kid that rode our bus, and Frank gave it to him every day in the back seat where the bus driver couldn't see him. Everybody knew it, and ‘nobodys’ wanted to be that kid!”

“Hence, everybody kept their trap shut. We gets older – word spreads, and now Nico and me – we got no problems findin' work. In fact, after we finish here, we got a little ‘cash flow’ problem up in Harlem to fix.”

“Okay Frank, enough talk, time to pour the cement in the bucket.”

These guys! Anyway, like I was saying. I know sports. But, I also know the people, like these ball breakers, who are associated with sports betting. They’re a very habit forming group of people. Learn their little habits and you develop some insight into how they play their game. Watch for those habits and you start seeing patterns. Watch for those patterns, and you can predict the outcome. So, right now you're probably wondering what my chances are of getting out of here alive. Well honestly, not too good, but I like a long shot. The payoff is… 

“Nico, what’d ya knock him in the head for?”

“He was creepin' me out. It was like he was narratin' a story to somebody out there.”

“To who - would he be narratin'? There's nobody out here but us, and the fish.”

“That’s what was creepin' me out. It was like he was – Hey Frank, I think you were supposed to say, ‘to whom!’”

“Nico, stop jawing and help me pour this cement!”

“You said, ‘to who’ but I think you shoulda said, ‘to whom’”

“Nico, are you correcting me?”

“I’m Sorry Frank. I just thought you might want to improve yourself.”

“Nico, I don’t think a guy who got kicked outta 6th grade should be giving English advice to me or nobodys!” 

“Hey, I didn’t drop out! I was expelled on account of my car stalled out on the way to school.”

“Okay, that’s not what happened and you know it. What really happened was this! Nico and me was supposed to skip school and hang out at the movies with Genevieve Pincerini.” 

“Frank, who you talkin' to?”

“Shadup Nico, I’m tryin' to tell a story here! I was sayin', we ‘borrows’ the neighbors four speed, only it stalls out in front of the police station cause Nico here, can’t reach the clutch, and see out the front window at the same time, on account of he’s a shorty.”

“Frank! You’re not going to start with that again? You know, young people these days find them kinds of references offensive.”

“He can't help it. It's in his genetics.”

“It ain’t in my genetics and I’m just as tall as you or anybodys else!”

“Yeah, if anybodys else is size elf!”

“Frank! I’m warning you. Stop telling people I’m short!”

“People – what people? There ain’t nobodys out there but the sharks, right? Oh, look, Shoes is gettin' his wits back. Sorry about that little headache there, you was creepin Nico out, so he gave you a conk on the beanie.”

“Guys, is this really necessary? I mean that waters gotta be like 50 degrees, and did I mention I’m allergic to sharks? There’s gotta be some way we work this out here!” 

“Hey, Frank, Shoes here says he’s allergic to sharks. Perhaps we coulds sooth him with a little Broadway tune. Whadda ya say? I’ll start! 

 Oh the shark, babe, 

has such teeth, deer 

and he shows them pearly white. 

Come on Frank, it's ‘Mack the Knife,’ one of your favorites.”

“Not now, Nico, we got cement to pour.” 

“Awe, come on, Frank. Why can’t we have a little fun? Anyways, what's it matter to Cement Shoes here if he gets to breathe air a little longer. He’ll be swimmin' with the fishes' soon enough. Hey, remember that job last week up in SoHo, where we sang ‘New York, New York,’ from the eleventh floor balcony while that fat lawyer took a leap. He just missed that guy carrying groceries. Remember that Frank?”

“Yeah, I remember. He made a real impression!” 

“Ha! That’s a good one Frank! Whaddya says we send him off with a little New York ‘pizzazz.’ Hey, Shoes, watch this! Frank and me does this dance routine – we could be on Broadway, right Frank?” 

“Okay, Nico, but you gotta call out the steps on account of my two left feet.” 

“Sure Frank, it starts with two jazz squares, followed by - step together - rock - step and repeat it the other way – then, we holds our hands together high in the air – dainty like - and do a grape vine to the left on our tippy toes. Watch out for the edge of the pier Frank, you don’t want to end up shark bait like Shoes back there. Okay, now we bring it home with a grapevine back to center, and – jazz hands – way out to the side while I spin around for the big finish. Well – whaddaya think Shoes? … ah, Frank?”

“Not now Nico, I’m holdin' for applause!”

“Frank, I think Cement Shoes is gettin away.”

“Dammit Nico! This is your fault!”

“My fault? How come it’s my fault?”

“Because show tunes always gets you distracted. If I said it once, I said it a thousand times – work first, show tunes afterwards – Capisce?"

"Sorry Frank. Looks like the sharks is goin' hungry tonight. You think boss is gonna be angry?”

“Come on. It's still early. Maybe we catch him again before he makes trouble for us.”

Psst. I’m down here – hanging off the pier. I untied my hands while they were dancing and used the rope to get out of sight. So, what do you think of my odds now? Getting better huh? I wish we could stay here forever, but it seems like a good time to take a little vacation – Perhaps somewhere where the fish ain’t bitin'? Whaddaya think?