MoneyBall

John’s Viewpoint

John watched as the cards danced at his fingertips. They multiplied and fanned through his hands, jumping and flying. He wished he had enough money so that he could do the same with ten-dollar-bills. He set the cards down on the coffee table that had a missing leg and sat back on the sofa. 

He sighed. 

He looked around and sighed even more. Dishes were piled up against the moldy sink, cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and trash was littered everywhere. The stains in the carpet did nothing to help, and all the furniture he had scavenged from the junkyard was broken. 

He looked around the couch, searching for the TV remote, which was probably under all the used lottery tickets. Just simply looking at them made him seethe with anger, and he crumpled them into his fist, unleashing all his fury. 

He couldn’t explain his frustration with the lottery tickets. It had all started back in high school when he had dropped out. 

Moving away from his parents to a small town in the middle of nowhere, somehow managing to scrape enough money to rent an apartment from his friend, and then the lottery tickets. 

He thought they would lift him out of his misery. I mean, his chances weren’t that bad.

He could make it one day. He could win.

He finally found the remote for the TV, and aimlessly switched through the channels for some time. The sun had set, and the only lightbulb in the apartment flickered on and off. The TV wasn’t faring that well either, but it was better than nothing.

Closer to midnight, when John was about to switch off the TV, something made him pause, with the finger on the power button. 

“This is just in, from the Megaball lottery!” the host said. 

“We have a man, from Orchard Park, Pennsylvania-which is a small rural town-that apparently seems to be the winner of the lottery this week! And the stakes are higher than usual, with 50 million dollars!”

John’s heart started beating faster. “No way,” he muttered under his breath. 

That was where he lived. Orchard Park. A measly little town with around 50 people. And only one convenience store to buy lottery tickets from. It was always him who bought them. The store owner often complained that if more people came to buy lottery tickets, he’d have more business. 

John knew he just had to check if he had won. It could be him. He was 90% sure. 

John rummaged throughout the apartment, looking for the ticket he had bought earlier that week. After an hour’s worth of searching, he had finally found it. The six numbers: 20, 32, 31, 40, 89, and… he couldn’t make out the last number, as it was faded. Still, his excitement rose. He had 5 matching numbers. That would be thousands. But, he wanted the jackpot. He had come so far. 

He saw the QR code to scan at the bottom but slammed his fist into the couch in frustration. He didn’t have a phone. 

But the convenience store did.

So John threw on his coat and ran outside, huffing and puffing. It was only a 5-minute walk, but John was in a full sprint, with the lottery ticket tightly clutched in his hand.

He skidded to a stop at the door of the convenience store some two minutes later, winded from his run. 

He hurried inside and headed straight for the counter. In his hurry, though, he bumped into another man standing right at the counter, who was getting his lottery ticket checked. 

John knocked the man onto the ground, and the duffels that the man had been holding flew into the air. Newspapers littered the air, falling like snow, covering the floor of the store. 

“What’s going on?” John yelled, not understanding what was happening with the newspapers.

John pushed the newspapers to the side, wondering why that man had brought them. His only focus was the lottery ticket.

And then it hit him: The ticket was no longer in his hands. He frantically felt his coat pockets but came up with nothing.

“Sorry, sir,” the man with the duffels was apologizing profusely while John ignored him. 

Then John turned around. “What’s your name?” he asked. 

“Bob, sir.”

“Okay then, Bob. I’m going to call the police now. You made me lose my million-dollar WINNING lottery ticket!”

John grabbed the landline and punched in a nine, followed by a one. His finger rested on the second 1.

He looked threateningly at Bob, who tried arguing.

“That wasn’t my fault!

His voice faltered with the deadly stare John gave him. And then as fast as lightning, Bob ran out of the store.

John didn’t bother to follow him.

Bob

Bob kept cursing himself while he ran out of the store. How could he be so foolish? 

It had all started when he had seen his lottery ticket numbers on TV. They had matched. Or so he had thought. He couldn’t read properly anyway. He had grabbed two duffels from his paper route to keep the money in. And then it was a mad rush to reach the convenience store. 

He was clueless enough to think that the store would give him his winnings right away, on-demand.

He thought he could go home a free man with his money. And then that man had shown up, threatening to call the police. Bob wasn’t exactly a model citizen, too. He didn’t want to get involved with the cops.

And now Bob had lost his ticket. 

“I really am quite clueless,” Bob muttered over and over again while he ran as fast as he could.

Martin

Martin took a deep breath in, savoring the icy-cold air. His eyes darted around, looking for anything or anybody suspicious. 

He liked to think of himself as a detective-for a town of 50 people. He was always on alert. Even now, when he was off duty. 

He stared at the Christmas lights of the store across the street from him and slipped into a trance. He was shaken awake by the quickening of footsteps against the snow. 

His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with a sight of Bob, who was hurrying away with his two duffels. 

“Hey! You there!” Martin shouted. His shouts were met by a quick gaze by Bob, who then ran a bit faster. In the distance, he could hear the shouts of another man: “Hey! Give me my lottery ticket back!”

Martin knew something was up. The duffels, how the man was running away… Something didn’t add up.

So Martin set off in the pursuit, chasing Bob. 

They ran endlessly, and finally, Martin’s large frame overpowered Bob’s dwarf-like character. 

Martin snapped some handcuffs on Bob and led him to his detective interrogation chamber, which was just his apartment. Sometimes detectives had to compromise.

“Look, sir. It wasn’t me. I swear.”

“Yeah, right. Do you think you can fool me? I ain’t that gullible.”

“He bumped into me and stole my lottery ticket.”

“So now you’re playing the reverse game, huh? Killing two birds with one stone.” Martin chuckled. 

“Listen, smartypants. Just confess. It’ll be easier. I can take you to the nearest police station and you’ll go home scot-free.”

“No. He took my ticket. He was just threatening me to make me leave. I felt it, trust me!”

They kept arguing back and forth for the next ten minutes.

John

John couldn’t stop laughing after he got back to his apartment. He held the winning lottery ticket in his hand, whooping with joy. Of course, it didn’t have his name on it. It had Bob’s. 

It had been so simple. He might have not been able to read the last number on the card at first, but he had later realized that the first digit in the number on TV was one, while his card read 4. 

He had known it had been Bob who had gotten the winning numbers.

It had been simple from there on; using the power of sleight of hand and then accusing Bob so that he was scared and off. The card tricks had really helped him.

John was set for life now.

Martin

Meanwhile, Martin was dealing with Bob. 

After their bickering had ceased, Martin was starting to lean towards Bob’s side of the story. Why didn’t the man at the store chase him? Why did he get so upset over a lottery ticket? They could have talked it out and gotten it sorted out. 

So Martin realized it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, so he headed over to the convenience store in anticipation. 

He asked the owner around, and indeed a man with the name of John had won. That must have been him. 

With a surprising flash of horror, Martin realized what John had done. He had stolen millions from Bob. But he couldn’t do anything now. 

Martin was too late.