Three sets of eyes bored into me as my “friends” spun around.
“Congratulate!” Guido snarled. “I’ll give ’em congratulate.”
“Wait a minute,” Shai-ster interrupted. “What did you mean, ‘too’?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. I just won a sizable bet on the last match.”
“How sizable?”
“Well, sizable for me,” I qualified. “I stand to collect fifty gold pieces.”
“Fifty,” Guido snorted. “You know how much we lost on that fiasco?”
“Lost?” I frowned. “Didn’t you know the Reds were favored?”
“Of course we knew,” Shai-ster snarled. “That’s why we were set to make a killing when they lost.”
“But what made you think they were going to … Oh! Was that what you were talking about when you said you were going into gambling?”
“That’s right. The red team was supposed to take a graceful dive in the third round. We paid them enough … more than enough, actually.”
He sounded so much like Grimble I couldn’t resist taking a cheap shot.
“Judging from the outcome, it sounds to me that you paid them a little less than enough.”
“It’s not funny. Now, instead of recouping our losses, we’ve got another big loss to explain to the Big Boys.”
“Oh come on, Shai-ster,” I smiled. “How much can it cost to fix a fight?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “But when you figure in the investment money we just lost, it comes to….”
“Investment money?”
“He means the bet,” Guido supplied.
“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s the risk you take when you try to make a killing.”
An evil smile flitted across Shai-ster’s face.
“Oh, we’re going to make a killing, all right,” he said. “It’s time the locals at this Bazaar learned what it means to cross the Mob.”