Week Thirteen Journal Two

It had been quite some time since Dale had gone to the bar, and even longer since he had seen Bill Johnson, so meeting Bill in the bar was a little awkward of a feeling. Dale put his car in park and pulled the keys out, mentally preparing for the fifty foot walk to the door, treacherous in the dead of winter in the northern United States.

Pulling open the door, Dale felt a familiar aroma waft up his nasal passages; beer and cigarettes; although the county had outlawed smoking in public places, the Rusty Bronco had yet to conform. He walked along the bar, nodding to the bartender as though he knew him, and finally found Bill, at a table no more than five feet from the end of the bar.

“Grab a chair, old friend, I already got us a pitcher,” said Bill. What a greeting.

Dale turned around and grabbed a chair from an empty table behind him. “So what’s the occasion, man? We haven’t talked for quite awhile.”

“No occasion, I’ve just been getting kind of lonely and you’ve always been a good friend to me, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to reconnect, ya know?” responded Bill.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you.” Dale thought that Bill was only trying to get together because he needed something, which was usually what he did; now, Dale was feeling pretty stupid. Bill was always a good friend, he always had your back, but he was a bit of a mooch. He also hated awkwardly long pauses in conversation, which was a plus.

“So, you still driving those kids around?”

“Yeah, I still drive the school bus. It’s really not a bad gig,” Dale was mildly offended, it wasn’t like Bill ever had steady employment, “Where are you working these days?”

“Funny story actually, I don’t work.”

“Yeah, you were never really much of a worker.”

“Yeah, I know. That old gambling addiction of mine finally paid off though, so you can consider all those years of losing my work. I paid my dues.”

“Congratulations. Did you get one of those giant checks?”

“Naw, I didn’t win the actual lottery, not even a million dollars. I won on one of those scratch offs from a gas station. Two hundred fifty thousand, a little less after the man took his cut,” Bill seemed a little nervous saying this, which Dale felt was strange, but who wouldn’t have a little quiver in their voice after winning that much money.

“Man, I never play those scratch offs, but it sounds like maybe I should start. That’d be a nice chunk of change,” responded Dale, a little bit jealous that his friend had been a slacker his whole life and had it pay off.

“Yeah, would you want to win that?” asked Bill.

Dale was completely confused, “Yeah, of course, who wouldn’t?”

“That’s really why I had you meet me here. See, I have a guy who works for the state lottery. He takes some scratch offs from the headquarters, I’m talking like thousands at once, but makes sure that they still appear as though they were shipped to the proper location.”

“Bill, I never even said I wanted to do this,” Dale was mildly offended that Bill wanted him to do something highly illegal.

“You said you wanted money, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, whatever. Tell me this scam you got going and than I’ll let you know if I’m in. It’s got to be airtight for me to sign on.”

“Okay, so anyways no one even knows these tickets are missing. Than we come in, or rather you come in since I already did it, and redeem one of the winners, give him a cut and get a bunch of cash for doing nothing. Literally, nothing!”

“So, why don’t you and him just cash in the rest, so that I don’t have to get arrested?” Dale was skeptical, but still seriously considering taking the offer, it was good money regardless.

“Because we already did. The odds of winning once is damn near impossible, much less winning twice? Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’d get busted for it, and we sure as shit aren’t going to tell on ourselves. That’s why he’s getting more people, trustworthy people, like yourself. It’s a one time thing, otherwise it gets way too risky. So are you in?”

Dale would really enjoy the cash; it could keep him out of work for awhile. He thought for a minute, throwing back his glass, he finished the last half of his beer. He decided it was risky, but not too risky to pass up. “Yeah, I’m in; but one condition...your buddy never knows my name, and I never know his, okay? That way if we do get caught, I know that there was only one possible person who could tell, you know who that is?”

Bill was always a little slow, so he asked “Who?” without even thinking into the question. If you threw too many words at Bill all at once, than it was like they jammed up his brain, he couldn’t process much information.

“You, ya idiot. You are the only person that could screw me on this. So don’t do it! Understand?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I understand.”