Page 10 of The Chemist

Zero glanced up at the man and nodded his thanks.

“Too bad I kept losing. At this rate, I’ll be broke by next week.” Zero looked away and took another sip of his beer.

“Yes, you suck at winning that game, but winning is not really the point, is it?”

Zero turned to face the man once again, watching him with suspicion. “How am I supposed to make any money if losing costs me twenty bucks each time? Seems pretty stupid to me.”

Nodding his head, the man slipped into the booth across from him and leaned forward to whisper.

“But you and I both know that you didn’t lose any money at all this evening, except perhaps to that kid. What was so special about that little kid?”

Zero leaned back, getting a little uncomfortable with the stranger’s line of questioning.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He studied the man carefully. He was around five foot eight, brown eyes withchestnut hair. There was an oddness about him, like he was calculating moves as they spoke. Was he a cop? But he didn’t carry himself like an officer.

Still, there was something about the man that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“The game with the cups is just for show. The real con happens with the dealing out of winnings,” the stranger said, eyes locked with his.

Zero remained silent. He wasn’t about to give anything away. If this guy really was a cop, he would have to prove that he ripped those guys off on his own. If he was just another jerk-off looking to shake him down, he had a knife to the gut coming for him.

“For every person who won, you gave them their winnings from the top of your pile of cash. When the little girl won, you pulled her winnings from the bottom.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?” Zero asked, challenging the man to get to his point.

“While everyone was so busy looking at the cups and trying to figure out how they were going to beat you, they failed to notice that each time someone gave you their cash, you placed it at the bottom of your pile. My guess is that all the cash at the top of the pile were counterfeit bills. Therefore, no matter whether you won or lost, you always kept their cash.”

The little bastard.

Zero gave a smirk. “That’s an interesting theory, my friend."

"Please, call me Marc. So once again, I ask you, what was so special about that little girl that you actually paid her real cash as her winnings?”

Zero took another swig of his beer.

“I just don’t like ripping off innocent little kids.” That was all this stranger needed to know.

The man who introduced himself as Marc, leaned back in the booth and gave him a partial smile.

Leaning forward, Zero crossed his arms along the table, being sure to flex his bulging biceps for added intimidation.

“Now, how about you tell me what you really want?”

4

DIESEL

Hopping around his room, Diesel banged his head to music playing through his bedroom speakers. There was nothing better than the opening riff of “Enter Sandman” by Metallica. Stomping around his room, shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting shorts, Diesel used his fingers to pick at the strings of his imaginary guitar. Hundreds of screaming fans all around him cheered as they waited for him to take them out of their misery and down the rabbit hole with him.

Music and drugs were his escape. Oh, and alcohol. And sex. Fuck, there were a lot of things that he used for his escape. But fuck. His life was awesome. He lived in a castle, got paid to play with his dick, and whenever he got tired, he just took a trip into that magical land where anything was possible. Soaring high above everyone, feeling on top of the world…

Lifting the remote for his bedroom speakers, he turned up the volume a few notches, knowing that Anders next door would probably be banging on his wall in… three… two… one.

Right on cue, there came a banging from the other side of the wall.

“Turn that shit down, asshole. Some of us are trying to watch porn in here.”

Chuckling, Diesel turned down the music. He liked to remind the guys that he was here every so often.

---