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I wrote the markers for each bet, including a line where the buyer put down the crime they thought the Kid would get arrested for. If the Kid got busted during your two-week block, you won the pot. If he got busted during your block and it was for the crime you had predicted, everyone had to cough up an additional five bucks. It was small-time compared to college-football or even the celebrity death pools on the internet, but you have to remember we were just a bunch of office idiots who had jumped onto the recidivism of a woman's grandson in lieu of our national pastime. In short, we were desperate for entertainment. * * * * * The days went by and turned slowly, almost grudgingly, into weeks. The weeks snowballed into months, and all was quiet on the Kid front. As if he had become aware of our pool through some prescience, and for reasons known only to him he had decided to turn his life around. We visited Dora regularly, surreptitiously, to gather information, but there wasn't any to be had. The well is dry, I told Eddie. No way, baby, Eddie said, with a noticeable undertone of nerves in his voice. It's gonna rain soon. Gonna rain big. But it didn't. Not in November, at any rate. The Kid was under house arrest, we discovered, and for the time being at least, it seemed he was going along with it. "He's not in leg-irons, for Christ's sake," Eddie grumbled on his way past my cube one day. We had a bit of excitement in December when the Kid was picked up after a convenience store break-in in Forest Hill. I was the most excited, I admit, not just because the day happened to fall on of the two-weeks I had purchased, but also because I wanted the whole thing to be over. The suspense, you could say, was killing me. Had the Kid been guilty, it would have paid off, too: I had put him down for burglary. With Christmas only a few weeks away, I figured he might have wanted to get something for his girlfriend (without paying for it, of course). A good theory, except the Kid was the culprit. The police had surveillance-video footage that clearly showed the Kid was not their suspect. And the pool went on. * * * January came and went, just like the resolutions it encourages. Some of us were becoming convinced that the Kid really had turned over a new leaf. He had found Jesus, or Scientology, or something. Eddie's faith in the Kid's recidivism was unwavering. He's in a slump, just a little slump, he'll bounce back. It became his office mantra, something he said under his breath while he stalked the halls and winded through the maze of cubicles. He'll bounce back. * * * And of course, he did. The Kid broke his record of good behaviour along with his house arrest on the same day: February 4th. I had purchased the block of time on which that day fell, for much the same reason I had purchased the block in December--because most desperate acts, legal or otherwise, are done out of that one inarguable emotion. Love. The Kid had broken into the Sears department store in Scarborough to steal a Valentine's Day present for his sweetie. The police found him sitting on the floor holding his right elbow with his left hand and hollering for an ambulance. Despite having broken into the store with a crowbar, for reasons known only to him, the Kid had apparently used his elbow to smash open a jewellery display case and suffered a fairly seriously laceration as a result. I won the pot, along with an extra five dollars from everyone in the pool for guessing the Kid's crime. I even had the motive, but that didn't pay anything. Too bad. I would have cleaned up. Everyone paid off quickly and courteously. I think most of them felt the same way I did: glad that it was finally over. After Eddie finished moaning and stomping around like a . . . well, like a kid, he paid me and I left my cube to do what I needed to do. The Kid was going to be doing time for this one. He had had a birthday sometime since September, since the pool had started, and in the eyes of the law he was no longer a minor. He had become an adult, and had gained all the rights and privileges therein. More importantly, he would be tried as an adult. Dora was a mess. She didn't know what would happen to the Kid in jail, didn't even want to think about it. I stepped into Dora's cube (knocking first on the side wall in accordance with proper cubicle etiquette), and the sound of the crinkling bills and jingling change in my pocket seemed very loud. "Hi, Dora." I spoke in a soft voice, but she still jumped as if I had goosed her. She turned around in her swivel chair and I immediately noticed the dark circles under eyes. She looked like she had gone a little crazy with the mascara that morning. "Oh, hi, Mike," she said. "I didn't hear you come in." "Dora," I said, plunging right in--soonest begun, soonest done, "we heard about the trouble the Kid got into. We heard it's pretty serious this time." "They grow up so fast," she said disconsolately. There's no way you can put a good spin on that phrase. "Yeah, I know." "I'm not stupid, Michael." She sat up straight in her chair, almost regally. "I know people think I am. Because of the Kid. They think I don't know what he is." "What is he?" I asked. "I know what he is," Dora repeated, nodding to herself. "I don't think you're stupid," I told her. "He's not very smart, and I'm sorry to say it, but his mother isn't much smarter. I suppose I could blame myself for that. And I suppose I can blame the Kid for the trouble he gets himself into. But I can't." I expected to see tears in her eyes, but they were dry. "I'm not backing the winning horse, Michael, but I'm still backing him regardless." She shrugged. "Someone has to." She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added: "Besides, life isn't a horse-race, is it, Michael?" "No," I said, sticking my hands in my pockets. The wad of bills felt like a hot charcoal briquette. I took it out and held it out to Dora. "I took a collection from everyone here in the office. It's only a couple hundred bucks, not enough to cover the Kid's bail, but it should still help you out some." Dora stared at the money with an expression that I was unable to read. Maybe I just didn't want to. "Nobody here thinks you're stupid, Dora."
She took the money and I left before either of us could say anything.
* * * THE END * * *
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