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The Last Gamble
Gambling is an awful addiction. I'm ashamed to say, that I've fallen into this trap myself. It's easy to get ahead of yourself when the winnings get good, when you play your cards right and triple your bet it's like a payday. It only makes you want to gamble more, which is why the house always wins. Even if you have the will power to walk away, the next guy likely won't. If you're not too careful, you might get addicted to gambling away money. One day I realised I'm better off just saving my pennies, then risk losing them to make dollars because 70% of the time you just fail. It's the 30% chance of winning that hooks you. Thankfully I learnt my lesson, but not everyone can. Carl White was a family man who lived in Brooklyn, he had two kids and a beautiful wife. They had a decent apartment building to live in too, both of them had good jobs and their kids went to nice schools. Everything was fine, not great, but fine as things could be. Both partners had to work a lot to make ends meet, it seemed their own children were being raised more by babysitters and teachers, as they only had the weekends together free. Now Carl wasn't very happy with this life, even though it was par for the course, he wanted more. He always fancied himself as an aspiring comedian, Carl often got small stand up gigs when he was in his early twenties, before taking his jokes online through social media in his mid to late twenties. By thirty he had a small income flow from his greatest hit videos online that still got views on the regular. This was only about $50 a month though, which was a good amount but the rent was at least $1,100 a month, not to mention all the other expenses like gas, electricity and food shopping. Obviously his career as a comedian hadn't gone to plan. He wanted to eventually star in Hollywood comedy movies, sell out at big stadiums and so on. Get on big popular talk shows, ones that broadcast across the whole globe. None of that was ever meant to be. He settled into a life of normalcy. Then one night in one of the district's many bars, Carl tried his luck at gambling by playing around with one of the bandit machines. At first he was wasting money, but soon enough he came across a strategy! Carl wasted at least $30 before finally winning $80! The machine beeped and cheered as dollar notes came shooting out at him. He couldn't believe it. That night Carl spent most of those winnings getting much drunker than normal, yet still came home $25 richer than he did before his night out. It was like having a free night of drinks, with an extra bit of reward money on the side. That was the first time he ever walked home with more money than less after hitting the town. Carl knew gambling was a game of luck however, so he avoided the temptation of another bet for a long while, until one day he got a little too curious. There was an indoor casino he often passed on his way home from work, he had a rough time on the job one day, as a coworker named Jeff was giving him some grief and Carl had also messed up a couple of his tasks so the boss wasn't very pleased about that. This made him more than determined to escape his work slave lifestyle, so he entered the casino and his brain was pleased immensely by the flashing lights, fun music and somewhat cosy vibe the place had. He approached the counter and ordered himself $100 worth of tokens. He began gambling on slot machines and wheel of fortune, at first it was just a bit of fun, but then he won $50 on a random bet. Tried it again and lost $20 before winning a further $30! Every time the machines sang that beautiful victory tune, Carl grinned ear to ear. He redeemed his tokens and walked away with $140 instead of the $100 he gave in. Carl felt like he finally found an alternative way of making money. He returned to the same casino at least three times a month. Most of the time he lost, but sometimes he'd win big, not realising he was spending far more at this casino than he ever was earning. Then three or four months later, reality hit him like a ton of bricks! He couldn't afford the rent anymore! His wife had to dig into her purse to make ends meet. "Carl, what happened to you?!" She cried, "have you gotten less hours or something?" "No." Carl said, which was the truth. "Then why can't you afford rent anymore!" "They've cut our pay." He lied, "we're on two dollars less an hour. It didn't seem like much, but I guess it all adds up." "Oh honey, why didn't you tell me?" She wept. "I didn't think it would make much difference." He shrugged, "don't worry, I'll find a better job." "But how long will that take?!" She winced, "oh Carl, you stupid, lovable man... We could've solved this months ago." "I'm sorry babe..." He stroked her hair, then they both fell asleep. Instead of turning away from Gambling, Carl wanted to win so big he wouldn't have to work ever again. So he returned to the casino and bought $1,000 worth of chips, this time he was going to bet big money on the likes of poker and roulette. He got lucky and tripled his chips, then lost them all in one big go. He wouldn't give up though, spending far past his expenses. "No, please!" Carl begged the black jack dealer, "I really need this money, just like my bet slip, please! You didn't see me, ok!" "Sir, please let go of my hand, or I'm going to have to call security!" The dealer sneered. "Ok..." Carl gulped, watching the last of his chips get taken away with tears in his eyes. He fucked everything up! Not just his own life, but his wife and kid's too. Carl had to make this better, he just had to. So he did what any desperate man in his situation would do. He approached a loan shark. Carl met one of the Samaris Family, his name was Mario and he was the second son of Tommy (the leader of this mafia). Mario led Carl into his private office which was in Queens. There were a lot of Samaris gangsters knocking around the building in sharp suits, some even wore fedoras, looking like 1930s mobsters straight out of a classic crime flick. Mario sat down behind his desk, Carl sat on a chair facing him. "Scotch?" Mario asked. "Ok..." Carl nodded, thinking it might put him at ease. "You make me get out of my chair!" Mario laughed, approaching the glass cupboard where he kept his liquor. "Sorry." Carl replied shyly. "Forget about it!" Mario grinned, pouring Carl a short glass and handing it to him. Carl drank it gladly, the strength of the alcohol made him cough a little. "Strong stuff, eh?!" Mario winked. "Thanks!" Carl replied, holding the empty glass in his hands. "So, you're in a bit of money trouble, huh?" Mario said, before sitting behind his desk. "I'm afraid so." Carl gulped. "Why?" Mario eyed him suspiciously. "My job cut my pay." Carl told the same lie he told his wife, "so I'm a bit behind on rent." "I see... Well, you know we'll want at least 10% interest for handing out a loan." Mario explained. "I understand. I should be able to pay you back next month..." "Should?" Mario sneered. "Will!" Carl added, "I'm just a little under, I'll have more than enough next payday." "You got a whole month, then we'll come knocking. By month two, if you still don't have our money..." Mario crunched his knuckles, "you understand?" "I understand." Carl nodded. "All right, kid..." Mario sighed, loaning him the money he needed, "just remember, the Samaris Family own New York. You fuck us around. We fuck with you. We got ourselves a deal?" Mario leaned out his hand to shake Carl's. "We got a deal." Carl agreed and shook his hand. A month passed and Carl had enough money to pay the rent plus expenses, but he didn't have enough to pay back Mario Samaris. Three thugs knocked on his door when he was at work, meeting his wife instead. "Hello, Miss White." They said to her as she opened the door. "Wh- who are you?" She stuttered, as the three Italian/American men looked large and very intimidating. "We got a letter for your man." They handed her an envelope, "it's just for him. You don't open this, capisce?" "Ok..." She nodded shyly, taking the envelope and shutting the door. When Carl returned home, his wife was furious, she had opened the envelope after all and read that he owed the Samaris Family $1,000! "What the hell were you thinking?!" She screamed, "there's no way we can pay this back, we're not making enough money!" "We are..." Carl sighed. "No, we're not. You said so yourself, your pay has been cut. We can't afford this!" "I lied..." Carl winced. "What?!" She gasped. "My pay was never cut, I had... I had an addiction." "Oh god... What addiction?!" She stressed. "Gambling addiction." He admitted, "I threw away thousands of dollars, trying to win big. The last gamble, put me in serious debt. I tried to get a loan from the bank, they didn't trust me, so I..." "Reached out to the Samaris Family Mafia?" She cried. "Yes." Carl mumbled, "but I'm not gambling anymore, I've quit cold turkey." "Well now, we're $1,000 in debt with the biggest crime family in New York!" "I know..." "Well, how are we supposed to pay this?!" "I get paid in a few weeks." "A few weeks!" She screamed, "what if they come knocking again!" "You need to get yourself and the kids out of New York, it's not safe here anymore. I'll contact you when I've paid them back and it's safe." "Carl, you're a fucking disgrace!" She shook her head, "I want a divorce!" "You can't be serious!" Carl whined. "I am. Deadly." She snapped, giving him a cold, hard stare, "This has nothing to do with me, I'm taking the kids back to ma's. You sort your own mess out!" A few days later, Carl was living alone. He came home alone one night, only to find a furious member of the Samaris family gang waiting for him. "I've been waiting all day for you!" He said, gaining on Carl. "Look, I get paid in a few weeks!" Carl pleaded, "Mario said I got two months to pay before a good beating!" "When Mario crunches his knuckles, that means death!" The gangster yelled, "this beating, is just a warning!" Carl braced for impact as the thug battered him senselessly, then he spit on him. "We'll go after your family next, they're in New Jersey!" "H- how d- do you know?" Carl asked through his pain. "We followed them. Thought you could keep them safe, eh?" He laughed wickedly, "you got to pay up soon!" "I- I got money now!" Carl cried. "The whole $1,100?" The gangster grinned. "No, I got- I got $625. It's for bills and food, just-" Carl painfully reached into his wallet, "just take it!" "Well..." The gangster counted the money, "this ain't enough!" "You'll get the rest soon, please! Please don't go after my wife and kids!" "All right, I'll talk to Mario, see what I can do." "Really?! You'll really speak with him?" "I'll see what I can do." He promised, then left the scene leaving Carl on the ground, bloody and in agony. Eventually, Carl dragged himself upstairs and cleaned up, he had lied to the gangster, he had taken out $700 from the atm, only giving away $625, keeping $75 for himself. He intended to gamble the rest, more determined than ever to make a profit. Not just for fun or greed this time, but to save his wife and kids. Carl wandered into the casino, still looking bruised yet dressed sharp and clean. Guests and staff gave him strange looks. He played poker like a master spy, nobody could tell when he was bluffing or had a good hand. Carl's determination won him the extra $425 that was owed, plus another $215 for his trouble. That was it. His last gamble. Never again would he dare to enter another casino. It was getting very late, but Carl still had enough time to reach Mario's office in Queens and strolled into the office building like a gangster. "Tough guy, huh?" One of Samaris gangsters challenged him. "I'm here to see your boss." Carl replied cooly. "Balls of steel on this cat, right this way..." The criminal sneered, leading him into Mario's office. "Finally got the mes-" Carl slammed down the owed money on Mario's desk. "Leave my family alone." Carl said. Mario counted the money. "It's all here..." He grinned. "Yeah. Our business is other." Carl replied, turning away. "You don't disrespect a Samaris Son like that, kid!" Mario warned. Carl sighed. "I'm sorry." He frowned. "That ain't good enough. You know, Carl. I did you and your family a real nice thing. I gave you enough money to keep your little American dream together and you repay with this wannabe tough guy bullshit!" Mario marched over to him. "I- I- I got up on my high horse." Carl mumbled. "Yeah, you did..." Mario shook his head, "now come here." He invited him to his desk, "let me show you what a real apology looks like." "Ok..." Carl shivered. "Lay your hand out on my desk." Mario ordered. Carl did as he was told. "Spread your fingers apart." Carl did, then Mario pulled out a sharp blade from his top desk drawer. "What the fuck!" Carl gasped, trying to pull away his hand, but Mario slammed it down in place. "You got to pay for your disrespect, kid." "Please!" Carl begged, "not my little finger!" "That's the price!" Mario roared, chopping off Carl's pinky finger in an instant. He screamed hysterically, as the nerves in his finger split and blood burst everywhere. Carl fell to the ground, cradling the bloody stump where his finger once dwelled. Mario sighed. "Look at all this blood." He said, "now I got to clean your mess up." Carl couldn't reply, he was in far too much pain. Mario grabbed a tiny, plastic transparent bag from behind his desk and put Carl's dismembered finger in it. Then he grabbed his scotch bottle, snatched away Carl's bleeding hand and poured a small amount over his wound. Carl screamed louder than he thought he could, damn near frying his vocals. "The alcohol will disinfect the wound, you baby!" Mario laughed, "now, if you're quick you might be able to reattach your finger at the hospital around the corner. You mention one word of what happened here, you and your whole family are dead!" "I won't say a thing!" Carl cried, fleeing the office with his dismembered finger. He was laughed at by all the Samaris gangsters, who watched him exit the building. Carl spent the last of his winnings getting his finger reattached at the hospital. He didn't say a word about his debts with the Samaris to any of the hospital staff, instead saying that he lost his finger in a workplace accident. Thankfully no detectives came to question his story. He had paid back his debts and got no more trouble from the Samaris family. However his wife and kids still left him and he couldn't afford the rent on the apartment anymore, instead moving to a much smaller shit hole in the Bronx. His gambling addiction had completely ruined his life.
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Con Man Dan
Con Man Dan was someone you didn't want to deal with, not ever! He was a con artist (hence his nickname), one who stole from the elderly and gullible youth, preying on innocent idiots and naive aspiring actors, artists, authors, musicians and social media influencers who were willing to do anything to be rich and famous. Don't think for a second that you're somebody special if you do any of the above, millions if not billions of people all across the globe dream of fame. It is by design, it's how big tech companies keep you glued to your phone screens. It's also how self help books sell like hot cakes on the internet. Most of them are full of bullshit and the simple truth behind why they sell so well in the first place, is because hundreds of desperate people are willing to fork over mountains of cash for something that promises them the fame and fortune they seek. That, in a nutshell is what a scam is. A broken promise. Buy this book and you'll know how to make money, the first chapter reads; "sell people a book promising success and they'll buy it, just like you bought this one and that's how you make money". It's that simple and Con Man Dan was a pro at this deception, only at least the self help books might actually help you (unlikely but true), Dan's cons were far less forgiving. He mostly operated in the city of New York (occasionally nipping to LA, especially around Hollywood to fool desperate wannabe celebrities, into buying into his false promises). He lived in the big apple and knew there were a lot (and I mean A LOT) of young business men who wanted to be the next wolf of Wall street. Yet, Dan knew too well that the movies made this gig look way too easy and fun. The Hollywood movies will lie, saying almost anyone can become a millionaire wall street trader overnight. Reality is always far more difficult and Dan knew that far too well. He was an older man, who often preyed on the impressionable youth who still believed in those fantastical dreams. He ran a classic investment scam on many young Americans, "invest with MegaTech (an electronics company he made up) and I can promise you, in a year's time; you'll quadruple your stock value! MegaTech is a new upcoming company that will take Silicon Valley by storm!" Con Man Dan would exclaim to them, smiling his salesman's grin, he'd even go so far as to show them fake sales charts of the company's success over the recent years. Of course many knew this was too good to be true, yet very few actually believed in his lies and that's all Dan needed. Just a few. Even if it was just one dumb kid (or elderly nanny) who believed him, he knew he'd be walking home a rich man, leaving them poor and enraged! He did not care, that scumbag! Well, one day he scammed the wrong woman. Her name was Maria Samaris, an elderly lady (of course) who put her trust into Dan's fake persona and false assurances that he only wished to help invest her retirement money properly. Dan pulled off this exact scam a million times before, however what he didn't count on was the fact Maria was related to some very serious, scary and deadly crime family. He had ripped off the grandmother of Tommy Samaris, the leader of his very own mafia making moves within the city of New York. Once news of Con Man Dan's greatest mistake got out, Tommy ordered gangsters far and wide to hunt down and kill the bastard. Dan caught news of this and ran! Leaving the city to hide out in the nearby countryside, thinking he was safe, Dan moved into an isolated motel and began new cons on small town folk who were easy prey. Of course, The Samaris heard about this sooner or later, they ordered a man and woman of the gang to Dan in disguise, pretending to be clueless foreigners on a romantic holiday away from Italy. The Samaris crime family was Italian/American after all, so pretending to be dumb tourists was all too easy. "Can you show us on motel laptop?" The woman asked Dan, purposely speaking broken English just to trick him further. "Oh, why yes of course!" He smiled, blissfully unaware of the trap he was walking into, as he entered their motel room. "Where is your computer?" Dan asked smiling, then he suddenly looked terrified as the male tourist pulled out a silenced pistol. "Tommy Samaris sends his regards." The man said coldly, before drilling Con Man Dan with half a dozen bullets. Dan fell back onto the hotel room's bed, staining the sheets red with his blood, killing him instantly. So ended the tale of Con Man Dan.
By Joseph Roy Wrightabout a year ago in Criminal
Smokey's Gun
Within New Jersey, there was a gang of bikers, calling themselves The Snakes, and each member all had different nicknames. The leader was Smokey, a big bald fella with a million tattoos, a thick manly goatee and a black leather vest that he always wore with his black jeans and army boots. He never wore a helmet, driving his bike with next to no protection, just made him seem all the more badass! Smokey also had a gun, that being a gold painted Desert Eagle, looking like the rare pistol you'll find in that New Order Of Alexandria video game, which was a popular, military shooter at the time. The game was Nick named; "Smokey's Gun" as he always carried it around like some kind of prized trophy, buried under the strap of his belt like some cowboy's revolver holster. Smokey wasn't afraid to use his gun either, often killing those of his gang that stepped out of line. Bang! Just like that, no warning, not even a moment of terror, he'd just end your life in millisecond without any hesitation. It was horrifying to witness and think about, his whole gang were always on the edge of their seat because of how ruthless of a killer Smokey was. Nobody even knew what his true name was (because surely, nobody on earth is actually named Smokey by their parents, right?). Those who dared to ask, also got a bullet to the brain. The message was simple; don't question or disobey Smokey, or you're dead meat! There were some who conspired against him though, although Smokey was terrifying and certainly intimidating, a good gang leader also needs to be charismatic and well liked among his peers, otherwise resentment and jealousy will eventually reveal its ugly head. That's exactly what happened to Smokey, the gang noticed he never figured rival gangsters or nosey police men, always relying on his golden pistol to do the job. It was obvious to everyone that this almost fifty years old gang leader was no martial artist. So much younger, yet equally scary biker began to plot against him. His nickname was; "Cobra" but unlike Smokey, everyone knew Cobra's true name which was; Jerry May. Knowing his real identity made the man far less mysterious and respected among the gang, but Cobra was adamant that he could run the bikers better with less intimidation and more friendly team work. He neglected the fact that The Snakes were a gang of tough guys and gals who wouldn't listen to kindness or politeness, actively rebelling against their own leaders if they showed any weakness. Cobra genuinely believed he was safe from such betrayals, but he'd soon learn just how wrong he really was for even thinking that. So one night, after a long day of gang warfare, when everyone had their guard down; Cobra decided to strike like a snake in the grass. Smokey was high as fuck, watching TV in the gang's private bar, smoking several ounces of marijuana. In fact, a lot of the bikers were. This made it all too easy for Cobra to sneak up on Smokey and steal his golden gun straight out of his jacket pocket. "Wait!" Smokey screamed as Cobra aimed the pistol at his head and fired! A loud bang followed by bloody gore exploded in the room. Everyone stood and screamed. "What have you done?!" One of the terrified bikers asked. "He was a joke!" Cobra laughed, aiming the gun at the scared biker, "I'm in charge now. I got Smokey's Gun, so that makes me leader, see!" "You think any of us would want to work for you after this?!" Another biker yelled, pulling out a pistol of his own, "that's not how it works, Cobra!" Then he fired four times, shooting the assassin in the head, shoulder, knees and toes. Cobra fell with a great big thud! Dying out on the ground, the other bikers gathered round him and began kicking and punching the traitor to death. They buried his body the next day, knowing how to avoid police detection. The man who killed Cobra, was nicknamed Snake Eyes, he was the one to eventually take over as leader of the gang. Unlike Cobra, Snake Eyes really appreciated Smokey, he was a great boss of The Snakes. Snake Eyes struggled to keep the gang on top, as organised crime was no easy feat. Yet, despite this, the gang respected him far more than Cobra could ever dream. Of course Snake Eyes got Smokey's Gun, which in time became Snakes Eyes Gun. So ends this tale of the shake in the grass who got what he deserved. Nobody missed Cobra, in time, nobody will even remember who he was, yet Smokey will always live on in the hearts of The Snakes. Forever and always.
By Joseph Roy Wrightabout a year ago in Criminal
