Singed Synapses and Deranged Dendrites

Against the Odds(#hare)

Tor stepped into the bar and looked around skeptically. It was a dodgy joint to be certain. At the dimly-lit bar sat two alcoholics staring into their beers. In one corner two scruffy men with cigarettes hanging from their lips played pool. Harry stuck his head out from a booth on the other side of the bar and beckoned for Tor to join him.

Tor lumbered over and squeezed himself into the booth. A waitress came and took their orders. Tor and Harry eyed each other but neither said a word until the waitress had returned with two beers and slammed them down in front of them. She could take a hint when extra ears weren't wanted and disappeared into the back. 

Tor didn't trust Harry as far as he could throw him, which wasn't very far given that Tor was getting up there in age. 

"Look," said Harry, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "It's the same old tale every time and you and I are both getting too old for this shit."

Tor slurped his beer and while he couldn't disagree, he didn't say a word.

"We both know that the odds are in my favor to win tomorrow. Vegas odds give it 100:1," said Harry.

"Vegas is betting on this?" said Tor in disbelief. 

"Vegas bets on EVERYTHING old friend," said Harry. "And now there are even more people addicted to gambling because of all the online options."

Tor snorted. "Dumbasses," he said, taking another slug of beer.

"Look," said Harry, "I'm not going to waste your time because I'm sick of this too. I want out of this fame and infamy we have shared for so long. I want to find me a girl and disappear into some hole in the ground and f*ck like bunnies and be a nobody. You hear what I'm saying?"

Tor nodded. He couldn't agree more. He just wanted to hide in his beloved home and never talk to anyone ever again, especially the paparazzi. Still he was skeptical of any hare-brained idea Harry might offer.

"I think we should place some bets of our own since this is a race WE have control over," said Harry. "Do you hear me?"

"You want to throw the race?" asked Tor. He had to admit it wasn't the worst idea in the world. Others had probably done it countless times before.

Harry gave a devious smile. "We could be rich, Tor. 100:1."

"We can't just walk into Vegas and bet on our own race," said Tor. "People will recognize us."

"That's why we do it discreetly, online," said Harry.

"You forget how old I am, I don't DO the internet," said Tor downing the last of his beer. He didn't trust the internet anymore than he trusted Harry. His gut told him going down this rabbit hole with Harry was a terrible idea. He threw some money on the table and stood to leave.

"Fine then, I know a good bookie," said Harry, sensing Tor was giving up on this plan. "I can get him down here in 10 minutes."

Tor relented and sat back down as Harry put his cell phone to his ear.

"Mr. Fox," said Harry. "This is Mr. Hare. My colleague Mr. Tortoise and I would like to place some bets on tomorrow's race. We have the feeling the odds lie in our favor."