Colt's Game : A Playing for Keeps Story

And It's Too Late

Colt

I hop off the bus that lets out two blocks away from my house, my body aches. It's been so long since I've actually had to play at full speed. I just don't know how the hell I'm going to be able to do this shit again.

I take the phone out of my bag one more time. 

It was already too late, I'm sure by now Shyne had already heard that Frederick had gone down in the game and that I had lost the bet. I'm certain he won't let me off easily, so the only way I can see out of it is to try and set up some sort of payment plan – I have to try. My hands shaking, I dial his number and try to ignore the lump of fear stuck in my throat.

"Ah, is that my lucky goose?" Shyne answers the phone on the third ring. "Seems like your streak has come to an end."

"Yeah, I guess so. I wanted to talk to you about that." I do my best to keep my voice calm and strong.

"Now, Colt, I hope you're not about to tell me some crazy shit like you don't have my money. I'd hate to have to fuck you up. Especially when your team is depending on you to get them through the rest of the season."

"Look, Shyne, there is no way that I would have put a bet like that down if I would have known something like this was going to happen to Frederick. You know I'm not reckless like that."

"Colt, all of gambling is reckless. I know you had a good run. If you didn't realize there was a chance you might lose, that's on you. You lost. You better have my fucking money when I get there. In fact, I think you'll be my first stop tonight. If I get to your house and find out that you ran, it'll be much worse." Shyne hangs up before I can say another word.

I let out a shuddered breath.

"Fuck!" I yell out and shove the phone in my bag. I didn't have all his money, but I had some. I quickly go through the catalog of shit that I own and know there is nothing that is worth upward of a thousand dollars. Hell, I doubt the whole house is worth that much money.

I turn down the dirt walkway that leads to my house and immediately know that my bad day is about to get even worse. There are tire tracks in the dirt. Not from a bike but from a car, there is only one person who comes here with a car.

My father.