Moonlighting

One would think that a college statistics professor would be good at gambling. And that was precisely what Professor Cory Roberts believed. It was just numbers. And the ability to find patterns in those numbers. How hard could it be?

Two-hundred thousand dollars hard, as it turned out. It began as a harmless hobby. A ballgame here. A horserace there. But before he knew it, Cory was betting on everything. The presidential election. The coin toss at the AFC Championship.

It was the Super Bowl that really did him in. Seriously. How does a team blow a twenty-five point lead in the third quarter? It was obviously rigged. It had to be. And that son-of-a-bitch Brady. He considered hunting him down. Cutting off his throwing hand. Isn’t that what gangsters did. But who was he kidding? He was no gangster. Hell, Brady would probably kick his ass.

And then there was Adele. Sure, her album sold a gazillion copies and produced five chart topping singles. But Beyonce’s album had meaning. The kind of thing Grammy voters would eat up. And at 2-1 odds, he would break even. Back to zero. No harm, no foul.

Now his house was gone. Along with his car, his wife, and his kids. But he had a plan. A plan that would fix everything. His cousin worked for PricewaterhouseCoopers. He had inside info on the Oscars. He only needed to bet it all on the Best Picture winner and he would be set. But there was just one problem. He had no money left to bet.

Vegas. That was the answer. There were people in Vegas who would loan you money. He saw it on a reality TV show, so it had to be true. So he flew there a week before the awards ceremony and began asking around. It took him a few days, but by Friday he found his guy. A high-roller who never stopped smiling. A few stiff drinks and they had a deal.

A two-hundred thousand dollar loan with twenty-five percent interest. Only a sucker would agree to that. But he could afford to be sucker this time. Because he couldn’t lose. His winning film was a 5-1 underdog. By Monday, his two-hundred thousand dollar wager would be worth a million. The fifty-thousand dollars in interest would be chump change.

He headed to Caesar’s Palace to make his bet. On his way to the lobby he was hassled by a homeless man. A filthy bum that smelled of booze. No! he didn’t have any change to spare. Get a job! Take a shower! Kill yourself! I don’t care!

He placed his bet and then booked a room on the highest floor. It was expensive but that didn’t matter. In a few hours he would be rich. With his ticket in hand, he took the elevator to his room and ordered a bottle of bourbon. Might as well start celebrating.

The show dragged on forever. It always does. Who the hell cares about art direction anyway? By the time Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway took the stage, the bottle of bourbon was empty. And the winner is…Why is he pausing? This isn’t funny Warren! This isn’t the time to joke around! Faye grabbed the envelope. Good old, beautiful Faye. And the winner is La La Land.

The bourbon bottle went through the TV screen. How could this happen? How could his own cousin throw him under the bus? When you borrow two-hundred grand from a loan shark and don’t pay him back, they don’t just kill you. They torture you. He saw it once on a reality TV show, so it had to be true.

With his ticket in hand, Professor Cory Roberts walked out onto the balcony of his hotel room. On the highest floor of Caesar’s Palace. Not a cloud in sight. The moon lit up the sky. Wasn’t that fitting?

The bum heard the sound before he saw the body. And the blood. He stumbled over to the stiff. What was that in its hand? A ticket. A ticket that said Moonlight. He slid the piece of paper from the corpse’s fingers. I suppose he won’t be needing this…