Chương 18: Las Vegas Trip VI

December 1970 Enzo stood quietly for a moment, studying the sportsbook. It was nothing like the noisy casino floor they had just walked through. The room carried an entirely different atmosphere. There were no spinning roulette wheels. No cheering crowds. Only the occasional scratching of pencils against paper, the turning of newspaper pages, and low conversations between bettors discussing football statistics. Most of the men wore business suits. Some had notebooks filled with handwritten figures.

Others compared betting lines printed in the morning newspapers. It reminded Enzo more of a stock exchange than a gambling hall. He looked down at the parlay card in his hand.

"So..."

"Walk me through it." James nodded.

"First, you take one of those pencils." Enzo picked up one from a small container beside the rack.

"Then?"

"You'll mark every selection exactly as they're written on my paper." Enzo unfolded the sheet James had given him at breakfast. His eyes carefully moved across each instruction. Just as before, he resisted the temptation to ask questions. Instead, he simply followed them. Using the pencil, he began marking the printed card. First selection. Dallas to win. Beside it... Under 35. 5. He moved to the next game. Baltimore to win. Under 35. 5. Then... Oakland to defeat Miami. Again... Under 35. 5. Finally...

San Francisco to defeat Minnesota. One last mark. Under 35. 5. When he finished, he looked over the card one final time before comparing it against James's handwritten instructions. Every selection matched perfectly. He folded James's paper and returned it to his jacket.

"All right."

"I suppose there's no turning back now." James smiled.

"Not once you hand it in."

They approached one of the betting windows. Behind the polished wooden counter stood a middle-aged sportsbook ticket writer wearing a white dress shirt, black tie, and green visor. He greeted Enzo with practiced professionalism.

"Good morning, sir."

"What can I do for you today?" Enzo slid the completed parlay card across the counter.

"I'd like to place this wager." The employee glanced down at the selections before nodding.

"Very good."

"And your stake?" Enzo reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He carefully removed both bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills. Without drawing unnecessary attention, he counted them once more. Forty bills. Four thousand dollars. He placed the money neatly beside the betting card.

"I'll split it."

"Two separate two-thousand-dollar wagers." The ticket writer gave a small nod.

"Certainly, sir." He counted the cash with remarkable speed before arranging it into two stacks. Satisfied that the amount was correct, he turned toward the large mechanical registration machine sitting behind the counter. The completed betting card disappeared into the device. With a firm pull of its heavy metal lever... This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Clack. The machine stamped the wager. Date. Time. Transaction number. Stake amount.

Another sharp metallic sound echoed through the counter. Clack. The machine produced two carbon-copy betting tickets. The employee carefully tore them free before comparing each ticket to the original card. Everything matched. He slid both paper tickets back across the counter.

"There you are, sir."

"Please keep these somewhere safe."

"You'll need the originals to claim any winnings." Enzo accepted them carefully.

"I understand." The employee offered a polite smile.

"Best of luck."

"Thank you."

As they stepped away from the counter, Enzo looked down at the thin paper tickets resting in his hand. They were surprisingly plain. Each listed the selected games. The wager amount. The transaction number. The date. Nothing more. No impressive design. No printed promise of enormous winnings. Just simple pieces of stamped paper. He turned one over. The reverse side contained the sportsbook's printed payout rules. Running a finger down the table, he eventually found the entry for an eight-selection parlay.

He stopped. Then looked again. His eyebrows slowly rose. He quietly performed the arithmetic in his head. Eleven to one. Four thousand dollars... Forty-four thousand in profit... Plus the original stake. Forty-eight thousand dollars. Enzo let out a slow breath. He folded the tickets with extraordinary care and placed them inside the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. Then, almost instinctively, he buttoned the jacket closed. James noticed.

"I don't think they're going anywhere." Enzo smiled.

"They're worth treating carefully."

"I agree." He looked down at his grandson.

"Well..."

"It's done." James nodded once.

"It's done." For a few moments, neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to accomplish here. The wager had been placed. The outcome would now be decided several days later on the football field. Enzo finally broke the silence.

"I have to admit..." He laughed quietly.

"This is probably the strangest Christmas vacation I've ever taken." James grinned.

"And it's only the second day." Enzo shook his head with an amused smile.

"I was afraid you were going to say that." Together, they turned away from the sportsbook and walked back toward the casino lobby. Behind them, the ticket writer filed the carbon copies into a large wooden drawer with hundreds of other wagers placed that morning. To him... It was simply another transaction. Another pair of betting slips. Another customer trying his luck.

He had no way of knowing that, five days later, those two ordinary-looking pieces of paper would become one of the largest sportsbook payouts of the Christmas season. ☆☆☆☆☆ They stepped back out onto the Strip. The bright Nevada sun stood high overhead now, warming the sidewalks as tourists drifted from one resort to another. To everyone around them, Enzo Lombardi was simply a businessman enjoying Christmas vacation with his grandson.

No one could have guessed that tucked safely inside his suit jacket were two thin paper betting tickets. Or that, if James's prediction proved correct, those tickets would be exchanged in five days for $48, 000. Enzo instinctively patted the inside pocket of his jacket. James noticed immediately.

"You've checked those tickets three times already." Enzo smiled sheepishly.

"Only three?"

"I think it was four." He laughed.

"I've negotiated military contracts worth millions of dollars."

"And somehow..."

"... these two little pieces of paper make me far more nervous." James couldn't help smiling.

"I'd be worried if they didn't."

With the wager behind them, neither of them felt any reason to linger around the sportsbook. The outcome had already been decided—at least from James's perspective. Now all they had to do was wait until the Divisional Playoff games were played over the coming weekend. They spent the remainder of the morning wandering through several of the large resorts lining the Strip. One featured an elegant indoor botanical garden filled with tropical plants and small waterfalls.

Another displayed western paintings celebrating Nevada's mining history. Enzo stopped several times to admire the architecture.

"I expected casinos," he admitted.

"I didn't expect places like this." James looked around.

"They're trying to keep visitors inside."

"The longer people stay..."

"... the more likely they are to spend money." Enzo chuckled.

"You really do see everything through business." James shrugged.

"I guess I do."

Around lunchtime, they found a quiet bench overlooking a decorative fountain. Enzo bought two bottles of soda from a nearby kiosk before handing one to James. For several minutes, they simply watched people pass by. Families pushing strollers. Businessmen wearing tailored suits. Retired couples escaping the northeastern winter. Las Vegas attracted every kind of visitor imaginable. Eventually, Enzo broke the comfortable silence.

"I've been thinking." James looked toward him.

"About what?"

"The money." James nodded.

"If everything goes according to your prediction..." He paused for a moment.

"... we'll walk out of that sportsbook with forty-eight thousand dollars."

"That's right." Enzo smiled.

"A number that still sounds unbelievable." James remained calm.

"It'll feel more believable once we're holding the check." Enzo laughed.

"I'll drink to that." His expression then grew more thoughtful.

"So tell me..."

"What happens afterward?" James answered without hesitation.

"First..."

"I pay you back." Enzo raised an eyebrow.

"My loan?" James nodded.

"You loaned me two thousand dollars."

"That comes back to you immediately."

"Not because you asked for it."

"But because it's the right thing to do." Enzo smiled with obvious satisfaction.

"I wasn't worried."

"I know." James continued.

"That leaves forty-six thousand dollars."

"My money."

"But not all of it is really mine." Enzo immediately understood.

"Taxes."

"Exactly." James nodded.

"Once everything is settled..."

"I'll have roughly twenty-eight thousand dollars left." Enzo slowly whistled.

"Even after taxes..."

"That's still an extraordinary amount of money for anyone."

"Especially a ten-year-old." James smiled.

"I'm not planning to spend it."

"No?"

"No."

"It'll stay in your personal account at Empire National Bank." Enzo looked surprised.

"My account?"

"It's simpler."

"I'm still a minor."

"Opening another account in my name would only complicate things." He took another sip of his soda.

"The money belongs to me."

"But it'll remain under your name."

"You'll simply hold it for me." Enzo nodded thoughtfully.

"That makes sense."

"And honestly..."

"I'd probably sleep better knowing it's there." James laughed.

"So would I."

After another few quiet minutes, Enzo looked toward his grandson again.

"You know..."

"I still don't completely understand how you reached those football predictions." James smiled faintly.

"I thought you might ask."

"Were you really studying newspapers all these months?"

"I was."

"Sports pages."

"Team records."

"Scoring averages."

"Recent performances."

"I compared everything I could find." Every sentence was true. He simply omitted the fact that he already knew the final results decades before making those calculations. Enzo nodded slowly.

"When we get home..."

"I'd like you to show me those notebooks."

"I will."

"I promise."

"I'd appreciate that."

Later that afternoon, they made their way back toward the Silver Star Hotel. As they entered the elegant lobby, the receptionist recognized them immediately.

"I hope you're enjoying your stay, Mr. Lombardi." Enzo smiled warmly.

"We certainly are."

"My grandson picked an excellent vacation." The receptionist laughed.

"Then I hope you'll visit us again someday."

"So do I." They stepped into the elevator, and as the doors quietly closed, Enzo glanced toward James.

"You know..." James looked up.

"I think this Christmas vacation is going to be one neither of us ever forgets." James smiled quietly.

"You're absolutely right, Grandpa." In five days, those two ordinary paper tickets would become a $48, 000 casino cashier's check. The first thing James would do would be repay Enzo's $2, 000 loan, leaving $46, 000 under his ownership. After taxes, approximately $28, 000 would remain. It would sit safely in Enzo Lombardi's personal account at Empire National Bank—James's first pool of private investment capital, waiting for the opportunities only he knew were coming.

☆☆☆☆☆ December 24, 1970 Christmas Eve arrived beneath another cloudless Nevada sky. James woke to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the hotel room. Enzo was already dressed, reading the morning newspaper in the armchair by the window. Without lowering the paper, he smiled.

"I think I'm finally getting used to waking up without snow." James laughed as he stretched.

"Don't get too comfortable."

"We'll be back in New York soon."

"I know." Enzo folded the newspaper.

"But I'll enjoy this while it lasts."

After breakfast, they decided to leave the hotels behind for a while and explore the city beyond the Strip. A taxi carried them toward the older part of Las Vegas, where the streets felt quieter and less extravagant than the famous boulevard. Small family-owned restaurants stood beside barbershops, pharmacies, and clothing stores. Children played outside while shopkeepers decorated their storefronts with Christmas wreaths and strings of lights. It felt like any other American town preparing for the holidays.

Enzo appreciated that.

"This..." He looked around with a smile.

"... is the Las Vegas most tourists never see." James nodded.

"Every city has two faces."

"The one visitors remember..."

"And the one people actually live in." Enzo chuckled.

"That's surprisingly philosophical for a ten-year-old." James smiled innocently.

"I've had good teachers."

"I'll take the compliment."

They spent nearly two hours wandering through the downtown district. Enzo purchased a few postcards to mail to Marcus, Anthony, Leslie, and the Thompson Manufacturing office after Christmas.

"They'll probably be buried in work." He smiled.

"Especially Marcus." James imagined the factory floor back in Brooklyn. By now, the civilian production lines would be operating at full capacity. Backpacks. Work jackets. Work trousers. Canvas duffel bags. If everything had continued according to schedule, hundreds of finished products should already be stacked inside the shipping warehouse awaiting delivery. He wondered how many additional orders had arrived since they had left New York. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

Project Horizon was no longer an experiment. It was becoming a business.

Around midday, they found a small family restaurant away from the tourist district. The owner greeted every customer personally. The atmosphere reminded Enzo of the neighborhood diners back in Manhattan.

"This feels familiar." James nodded.

"It does." Over lunch, their conversation drifted away from business entirely. They talked about baseball. Boxing. Enzo's beloved Milano Football Club back in Italy. Even Maranello Motors.

"I wonder what they'll build next." Enzo said with the enthusiasm of a lifelong automobile enthusiast. James smiled.

"They've got some exciting years ahead."

"You sound awfully confident."

"I have faith in good engineers." Enzo laughed.

"I can't argue with that."

That evening, they returned to the Silver Star Hotel just before sunset. Christmas Eve had transformed the lobby. A local choir stood beside the enormous Christmas tree, singing traditional carols while guests gathered around to listen. Children sat cross-legged on the marble floor. Parents applauded after every song. The atmosphere felt warm. Peaceful. Far removed from the excitement of the casino floor. Enzo and James remained there for nearly half an hour, simply listening.

When the final song ended, the audience applauded enthusiastically.

"Merry Christmas!" someone called out. The greeting spread naturally through the lobby.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" Enzo looked toward James.

"Merry Christmas, son." James smiled warmly.

"Merry Christmas, Grandpa." For a brief moment... The wager. The future. Thompson Manufacturing. None of it mattered. They were simply a grandfather and his grandson spending Christmas together. It was a memory James knew he would treasure far more than any amount of money. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day. The football games—and the fate of the betting tickets—would still be another day away. ☆☆☆☆☆☆