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Tincup's premature congratulation
Tincup's premature congratulation
Tincup grabbed the golden ticket from Marvin's hand and consulted the front page of the Morning Advocate. “Five out of six,” he announced, “that's fifteen hundred dollars right there, and you're luckier than a shit house mouse.” He gave it back.
“I knew good things were gonna happen to me at Tincup Billiards, and sure enough they did. Where do I go to get my money? I'll smile all the way back to Houston.”
“Nobody will cash that for you today. Too big. It has to be verified or certified or something like that. You'll have to wait 'til Monday.”
Marvin frowned and looked at Lee, and then at Tincup. “Man, I can't stay here until Monday. If I don't show up for work Monday morning I will lose my job. How about if you buy the ticket from me, and you can cash it Monday? You ain't got nothing better to do.”
Tincup was trying to keep a straight face. “Sure, I'll do that for you. I'll give you eleven hundred for the ticket and you can be on the job bright and early Monday morning.”
“No,” squawked Lee. “Don't give up your cheese, man. Don't let this ugly old man rob you of your ticket!”
Now Tincup looked at me. “Mr. Bill, you wanta buy this ticket off Marvin? He's gotta go to work Monday.” He knew I couldn't raise eleven hundred dollars if I cried my eyes out.
So Marvin and Lee went down to the end of the counter and pow-wowed. They were arguing about the ticket. Lee threw up his hands and turned away, and Marvin came back to Tincup, who had the money fanned out in his hand. “Well, gimme the eleven hundred, you chinchy old bastard. I got to get on the road. I wish I hadn't bought you them toaster waffles.”
The deal was made and I walked the pair to the door and let them out. Tincup put the ticket in his shirt pocket and did a clumsy little dance step by table six. “They's always another way,” he said through a big grin. “If that pair comes back, they better have a gun. I'll skin 'em again!” He was forty bucks ahead for the night, plus at least six toaster waffles with butter and maple syrup.
About this time, the. cleanup man came to the front door and let himself in. His name was Tony, and he was no spring chicken. He had been the cleanup man in more than a few rooms around the country, where he might have been known by other names.
“I seen a car pullin' out. Did you play pool all night? Who was them two, anyway?”
“Couple of children from Houston,” said Tincup. “I had to give up the seven ball just to get a game.”
“Did you go off again, Cup? Yer getting' famous, you are, and they are comin' from all over to play you. Them guys was headed east, and their tag said Alabama. How much did you lose?”
So Tincup recounted the night for Tony, and added, “I went off on the table, but I got well on the lottery.” He explained how he had made the visitors pay for his action, and waved the fifteen-hundred dollar ticket at him.
Tony look at Tincup, and then he looked at me, and then he heaved a great sigh and walked over to table eight, where the game had been. He reached into the rack and picked up the black eight ball. He held it up at arm's length and peered at it for several seconds. Then he wiggled his eyebrows and made some hocus-pocus signs with his free hand and put the ball back on the table.
“Cup, that eight ball just told me that in your shirt pocket you got a ticket for the lottery drawing this Wednesday, with some numbers that would have been good today.” He looked at Tincup for a response.
Tincup kept us waiting for maybe five seconds, and then he took the ticket from his pocket and examined it. He put it back in his pocket, without giving us any hint as to what he had seen. He took a paper napkin from the dispenser on the counter and blew his nose on it, and dropped it gently into the garbage can. He walked to table eight and picked up the offending eight ball and weighed it in his hand. Then he replaced it and took the orange five and tossed it once or twice. This is all in slow motion. Then Tincup jumped into the air and reversed his feet and whirled around like a pitcher going to first base, and fired the five ball across the counter. It went through the drywall like an artillery shell, taking the autographed picture of Buddy Hall with it. In the kitchen it struck with great velocity and set off a loud crash that seemed to go on for a long time. That would be the cups and saucers on the shelf over the sink.
He looked at us, as if for some approval. Then he selected a striped ball – it looked like maybe the fifteen – and hurled it at the bathroom door. It shattered the frosted glass panel on the door and made a similar crashing sound inside the room that also seemed to continue for a time. That would be the mirror over the lavatory.
All the activity made Tincup appear somewhat disheveled so he unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper and tucked his shirttail in neatly and closed the fly and buckled up. As if Tony and I were not there, he checked his watch and strolled toward the door. He went about ten feet and then turned and came back and took the ticket from his pocket and gave it to Tony, and continued out the front door, locking it carefully behind him. He still had not said a word. We could see his car crossing the lot slowly as he headed for home.
I felt like I had been holding my breath for a long time, and I let it out. “Shit, man,” I said to Tony, who was already gathering up the ashtrays, “I'm glad that's over!”
“Well, it ain't quite over yet, Mr. Bill. It will be over when Tincup comes in on Thursday morning and I tell him I win five hundred on that ticket in the Wednesday drawing. That's when it will be over.”
Tincup's premature congratulation
Tincup grabbed the golden ticket from Marvin's hand and consulted the front page of the Morning Advocate. “Five out of six,” he announced, “that's fifteen hundred dollars right there, and you're luckier than a shit house mouse.” He gave it back.
“I knew good things were gonna happen to me at Tincup Billiards, and sure enough they did. Where do I go to get my money? I'll smile all the way back to Houston.”
“Nobody will cash that for you today. Too big. It has to be verified or certified or something like that. You'll have to wait 'til Monday.”
Marvin frowned and looked at Lee, and then at Tincup. “Man, I can't stay here until Monday. If I don't show up for work Monday morning I will lose my job. How about if you buy the ticket from me, and you can cash it Monday? You ain't got nothing better to do.”
Tincup was trying to keep a straight face. “Sure, I'll do that for you. I'll give you eleven hundred for the ticket and you can be on the job bright and early Monday morning.”
“No,” squawked Lee. “Don't give up your cheese, man. Don't let this ugly old man rob you of your ticket!”
Now Tincup looked at me. “Mr. Bill, you wanta buy this ticket off Marvin? He's gotta go to work Monday.” He knew I couldn't raise eleven hundred dollars if I cried my eyes out.
So Marvin and Lee went down to the end of the counter and pow-wowed. They were arguing about the ticket. Lee threw up his hands and turned away, and Marvin came back to Tincup, who had the money fanned out in his hand. “Well, gimme the eleven hundred, you chinchy old bastard. I got to get on the road. I wish I hadn't bought you them toaster waffles.”
The deal was made and I walked the pair to the door and let them out. Tincup put the ticket in his shirt pocket and did a clumsy little dance step by table six. “They's always another way,” he said through a big grin. “If that pair comes back, they better have a gun. I'll skin 'em again!” He was forty bucks ahead for the night, plus at least six toaster waffles with butter and maple syrup.
About this time, the. cleanup man came to the front door and let himself in. His name was Tony, and he was no spring chicken. He had been the cleanup man in more than a few rooms around the country, where he might have been known by other names.
“I seen a car pullin' out. Did you play pool all night? Who was them two, anyway?”
“Couple of children from Houston,” said Tincup. “I had to give up the seven ball just to get a game.”
“Did you go off again, Cup? Yer getting' famous, you are, and they are comin' from all over to play you. Them guys was headed east, and their tag said Alabama. How much did you lose?”
So Tincup recounted the night for Tony, and added, “I went off on the table, but I got well on the lottery.” He explained how he had made the visitors pay for his action, and waved the fifteen-hundred dollar ticket at him.
Tony look at Tincup, and then he looked at me, and then he heaved a great sigh and walked over to table eight, where the game had been. He reached into the rack and picked up the black eight ball. He held it up at arm's length and peered at it for several seconds. Then he wiggled his eyebrows and made some hocus-pocus signs with his free hand and put the ball back on the table.
“Cup, that eight ball just told me that in your shirt pocket you got a ticket for the lottery drawing this Wednesday, with some numbers that would have been good today.” He looked at Tincup for a response.
Tincup kept us waiting for maybe five seconds, and then he took the ticket from his pocket and examined it. He put it back in his pocket, without giving us any hint as to what he had seen. He took a paper napkin from the dispenser on the counter and blew his nose on it, and dropped it gently into the garbage can. He walked to table eight and picked up the offending eight ball and weighed it in his hand. Then he replaced it and took the orange five and tossed it once or twice. This is all in slow motion. Then Tincup jumped into the air and reversed his feet and whirled around like a pitcher going to first base, and fired the five ball across the counter. It went through the drywall like an artillery shell, taking the autographed picture of Buddy Hall with it. In the kitchen it struck with great velocity and set off a loud crash that seemed to go on for a long time. That would be the cups and saucers on the shelf over the sink.
He looked at us, as if for some approval. Then he selected a striped ball – it looked like maybe the fifteen – and hurled it at the bathroom door. It shattered the frosted glass panel on the door and made a similar crashing sound inside the room that also seemed to continue for a time. That would be the mirror over the lavatory.
All the activity made Tincup appear somewhat disheveled so he unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper and tucked his shirttail in neatly and closed the fly and buckled up. As if Tony and I were not there, he checked his watch and strolled toward the door. He went about ten feet and then turned and came back and took the ticket from his pocket and gave it to Tony, and continued out the front door, locking it carefully behind him. He still had not said a word. We could see his car crossing the lot slowly as he headed for home.
I felt like I had been holding my breath for a long time, and I let it out. “Shit, man,” I said to Tony, who was already gathering up the ashtrays, “I'm glad that's over!”
“Well, it ain't quite over yet, Mr. Bill. It will be over when Tincup comes in on Thursday morning and I tell him I win five hundred on that ticket in the Wednesday drawing. That's when it will be over.”
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