Double or Nothing
NOTE: This was my LJ Idol "intersection" entry for Season 7, Week 22 (Topic: Playing the Odds), collaborating with beeker121. We each wrote our own entries, with some cross-editing and coordination of plot points. Her entry is here, and these can be read in any order. This story, on its own, will also appear in the book "Idol Musings."
- - - - -
The old man was in an exceptionally good mood, considering he was about to die.
Cancers of the pancreas and liver were ensuring he would not quite see his 100th birthday, but, he reasoned, one had to go sometime, and as diseases go, with the help of narcotics and modern medicine, it wouldn’t be too painful an exit.
And he couldn’t help but smile when he saw his visitor.
“Ah, Nick! Nice of you to see me off,” the old man said.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said the visitor, a startlingly handsome man, standing tall and impeccably dressed before the state-of-the-art hospital bed. His bright eyes took in all the monitors, machines, IVs and other equipment, and a sort of satisfied smile came across his lips, as though this was somehow all his doing. “Looks like you’re going out in style, Mr. Webster.”
Webster laughed. “Looks like I beat you again.”
Nick’s smile became wider, flashing shiny, sharp teeth.
* * *
They first met when Webster was barely out of college. Job prospects were few, which was especially frustrating as his parents were in danger of losing their small farm. He was riding their prize filly along the fence, trying to think things through, when the visitor first appeared.
He was handsome - no, the first thought was “beautiful,” if that word could apply to looks that inspire as much fear as awe. He rode tall in his ornate saddle on an equally beautiful and intimidating black horse. Webster felt a chill, as he instantly sensed who - what - the stranger was.
Through the years, Webster forgot much of what Nick said then, other than “I see great potential in you.” And the wager.
A simple horse race, between two gentlemen and their steeds. If Webster won, he would come into incredible wealth and power. If he lost, the one known as Old Nick, among many other names, took his traditional prize.
The course seemed smooth and easy enough, until the young man found himself riding for his life - and soul - with the dark horse matching him stride for stride. Their cruel pace and the uneven terrain started to tell on the filly. Never had so much been asked of her. But ever true to her master, she found that burst of speed to finish ahead by a nose. She would never completely recover.
But the elated young man quickly did. In fact, he prospered. Within weeks he was in Chicago, finding doors opening to him, doors to progressively bigger and more important offices.
Years passed, and Webster found himself at a crossroads. He could take his accumulated wealth and strike out on his own, but in what direction? Numerous investors and people with can’t-miss ideas or noble causes tried to catch his attention. To clear his mind, he hit the links.
His score on the front nine was phenomenal. A casual golfer, he found himself playing like a pro. So it shouldn’t have surprised him that Nick was standing there as he approached the 10th tee.
“You could use some help,” the handsome devil said. “But I see your competitive spirit hasn’t abated.” He pulled a club out of his bag. “What do you say, old friend, double or nothing?”
It seemed insane to take on such a wager again. But as he finished the 18th hole one stroke ahead of his adversary, it didn’t feel wrong at all.
A move to New York later, and Webster quickly did see his fortunes and influence double. But being a high-powered CEO in the Big Apple came with its own challenges: SEC investigations, congressional committee subpoenas. Buying politicians and judges became a drain on his resources. Enter his old visitor.
“Another game?” This time it was chess, which Webster had been studying to help his strategic thinking. The knowledge paid off, as he found himself master over one of the most crafty minds ever known. As they sat at a table in a luxury Atlantic City hotel suite, Webster reaped a tragic bonus. The game had him away from his office in the World Trade Center on the day the towers fell.
A decade passed, with his ever-increasing fortunes secure. His name was as big as Buffett or Gates. Trump seethed with jealousy at its mention. Bloomberg came to him for advice.
* * *
“You’ve beaten me?” Nick asked. “What makes you say that?” His voice practically purred.
“I’ve won my soul three times,” Webster said confidently. “You won’t be taking me tonight.”
“Is that so?” the Devil replied. “And what do you have, to impress the Almighty upon your arrival? It was quite the life you’ve led, I’ll admit. But will it be up to standards? After all, you destroyed the horse that could have saved your parents’ farm. And you were too busy as their fortunes and health slipped away. Good of you to attend the funerals, though.
“And then, in Chicago. That lovely woman and her foundation could have accomplished so much with your help -- those suffering children. But then, we had our little game and it all seemed to slip your mind. Can’t think on such things when you’ve got a flight to New York, right?
“And, of course, there was that beautiful late-summer Tuesday. Perfect weather for that day out in Central Park you had planned for your entire office staff. But then, you heard from me. A quick word to a secretary, and plans were changed. That assistant made sure others went downstairs ahead of her, by the way. I hear she now has an exceptional glow.”
“Those things were not my fault!” Webster shrieked. “I had nothing to do with the towers coming down. Always figured that was your work.”
“Common misconception,” Nick replied calmly. “No, to further the cause of evil, I hardly need to lift a finger. Those men had all the inspiration within them they needed.
"To be honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with big tragedies, sending so many innocents straight to paradise, giving some that hero or martyr glow.
“You misunderstand so much, my friend. Your fault comes not from great crimes, but simple selfishness. And don’t I know how The Most High does not like selfishness.
“You especially misunderstood our wagers. True, by winning, you gained my influence to increase your fortunes. Of course, you could have achieved much of that success on your own. I did say I saw great potential in you. But then you put your faith in me to fulfill it.
“And by losing, you would have forfeited your immortal soul to me - right then and there. It didn’t mean you were immune to me taking it later.
“Ah, I see the truth starting to dawn on you. Where’s that confident smile? Poor man, I’ve seen this so many times. You thought you were playing the odds, when just by playing at all you lost. Win or lose a silly contest, you still contracted with ME!”
“That’s…” Webster stammered.
“Unfair?” Nick said, amused. “Hardly. Taking on a wager at all is a choice. Millions walk by the window without placing a bet.
“I’ll go now," he said, triumphant. "We’ll be meeting again very soon - at my place.”
- - - - -
The old man was in an exceptionally good mood, considering he was about to die.
Cancers of the pancreas and liver were ensuring he would not quite see his 100th birthday, but, he reasoned, one had to go sometime, and as diseases go, with the help of narcotics and modern medicine, it wouldn’t be too painful an exit.
And he couldn’t help but smile when he saw his visitor.
“Ah, Nick! Nice of you to see me off,” the old man said.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said the visitor, a startlingly handsome man, standing tall and impeccably dressed before the state-of-the-art hospital bed. His bright eyes took in all the monitors, machines, IVs and other equipment, and a sort of satisfied smile came across his lips, as though this was somehow all his doing. “Looks like you’re going out in style, Mr. Webster.”
Webster laughed. “Looks like I beat you again.”
Nick’s smile became wider, flashing shiny, sharp teeth.
* * *
They first met when Webster was barely out of college. Job prospects were few, which was especially frustrating as his parents were in danger of losing their small farm. He was riding their prize filly along the fence, trying to think things through, when the visitor first appeared.
He was handsome - no, the first thought was “beautiful,” if that word could apply to looks that inspire as much fear as awe. He rode tall in his ornate saddle on an equally beautiful and intimidating black horse. Webster felt a chill, as he instantly sensed who - what - the stranger was.
Through the years, Webster forgot much of what Nick said then, other than “I see great potential in you.” And the wager.
A simple horse race, between two gentlemen and their steeds. If Webster won, he would come into incredible wealth and power. If he lost, the one known as Old Nick, among many other names, took his traditional prize.
The course seemed smooth and easy enough, until the young man found himself riding for his life - and soul - with the dark horse matching him stride for stride. Their cruel pace and the uneven terrain started to tell on the filly. Never had so much been asked of her. But ever true to her master, she found that burst of speed to finish ahead by a nose. She would never completely recover.
But the elated young man quickly did. In fact, he prospered. Within weeks he was in Chicago, finding doors opening to him, doors to progressively bigger and more important offices.
Years passed, and Webster found himself at a crossroads. He could take his accumulated wealth and strike out on his own, but in what direction? Numerous investors and people with can’t-miss ideas or noble causes tried to catch his attention. To clear his mind, he hit the links.
His score on the front nine was phenomenal. A casual golfer, he found himself playing like a pro. So it shouldn’t have surprised him that Nick was standing there as he approached the 10th tee.
“You could use some help,” the handsome devil said. “But I see your competitive spirit hasn’t abated.” He pulled a club out of his bag. “What do you say, old friend, double or nothing?”
It seemed insane to take on such a wager again. But as he finished the 18th hole one stroke ahead of his adversary, it didn’t feel wrong at all.
A move to New York later, and Webster quickly did see his fortunes and influence double. But being a high-powered CEO in the Big Apple came with its own challenges: SEC investigations, congressional committee subpoenas. Buying politicians and judges became a drain on his resources. Enter his old visitor.
“Another game?” This time it was chess, which Webster had been studying to help his strategic thinking. The knowledge paid off, as he found himself master over one of the most crafty minds ever known. As they sat at a table in a luxury Atlantic City hotel suite, Webster reaped a tragic bonus. The game had him away from his office in the World Trade Center on the day the towers fell.
A decade passed, with his ever-increasing fortunes secure. His name was as big as Buffett or Gates. Trump seethed with jealousy at its mention. Bloomberg came to him for advice.
* * *
“You’ve beaten me?” Nick asked. “What makes you say that?” His voice practically purred.
“I’ve won my soul three times,” Webster said confidently. “You won’t be taking me tonight.”
“Is that so?” the Devil replied. “And what do you have, to impress the Almighty upon your arrival? It was quite the life you’ve led, I’ll admit. But will it be up to standards? After all, you destroyed the horse that could have saved your parents’ farm. And you were too busy as their fortunes and health slipped away. Good of you to attend the funerals, though.
“And then, in Chicago. That lovely woman and her foundation could have accomplished so much with your help -- those suffering children. But then, we had our little game and it all seemed to slip your mind. Can’t think on such things when you’ve got a flight to New York, right?
“And, of course, there was that beautiful late-summer Tuesday. Perfect weather for that day out in Central Park you had planned for your entire office staff. But then, you heard from me. A quick word to a secretary, and plans were changed. That assistant made sure others went downstairs ahead of her, by the way. I hear she now has an exceptional glow.”
“Those things were not my fault!” Webster shrieked. “I had nothing to do with the towers coming down. Always figured that was your work.”
“Common misconception,” Nick replied calmly. “No, to further the cause of evil, I hardly need to lift a finger. Those men had all the inspiration within them they needed.
"To be honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with big tragedies, sending so many innocents straight to paradise, giving some that hero or martyr glow.
“You misunderstand so much, my friend. Your fault comes not from great crimes, but simple selfishness. And don’t I know how The Most High does not like selfishness.
“You especially misunderstood our wagers. True, by winning, you gained my influence to increase your fortunes. Of course, you could have achieved much of that success on your own. I did say I saw great potential in you. But then you put your faith in me to fulfill it.
“And by losing, you would have forfeited your immortal soul to me - right then and there. It didn’t mean you were immune to me taking it later.
“Ah, I see the truth starting to dawn on you. Where’s that confident smile? Poor man, I’ve seen this so many times. You thought you were playing the odds, when just by playing at all you lost. Win or lose a silly contest, you still contracted with ME!”
“That’s…” Webster stammered.
“Unfair?” Nick said, amused. “Hardly. Taking on a wager at all is a choice. Millions walk by the window without placing a bet.
“I’ll go now," he said, triumphant. "We’ll be meeting again very soon - at my place.”