Lone Rat

 

It was a quiet January morning and Homer Bumwell was hard at work in his palatial office. His massive desk held four large flat-screen monitors, one tuned to CNN, the other three focused on company business. As President and COO of YahYouBetcha, the fastest growing online gambling operation in the U.S., he took great pleasure in keeping track of the betting action on the company’s many platforms. With the NCAA championship game on the horizon and the Super Bowl just a few weeks away, the gamblers were out in force. Thank God for cloud computing and infinite capacity, he thought. Go ahead, suckers, bet to your hearts’ content.

The monitor tuned to CNN was on the far-right side of the desk, the sound muted, the banner at the base of the screen scrolling news that included the words “active shooter” and “Iowa.” Bumwell paid no attention.

There was a polite knock on his door and Bettsy Lovelady, his secretary, popped her head in. “Good morning, Mr. Bumwell. Mr. Zipper is here to see you.”

Homer checked his Rolex. “Great, right on time. Send him in.”

The door opened wide and Hardy Zipper, Vice President of Business Development, walked briskly into the office, his right hand extended to shake hands with the boss. “Mr. Bumwell, thanks for seeing me on short notice. How are you, sir?”

“Never better, Hardy, never better.” They shook hands firmly. “Let’s use my conference table so these damn monitors won’t be in the way.” They walked to the large mahogany table surrounded by comfortable leather chairs. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a placid lake where the occasional trout broke the surface to slurp up an insect. Bumwell sat at the head of the table while Zipper took a chair to his right. “Now, what’s on your mind, Hardy? Why did you insist on meeting first thing this morning?”

“I have an idea to run by you, sir. I think you’re gonna love it. It has great growth potential and, quite frankly, it’s based on a gift that just keeps giving.”

“Hmm…well you certainly have my attention, Hardy. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, so you know how our volume drops off after the Super Bowl. Football fans are the best there is and they can’t get enough action. But after the Super Bowl, things get quiet. Our revenue takes a dive. March Madness is a nice bump, and the NBA is pretty solid, but nothing makes up for the football action. And we all know baseball is a dud. Very few gamblers want to bet on baseball.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far.”

“My idea could fill the gap between football seasons and I think you are going to agree it has significant growth potential.”

“I’m listening.” Bumwell glanced at his watch. Get to the damn point, Hardy. I don’t have all day.

“Okay, here it is. We build a site to bet on the next mass shooting.”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I kid you not, sir. We could lay out a sweet menu of betting options for our clients. Like, how many days until the next ‘active shooter’ event.”

“I don’t know, Hardy, they happen so often now.”

“Or covering the spread on how many victims.”

“Hmm…that’s interesting.” Homer drummed his fingers on the conference table.

“How ’bout the shooter’s weapon of choice?”

“Nah, ninety percent of ’em use that frickin’ AR-15.”

“But we could give long odds on something other than an AR-15. And how ’bout this—the venue. Is it a school, a church, a synagogue, a shopping mall, a dance hall? Think of the possibilities, sir. The list is endless.”

“I’m startin’ to feel you, Hardy. How about the shooter’s choice of social media? Did he post his manifesto on FaceBook, Instagram, Truth Social, or whatever—”

“And don’t forget the potential parlays, like ‘I’ll take more than ten victims, at a school, and YouTube for social media.’”

“By God, Hardy, I think you’ve got something.”

“Our tech crew could put up a site in no time, including an app for the iPhone junkies.” Hardy was grinning ear-to-ear.

“You got that right. But what can we call it? How ’bout ‘Lone Wolf’. These whack jobs typically act alone.”

“Sir, that’s an insult to wolves. I’m thinking we call it ‘Lone Rat’. How does that grab you?”

“I love it! ‘Lone Rat’ it is. Okay, okay…let’s slow down a little. We want to do this right. Let’s call a meeting of the management team to brainstorm ideas. Then we can meet with the statisticians and odds-makers to make sure they can handicap this shit. After that, we’ll call in the tech geeks and get the ball rolling. Oh, and in the meantime, I’d better run it by legal. We need to make sure any exposure won’t break the bank.” Homer leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Hardy Zipper…”

“Yes, sir?”

“You are one hell of a guy! No wonder I pay you the big bucks. The ball’s in your court, Zip. Now get the hell out of here and get to work.” Zipper was halfway to the door when Bumwell jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute! Here’s another one: they could bet the over-under on how many senators and congressmen will offer thoughts and prayers.”

“Brilliant, Chief! I’ll add it to the list.” Zipper closed the door behind him.

Bumwell returned to his desk. On the monitor tuned to CNN, the Sheriff of Dallas County Iowa stood in front of a bank of microphones, about to convene a press briefing in a town called Perry.

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