The Assassin Betting Pool

TUMB 04/11

Brownstone, wanting to insure a future for Shay and Alison in the event of his death by the assassins, goes to Tyler and makes a deal to set up a new betting pool on the action with the assassins, as follows:

Brownstone goes to Black Sun Bar. gets Tyler’s usual greeting (Why are you ruining my day by bringing your ugly ass into my bar?”)

“Before you said you didn’t want to press your luck by starting another betting pool, but what if I told you that I could stack the odds in your favor and help make you a shit-ton of money?” The repeat of Brownstone Ass-kicking Day is coming real damn soon, but this time I’ve got a better handle on it. A lot less highway shit will be involved. I don’t want to help your ass. I want to help my ass. You’re just a tool to help with that. I want twenty-five percent of the house take. I’ll also place some bets on myself anonymously. I’ll send people this way to bet, too.”
“I don’t know if I could sleep at night knowing I helped you make that much money, even if I make a lot of money too. I really, really fucking hate you, you know.”
“This might be your last chance to make money off someone trying to kill me, you know. Because after I waste these fuckers and destroy the Harriken bigwigs no one’s gonna bet against me again. If these assholes want to bet on me dying, I don’t mind letting you know when I’ve taken out an assassin or two. I don’t plan on dying, so I’m stacking the deck heavily in my favor with all the tools I can get my hands on.”
“But what if you still get killed? From what I’ve heard there are some seriously dangerous assholes coming for you.”

“Then I’m out the survival money, but I still want the twenty-five percent of the house take to go to a trust for someone who needs it. I’ll send you the secure routing and account information. Gonna make this real clear. The trust money is for someone special. I don’t mind you talking shit about me, but you don’t say shit about her. Fucking ever. If you do, I will bring the pain. Understand, fucker? “If I die,” the bounty hunter continued, glaring down at Tyler, “and that money doesn’t go to the trust, two people will come looking for you, including a killer and another person who might even be worse. Consider that my insurance policy, asshole.” “None of this shit means I like you, Brownstone. If anything, I hate you more than ever.” “This isn’t about you liking me. It’s about both of us making money, prick.”