money on a three-legged donkey | ivan

”Where is our money Korsch?”

Ivan is terrible at hiding his emotions, two droplets of sweat on his brow drag out his fear for all to see. Three very pissed off punters that sniffed out Ivan’s hiding place in his friend’s Saturn City casino office are just about ready to explode.

”You win some, you lose some! That’s the world of betting.” And the world of being a gamemaker. Twenty-four tributes, there’s plenty of losers, even the favourites.

There is a big cream desk between Ivan and the three men who put a five-figure bet on a favourite. Not with a bookmaker but with Ivan Korsch’s promised special betting service.

”You said the District Four would win!” The smallest man (not the smallest in the room though – that title belongs to Ivan) is close to choking Ivan with his hands stretched out in front of him but Ivan cowers behind the big leather desk chair.

”You took the risk, not me! I am just the tipping guy. You shoulda followed Barty’s gut, he’s got money on a finalist!” An embarrassing pair for the finale. A District Twelve, a nightmare worse than dog shit under his loafers. And then that kid from Five, the one that has dragged his name through dirty rumours. There’s no better option, not for Ivan anyway. He is sure Maryn and Hades will have their wise opinions, but they don’t have fragile reputations to carry.

All that hard work boasting Lucky Nachtnebel and the big idiot goes and gets himself killed by the clown. Ivan even went out of his own way of sponsoring the kid an eyepatch, for the viewers of course. Not because out of twenty-four District kids, Ivan somehow had a soft spot for one of them. Definitely not…Not now that the same kid as him dodging flying fists by three geezers that will so easily beat him to pulp if they don’t get their cash back.

”We want our money back, Korsch! Your words were that we could double our money. Where is it?”

”Bet on the lame pony and lose your bucks. That is how betting works.” Ivan shrugs but the bearded one drags him from the back of the leather chair by the collar of his shirt. ”Fine…fine!! I can get you some money back…half of it!” Ivan pleads with three who are synchronised in rolling up their sleeves.

It is not enough, idiot Ivan Korsch has dug his own grave. Just like his father said he was.
There would be topsoil over him right now, if not for his casino owner friend and security guards who burst through the office before the three men manage to knock Ivan unconscious with their punches and leather boots. Shallow cuts and bruises galore, he’ll need more than just bandages and painkillers. And the big bruise on his eye and the cut on his chin? The stylists will have to work their magic before he is seen in public.

A sore head and concussion will excuse him from the finale, what a failure. His father will excuse his debts with the three men, what a failure. Perhaps Gamemaker does not suit the Korsch name. For the High Council role…good luck to District Three!