James pulled his car into a parking spot at the gas station. Three bright numbers greeted him as he stepped out of the car. The numbers were 128 (thousand) for the Fantasy 5 jackpot, 322 (million) for the Powerball jackpot, and, of particular importance to James, 999 (million) for the Mega Millions jackpot. The actual estimated jackpot was $1.8 billion, but the sign always displayed 999 whenever the jackpot exceeded $1 billion.

As he entered, a bright bell sounded to announce his entry. In the left corner of the store, James selected his six numbers, the same ones he always chose: 2, 8, 17, 34, 50, and 1 for the Mega. The numbers corresponded to the jersey numbers of the starting lineup for the Los Angeles Lakers in their 2001 (hence the “01” for the Mega) championship season. 

Two other customers stood in front of James in line. The first one bought a lottery ticket. Whenever the jackpot approaches and surpasses $1 billion, it produces a frantic interest in the general population. People believed, for some reason, that their chances of winning increased as the jackpot increased. It doesn’t, but the important thing is that it feels like you’re more likely to win. People feel that the potential return on investment of a billion dollars makes the two dollar ticket worth buying. Apparently the 10,000,000,000% return on a $200 million jackpot just doesn’t cut it.

When it was James’s turn, he handed the sheet to the cashier, a man in his late twenties with tattoos covering his forearms.

“Back again, huh?” Marcus, the cashier said.

“Yeah, it’s becoming a bit of a bad habit,” James said.

“Hey, there’s worse habits to have.”

“That’s for sure,” James said as he looked around, making sure there was no one else in line behind him. “So how’ve you been, man?”

“I’ve been all right,” Marcus said as he took the sheet and slid it into the scanning machine. The machine spat out the official Mega Millions ticket with James’s preferred numbers. “Just trying to get things back in order, you know?”

“That’s good. That’s good. Look, maybe we could hang out again sometime.”

Marcus looked James in the eyes closely for a moment. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment and said, “Yeah, maybe.” They both noticed a customer lining up behind James.

“Well,” James said, “just keep it in mind. Let me know. Just have some beers or something.’”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know. That’ll be two bucks.”

Marcus held the Mega Millions ticket in his hand, waiting for James’s money. James put his hand in his left front pocket, where he always kept his wallet and phone, but he only felt his phone. He put his hand in his right pocket, where he always kept his keys and a pen, and he only felt his keys and pen. He never put anything in his back pockets, but he checked those two. They were both empty as always. He checked his suit jacket’s pocket. It too was empty. Just in case his brain was playing tricks on him, as brains do, he went back to his front pocket, pulled his phone out, put it in his right hand, then checked the pocket again with his left. It was empty.

“I must’ve left my wallet in my car, I’ll be right back.”

 Marcus nodded. James turned around and said, “You go ahead,” to the next waiting customer.

James was almost certain that his wallet was not sitting in his car, but it would be foolish not to check. He closed his eyes and tried to access his mind’s memories of the day. He had the wallet this morning. He used it at the office vending machine. Then he went to lunch with a client. He must’ve lost his wallet there. James tilted his head back, trying to replay the lunch in his mind. They had a fine time. He paid with his company card. Did he somehow forget to put it back in his pocket? He didn’t use it for the rest of the day. Could he have taken the wallet out of his pocket in his office? He didn’t usually do that, and he didn’t buy anything online, so where is it? Was he a victim of a pickpocket? James always had a hard time accepting the fact that pickpockets were a real thing that exists. How could someone just steal your wallet by slightly bumping into you? How could you not notice? Yet, James didn’t notice.

It was a quick search because James kept his car so devoid of clutter. It wasn’t in the cupholder, it wasn’t in the center console, it wasn’t in the glove box, it wasn’t in the back seat or the little pouch on the back of the front seats, it wasn’t under the seats, and it wasn’t in the trunk. It was gone. James sighed a resignation of defeat and walked back into the store.

“Look,” he said to Marcus, “I can’t find my wallet.”

“That’s rough, man. Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. Do you think you could…”

“What?”

“Could you give me the ticket, and I’ll pay you back?”

“Sorry, the ticket’s two bucks.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve bought tickets from you like ten times already.”

“I remember. And every time you did, you gave me two bucks.”

“Really? Are you being serious?”

“Yes. That’s the policy.” Marcus held up his hands to indicate impartiality. “You’re the one that told me that I needed to, what was it, fly straight and clean up my act and follow the rules and all that shit.”

“I didn’t mean stuff like this,” James said, trying to suppress his frustration, “I meant…”

“What? My ‘gangbanging lifestyle?’”

“Yes!” James said defiantly. “Not two bucks with someone you know.”

“Two bucks becomes, ‘the manager needs to talk to you,’ turns into I’m fired from this job, turns into me needing money fast, turns into me going back into stuff that I don’t wanna do any more.”

“Are you fucking serious, man, just give me the ticket.”

“Just give me the two bucks!”

“We’re friends, dude!”

“Are we?” Marcus asked, and James rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes! We’ve known each other since we were like, ten.”

“I mean, we were friends in high school for a bit. That was a long time ago. I don’t know how things are now.”

“Fuckin’ a, dude, just–”

The store bell announced another customer entering.

“Whatever, man. Fuck it,” James said as he walked away.

On the drive home, James tried to put the confrontation behind him. It was pointless to worry, it’s just a worthless ticket, and he’d call Marcus in a couple of days to hang out, watch a Laker game at a bar, and they’d smooth it over. 

Every Friday night, James would take his fiancee Chloe out to dinner. That night it was Casper’s restaurant. Chloe loved it and James felt it was overpriced. Almost done with his meal, James suddenly remembered that he had no wallet. 

“Oh!” he said, “I forgot to tell you, and I’m embarrassed to say it, but I think I lost my wallet today.”

“You lost your wallet?” Chloe asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

“And you forgot to tell me?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“That’s not like you. It’s a pretty important thing to happen. I would think that you’d tell me right when you got home, or at least before we went out, to make sure I had my wallet, which I do by the way,” she smiled. “Is everything else okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just forgot, I guess.”

“Okay,” she said with a hint of skepticism.

“People forget things sometimes. It’s only elephants that don’t.”

“Very funny.”

“I went to lunch with a client, I’ll call the restaurant and ask if they found it. And I’ll check the office on Monday morning.”

“And maybe freeze your credit cards for the time being.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. It’ll be fine.”

“I guess I’ll pay for dinner, then. Good thing I have my wallet in my purse.”

“Thanks.”

“Look at you! You’re the one getting wined and dined!” Chloe said with a smile.

“You’re the one doing the wining.”

“Excuse me?”

They both started laughing.

“W-I-N-E, not W-H-I-N-E,” James explained.

“That “H” is crucial. And it’s good wine. I’m just gonna use the restroom and then we can get the check, yeah?”

James nodded and Chloe left the table. He admired her as she walked through the restaurant. At first he didn’t care much for the fancy dresses and the matching jewelry and the fancy restaurants and the expensive wines; he preferred a casual look and a casual environment, but seeing how happy it made Chloe to dress fancy, and to see him dressed up, to try different wines, it made him fall in love with the experience, and fall in love with her even more.

As she turned a corner, James pulled out his phone and began scrolling. Based on his previous scrolling, clicking, and watching, the news app displayed stories that were likely to keep James scrolling, clicking, and watching. It informed him of the score of the Lakers game. It was the end of the first quarter and the Lakers were up 29-20 against the Philadelphia 76ers. It showed James the day’s trajectory of the stock market. It showed James an article purporting to rank the “Top 10 Burger Places in L.A.” IT showed a story of a California jogger being arrested for manslaughter after allegedly killing a homeless person.

None of these prompted James to click for further information. He scrolled a bit more until he found a link to the winning numbers for tonight’s Mega Millions jackpot. Even though he didn’t have a ticket, he was curious enough to follow the link. On the next page, he scrolled down to find the six numbers: 2, 8, 17, 34, 50, and 1.

He blinked rapidly several times in his inability to comprehend. He must be reading it wrong. It couldn’t be right. He set his phone on the table and rubbed his eyes thoroughly. When he opened his eyes again, those same numbers, those jersey numbers, remained on the screen. He picked up phone with his left hand and pointed with his right forefinger at each successive number, whispering them to himself. “Two. Eight. Seventeen. Thirty-four. Fifty. One.”

His heart began beating very fast, and he tried to control himself by breathing slowly and deeply. Those six numbers were undeniably there. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, and a slight tingle coursed through his body. He looked around nervously, as though everyone would be staring at him, as though they all noticed the change he was experiencing, as though the six numbers had spontaneously given him a golden glow.

“Okay, he said to himself quietly. “Okay. This is it. This is incredible.” He stopped talking to himself for fear of drawing attention. His mind raced. He had just won $1.8 billion. He didn’t own the ticket, but he was certain Marcus would do the right thing in this situation. They were his numbers. They should split it 50/50. So he had just won $900 million. There’s no state tax in California on lottery winnings, just federal taxes. Should be around $700 million or so after taxes. Even though they had an argument earlier that day, Marcus would definitely split the winnings. It was the only honorable thing. Even though Marcus had been involved in various illegal activities, he still had that strong sense of honor and respect and all that. It’s weird how criminals do that sometimes. Marcus would certainly appreciate James giving him financial advice on the winnings. He did say how much he wants to follow the rules now. He may have destroyed the ticket, or given it to his boss. That would complicate things. And there’s the obvious possibility that Marcus wouldn’t want to–

“Are you ready to go?” Chloe said suddenly.

James jumped slightly as he was startled from his thoughts. “Yeah, let’s get the check.”

Every Saturday morning, Chloe would go to a yoga class with her friends. James saw her off, then mentally prepared to make the most important phone call of his life.

“It’ll be fine,” he told himself. “I know Marcus. We’ll just talk and get it all sorted out. No need to worry.”

He took a deep breath before pushing the “call” button on his phone. The phone rang, and James’s right leg bounced rapidly. It seemed that the pause between rings was longer than usual. It seemed that there were more rings than usual. It was probably just James’s imagination.

A woman’s voice spoke to him, saying “Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options.”

The phone beeped, and James said, “Hey Marcus, how’s it going? It’s James. Maybe this is a bad time to call. Uhm, I know we had an argument yesterday and everything, but it’s not a big deal. Call me back whenever, let’s uhm, talk soon. See ya.”

James ended the call and sat in silence. He looked around his apartment. Just as he did whenever he purchased a lottery ticket, he imagined the house he would buy for Chloe, with a gigantic wardrobe or her, a view of the ocean from their bedroom, a hot tub, an elegant dining room because he knew Chloe would want to host fancy dinner parties, and his own basement with a pool table and a bar.

On Monday, James went to work. Marcus had not called or texted, and James hardly thought of anything else over the weekend. He checked his phone more often than usual, just in case he missed the notification sound. He repeatedly searched “lottery” and “Mega Millions” on the internet, anxiously awaiting a news article announcing that the winner had accepted their winnings. There was no such announcement over the weekend, but there were brief articles giving information on the location of the ticket purchase. James knew there was no purchase. The two bucks had not been exchanged.

His wallet was nowhere to be found in the office. He had to admit that he had been a victim of a pickpocket. After two hours of work, he experienced such a deep, palpable understanding of how boring his job was. His manager talked about the tasks of the day, and James barely mustered the energy to pretend to care. When the possibility of never working again is so close, the dullness of work is at its most pungent.

A co-worker mentioned the lottery jackpot and marveled at their proximity to the winning ticket. He then listed the things he would buy if he had won. He asked James to do the same, but James declined by saying he had a lot of important work to do. He felt his anger rising.

The clock inched its way through the day, and James worked poorly. He couldn’t focus. He didn’t care. When the day finally ended, he said goodbye to everyone in the office and left. In his car, he texted Chloe, lying that he needed to stay late after work. Instead, he drove for thirty minutes in complete silence. He arrived in a poor neighborhood on a street that desperately needed repaving.

James parked the car near the curb. Two teenagers sped by on bicycles. James watched them turn onto another street before he stepped out of the car. He looked around and couldn’t see anyone. In front of him was Ashley Haze’s house. Ashley was Marcus’s girlfriend. They were on again then off again then on again then off again then on again. Ashley had been an addict while Marcus was a dealer, then they were both addicts, then she was clean while he wasn’t, then they were both clean, then she relapsed. He cheated on her, then apologized, then she cheated on him, then she apologized. James wasn’t sure of the exact situation now, except that Marcus had been staying here for the past few months since he got out of prison. 

Marcus had gone to jail a few times for minor incidents, but the most recent stint was an eighteen-month prison sentence. James didn’t want to get caught up in a big confrontation, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He stepped through the open chain link gate into the front yard. The grass was overgrown, and two forty-ounce beer bottles lay discarded on the ground. He walked down the concrete path, up the two steps onto the porch, and knocked twice on the wooden door with cracked maroon paint. He crossed his arms, and his right hand rapidly tapped his left bicep in anticipation.

Someone’s footsteps approached the front door. A floorboard creaked loudly. James briefly recalled a house party he had attended here seven or eight years ago. The opening front door interrupted his memory.

Ashley Haze stood there, just over five feet tall, wearing a USC sweatshirt and pajamas, her golden hair tied back and messy.

“James!” she said in a slightly raspy voice, smiling and giving James a hug. “How are you?”

“Hi Ashley. I’m all right.

“It’s been so long. Do you want to come in?”

“I wanted to speak to Marcus. Is he here?”

Ashley’s face fell from excitement to concern. Her green eyes drifted away from James’s to some great distance, unfocused.

“No. He’s not here.”

“But he is staying here with you, right?” James asked, but Ashley kept looking away, deep in though. “He’s been living with you for the last five or six months, hasn’t he? Ashley, look at me.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to James with great effort. Her eyes watered slightly.

“I haven’t seen Marcus since Thursday.”

“What?”

“Yes, Marcus has been living here since he got out of prison. It was going well. He promised he was gonna live right this time. No drugs, no dealing drugs, none of that. Of course he’s said that before, but it seemed real this time. He got an honest job, he was working hard. No drugs. He wasn’t even drinking much. It was great. Then I don’t know what happened. On Thursday we were together and everything seemed fine. Then on Friday I was still asleep when he went to work, and I, I, I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve called and texted again and again, and nothing!”

She cried, and James looked away. It was his turn to gaze into some unknown distance, deep in thought. He didn’t know what to make of this. He tried to figure out how this turn of events affected his chances at splitting the winnings. 

“Has something happened to him?” Ashley asked as he touched James’s arm. “Do you think he’s gotten back into some, I don’t know, gang shit? Drug dealing shit? Back to his old fuckin’ ways? Is Marcus in trouble?”

James had trouble considering the situation. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Don’t bullshit me, James!” Rachel shouted. She grabbed his suit jacket sleeve and pulled it hard, nearly ripping it. She looked at him with an intensity that James had never seen in her before. “You must know something, otherwise you wouldn’t fucking be here! What the fuck is going on?”

James slowly grabbed Ashley’s wrist and removed her hand from his sleeve. “I’m sorry Marcus hasn’t called or texted. I’m not sure what he’s up to. I need to go.” He turned and walked back to his car.

“Oh, bull shit! Some help you are!”

James drove in complete silence again, not entirely sure where he was going. So Marcus had not contacted his girlfriend since the winning numbers had been announced. That’s not a great sign, but not the worst either. A lottery jackpot probably makes a lot of people go into a temporary hiding as they figure out exactly how they want to proceed. It was almost certain that Marcus had not accepted the winnings yet. There would have been some announcement of that.

Marcus was probably staying at some other friend’s house for the time being. He tried to think of all the friends they had in common to determine who he should talk to next. His frustration clouded his memory. Maybe it would be worthwhile to just try another call to Marcus. He parked the car on a random, quiet street. Several trees gave him some shade from the right, and an apartment complex stood on his left. There was no one around. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself, before taking out his phone and calling Marcus. After five rings, Marcus answered.

“Hello?”

“Oh. Hey, man. It’s James.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Uhm, how’s it goin’?” James asked.

“It’s going good, man. How are you?”

“I’m pretty good. Listen, about what happened on Friday…” Marcus didn’t respond. “I came into the store, and we had a, uhm, disagreement.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“I guess it was just a difference of opinions, but it’s no big deal to me anyway. I’m not even really calling about that. Later that day, did you see, do you still have… I mean, the numbers won! Did you keep the ticket?”

A long, awkward silence passed. Just as James was about to ask again, Marcus said, “Yeah, I have it.”

A small feeling of relief hit James. At least Marcus hadn’t given it to his boss or destroyed it. Hope was still alive.

“Okay good. Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” said James, “Uhm, listen, I don’t know how to say this, but… I mean, I was the one who picked the numbers.”

“Right.”

“I know it’s a weird situation, but I think it would be reasonable, given that I picked the numbers, to share the winnings.”

James tilted his phone away from his mouth so he could still hear Marcus’s response, but Marcus couldn’t hear his heavy breathing. An uncomfortable silence passed as James waited.

“I thought this type of thing would happen,” Marcus said.

“What’s that?”

“People asking me for money.”

“Yeah. I understand. But, I mean, I’m not just some random person. I’m the one who picked the winning numbers.”

“I’m the one who has the ticket.”

“I know, Marcus. I’m glad you do. But don’t you think, given the circumstances, that it would be fair to split the winnings?”

Another silent pause ensued. James refused to break it. Eventually, after what felt like a full minute had passed, Marcus spoke up.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Because I want to be generous. But I can’t do this for everyone. I’ll give you a million.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. A million as thanks for your help.”

James felt his anger rising. It took great effort to keep his voice calm.

“A million is like a tenth of a percent. It should definitely be fifty-fifty. Or at the very least sixty-forty. I know you currently have the ticket, but the ticket wouldn’t even exist without me.”

“But you never actually purchased it.”

“Holy shit, I’ll give you the two dollars. Come on, let’s be reasonable and split it. I mean, they’re my numbers. They’re always my numbers. You know I always pick the same ones. They’re the starting lineup of the 2001 Lakers—”

“No they’re not!” Marcus said, his voice raised for the first time in the conversation. “No they’re not, James. Horace Grant never wore number fifty! He wore fifty-four!”

“Who cares, this isn’t about the fucking Lakers, Marcus!”

“Yes it is! It is. You’re a fake fan!”

James could not believe what he was hearing. He wanted to punch something.

“So what if I got a jersey number wrong? I did it every time. I picked the numbers. The ticket should be mine if you weren’t being so fucking weird about it. So let’s just split the winnings and move on.”

“Listen, James. I’m offering you a million dollars. I think you can financially advise yourself with that.”

Before James could respond, Marcus hung up. James sat in disbelief. His anger swelled and swelled to a level he had never experienced before. He nearly stepped out of the car and smashed his phone on the asphalt, but he managed to merely throw it into the back seat. He gripped the steering wheel with such force that his hands jolted with pain. He wanted to force his head into the steering wheel or punch his first into the side window. Before he lost control completely, he managed to put the car in drive and slam on the gas pedal.

James sped home faster and more recklessly than he ever drove in his life. He turned on the radio in a desperate attempt to calm himself down, but it seemed that every station insisted on playing some idiotic, annoying, pointless, stupid music, so he turned it off.

“Fuck!” he shouted to himself.

When he got home, Chloe tried to ask him about his day, but he brushed her off. He said he was so exhausted and really needed to take a shower.

That night, James lay in bed on his back, staring at the dimly lit ceiling. Chloe lay on her side next to him, her left leg resting on his. She softly circled her hand on James’s chest.

“What are you thinking about?” Chloe asked.

“Nothing.”

“Hmm. Nothing, huh? Is this one of those times when it’s really nothing or you’re just saying that?”

“It’s nothing, really,” James said.

“Okay. It’s just that you’ve been acting strangely lately, so I get concerned.”

“Strangely?”

“Yeah. You’ve been tossing and turning all night for days, getting up for a drink of water, and you’re usually such a sound sleeper. You’ve been uncharacteristically forgetful, and, I don’t know, sometimes you seem really deep in thought, and when I walk into the room you get startled.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, James. And I’m wearing lingerie, and you haven’t been exactly noticing it.”

James sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…” A tiny moment passed where James considered explaining the situation, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to bring her into this. She might advise him to just take the million, and he had no intention of doing that. “Work has been pretty stressful, which it usually isn’t. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She didn’t sound completely convinced, but she didn’t press any further.

James dreamed about the money. He woke up in a sweat, thinking about the money. He drank a glass of water while contemplating the money. Later on, he ate breakfast while visualizing the money. He brushed his teeth while imagining the money. He drove to work, figuring out the best way to get the money. While at work, he was constantly distracted by considering the money.

Marcus almost certainly hadn’t cashed in the ticket yet. He was probably staying at some friend’s house, and it probably wasn’t a mutual friend of theirs. Or it was some hotel to lie low for a while. He almost certainly quit his job at the gas station, as anyone would do if they won the jackpot. No one would want to waste another second of their life at work, especially a job like that. If he knew Marcus well, which he did, he would guess that Marcus couldn’t completely resist spending a lot of money, even though he didn’t have it yet. Marcus had struggled financially throughout his twenties, and now that hundreds of millions of dollars were right in front of him, there was no way he could fully restrain himself. He’d probably max out his credit cards before cashing in the ticket. But what would Marcus want to buy?

Of course! James quickly opened a new tab on his internet browser and searched for the upcoming schedule for the Lakers. Their next game was on Thursday against the Pistons. It was just a hunch, but it was the best chance at meeting Marcus in person, and meeting in person was the best chance of persuading him.

He went to the bank on his lunch break, withdrew a load of cash. At the end of the day, he drove to the Lakers arena, stepped up to the ticket office, and bought a ticket.

On Thursday night, James found his seat next to an excited kid and his father. They sat there, in the highest section, looking down at the giant human beings on the court, who looked small from such a distance. The kid next to James furiously ate candy, and the father sipped on a soda. Fans wearing Lakers jerseys found their seats in the arena. 

James pulled out his pair of binoculars from its case and looked down at the court. Players jogged around, making layups, dunks, and three pointers. James scanned the seats near the court, looking for Marcus. The men at the scorer’s table talked, fans joked and drank beers, and the sideline reporter talked to a camera. James saw an Oscar-winning actor, some model or actress that Chloe talked about once, the Lakers broadcasters that James had heard so many times on TV, and Will Ferrell. He looked all around the court, but there was no sign of Marcus. The game hadn’t started, and there were plenty of empty seats, but James felt slightly foolish. Perhaps this was a waste of time.

A few minutes later, the stadium’s lights dimmed, and the crowd cheered. The stadium’s announcer announced the starting lineup of the Detroit Pistons. The crowd booed. He then announced the starting lineup of “your” Los Angeles Lakers. The crowd cheered. Though he had felt a tinge of foolishness just moments ago, James now felt a strange sense of destiny. This was it. It was the Lakers starting lineup (except Horace Grant) that started this whole thing, and now he was here. Although he had been a Lakers fan his whole life, James couldn’t recall a time when he cared less about the outcome of a game. He couldn’t think of anything other than the money he was owed. It was rightfully his.

The referee threw the ball in the air, and the game started. James returned to his binoculars,  scanning the seats near the court. He moved slowly from seat to seat, inspecting each person. There was still no sign of Marcus. He shifted his focus a few rows back and checked each person. There was still no sign. He moved back again and searched. He surveyed the fans. Yes! There was Marcus, sitting eight rows back. He was watching the game, drinking a beer, and talking with a pretty woman who was not Ashley Haze.

A tingling, confident feeling hit James. He was right that Marcus would come here, that he would want to show off. James put down his binoculars and smiled. His plan was working itself out. Throughout the first half, James watched the game through the binoculars, repeatedly checking on Marcus. Marcus drank, laughed, cheered, and complained about the game’s officiating, as NBA fans do.

With two minutes left in the second quarter, James put his binoculars away. He stood up, walked down the stairs, down the hall, down the escalator, then another escalator, down another hall, and out of the arena. He thought Marcus might get up at halftime, and he didn’t want to run into him.

The warm Los Angeles night greeted him as he stepped out. Some fans and tourists took pictures with the various sports statues near the arena. James walked two blocks to Athena Parking, where he had left his car an hour and a half earlier. James looked around, trying not to look too suspicious. There was no one else in the parking lot, and the lot attendant sat in his cubicle looking down at his phone. James opened the door and sat in the front passenger seat, closing the door behind him. He opened the glove compartment and retrieved the small Smith & Wesson revolver that was inside.

James inherited the gun a year ago when his grandfather died. Since then, it had resided in a safe in James’s apartment until yesterday, when James took it out while Chloe was showering. He hoped he didn’t have to use it, but he needed it just in case. It is the ultimate persuasion tool, after all.

He put the gun in his jacket pocket and walked away from the parking lot. Suddenly he felt lighter. His legs felt nice and at ease. His sense of purpose was building. The $900 million was so close. The weight of having to go to work day after day was lifting.

The next step of the plan was to wait. Tom’s bar stood directly across the street from the arena, so James walked in and ordered a whiskey sour. He sat and watched the game.

With two minutes left in the fourth quarter, James left the bar. He found a spot in the arena’s courtyard, leaned against a railing, and watched fans walk about. He waited. An electric sign above the arena’s entrance announced that the game was over, and the Lakers had won by twelve.

James positioned himself to watch the fans who were about to exit the arena. He held his hand over his mouth and chin, as if deep in thought, to obscure part of his face. Fans began to rush out of the several double doors, happy that their team had won. James scanned them, on the lookout for Marcus and the woman who was not Ashley Haze.

After a couple minutes of watching, James felt anxiety rising in him. If he couldn’t find Marcus, then this was a complete waste of time. Maybe he would never track him down and he wouldn’t even get the lousy million.

But there she was! James spotted the woman in the crowd, and there was Marcus walking alongside her. James carefully kept the pair within his light of sight, walking to maintain a reasonable distance. People shouted and talked, and the crowd dispersed. Marcus and the woman walked down Figueroa Street and turned right on 11^th Street. James followed. Plenty of people milled about, so it wasn’t too obvious that James was following them. He stayed a hundred feet back from them.

The woman put her arm under Marcus’s as they walked. They passed a man pacing back and forth, screaming unintelligibly. The pair ignored him and so did James and so did everyone else. They walked a few more blocks before turning left on San Pedro Street. 

Eventually, Marcus and the woman slowed to a stop in front of some steps that led to a luxury apartment building. James hung back, considering his options. Marcus might go up with her, in which case James would have to come back the next morning and wait for some unknowable amount of time, and the pair might leave together in the morning anyway. Or James could intervene now and confront Marcus, but that might make him even more mad and even less amenable.

James didn’t know what to do, so he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He never smoked, but he bought the pack just for this situation, if he had to stand and wait. If you’re out and about, standing still, it might raise suspicion, but if you’re smoking a cigarette, then you’re just a man smoking a cigarette. James glanced at the pair, who were still lingering on the porch. The woman kissed Marcus’s cheek before stepping alone into her apartment. Marcus looked at the door for a moment, then walked away. James put out the cigarette and followed.

They walked five blocks at a steady pace before Marcus turned left. When James made the turn, he didn’t see Marcus anywhere. A rush of panic hit him for a moment. It was dispelled by a neon sign above him which said “PARKING.” Of course, Marcus was getting his car, and James wondered if it was still that shitty old Toyota he’d had since high school. 

Time was running short, and he needed to find Marcus. He quickly looked around the bottom floor, and though it was dark, James couldn’t see or hear anyone, so he jogged up the stairs. On the second floor, he saw a woman pushing a stroller. He ran up the next set of stairs. There was no one to be seen on the third floor. His anxiety built as he hurried to the fourth floor. Again, he saw no one, so he went up to the rooftop level.

James stood on that mass of concrete and looked left and right. He saw a man in his late 20’s, about six feet tall, athletic build, looking down at his cell phone. It was Marcus, standing forty feet away in the aisle of the parking garage.

“Marcus!”

The man stood, sighed, and turned around. Marcus smiled slightly. “You change your mind?” he asked. “You come here to accept the million?”

“No. I came here to reason with you. So be reasonable, Marcus.”

Marcus looked around at the parking lot. Only a few other cars were parked, and no one else was on the rooftop.

“I tried to offer you a million fuckin’ bucks, and you refuse it. Why don’t you be reasonable?”

James sighed, annoyed, before responding, “I picked the numbers, you have the ticket. Let’s split the fucking difference and split the money. Come on, man, it’s only fair. We’re friends, and I can help you manage your money.”

Marcus smirked and looked out into the distant night sky, thinking deeply. “The lottery,” he began, “is a game of luck. It is luck personified. It was lucky that the numbers won, and it was lucky that I came into possession of the ticket. It’s all luck, James. Everything is luck. And the unlucky resent the lucky.”

James felt his anger burning inside him, and he tried to keep it at bay. His right hand gripped the handle of the gun inside his pocket. 

“Tell me,” James said, “would it be unlucky for you if I told the authorities how you came into possession of that ticket? I can’t imagine it’s allowed in the lottery rules.”

James took a few steps towards Marcus.

“Your word against mine,” Marcus said, holding out his hands innocently. “And even if they take your word, you still get nothing. You either accept my generosity, take the million, and leave me alone for the rest of my life, or you get nothing. That’s it. No discussion.”

James stood there, his mind and body paralyzed.

“So what’ll it be, James? This is it. Right now.”

The two men stared at each other on the rooftop, considering one another seriously. James had never felt such complete hatred for someone. He despised, with everything he had, this man. He wanted to destroy him. The silence was finally broken by a car alarm starting a couple floors below. Marcus smirked again in an assumption of victory.

“Yeah,” he said, “enjoy your nothing. Now get the fuck outta here.”

Before Marcus could turn away, James ripped the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at his former friend, shouting “Give me the fucking ticket, Marcus!” He took a couple more steps to get a better aim at Marcus, without getting too close.

Marcus looked at the barrel of the gun, then into James’s eyes, then back to the gun, then back to the eyes.

“I know you’ve been carrying around that ticket since you got it, not risking losing it. I know you have it. So give it to me.”

“You’re a cheater, James. A dirty cheater. You try to cheat the game now, just like you did in high school.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The fucking Rising Stars competition, remember? You sabotaged me so you could get your little fifth place prize, your precious hundred and fifty bucks! You remember?”

James looked slightly away from Marcus, squinting, trying to remember. Yes, there it was. When they were seventeen, Marcus told him about some talent competition that was supposedly very prestigious, with real talent scouts and record executives, and the top prize was supposed to be something incredible. James couldn’t remember all of the details, but it was supposedly somewhat exclusive, and Marcus had begged him to enter as well, for a kind of moral support. 

So James entered. He was a decent piano player at the time, so he practiced something before the contest, played it in a near empty theatre, and got fifth place. He tried to remember what happened with Marcus. Oh yes, Marcus had been working really hard at the time on his guitar playing and singing. He was quite good. It was the only time James could remember Marcus being passionate about something. There was some complication of getting to the venue, so Marcus asked James to bring the electric guitar to the venue. But James didn’t know he was supposed to bring the amplifier as well, so Marcus had to scramble at the venue and beg another contestant to borrow their acoustic guitar. 

Was that the sabotage? It was an honest mistake. He turned his eyes back on Marcus.

“Yes, you remember,” Marcus said. “This is all from that. Everything has transpired from that. And now you’re trying to cheat again.”

“Fuck you, Marcus. Just give me the fucking ticket!” He took a step closer and pointed the gun at the center of Marcus’s chest. Marcus didn’t flinch.

“I’ve known people who have killed people. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve known people who wanted to kill someone, who had the intention of killing someone, who had a gun pointed at the person, and they just didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. You’re one of those. You’ll never have guts, James.”

A tidal wave of wrath completely overwhelmed James, infecting his body and mind. Marcus started to turn to walk away, and James felt his finger apply pressure to the trigger.