Howdy, gents - I'm Earl and I've been running things here for decades.

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You boys look like you know a thing or two about risk. Got a tip on Race 6 — Whiskey Tango’s sitting at 22-to-1. Long shot, sure, but she’s got legs and a grudge. You wanna make tonight interesting?

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​Detectives:  We’re not here to bet. We’re here to ask about Mr. Marcellus.

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Earl: That guy was all flash, no class. Never tipped, talked like he owned the joint. Treated everyone like they were lucky to breathe his air.

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Detectives:  Did he place any bets that night?

 

Earl: Just one I think, he was in a hurry. Which race, I couldn’t tell you — they all blur together. But I’ll tell you this: Marcellus had a system. Every damn night, every race — he’d bet both extremes. The favorite and the long shot. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to win or make a statement.

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Detectives: That consistent?

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Earl: Like clockwork. Favorite for the safety net, long shot for the glory. Guy was chasing something — maybe luck, maybe ego.

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Earl: Truth is, I’m not surprised he got himself killed. He had enemies. Plenty. Especially in the poker room. He played dirty, talked worse. You rub enough people the wrong way, eventually someone rubs back.

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Detectives: You think it was one of the poker players?

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Earl: Wouldn’t shock me, but the staff hated him too. Marcellus stirred the pot every chance he got. Someone finally boiled over.

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You boys done? I got real bettors to deal with. Ones that don’t end up in body bags.