Chapter 32: A High-Stakes Gamble

Compared to last time, two additional betting windows had been set up in the hall, yet the crowd was just as dense as ever. The official start of the Olympic Games had completely ignited people's enthusiasm for wagering, and a steady stream of newcomers filed in through the entrance.

Considering that Sumu’s reasoning made sense, Mr. Han nodded and said, “Alright then, I’ll queue up here. If anything comes up, just let me know, OK?”

“Mm, you go wait in line, Boss. I’ll find you once I’m done here.” Sumu’s small stratagem to send him away succeeded, and a smile played on his lips.

Manager David, unable to understand Chinese, was curious when Sumu’s “father” suddenly left. “What happened?” he inquired.

“It’s nothing. He went to place a bet for someone else. With so many people waiting in line, he asked me to hold the money for him.” Sumu steeled himself and continued, “Sir, my father wanted to know if he could receive his winnings in cash. Also, he plans to take four thousand dollars from this prize and place another bet—all on China finishing fourth in the overall gold medal tally. Is that possible?”

Manager David looked thoughtful, thinking he had grasped the situation. He assumed Sumu’s “father” intended to evade taxes. Their company was only responsible for awarding the prizes; after taxes were withheld, the winners were required to declare and pay the remainder themselves at the IRS. Bank checks could easily be traced by federal authorities, but cash was much harder to track. If Sumu claimed the prize, given his age, even if the IRS found a discrepancy, it would be easily resolved.

To Americans, the IRS was more terrifying than the FBI. As long as one didn’t break the law, the FBI wouldn’t come knocking, but as soon as you earned money, the IRS would be at your door, digging into your pockets at every turn—by far the most notorious government agency in the country.

Believing Sumu’s “father” sought to dodge taxes amounting to thousands of dollars, David didn’t care enough to interfere, as William Hill bore no responsibility. Besides, he still needed Sumu’s help, so he was happy to oblige.

He nodded and said, “OK, I’ll have someone handle that for you. Are you sure you want to place such a large bet? I mean, right now China’s medal count isn’t high—they’ve only won one gold so far. It’ll be tough for them to finish fourth in the end.”

He mentioned this casually, but Sumu, ever quick-witted, pointed at Mr. Han, feigning helplessness. “My father loves to gamble, but it’s his money, and my mother doesn’t object. She thinks we should ride the winning streak and let him do as he pleases. If I bet on anything else, I’d get scolded.”

David laughed. “Ha! I know that saying—it’s from The Art of War, right? We’ll get everything settled soon. As a valued guest of William Hill, a VIP manager will assist you. When you collect your prize, can we take a photo together?”

He tried to sound casual, but David was keen on getting a photo of Sumu. Without a picture of the winner, the news would lose much of its appeal. The Art of War was well-known in the West, too; many politicians and businesspeople treated it as a classic, drawing upon its ancient wisdom for practical application.

“That’s right. Last time, after I appeared in the Los Angeles Times, that was enough. If you take my photo again, I’ll have to charge a portrait fee. You know, coming to a bookmaker’s is already causing me trouble—my teacher even called home…”

“A thousand dollars?”

Sumu understood perfectly well why David wanted the photo. He was just about to talk circles around him and refuse, when David’s offer of a thousand dollars cut him off, stifling any further protest. Sumu nodded decisively. “Deal! Just don’t tell my father, or he’ll confiscate my earnings.”

As he said this, Sumu thought of celebrities who could earn far more for a single photo. This seemed like such easy money; he usually had to work hard for a whole month to earn that much.

Concerned about trouble, David considered a moment before replying, “It’s a bit tricky. If he doesn’t ask, I won’t say anything. But you’ll need to sign a declaration acknowledging you received a portrait fee.”

“It’s settled, then. Please help me get this done quickly—I’ve got… I’m meeting my girlfriend for a movie and I’m running late.” As he said this, Sumu thought of Miss Kate. It’s hard to fathom the mind of a youth in love.

With a conspiratorial grin, perhaps recalling his own youthful romances, David gave Sumu a thumbs-up and expedited the process. The cash payout and the new bet didn’t take long. Sumu signed the declaration, left his fingerprint, and only then did they take the photo—after he’d received his thousand dollars. Just as everything wrapped up, Mr. Han returned and asked, “Did you get it?”

“All done…”

Sumu, a little nervous, told one lie after another. Only when his hand slipped into his pocket and felt the four-thousand-dollar betting ticket—with odds of forty-one to one—did he relax. This was truly a high-stakes gamble. If he lost, years of careful savings would vanish.

That afternoon, after returning home, Sumu packed all his savings into his backpack—coins, one-dollar bills, enough to fill a whole box. He needed to exchange it for hundred-dollar bills before Old Su returned.

Though credit cards were becoming widespread, large sums of cash were still common. He first went to Cathay Bank in Chinatown, established in 1973 to serve the Chinese community and new immigrants, though it remained modest in size.

Li Ping’an’s uncle worked as a security guard there. Sumu had met him several times and explained that the coins were just the restaurant’s accumulated change. With his help, the money was sorted and exchanged for hundred- and fifty-dollar bills. Knowing Li Ping’an’s uncle lived far away, Sumu wasn’t worried his parents would find out. Reading detective novels had its advantages; it made one’s thinking more meticulous.

That evening, at dinner, Sumu handed over more than seven thousand dollars to his parents and “confessed” the whole story with sincere earnestness. His mother wanted to scold him, but her smile couldn’t be suppressed. The family was desperately in need of money—this windfall was like rain in a drought, ensuring they wouldn’t have to worry about Sumu’s first year of tuition. Together with their original savings, it was enough for now.

When Old Su heard about it, he spoke with Sumu at length. Unable to find fault with his beloved grandson, he merely repeated the old refrain—no gambling, no shortcuts, and so on.