Title: Revenge Game
Author: MC
Back to DirectoryStory
Instructions
Jimmy, Wob, and Shams had dreamt of getting back at the Knicks ever since they were fired. Shams was the assistant custodian at Madison Square Garden; Wob and Jimmy sold Velveeta nachos and twelve-dollar Bud Lights. Management used to treat them well, but not since the old Mr. D died and his lazy son took over. Then it was overtime and cut benefits and draconian surveillance. Jimmy's brother was in the Teamsters and he helped them rally the troops and sign the paperwork. They had dreams of paid bereavement, of pension funds, of a union bomber. But that rich prick revoked their livelihoods for what? Wanting just a little bit more than the scraps they were given? They knew the Knicks' new owner, who they called Little D., was behind the decision to let them go, but they never imagined they would get a real shot. The revenge fantasies they concocted in Shams' basement weren't much, but at least they were something.
"How about this," Wob said as they watched the Knicks' first playoff game in ten years, desperate to be at the stadium even if it meant they were serving tourists fake meat. The Knicks were good, like real-deal good, for the first time in deacdes. "We find a magical amulet that lets us control the elements. With this newfound power, we create a massive storm that takes down the entire Madison Square Garden during the playoffs, ruining the Knicks' chances of winning the championship. We create a giant maelstrom that sweeps Little D. up and drops him into a dimensional vortex, a portal to a hellish underworld where he'd be forced to confront his sins for all eternity. The city of New York is in awe of the incredible natural disaster, and Little D's reputation is destroyed beyond repair. The three of us are hailed as heroes, and we retire the amulet and donate our newfound wealth to charity."
"A bit cliche, but I like it," Shams said. "Here's one: We find a smoking gun of evidence against Little D., inside sources with knowledge of his dirty secrets. But he doesn't take kindly to threats. When he discovers what we're up to, he sends his goons after us. The henchmen chase us in a high-speed car on the East Side Highway. They're shooting at us with gatling guns, but as soon as we make it to the Brooklyn Bridge, Little D. can't follow us: there is a threshhold around Brooklyn that he can't enter. The next morning we send the evidence to the Times and his fat face is ont he front page with the headline: 'Little D in Big Trouble'" Shams smiles and leans back, getting lost in the reverie.
"Wait," Jimmy says. "Enough of your fantasies. Look at this." The broadcast was running a segment on Bones, a tenured referee with a leather face and a short fuse. It turned out he was a family man and a softie; his daughter Eliza, whose pretty picture they put on the screen, was an up-and-coming actress in L.A. Hers was a face that could make a man put himself at hazard. Jimmy started to think. He was the planner of the group.
Later that night the pals were shooting pool at Carmelo's, a dive bar inside an old church on DeKalb. A sharp-dressed boy at the table next to them was bragging about how he copped a promotion by fooling around with his boss's daughter. They asked him to elaborate, just between them. It was to settle an argument, they told him. The handsome brute explained how he researched the CEO's online activity to gather personal information about his family, specifically his teenage daughter's whereabouts and daily routine. He created a fake number to send threatening messages to the CEO, insinuating that his daughter was in danger and he needed to give the boy a promotion and a raise in order to get her back safely. He had even gone as far as hiring an actor to play the part of the kidnapper. All the while, the CEO's daughter was completely safe and oblivious to the whole ordeal. As he spoke, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams exchanged bemused glances.
Back in the basement, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams sat in silence, contemplating the weight of their unspoken idea. Shams finally spoke up. "Are you guys really thinking of going through with this?" he asked, wringing his hands. "We could ruin Bones' life, not to mention his daughter's. They didn't do nothin' to us." Wob snorted. "We're not going to touch his daughter. It's an empty threat. This is about justice. He ruined our lives first, remember that. We're just evening the playing field." "What about the integrity of the game?" Jimmy interjected. "The Knicks are more than Little D. This is about the sacred sport of basketball!" Shams shook his head. "I don't know, man. This all seems a little too far-fetched for me." Wob rolled his eyes. "You both need to grow a pair. This is the real world. Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want." "But what if we get caught?" Shams protested. Jimmy nodded in agreement. Wob waved a dismissive hand. "Guys, calm down. If we get caught, we'll take the fall. But what if we don't. We get our revenge and make some real dough. I can pay off my place. Jimmy, you can get Alice the best doctors money can buy. Wob, I don't give a fuck, you can disappear to Costa Rica. Look. Do you think if it were the other way around Little D. and fatcats like him would even hesitate? For a second? They wouldn't even be having this conversation." They all sat in silence again, considering Wob's words. Finally, Shams spoke up. "That's the point. We're not them, are we." Wob shrugged. "Fair enough. But trust me, guys, this is the chance." Jimmy shook his head, but they could already tell he was in. As they polished off their last beers of the night, the old friends couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to cross a line they couldn't come back from. But they also knew that they had been wronged, and they were willing to do almost anything to make it right.
They planned for months, on nights and weekends in the basement. They built files and alibis, prepared for every contingency. For weeks they did nothing but huddle around a table covered in schematics, blueprints, and handwritten notes. Jimmy tapping his pen against his chin as he stared intently at the plans. Wob pacing back and forth on the phone, arguing with a supplier about the cost of equipment. Shams pulling up a spreadsheet on his laptop and crunching numbers furiously. Jimmy and Wob arguing over the best way to get past the security checkpoints. Diagrams on napkins, notes on legal pads. They discussed the intricacies of their plan, piecing together each step, and practicing their roles. For the first time since they'd been fired, they felt like they had a purpose. Even if it didn't work out, that alone made it worth it.
They would wait for the Finals, when the stakes were highest. They would sneak into the hotel where Bones was staying on the same floor as the players and blackmail him into calling a bad game for the Knicks. It would be the perfect payback for the cruel scabbing of Little D., and if they made a ton of money in the process, that wouldn't hurt.
As Jimmy, Wob, and Shams approached the hotel where Bones was staying, they could see Little D.'s security guards patrolling the perimeter, watching for any suspicious activity. They took a moment to review the cover stories they had created for themselves. Wob was working as a waiter at the hotel's restaurant, while Jimmy posed as a maintenance worker. Shams, who had the gift of gab, would pretend to be an assistant manager from a different branch of the hotel. As they approached the security checkpoint, their hearts were pounding in their chests. But they put on their best professional faces and greeted the guards with confident smiles. They told them that they needed to go up to the owner's floor to check on a plumbing issue. The guards were skeptical, but something about their demeanor and their uniforms seemed to put them at ease. They asked for their names and employee numbers, which the boys provided without hesitation and completely at random. With a nod, the guards let them pass, and they made their way to the elevator. Once inside, they shared a nervous smile, barely daring to believe that they had gotten away with it. They rode the elevator up to the top floor, steeling themselves for what was about to come next.
When they knocked on Bones' door, a woman in a robe answered, her hair askew. She was surprised to see them, but they explained that there was a plumbing problem on the floor, and they needed to check the pipes in the room. She let them in, and there was Bones sitting on the bed in his underwear, drinking champagne.
Shams was the one who recognized her first. It hit him like a brick, a memory of Little D. in the tabloids with his new fling, a professional divorcee. He took the opportunity to snap a clandestine picture of the nude Bones with the owner's wife, lounging on the bed. He huddled the boys in the bathroom and let them know. They knocked around under the sink for cover. What luck! It wasn't what they had planned, but it was better than anything they could have hoped for. No need to involve the daughter after all. Little D. would get what they owed him and then some.
They emerged from the bathroom and Wob took his shoes off and swan-dived onto the bed, shocking Bones and the owner's wife. He showed Bones the picture and gave him a very simple deal: call a bad game for the Knicks tomorrow, or this goes public. He wouldn't want his wife seeing this, after all. And were they right to remember he had a daughter?
Bones was apoplectic. He and the girl were sniveling, but eventually, he agreed. "You're some sick people, you know that?" He yelled as they hurried out. "No respect for the game." Then he buried his face in his lover's arms and she took a sip of her warm flat drink, feeling like she had nothing to lose.
It was a tense game, and the Knicks were doing surprisingly well. At halftime, they were up 10, and the boys were mightly restless in Shams' basement. "It's fine," Wob insisted, "this all makes it look more real." Sure enough a few calls started going against the Knicks, and the game was tied with less than a minute left on the clock. That's when Bones made his crucial move. He called an erroneous charge on the Knicks, erasing a thunderous dunk and fouling out the Knicks' best player. After that it was all perfunctory, basketball-wise. They'd bet every last cent of their savings and won $100K each, over three years' salary. But the show was not over.
They still had contacts on the inside of the Garden, and they'd called up the producers in control of the jumbotron. At the moment the clock struck zero, the massive LCD screen hung from the rafters displayed a candid shot of Bones and the owner's wife splayed out on a rumpled hotel bed, a chilled bottle and minimal clothing between them. There was an audible gasp in the stadium.
The owner's face, which Jimmy, Wob, and Shams saw live on television, was a mixture of shock and rage. His burgundy cheeks puffed out and spittle was flying from his mouth onto his chin and lapels. The commentators had no words. It was a scandal that would go down in history. Their only regret was that Little D. would never know it was them. But that would teach him not to screw over true New Yorkers. He resigned soon after, and the Knicks won it all the next season with a better owner and the full force of the city behind them.
A few months later, Bones received an envelope in the mail. It was unmarked and contained a substantial amount of cash. He whistled when he opened it, looking both ways at his neighbor's empty yards. He knew that it was blood money, but he couldn't deny that he needed it. He smiled, thinking about the craziest night of his life. Was it worth it? He hated to soil his reputation and the game he loved. But some things were more important. Even as they were blackmailing him, he had a feeling these were guys he ought to root for. In the end, all a referee can do is watch the play as it happens and try to call it as fair as he can.
Jimmy, Wob, and Shams had dreamt of getting back at the Knicks ever since they were fired. Shams was the assistant custodian at Madison Square Garden; Wob and Jimmy sold Velveeta nachos and twelve-dollar Bud Lights. Management used to treat them well, but not since the old Mr. D died and his lazy son took over. Then it was overtime and cut benefits and draconian surveillance. Jimmy's brother was in the Teamsters and he helped them rally the troops and sign the paperwork. They had dreams of paid bereavement, of pension funds, of a union bomber. But that rich prick revoked their livelihoods for what? Wanting just a little bit more than the scraps they were given? They knew the Knicks' new owner, who they called Little D., was behind the decision to let them go, but they never imagined they would get a real shot. The revenge fantasies they concocted in Shams' basement weren't much, but at least they were something.
"How about this," Wob said as they watched the Knicks' first playoff game in ten years, desperate to be at the stadium even if it meant they were serving tourists fake meat. The Knicks were good, like real-deal good, for the first time in deacdes. "We find a magical amulet that lets us control the elements. With this newfound power, we create a massive storm that takes down the entire Madison Square Garden during the playoffs, ruining the Knicks' chances of winning the championship. We create a giant maelstrom that sweeps Little D. up and drops him into a dimensional vortex, a portal to a hellish underworld where he'd be forced to confront his sins for all eternity. The city of New York is in awe of the incredible natural disaster, and Little D's reputation is destroyed beyond repair. The three of us are hailed as heroes, and we retire the amulet and donate our newfound wealth to charity."
"A bit cliche, but I like it," Shams said. "Here's one: We find a smoking gun of evidence against Little D., inside sources with knowledge of his dirty secrets. But he doesn't take kindly to threats. When he discovers what we're up to, he sends his goons after us. The henchmen chase us in a high-speed car on the East Side Highway. They're shooting at us with gatling guns, but as soon as we make it to the Brooklyn Bridge, Little D. can't follow us: there is a threshhold around Brooklyn that he can't enter. The next morning we send the evidence to the Times and his fat face is ont he front page with the headline: 'Little D in Big Trouble'" Shams smiles and leans back, getting lost in the reverie.
"Wait," Jimmy says. "Enough of your fantasies. Look at this." The broadcast was running a segment on Bones, a tenured referee with a leather face and a short fuse. It turned out he was a family man and a softie; his daughter Eliza, whose pretty picture they put on the screen, was an up-and-coming actress in L.A. Hers was a face that could make a man put himself at hazard. Jimmy started to think. He was the planner of the group.
Later that night the pals were shooting pool at Carmelo's, a dive bar inside an old church on DeKalb. A sharp-dressed boy at the table next to them was bragging about how he copped a promotion by fooling around with his boss's daughter. They asked him to elaborate, just between them. It was to settle an argument, they told him. The handsome brute explained how he researched the CEO's online activity to gather personal information about his family, specifically his teenage daughter's whereabouts and daily routine. He created a fake number to send threatening messages to the CEO, insinuating that his daughter was in danger and he needed to give the boy a promotion and a raise in order to get her back safely. He had even gone as far as hiring an actor to play the part of the kidnapper. All the while, the CEO's daughter was completely safe and oblivious to the whole ordeal. As he spoke, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams exchanged bemused glances.
Back in the basement, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams sat in silence, contemplating the weight of their unspoken idea. Shams finally spoke up. "Are you guys really thinking of going through with this?" he asked, wringing his hands. "We could ruin Bones' life, not to mention his daughter's. They didn't do nothin' to us." Wob snorted. "We're not going to touch his daughter. It's an empty threat. This is about justice. He ruined our lives first, remember that. We're just evening the playing field." "What about the integrity of the game?" Jimmy interjected. "The Knicks are more than Little D. This is about the sacred sport of basketball!" Shams shook his head. "I don't know, man. This all seems a little too far-fetched for me." Wob rolled his eyes. "You both need to grow a pair. This is the real world. Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want." "But what if we get caught?" Shams protested. Jimmy nodded in agreement. Wob waved a dismissive hand. "Guys, calm down. If we get caught, we'll take the fall. But what if we don't. We get our revenge and make some real dough. I can pay off my place. Jimmy, you can get Alice the best doctors money can buy. Wob, I don't give a fuck, you can disappear to Costa Rica. Look. Do you think if it were the other way around Little D. and fatcats like him would even hesitate? For a second? They wouldn't even be having this conversation." They all sat in silence again, considering Wob's words. Finally, Shams spoke up. "That's the point. We're not them, are we." Wob shrugged. "Fair enough. But trust me, guys, this is the chance." Jimmy shook his head, but they could already tell he was in. As they polished off their last beers of the night, the old friends couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to cross a line they couldn't come back from. But they also knew that they had been wronged, and they were willing to do almost anything to make it right.
They planned for months, on nights and weekends in the basement. They built files and alibis, prepared for every contingency. For weeks they did nothing but huddle around a table covered in schematics, blueprints, and handwritten notes. Jimmy tapping his pen against his chin as he stared intently at the plans. Wob pacing back and forth on the phone, arguing with a supplier about the cost of equipment. Shams pulling up a spreadsheet on his laptop and crunching numbers furiously. Jimmy and Wob arguing over the best way to get past the security checkpoints. Diagrams on napkins, notes on legal pads. They discussed the intricacies of their plan, piecing together each step, and practicing their roles. For the first time since they'd been fired, they felt like they had a purpose. Even if it didn't work out, that alone made it worth it.
They would wait for the Finals, when the stakes were highest. They would sneak into the hotel where Bones was staying on the same floor as the players and blackmail him into calling a bad game for the Knicks. It would be the perfect payback for the cruel scabbing of Little D., and if they made a ton of money in the process, that wouldn't hurt.
As Jimmy, Wob, and Shams approached the hotel where Bones was staying, they could see Little D.'s security guards patrolling the perimeter, watching for any suspicious activity. They took a moment to review the cover stories they had created for themselves. Wob was working as a waiter at the hotel's restaurant, while Jimmy posed as a maintenance worker. Shams, who had the gift of gab, would pretend to be an assistant manager from a different branch of the hotel. As they approached the security checkpoint, their hearts were pounding in their chests. But they put on their best professional faces and greeted the guards with confident smiles. They told them that they needed to go up to the owner's floor to check on a plumbing issue. The guards were skeptical, but something about their demeanor and their uniforms seemed to put them at ease. They asked for their names and employee numbers, which the boys provided without hesitation and completely at random. With a nod, the guards let them pass, and they made their way to the elevator. Once inside, they shared a nervous smile, barely daring to believe that they had gotten away with it. They rode the elevator up to the top floor, steeling themselves for what was about to come next.
When they knocked on Bones' door, a woman in a robe answered, her hair askew. She was surprised to see them, but they explained that there was a plumbing problem on the floor, and they needed to check the pipes in the room. She let them in, and there was Bones sitting on the bed in his underwear, drinking champagne.
Shams was the one who recognized her first. It hit him like a brick, a memory of Little D. in the tabloids with his new fling, a professional divorcee. He took the opportunity to snap a clandestine picture of the nude Bones with the owner's wife, lounging on the bed. He huddled the boys in the bathroom and let them know. They knocked around under the sink for cover. What luck! It wasn't what they had planned, but it was better than anything they could have hoped for. No need to involve the daughter after all. Little D. would get what they owed him and then some.
They emerged from the bathroom and Wob took his shoes off and swan-dived onto the bed, shocking Bones and the owner's wife. He showed Bones the picture and gave him a very simple deal: call a bad game for the Knicks tomorrow, or this goes public. He wouldn't want his wife seeing this, after all. And were they right to remember he had a daughter?
Bones was apoplectic. He and the girl were sniveling, but eventually, he agreed. "You're some sick people, you know that?" He yelled as they hurried out. "No respect for the game." Then he buried his face in his lover's arms and she took a sip of her warm flat drink, feeling like she had nothing to lose.
It was a tense game, and the Knicks were doing surprisingly well. At halftime, they were up 10, and the boys were mightly restless in Shams' basement. "It's fine," Wob insisted, "this all makes it look more real." Sure enough a few calls started going against the Knicks, and the game was tied with less than a minute left on the clock. That's when Bones made his crucial move. He called an erroneous charge on the Knicks, erasing a thunderous dunk and fouling out the Knicks' best player. After that it was all perfunctory, basketball-wise. They'd bet every last cent of their savings and won $100K each, over three years' salary. But the show was not over.
They still had contacts on the inside of the Garden, and they'd called up the producers in control of the jumbotron. At the moment the clock struck zero, the massive LCD screen hung from the rafters displayed a candid shot of Bones and the owner's wife splayed out on a rumpled hotel bed, a chilled bottle and minimal clothing between them. There was an audible gasp in the stadium.
The owner's face, which Jimmy, Wob, and Shams saw live on television, was a mixture of shock and rage. His burgundy cheeks puffed out and spittle was flying from his mouth onto his chin and lapels. The commentators had no words. It was a scandal that would go down in history. Their only regret was that Little D. would never know it was them. But that would teach him not to screw over true New Yorkers. He resigned soon after, and the Knicks won it all the next season with a better owner and the full force of the city behind them.
A few months later, Bones received an envelope in the mail. It was unmarked and contained a substantial amount of cash. He whistled when he opened it, looking both ways at his neighbor's empty yards. He knew that it was blood money, but he couldn't deny that he needed it. He smiled, thinking about the craziest night of his life. Was it worth it? He hated to soil his reputation and the game he loved. But some things were more important. Even as they were blackmailing him, he had a feeling these were guys he ought to root for. In the end, all a referee can do is watch the play as it happens and try to call it as fair as he can.
Jimmy, Wob, and Shams had dreamt of getting back at the Knicks ever since they were fired. Shams was the assistant custodian at Madison Square Garden; Wob and Jimmy sold Velveeta nachos and twelve-dollar Bud Lights. Management used to treat them well, but not since the old Mr. D died and his lazy son took over. Then it was overtime and cut benefits and draconian surveillance. Jimmy's brother was in the Teamsters and he helped them rally the troops and sign the paperwork. They had dreams of paid bereavement, of pension funds, of a union bomber. But that rich prick revoked their livelihoods for what? Wanting just a little bit more than the scraps they were given? They knew the Knicks' new owner, who they called Little D., was behind the decision to let them go, but they never imagined they would get a real shot. The revenge fantasies they concocted in Shams' basement weren't much, but at least they were something.
"How about this," Wob said as they watched the Knicks' first playoff game in ten years, desperate to be at the stadium even if it meant they were serving tourists fake meat. The Knicks were good, like real-deal good, for the first time in deacdes. "We find a magical amulet that lets us control the elements. With this newfound power, we create a massive storm that takes down the entire Madison Square Garden during the playoffs, ruining the Knicks' chances of winning the championship. We create a giant maelstrom that sweeps Little D. up and drops him into a dimensional vortex, a portal to a hellish underworld where he'd be forced to confront his sins for all eternity. The city of New York is in awe of the incredible natural disaster, and Little D's reputation is destroyed beyond repair. The three of us are hailed as heroes, and we retire the amulet and donate our newfound wealth to charity."
"A bit cliche, but I like it," Shams said. "Here's one: We find a smoking gun of evidence against Little D., inside sources with knowledge of his dirty secrets. But he doesn't take kindly to threats. When he discovers what we're up to, he sends his goons after us. The henchmen chase us in a high-speed car on the East Side Highway. They're shooting at us with gatling guns, but as soon as we make it to the Brooklyn Bridge, Little D. can't follow us: there is a threshhold around Brooklyn that he can't enter. The next morning we send the evidence to the Times and his fat face is ont he front page with the headline: 'Little D in Big Trouble'" Shams smiles and leans back, getting lost in the reverie.
"Wait," Jimmy says. "Enough of your fantasies. Look at this." The broadcast was running a segment on Bones, a tenured referee with a leather face and a short fuse. It turned out he was a family man and a softie; his daughter Eliza, whose pretty picture they put on the screen, was an up-and-coming actress in L.A. Hers was a face that could make a man put himself at hazard. Jimmy started to think. He was the planner of the group.
Later that night the pals were shooting pool at Carmelo's, a dive bar inside an old church on DeKalb. A sharp-dressed boy at the table next to them was bragging about how he copped a promotion by fooling around with his boss's daughter. They asked him to elaborate, just between them. It was to settle an argument, they told him. The handsome brute explained how he researched the CEO's online activity to gather personal information about his family, specifically his teenage daughter's whereabouts and daily routine. He created a fake number to send threatening messages to the CEO, insinuating that his daughter was in danger and he needed to give the boy a promotion and a raise in order to get her back safely. He had even gone as far as hiring an actor to play the part of the kidnapper. All the while, the CEO's daughter was completely safe and oblivious to the whole ordeal. As he spoke, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams exchanged bemused glances.
Back in the basement, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams sat in silence, contemplating the weight of their unspoken idea. Shams finally spoke up. "Are you guys really thinking of going through with this?" he asked, wringing his hands. "We could ruin Bones' life, not to mention his daughter's. They didn't do nothin' to us." Wob snorted. "We're not going to touch his daughter. It's an empty threat. This is about justice. He ruined our lives first, remember that. We're just evening the playing field." "What about the integrity of the game?" Jimmy interjected. "The Knicks are more than Little D. This is about the sacred sport of basketball!" Shams shook his head. "I don't know, man. This all seems a little too far-fetched for me." Wob rolled his eyes. "You both need to grow a pair. This is the real world. Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want." "But what if we get caught?" Shams protested. Jimmy nodded in agreement. Wob waved a dismissive hand. "Guys, calm down. If we get caught, we'll take the fall. But what if we don't. We get our revenge and make some real dough. I can pay off my place. Jimmy, you can get Alice the best doctors money can buy. Wob, I don't give a fuck, you can disappear to Costa Rica. Look. Do you think if it were the other way around Little D. and fatcats like him would even hesitate? For a second? They wouldn't even be having this conversation." They all sat in silence again, considering Wob's words. Finally, Shams spoke up. "That's the point. We're not them, are we." Wob shrugged. "Fair enough. But trust me, guys, this is the chance." Jimmy shook his head, but they could already tell he was in. As they polished off their last beers of the night, the old friends couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to cross a line they couldn't come back from. But they also knew that they had been wronged, and they were willing to do almost anything to make it right.
They planned for months, on nights and weekends in the basement. They built files and alibis, prepared for every contingency. For weeks they did nothing but huddle around a table covered in schematics, blueprints, and handwritten notes. Jimmy tapping his pen against his chin as he stared intently at the plans. Wob pacing back and forth on the phone, arguing with a supplier about the cost of equipment. Shams pulling up a spreadsheet on his laptop and crunching numbers furiously. Jimmy and Wob arguing over the best way to get past the security checkpoints. Diagrams on napkins, notes on legal pads. They discussed the intricacies of their plan, piecing together each step, and practicing their roles. For the first time since they'd been fired, they felt like they had a purpose. Even if it didn't work out, that alone made it worth it.
They would wait for the Finals, when the stakes were highest. They would sneak into the hotel where Bones was staying on the same floor as the players and blackmail him into calling a bad game for the Knicks. It would be the perfect payback for the cruel scabbing of Little D., and if they made a ton of money in the process, that wouldn't hurt.
As Jimmy, Wob, and Shams approached the hotel where Bones was staying, they could see Little D.'s security guards patrolling the perimeter, watching for any suspicious activity. They took a moment to review the cover stories they had created for themselves. Wob was working as a waiter at the hotel's restaurant, while Jimmy posed as a maintenance worker. Shams, who had the gift of gab, would pretend to be an assistant manager from a different branch of the hotel. As they approached the security checkpoint, their hearts were pounding in their chests. But they put on their best professional faces and greeted the guards with confident smiles. They told them that they needed to go up to the owner's floor to check on a plumbing issue. The guards were skeptical, but something about their demeanor and their uniforms seemed to put them at ease. They asked for their names and employee numbers, which the boys provided without hesitation and completely at random. With a nod, the guards let them pass, and they made their way to the elevator. Once inside, they shared a nervous smile, barely daring to believe that they had gotten away with it. They rode the elevator up to the top floor, steeling themselves for what was about to come next.
When they knocked on Bones' door, a woman in a robe answered, her hair askew. She was surprised to see them, but they explained that there was a plumbing problem on the floor, and they needed to check the pipes in the room. She let them in, and there was Bones sitting on the bed in his underwear, drinking champagne.
Shams was the one who recognized her first. It hit him like a brick, a memory of Little D. in the tabloids with his new fling, a professional divorcee. He took the opportunity to snap a clandestine picture of the nude Bones with the owner's wife, lounging on the bed. He huddled the boys in the bathroom and let them know. They knocked around under the sink for cover. What luck! It wasn't what they had planned, but it was better than anything they could have hoped for. No need to involve the daughter after all. Little D. would get what they owed him and then some.
They emerged from the bathroom and Wob took his shoes off and swan-dived onto the bed, shocking Bones and the owner's wife. He showed Bones the picture and gave him a very simple deal: call a bad game for the Knicks tomorrow, or this goes public. He wouldn't want his wife seeing this, after all. And were they right to remember he had a daughter?
Bones was apoplectic. He and the girl were sniveling, but eventually, he agreed. "You're some sick people, you know that?" He yelled as they hurried out. "No respect for the game." Then he buried his face in his lover's arms and she took a sip of her warm flat drink, feeling like she had nothing to lose.
It was a tense game, and the Knicks were doing surprisingly well. At halftime, they were up 10, and the boys were mightly restless in Shams' basement. "It's fine," Wob insisted, "this all makes it look more real." Sure enough a few calls started going against the Knicks, and the game was tied with less than a minute left on the clock. That's when Bones made his crucial move. He called an erroneous charge on the Knicks, erasing a thunderous dunk and fouling out the Knicks' best player. After that it was all perfunctory, basketball-wise. They'd bet every last cent of their savings and won $100K each, over three years' salary. But the show was not over.
They still had contacts on the inside of the Garden, and they'd called up the producers in control of the jumbotron. At the moment the clock struck zero, the massive LCD screen hung from the rafters displayed a candid shot of Bones and the owner's wife splayed out on a rumpled hotel bed, a chilled bottle and minimal clothing between them. There was an audible gasp in the stadium.
The owner's face, which Jimmy, Wob, and Shams saw live on television, was a mixture of shock and rage. His burgundy cheeks puffed out and spittle was flying from his mouth onto his chin and lapels. The commentators had no words. It was a scandal that would go down in history. Their only regret was that Little D. would never know it was them. But that would teach him not to screw over true New Yorkers. He resigned soon after, and the Knicks won it all the next season with a better owner and the full force of the city behind them.
A few months later, Bones received an envelope in the mail. It was unmarked and contained a substantial amount of cash. He whistled when he opened it, looking both ways at his neighbor's empty yards. He knew that it was blood money, but he couldn't deny that he needed it. He smiled, thinking about the craziest night of his life. Was it worth it? He hated to soil his reputation and the game he loved. But some things were more important. Even as they were blackmailing him, he had a feeling these were guys he ought to root for. In the end, all a referee can do is watch the play as it happens and try to call it as fair as he can.
The sharp-dressed boy at the table next to Jimmy, Wob, and Shams was relishing in his own story. He boasted about his manipulative tactics to acquire a promotion, all through a fabricated threat against the CEO's daughter. He explained how he had researched the CEO's online activity to gather personal information about his family, specifically his teenage daughter's whereabouts and daily routine. He then sent a threatening message to the CEO, alerting him that his daughter was in danger and that he needed to give the boy a promotion and a raise in order to get her back safely.
The boy went on to describe how he had even gone as far as hiring an actor to play the part of the kidnapper, so that the CEO would take him seriously. All the while, the CEO's daughter was completely safe and oblivious to the whole ordeal.
As he spoke, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams exchanged knowing glances, realizing that this was their chance to get back at the Knicks. They had something that the rich and powerful would want to protect - a vulnerable family member.
Jimmy, Wob, and Shams sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the weight of what they were about to do. They had just heard the story of the sharp-dressed boy who had blackmailed a CEO into giving him a promotion by faking a threat against the CEO's daughter. They were now planning to do something similar to extract their revenge on the Knick's new owner, who they believed had taken away their livelihoods.
Shams was the first to speak up. "Do you guys really think this is the right thing to do?" he asked, wringing his hands. "We could ruin someone's life if we go through with this. Is it worth it?"
Wob snorted. "What are you talking about, man? They ruined our lives first. We're just evening the playing field."
"But what about morality?" Jimmy interjected. "Is it right to use someone's loved ones as leverage for our own gain?"
Shams shook his head. "I don't know, man. This all seems a little too far-fetched for me."
Wob rolled his eyes. "You need to grow a pair, Shams. This is the real world. Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want."
"But what about the consequences?" Shams protested. "What if someone gets hurt because of this? What if we get caught?"
Jimmy nodded in agreement. "He's got a point. We could be putting ourselves in danger if we go through with this. And what if things go too far?"
Wob waved a dismissive hand. "Guys, calm down. We're not going to hurt anyone. We're just going to make a statement. And if we get caught, we'll deal with it. But we can't just sit around and let them walk all over us."
They all sat in silence again, considering Wob's words. Finally, Shams spoke up. "Okay, fine. Let's do it. But if anything happens, it's on you, Wob."
Wob shrugged. "Fair enough. But trust me, guys, this is going to be epic."
As they made their final preparations, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to cross a line they couldn't come back from. But they also knew that they had been wronged, and they were willing to do almost anything to make it right.
The revenge fantasies that the boys imagine against Little D. include paid bereavement, pension funds, a union bomber, and getting back at the Knicks by sneaking into the hotel where Bones is staying during playoffs and blackmailing him into calling a bad game for the Knicks.
In this fantastical revenge fantasy against the evil owner of the Knicks, the boys discover a magical amulet that gives them the power to control the elements. With this newfound power, they create a massive storm that takes down the entire Madison Square Garden during the playoffs, ruining the Knicks' chances of winning the championship.
But they don't stop there. With the power of the amulet, they create a giant maelstrom that sweeps Little D. up and drops him into a dimensional vortex, a portal to a hellish underworld where he'd be forced to confront his sins for all eternity.
The city of New York was in awe of the incredible natural disaster, and Little D's reputation was destroyed beyond repair. The boys were hailed as heroes, and they decided to retire the amulet and donate their newfound wealth to charity. The Knicks were forced to rebuild from the ground up, and with a new owner who actually cared about the team and its fans, they became a perennial contender for years to come.
Though the power of the amulet was great, the boys knew that they couldn't abuse it for their own personal gain. But in this one instance, they couldn't help but revel in the poetic justice that the universe had granted them.
In this Hollywood action style revenge fantasy against the owner of the Knicks, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams discover that Little D. has been using underhanded tactics to keep his team in the spotlight, including bribing referees and blackmailing opposing players. They are shocked and enraged, especially since they know firsthand how Little D. treats his employees.
Determined to expose him, Jimmy, Wob, and Shams enlist the help of their friend, a former soldier named Marcus. Together, they launch a daring plan to take down Little D. and his corrupt empire. They start by gathering evidence of his wrongdoing, using every connection they have to get inside information and expose his dirty secrets to the world.
But Little D. is a powerful man, and he doesn't take kindly to threats. When he discovers what the boys are up to, he sends his goons after them. A high-speed car chase ensues as the boys strive to escape from Little D.'s henchmen. They shoot at the car, but Marcus, who is driving, proves his skills as a soldier, maneuvering the car expertly through the busy New York City streets.
When they finally get away, they regroup and come up with a new plan. They break into Madison Square Garden, disabling the security systems and sneaking around in the shadows. Little D.'s office is on the top floor, and they know that's where the evidence they need is located.
They make their way up to the office, bypassing guards and tripping alarms. They confront Little D. and his cronies, rallying against them with righteous fury. A brutal fight ensues, with punches thrown, guns fired, and glass shattered.
In the end, Little D. is defeated, his empire crumbles, and the boys are hailed as heroes. The evidence they've collected is presented to the media, and Little D. is brought to justice. The Knicks become a team for the people, owned by someone who actually cares about basketball and the fans. Jimmy, Wob, Shams, and Marcus ride off into the sunset, knowing that they've made New York City a better place.
As Jimmy, Wob, and Shams approached the hotel where Bones was staying, they could see security guards patrolling the perimeter, watching for any suspicious activity. They knew that getting in would be difficult, but they were determined to carry out their plan.
They took a moment to review the cover stories they had created for themselves. Wob claimed he was working as a waiter at the hotel's restaurant, while Jimmy posed as a maintenance worker. Shams, who had the gift of gab, decided to pretend to be a hotel manager.
As they approached the security checkpoint, their hearts were pounding in their chests. But they put on their best professional faces and greeted the guards with a confident smile. They told them that they needed to go up to the player's floor to check on a plumbing issue.
The guards were skeptical, but something about their demeanor and their uniforms seemed to put them at ease. They asked for their names and employee numbers, which the boys provided without hesitation.
With a nod, the guards let them pass, and they made their way to the elevator. Once inside, they shared a nervous smile, barely daring to believe that they had gotten away with it. They rode the elevator up to the top floor, steeling themselves for what was about to come next.
Jimmy, Wob, and Shams approached the hotel where Bones was staying,
As they approached the security checkpoint, their hearts were pounding in their chests. But they put on their best professional faces and greeted the guards with confident smiles. <"Good evening, gentlemen," Jimmy said in his best maintenance worker voice. "We're here to check on a plumbing issue on the player's floor. Can we go up?"> The guards were skeptical, but something about their demeanor and their uniforms seemed to put them at ease. They asked for their names and employee numbers, which the boys provided without hesitation and completely at random.
The boys huddled around a table covered in schematics, blueprints, and handwritten notes. Jimmy tapped his pen against his chin as he stared intently at the plans.
Cut to Wob pacing back and forth on the phone, arguing with a supplier about the cost of some equipment they needed. He pulls up a spreadsheet on his laptop and starts crunching numbers furiously.
Back to Shams, hovering over a map of the arena and muttering to himself as he marks locations of the security cameras and guard patrols.
Cut to Jimmy and Wob arguing over the best way to get past the security checkpoints. Jimmy sketches out a rough diagram on a napkin as Wob shakes his head and scribbles notes on a legal pad.
Back to Shams, frantically typing on his laptop, searching for any potential weak points in the arena's security system.
Cut to the trio meeting up in Shams' basement, surrounded by a myriad of tools and supplies. They discuss the intricacies of their plan, piecing together each step, and practicing their roles.
Back to Wob and Jimmy, scouting out the outside of the arena, surveying the best approach to the building, and checking for potential obstacles.
Cut to Shams, practicing his cover story in front of a mirror, trying to sound natural as he rehearses the dialogue.
The montage ends with the boys standing silently, staring at the plans spread across the table, a sense of determination and anticipation in their eyes.
There are a few inconsistencies and critiques in the story. One inconsistency is with the revenge fantasies that Jimmy, Wob, and Shams have. They first come up with fantastical ideas like using a magical amulet to control the elements, but then later come up with a more realistic plan involving blackmailing Bones into calling a bad game for the Knicks. It's unclear why they moved away from the fantastical ideas and settled on a more realistic plan.
Another inconsistency is with the security guards at the hotel. The boys provide random names and employee numbers, but it's unclear how this would have worked. It's also unclear why the guards would have let them pass based on their uniforms and demeanor alone.
One critique is with the way the boys approach revenge. While it's understandable that they would want to get back at the Knicks for firing them, blackmailing a referee to call a bad game is unethical and undermines the integrity of the sport. It's also unclear why they would risk getting caught and potentially facing legal repercussions in order to make money and get revenge.
Additionally, the story could benefit from more background and development of the characters. It's unclear why the boys were fired and what their motivations are beyond getting revenge. Adding more backstory and character development would make the story more engaging and relatable for readers.