= Itching for Scratch
  by Stephen D. Rogers

I'd been casing the convenience store for three weeks, long enough to see that while the cashiers might not know how to open the safe, they certainly knew how to dispense lottery scratch tickets. With my stomach growling and no more money than the pennies in my ash tray, I decided the time had come to strike.

This was it. There was no looking back. I'd never jump into another secretarial pool as long as I lived.

Crime doesn't pay? Watch.

The woman behind the counter didn't blink an eye at the gun I waved at her. "There is less than twenty dollars in the drawer and I don't have the combination to the safe or access to the cameras that are currently recording your actions."

I motioned towards the plastic display case. "I want the scratch tickets."

She slurred her words together as she slipped into a monotone delivery. "We have one dollar tickets, two dollar tickets, and five dollar tickets. The price is marked next to the letter used to order the tickets you want."

"I want them all."

"Oh." With a shrug, she used a small key to open the side of the plastic case and handed me the contents.

Sticking the gun in my pocket, I ran from the store, the cardboard streamers that promised thousands of cash prizes billowing out behind me.

I was glad to see that the parking lot was still empty. Thinking ahead, I'd parked sideways across the lines so my license plate wouldn't be captured on tape. Now I saw that someone could easily have blocked me in. I'd have to remember that for next time.

After tossing the scratch tickets into the back seat, I transferred my gun to the glove compartment and burned rubber heading for the highway.

Unable to contain myself, I whooped, thrilled at the success of my first heist. That hadn't been so hard. Making double-sided photocopies while the boss was standing behind you was hard.

This had been a breeze.

Reaching the highway, I turned north and passed the first two exits. Then I pulled off at the third and drove until I found a parking lot.

I walked around to the back seat and started organizing my haul, counting aloud as I neatly folded up the spaghetti.

There were eleven hundred and ninety-three $1 tickets.

Glancing out each of the car windows, I checked that no one had been watching while I concentrated on my addition. The parking lot was empty, so it was easy to be sure.

There were nine hundred and seven $2 tickets.

Of all the different designs I'd seen so far, I preferred the card with the blue diamond. It was very sharp looking with the silver trim. Most of them were just tacky.

There were two hundred and sixteen $5 tickets.

I whooped again at the extent of my haul.

All told, I had ... well ... two hundred $5 tickets was a thousand dollars. I'd already forgotten how many $1 and $2 tickets were stacked beside me, but it was a lot.

Now I just needed to convert them into cash.

Since simple plans were best, I had kept my plan simple. If millions of people were willing to pay face value for lottery tickets, I shouldn't have any trouble unloading these at half price.

After returning to the front seat, I drove until I reached the nearest convenience store. Now I'd fill my pockets with an assortment of tickets and approach people on their way inside.

The first stepped around me saying, "Not interested."

The second was less polite.

The third must have ratted on me because the manager came out and started yelling.

Undaunted, I got back on the highway. Perhaps that location had been a mistake. Instead of focusing on the competition I should sell my stock where the tickets weren't readily available. That might make the difference.

Taking the next exit, I tried a hair salon, a bar, and a discount pharmacy.

No one was having any part of my lottery tickets. From half price I went up to face value and then for a lark I went to double price for sure-winners.

Someone asked me for a date and another promised me life eternal. Most people just ignored me.

I tried quantity discounts, buy one get one free, and finally a free lucky scratch penny with any purchase.

As unbelievable as it seemed, I was getting nowhere.

I found one guy outside a liquor store who was willing to trade me three VCRs for the entire batch, but what the heck was I going to do with three VCRs?

Several people suggested the tickets were counterfeit, and perhaps that was the root of my problem.

All I knew for certain was that I was getting hungrier by the minute and I only had seventeen lucky scratch pennies to my name.

Back in the car I hunted for a strip of fast food places, where I was surprised to find that nobody was willing to give me a burger for ten dollars in scratch tickets because then the drawer would be short.

What was wrong with this generation? Didn't these kids know anything? Show a little imagination.

As much as I hated the idea of using up my loot, I was going to starve to death if I didn't take a chance.

I sorted through the lucky scratch pennies until I found one born the same year as me. Then I read the instructions on a dollar ticket.

"Match your dice to any of the winning dice and win the prize shown. Reveal a snake-eye to win automatically."

I crossed my fingers and then scratched away.

No winner.

I grabbed another ticket.

No winner.

I grabbed two more.

No winner.

A buck.

I'd scratched four tickets and only won a buck. I was losing money. Even if I sold them at half face value I would have made two bucks. And I still didn't have enough to buy something to eat.

I grabbed another handful of tickets.

No winner.

No winner.

No winner.

A buck.

No winner.

Two bucks.

I was out eleven tickets, and now I was covered with sticky silver-colored dust. On the other hand at least I had enough for the burger budget menu. Or I would once I cashed these.

Getting back on the highway, I headed for the next exit to search for another convenience store.

The heist wasn't shaping up exactly how I'd expected. My part had gone just fine, but no one else was cooperating. Didn't they realize what a great deal I was giving them?

It was just like my last job. Nobody appreciated my efforts, my ideas. They were all in such a rut. What was so great about filing alphabetically anyway?

Sighting a gas station mart, I pulled a U and turned into the parking lot and killed the engine.

After checking the losing tickets to make sure I hadn't missed something, I brought my three winners inside.

"I'd like to cash these."

The pimply kid behind the counter ran them through the machine and then froze. "The lottery is down again."

My stomach growled. "How long does it take to fix?"

"Usually only a few minutes."

"Can you just give me the money now out of the regular drawer and then swap it later?"

The kid hesitated. "Let me check with the manager."

"Forget it." I reached for my winners.

The kid stepped back, the tickets clutched in his hand. "He's in the back room. I'm sure he'll let you have the money but I wouldn't want to give it to you without his say-so."

Since it appeared that he might cry if I didn't agree, I said I'd wait.

As the kid scooted out from the behind the counter, I looked at all the crap on display. I couldn't sell a scratch ticket that could be worth two thousand dollars, but these ugly keychains probably moved faster than they could be replaced.

Shaking my head at the stupidity of some people, I tried to think of my next move. Maybe I needed to find a pawn shop. I'd lose money, but turning the tickets into cash was taking way too much time.

Speaking of time, where did that kid disappear to?

I looked around the empty store.

Perhaps I should just grab some food and bolt. I could get some cookies, some chocolate bars, maybe something from the freezer I passed on the way in.

Turning to see if there were any witnesses in the parking lot, I watched a state police cruiser glide to a stop, rooftop lights flashing.

So that's what the kid was doing in the back room. My tickets must have come up stolen on the lottery machine.

That was it then, the story of my life. No winner.

When not setting down words of mystery and suspense, STEPHEN D. ROGERS is busy keeping http//www.stephendrogers.com nice for visitors.

Copyrights (c) 2003 Stephen D. Rogers