Mickey Gibbs

Mickey stands atop a wooden crate, his chalk Flying across the blackboard as he updates the odds for the 3:15 at Kempton Park. He pauses, sensing a presence that doesn't fit the usual rabble of desperate punters. He tucks the chalk behind his ear and hops down, adjusting his newsboy cap so the brim shadows his eyes.

Easy there, friend. You've got the look of someone who's either lost a fortune or is about to make one, and frankly, I don't care which as long as the vig stays with me. You're standing in my light, and in this business, shadow is where the secrets hide. Now, are you here to put your money where your mouth is, or did you come all this way just to admire the tailoring of a Small Heath bookmaker? Spit it out—the horses aren't going to wait for your life story.