“It’s an honor to meet you, sir!” said Terry, exuberantly shaking Falvi’s hand and taking a seat across from him at the table. “The Pearl is the bedrock casino of Atlantic City.”
“It’s an honor to meet the whiz kid who’s been stealing all my business!” laughed Falvi.
“We’re a completely different paradigm,” said Terry, grasping at the manila folder in front of him.
“I have a resume,” he said.
“Not necessary,” said Falvi. “Your work speaks for itself.”
In a small windowless conference room at the famous Pearl hotel, impeccably dressed Alonzo Falvi sat across from young Ptolomy Terry. The Pearl was one of the eight original Atlantic City casinos built by Alonzo’s grandfather, over a century ago. Now in his mid-60’s, Alonzo continued to oversee daily management of the casino and took its well-being seriously.
Ptolomy Terry, 28, was also superbly dressed in his Fioravanti suit with exposed siren red, paisley socks that irked Falvi in a way he couldn’t describe. What they represented was progress – a concept that made Falvi itchy. Casinos were likely not the lifeblood of this young New York “serial entrepreneur,” as they had been for the entirety of Falvi’s life.
“Tell me about The Calypso,” said Falvi.
“Already?!” said Terry, laughing. “Not going to wine and dine me first?!”
“And I’m not going to blow you either,” laughed Falvi.
“Of course,” said Terry, uncomfortably. “When The Calypso first contacted me, they were going out of business. I told them that this was an opportunity to radically reinvent – not just themselves – but the art of the casino.”
“Because you know about casinos?”
“My New York incubator grew six hugely successful gaming apps over the last four years,” said Terri. “Ace of Games. Slottapalooza. What you may not know, is I have a Ph.D. in behavioral psychology. The Calypso was my sandbox to disrupt the traditional casino model and vastly improve the user experience. Think about it. When you walk around Atlantic City today – your experience is the same as it was in the 1930s. Our objective was to tear down the artifice and build a better experience.”
“So, you don’t think Atlantic City is timeless?”
“I think it’s ancient and aging poorly. And my data backs that up – which I’d love to show you, once we’ve formalized an agreement.”
“Tell me about your radical changes.”
“First, we tore down the walls. Why? Because we wanted windows. And clocks. We didn’t believe in keeping players in the dark, closed off rooms with no sense of time. When any player enters The Calypso,” continued Terry, “they get an immediate stipend of $5,000.”
“$5,000?”
“Just for walking in,” said Terry. “We have lounges, charging stations. An educational center where instructors teach players the best odds in the casino. So now, not only do we have full houses, but players’ response statistics are the most positive in Atlantic City history.”
“I bet,” said Falvi.
“Mr. Falvi,” Terry leaned forward, emphatically, “I’m convinced that this model will succeed at The Pearl.”
“Mm,” said Falvi. “So, I went to The Calypso and made some observations. Can I share them with you?’
“Please,” said Terry.
“I saw happy people, flocking to tables. But other things just didn’t sit right with me.”
He pressed an intercom button on the table. A large man entered the room. Terry regarded him, offhandedly.
“These windows,” continued Falvi. “They’re heavily tinted. And some of them – what? – show daytime when it’s not really daytime?”
“An illusory experience.”
“And your clocks. They all seem to be broken.”
At this, the large man withdrew a massive white glass clock and dropped it on the conference table. The edges of the clock cracked. Terry, startled, jumped from his seat. Falvi waved the man out of the room.
“They’re stuck at three o’clock. Or they’re different times in different rooms. That’s all user experience too?”
“That’s right,” said Terry.
“But what I couldn’t figure out,” continued Falvi, “is how The Calypso pays out to all these happy winners when they have such tremendous debt in the first place.”
“Debt?” said Terry, hesitating.
“I’m no accountant,” continued Falvi, “but The Calypso has debt in the billions. And I just wondered where’re they getting all their money from? Don’t tell me you don’t know about their loans?”
“I -”
“Lot of people loaned to them. I loaned to them. But that loan – over the past nine months – seems to have been significantly reduced. In dribs and drabs. Just magically disappearing off the books.”
“That’s not -”
“My grandkids call me a dinosaur because I don’t know modern stuff like – hackers. But y’know what? I actually have my own hackers.”
Terry watched, apprehensively, as Falvi pressed the intercom button again.
“And my hackers,” continued Falvi, intensely, “told me about your hackers.”
Terry breathed rapidly as two large suited men entered the room. One carried a huge metal bucket. The other pushed a wheelbarrow filled with some murky liquid. The man with the bucket stood behind Terry’s chair. When Terry tried to rise, the man shoved him down.
“Listen,” said Terry, frantically, “if you have grievances, you need to take them up with The Calypso.”
“See, I did that already.”
The man behind Terry withdrew a gun and held it to the back of his head. He leaned down, lifted Terry’s legs, and placed them into the bucket.
“And when I told The Calypso I expected them to square with me, you know what they offered? You.”
Terry struggled, panicking. The other thug brought the wheelbarrow over and dumped cement onto his feet. Terry’s eyes went wide.
“You don’t have to do this!” begged Terry.
Falvi stood up, stretched.
“A lot of people say I’m -” Falvi made air quotes with his hands, “old school. But I hate that term. I like traditional.
“Don’t!” said Terry, as duct tape was suddenly wrapped around his mouth
“Timeless” said Falvi.
And then he left the room.
by 
His latest collection is called Miserable Adventure Stories.
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