The River Gamble

Richard Barrett
4 min readAug 7, 2023

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*names and conversations are purely fictional

Chester Robinson was determined to have a good day. He had just dropped his daughter off at her mama’s house and had settled back into his car. He adjusted his white shirt collar in his rear view mirror, making a note of how bright and crisp it was. “So fresh and so clean clean!”, he remarked. If you have to wear a uniform you might as well look good in it.

Chester started the car and began the short drive to Riverfront Park. Working security had been a good gig for him. He was well liked by his co-workers and got along with the customers who were always a little raucous but usually in a good mood.

He clocked in and said “Hey!” to Baby Huey. Huey wasn’t actually a baby but he was oversized, about 6’2” with young features and a mess of dirty blonde hair. He and Chester were cool but Chester always wondered why they got the customer service reps in that Walmart looking life vest.

The lazy summer breeze washed over Chester as he did his walkabout. The Alabama river had a wide expanse that lured you in while managing to hide its most lurid secrets. This same place, this same riverfront used to be a prosperous and notorious slave trading port. “This that history they don’t wanna teach.”, thought Chester. He got to the top of the loading area, right next to the passenger ramps. He leaned on the rail and squinted at the majestic riverboats with their happy, loud and somewhat pickled guests. That would be him tomorrow on his day off. He was going to bring his new girl Stacy down here. The water was always an aphrodisiac.

Chester then heard the distinct short crackle on his walkie talkie: “Chester we got a riverboat docking.” His eyes automatically scanned the loading dock. There had been a rash of locals setting anchor in the area but it was a minor annoyance and they always moved when asked.

As he walked down the ramp he noticed a moored pontoon boat that was empty. He looked around and didn’t see an owner in sight. Chester had to act fast. These riverboats didn’t feel no way about crunching a boat that was in their spot and Chester was in no mood for that kind of paperwork.

He loosened the moorings and tried to pull the pontoon boat forward. It was a losing battle. He wasn’t creating enough space. “Hey buddy, hey buddy!” Chester turned his head to see a bare chested man walking rapidly towards him. “Why are you touching my boat?”, he screeched through thin, sunburnt lips. “You’re at the riverboat dock, you gotta move it now,” said Chester calmly. “Don’t you touch my boat!”, chirped the man. Other bare chested men suddenly appeared and walked past the two without glancing or saying a word to them. Chester wasn’t sure if they were with him but he kept his focus.

“You touch your boat then. But you gotta move it now.” By then a small group of people had gathered near the top railing. Chester felt their gaze as well as that of some of the riverboat passengers a little off in the distance. The man walked off to his boat. Chester watched as he just tried to ease it a few feet down. “Nah, you need to start it up and drive off!” Chester said with exasperation. Right then another shorter dude with a ‘90’s goatee and pink shorts appeared. “You need to just go buddy! Leave us alone.” “Not possible,” said Chester. “I’m here to do my job.”

He looked past the new guy to see that the bare chested fool had barely moved the boat. “Drive off!” Chester exclaimed, clapping his hands for emphasis.

At that exact moment a third man spawned seemingly out of nowhere, launching himself at Chester and pushing him with full force. Chester could see the wildness in his eyes, he could smell his scent, a mix of sweat, unseasoned chicken and Bud Light. “I thought they were off the stuff,” thought Chester.

He didn’t sign up for this, but as he separated from this new fool he felt a quiet peace. This was a pivotal moment for him. For us.

Chester heard a quiet voice say “We got you.”, and his shoulders relaxed as he got into his stance. He instinctively threw his cap in the air and began to throw hands.

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Richard Barrett
Richard Barrett

Written by Richard Barrett

Creative polymath. Trying to do the most. Sometimes succeeding.

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