A Fox In The Old Hen House
A short story
by
Luke Atkinson
First edition.
Copyright 2011 Luke Atkinson
This short story is a work of fiction. The characters, places and situations depicted in this work are a product of the writer’s imagination and are not real. Any resemblances to real situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
This short story may not be reproduced in any way without the author’s written consent. All rights reserved.
People treat bar games as an intelligible method of passing time and entertaining themselves while drinking their intoxicating beverages and chatting among friends, socializing, shooting the breeze, and other forms of, well, simple interaction. Sadly they do not see the opportunities that lie before them as I do and opportunities must be seized before they disappear. Therefore I believe it is my duty to correctly aid those in need of help and persuasion toward finding the bonus income that hides behind each billiard ball, dart board, playing card, red plastic cup, pair of dice, coin, domino, and for the nerdier bunch -- excuse me, I meant scholarly crowd -- trivia game.
I believe you’ve seen me before. Once at your father’s corporate party at the secret table of old, drunken men with playing cards in hand, yes? I may have had an ace or three up my sleeve. Or that other time at your college house party I was placing odds near the beer pong table where everyone -- including the underaged clientele -- was having fun? Certainly I was present when you hosted the cookout for the big game and we placed bets on the winning teams, remember? Yes that was I, Lucas Fox, seizing the opportunities that were before me and taking advanta-- aiding the party-goers while they had their fun. We, that is to say, I have certainly had my fun and made significant profits from my time visiting banquets and balls and bashes.
On Wednesdays I have an appointment at the local pub called “The Old Hen House” on Main Street which I never miss. The event brings together two of my favorite groups of young people, the “college-aged” and the “in-college” as I call them. The former is a group of graduates who haven’t taken the responsibility of seizing the opportunity to work in a flashy, new position at some company and the latter works diligently to gain the knowledge befit of a scholastic champion. They are some of the more gullible -- pardon me -- noble, young minds in our fair city and I do enjoy rubbing elbows with them over a good pint of beer. I always dress in one of my finest, tailored suits for the occasion and head out the door in a timely fashion. I’ll tell you about one night in particular so you may understand my ruse.
The festivities begin at 10 p.m. sharp, but as a man who simply refuses to arrive “fashionably late,” I arrive 30 minutes prior to the scheduled start to enjoy an old fashioned martini and survey the contestants. The game this evening is a battle of wits involving the most mind-boggling and strenuous questions covering various areas of knowledge and wordplay. I have become a regular here and I am served my drink upon arrival by an older gentleman who has seen generations of thirsty students pass through his doorway.
“Oh, it must be Wednesday. It wouldn’t be trivia night without you, would it, Fox?” he said to me while brandishing a silver shaker to make my usual drink.
“Sir, you are too kind. Tonight is just another night for these wonderful students to take a vacation from their pressing studies and enjoy an evening of drunken revelry and a chance for bragging rights in a battle of their minds,” I said.
“Always eloquent. You’re pretty clever, Fox.”
“Clever as you are hospitable. Thank you for the drink, O’Malley. Here’s something for your skill at crafting spirits.”