by R J Dent

They were called the dividers, but they were all gamblers.

There were eight of them – five men and three women. Out of that eight, Jordy Michaels was, without doubt, the best of them. It was Jordy who had won the most money; it was Jordy who had set three new records – and broken two of them himself; it was Jordy who mostly found the best divides, whether they were in New York, Mexico City, Chicago, Toronto, or wherever.

After Jordy, Alec Murdoch was probably the best of the rest. Murdoch was the only one who Jordy considered offered any sort of challenge to his supremacy. Jordy watched Murdoch go through his habitual finger-stretching exercises, sure that one day Murdoch would replace him, just as Jordy had once replaced the sadly lamented Wayne ‘Wings’ Stubley. Everyone got replaced eventually – it was the nature of things.

Leanne Garibaldi didn’t count – yet. She was new to it – she still took too many clumsy risks just prior to the leap – overly fancy footwork, sloppy use of arm movements – and she kept her head too still. Still, tonight would be her fourth divide, and Jordy knew she was only just beginning to define her own style. If she managed to last for ten, Jordy knew she’d do well in the future – such as it was. As Jordy looked at her round face, she glanced up and caught his gaze. She nodded curtly, then looked away.

Anthony Penrose, warming his hands on the ventilator shaft, was stolid, partly due to being prone to spasmodic but severe arthritic seizures in his hands. He didn’t enter all of the contests, especially during the winter, but in the spring, the summer and the fall, he would be there with the other dividers, putting his two thousand dollars into the top hat, then going to find his number chalked somewhere on the roof and standing on it until it was his turn. Edward Summers, Miranda Frazier, Nicola Mills and Tom Patmore made up the eight. These last four were of about equal ability.

At one time, there had been nine dividers, but Lewis Gimmell had fallen from the roof of a Seattle office block after three and a half minutes. Two hours later, the eight survivors had gathered together in a hotel bar. Jordy told the others he’d start scouting for a new location. He’d found one eventually – this time in Pittsburg. They’d all gone to view it together, trusting Jordy to have looked at – but not to have touched – the opposite building’s roof. He hadn’t touched it, but he had looked plenty.