Russell slowed to a walk as he entered the main lobby, the familiar sight of a busy hall bringing a smile to his face.  The spring sun blazed through the plexiglass ceiling onto the collective body of students, scurrying between classes and lunch breaks, with quick pit-stops at their lockers for books, snacks and other essentials.  Some of his usual customers spied him through the crowd, giving a curt nod of greeting.  Russell returned them, and moved toward his locker.  Dumping his bag inside, he grabbed a small black book and pen, before making his way through the crowd to the waiting fellows.<br/><br/>"Morning, fellas," he said, his voice as business-casual as a polo shirt.<br/><br/>"Sup, Russ," one returned, "Where's the action today?"<br/><br/>Russell smiled as he opened his black book, containing his 'homework' over the night.  "I've got a buck-fifty to the dollar on the Lakers on the road, a buck-twenty on the Yankees at home, and the Spurs at an astonishing five-to-one to beat the Gunners at home in the derby," he rattled off his odds, seating himself at the edge of a planter in the center of the hall.  "Come on, Lenny, I know you want some of that action."<br/><br/>More of his regulars crowded around as Lenny agreed.  "How about a Grover for three-to-one against the Yankees?"<br/><br/>Russell thought about it, or at least pretended to.  Most bookies were going $4.00 against New York, so it wasn't so bad a deal.  "Done," he grinned, taking the offered $20 as he wrote down the bet.<br/><br/>"Tenner on the Lakers," another voice said, thrusting forward a sawbuck.  Russell took it, making note of the new transaction.  It was a good week to run a betting ring, and it had better be; his other interests needed funding.  Speaking of other interests...  Russell turned to see her walk by.  Melanie Jayne Hartford the Fifth, known to her friends as Mel, to her close friends as Vee, and to Russell as a fine prospect.  Apparently she'd been asking around about a certain urban legend, chasing rumours of a club that doesn't exist.  Russell held up a hand, and his clients silenced for a moment.  He reached into the back of his little black book, procuring a small piece of red paper.  Folding it in half, he holds it to Lenny.  They didn't know to what end or purpose this was for, but they knew better than to interrupt Russell.<br/><br/>"I'll give you three-fifty against the Yankees if you put that in Mel Hartford's locker," he stated the terms, "In her locker, not to her, not to anyone else then her, straight to her locker."  Lenny looked at it, before taking hold of the slip.  Russell didn't let go yet.  "Look at it, and we never do business again."  Lenny nodded, and went off with the red slip.  Russell turned back to his clients.<br/><br/>"Who was next?" he asked.  He took bets for anything from college football to basketball in Miami, soccer in England, cricket in India, Aussie Rules in...well, Australia, and a good range of things in between.  It made him a lot of money, almost as much as his other pursuits.  With the soccer and hockey seasons drawing to a close, though, he'd need another revenue stream.  After ten minutes of frantic bet-taking, he heard cries from an older voice down the hall, the aggressive shouts of hired security.  "Sorry fellas, betting's closed for the day," Russell managed before closing the book, turning to the planter behind him and running clear over it, leaping over the crowd and landing in a crouched roll, making for the door with explosive speed.<br/><br/>As the security guards found themselves roadblocked by students, both by accident and intent, one pointed to the clear roof and laughed.  As they looked on high, they spied Russell, who had already found his way onto the roof.  He waved excitedly at the security guards, dumbstruck, thinking to themselves they'd need to be paid more to bother chasing him.  Russell watched the excited crowd below him, waving and giving thumbs up, as he searched the sea of heads for that of Lenny's.  He spied him reaching up to Melanie's locker, sliding something red through the grill.  Russell smiled to himself, and with a wave to his spectators, he dashed away.