Inside Straight (5 page)

A sigh. "So Clive
did
tell you."

"Clive didn't tell me anything. I haven't spoken to him for weeks. What happened?"

"Nothing to worry about." Dave cleared his throat, which meant there was plenty to worry about. "The Securicor guy was taking the weekend cash out, and they jumped him just outside the doors. Naz saw it all. They were already gone by the time I got there."

I bet they were. I could see it all so clearly. Naz on reception, called for "Mr David Randall" over the speakers. Dave heard his Sunday name, knew it was trouble and scarpered to the toilets until he was sure it was all over.

"They get much?"

"We don't know yet. Still doing the sums."

Which meant it was a lot and he didn't want to tell me. I didn't blame him.

"You know who it was?"

"We're looking into it. The police are here now. Look, I have to go."

"Of course you do. Speak to you soon, Dave."

He hung up without saying goodbye. I pushed off the desk and out of the admin office just in time to see the day staff muppet-shuffle down to the pit. I followed them out, watched them open tables and made sure the pit desk was clean and prepped. A Glaswegian midget by the name of Eileen was supposed to be day manager, but she was probably out the back having a cigarette. She looked like a sadomasochist, emphasis on the first two syllables, and had a voice like a dog choking on a lolly stick. She was supposed to be here for the opening, but I wasn't going to argue. I'd learned that opening up was easier when there wasn't management around to get in the way. Once the first four tables were open – two roulettes and the two cards – I sent off the first breakers. At two o'clock, I gave the Security the nod, and he unlocked the glass reception doors to a grand total of no one.

Something in the pit of my stomach trembled like the first twitches of a new illness and made a noise like a Predator.

Over at the Arches on George Street, we had a name for the two o'clock opening – the Mahjong Derby. Just before we opened, there'd normally be a crush of small, bag-faced old Chinese ladies pressed against the doors. The assembled staff took a quick look at them through the glass, picked their runners, and then we opened up to watch them dash the hundred yards to the Mahjong tables. A long run for old birds, but they took it with speed and ferocity, kicking, tripping and slapping each other out of the way as they battled to take their favourite seats. The first woman sat and shuffling tiles was the winner, and whoever had her number would find himself a hundred quid richer on the first break.

There was no Mahjong Derby here. No punters waiting outside. Nothing but grey clouds, thick rain and a bad smell.

The Professor came in at three. He hadn't shown his face at the Palace for a while, but it made sense that he'd made the Riverside his new home. While he didn't exactly blend in with his brown cord and tie-and-sweater combination, he was exactly the kind of tin-foil mentalist this place was bound to attract. He set up camp at AR Two, fumbled out his notebook and bookie pen and twirled a finger at the dealer to spin up.

The dealer's posture was one long sigh. He moved as little as possible, passed a slow ball around the wheel. The Professor watched it, his lips moving in silent calculation. The ball landed. The dealer dollied the empty number. The Professor scribbled down the number.

And repeat.

Another twirl. Another spin.

Another dead number.

And repeat.

The Professor didn't spend money, not unless management insisted. He wasn't a gambler; he was a mathematician. Applied mathematics, in that he was applying them to American Roulette in order to devise the chip junkie's Holy Grail – the foolproof winning system. The only drawback was that he was still firmly in the data collection stage. Hapless berks like the dealer on AR Two were his lab rats, spinning their days away. If this had been a Palace day shift, I would have made him buy in by now, but the dealer was a trainee and needed the practice. So The Professor continued to twirl his finger and make the dealer spin up, pausing only to catch the attention of the day valet, a mouse of a girl with dead spider eyelashes, peroxide hair and no chin. He ordered his usual milky tea and pack of custard creams. The valet knew him of old, knew he wasn't going to tip, so she took the long way back to the kitchen.

I watched her go, didn't notice Barry Pollard until he spoke. "Y'alright, Graham?"

I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. It didn't work. "Alright? Yes."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine. Yes, absolutely." I cleared my throat.

He pulled up a stool and bought in for twenty quid. The dealer changed the note to singles, then Pollard pulled out an extra fifty. "Give us fives for that, will you?"

The dealer changed the note into ten reds and gathered up the cards to perform the first manual shuffle.

Pollard smiled at me. "See they still got you on days."

"That's right."

"Seems a shame, man of your experience."

"What can I say? They don't know talent when they see it."

"Say that again." Pollard reached forward, cut the six deck. The dealer shoved it into the shuffling machine. "Still, you're better off here than the Palace, right?"

I didn't look at him. "You talking about the robbery?"

"Card." Pollard hit sixteen against a five. "Another one."

A seven put him over. The dealer scooped the chips and waited for another ante.

Pollard rubbed the side of his nose. "Place was robbed, was it?"

"You didn't hear?"

Pollard shrugged.

More cards came out. Pollard showed twelve against the dealer's king.

"Card." Four on the twelve. Pollard gave the dealer a look. "Sixteen's my fuckin' number today, isn't it? What do you think, Graham? Against a king. Think I should take another one?"

"You know I can't give you any advice, Mr Pollard."

"Nobody'll know. Just us three."

I tapped the edge of the table. "They're all miked. If you won, I could get into trouble. People might think we're in cahoots."

"In cahoots? Christ Almighty." He laughed. "Better watch I don't say nowt they could use against me in a court of law, eh?" He leaned back on his stool and squinted at the camera dome in the middle of the pit. "That's a camera, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Thought so." He leaned forward again. "Alright, son. Against a king? Against a king, I believe I'll take a card."

"Card?"

"That's what I said."

A three.

"And I will stay on nineteen, thank you very much."

The dealer flipped a seven and paid.

Pollard left his ante, assimilated his winnings into the stack of singles. "You're good luck, Graham."

I smiled politely. "And that's my cue to leave."

"Aw, come on, that's not fair. I'm winning, not robbing the place. You tell Mr David Randall to stay where he is."

I looked at him. Blinked. My left hand itched.

He showed teeth when he smiled this time, but didn't meet my eye. "Card."

Mr David Randall. A test of my mettle and of his reputation.

I returned to the pit desk and looked at the blank pit sheet. When I scratched the itch on my hand, it moved to my wrist. I felt in my pockets for my cream.

He was watching me, waiting to see what I'd do. Waiting to see if I reached for the phone, if I called over the manager, if I made any move to grass him.

I didn't. Truth be told, I didn't want to get involved.

So all I did was rub cream and try not to scratch myself to ribbons.

When Nash came in for the nine o'clock changeover, I had everything ready for him and I didn't hang around to gossip. I needed to get out of there. I grabbed my coat from the locker room and pushed out the back of the casino. Pollard's truck was parked a little way up from my car. Someone sat behind the wheel, but I couldn't make out any features and something about the build told me it wasn't Pollard.

"You alright, Graham?"

The bald, big-eyed Security I'd nicknamed Fester was frowning at me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just ..." I smiled. "Thought I'd forgotten my phone, that's all." I pulled my mobile from my coat pocket. "But no, here it is."

"Ah, right."

I said goodnight and dialled two nines on my mobile before I realised the police wouldn't care. What was it that Nash had said? They wouldn't touch Pollard unless it was something big?

A casino robbery was big, wasn't it?

Yeah, if he'd actually
done
it. If I was honest, I didn't have much to go on. A hunch and hearsay, some kind of vague, winking confession.

I cleared the display, called Clive, hurrying towards my Corsa. I figured they wouldn't try anything if I was on the phone. I just hoped Clive picked up.

Five rings later, he did. "You heard, then."

"Yeah, from Dave."

"What'd he tell you?"

"Nothing, really."

"Well, no, he wouldn't, would he? He was in the toilets."

I knew it. First sign of trouble and he'd scarpered for the gents.

"How's everyone else? Alright?" I made it to the Corsa and looked around. No movement from the truck. I got in the car, pulled the door shut after me. "Nobody got in the way or anything, did they?"

"We were all inside. Middle of a day shift, wasn't it?"

"Good."

"Telling you, mind, I'm not staying. I'm offski, mate. I'm going on the ships."

I started the engine, checked the mirror. Still nothing. "You always say that."

"I'm serious, man. You know they've got Lorraine running the night pits?"

"Jesus, really?"

"Really. It's a fuckin' travesty."

"Suicide." I pulled out of the car park. Checked my mirror again. Clear behind me. "You talked to Dave?"

"Unless you're willing to grow tits and offer him a tongue-stud blowjob, Dave doesn't give a flying fuck what you have to say. Brick wall, mate."

"You're seriously going?"

"I'm already gone. I'm a networker. I've got contacts. I'm going to call Dennis after my shift."

"Dennis?"

"Mendoza. He works for Duchess now, but we did a couple of horror show Fred Olson cruises up to St Petersburg, so it's like we're fuckin' combat buddies. He's been on at us for ages to come on the ships. Hey, telling you, Graham—"

"No, Clive."

"Hear me out."

"I already know what you're going to say."

"Well?"

"This isn't forever, Clive."

"Come on, Graham. You know better than that, mate."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Traffic lights up the road blazed red. I slowed to a stop and checked for police now. I didn't want to be caught on the mobile. I rubbed my palm against the steering wheel. "Dave's said something, has he?"

"He doesn't need to."

I glanced in the rear view mirror. A green mini sat behind me, a vaguely attractive and slightly geeky-looking blonde woman behind the wheel. "He can't get rid of me, Clive. He needs me too much."

"You still think that?"

"I know that."

A braying horn behind me. I glanced in the mirror, then saw the green glow of the traffic lights in front. I pulled away, watched the blonde overtake at the first opportunity.

"So they still got you on days or what?"

"How did you know?"

"It's a running gag round here."

"Great."

"Telling you, Graham, they're taking the piss. You ask me, you're a fuckin' patsy."

"Thank you, Alex Jones."

"I'm serious. Dave Randall's been up to Regional about the Vinnie Collins thing, the Beale thing, the whole lot. Bet you any money he's hung it on you."

"No, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't have the nerve. And they wouldn't believe him."

"It is what it is. All I'm saying, I think you need to seriously reconsider your place in the organisation, mate."

"Okay, I will."

"Don't fuckin' placate me, Graham."

"Yes, dear."

"I'm serious about Duchess an' all, mate. They're up to their eyes in dealers, but they're experience-poor. They're after quality land-based staff. A pit boss with your experience shows up, they'll jump through hoops for you."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that. Let me know when you're ready to skip the country."

He laughed. My face twitched at the sound. Clive had a way of making a joke sound like an attractive proposition and vice versa. I wasn't that good at telling the difference. Back when we were more friends than work colleagues, he used to tease me about it to my face. Now he did it behind my back. "Listen, I've got to go. I'm driving and talking here."

He called me Public Enemy Number One. I laughed, but it sounded girlish. Then I rang off and tossed my mobile onto the dashboard.