Inside Straight (8 page)

I watched Slater as he crossed the gaming floor, turned to see him head for an older Asian man who was sitting near the back of the club. This older man was well-dressed, too, but had a more flamboyantly expensive look to him, as if he belonged in one of those kaleidoscopic Bollywood movies where the women danced like metronomes and sang like strangled cats. It was an odd sight, Alan Slater palling around with a couple of Asians, given his mate's obvious prejudices, but maybe he was trying to close a deal. There was no room for bigotry in business, after all. I watched him take a seat and talk to the older man.

There it was, right in front of me, plain as day – you could be involved in GBH on the gaming floor, put a lad in hospital, stain the carpet with blood, and after a couple of weeks, the organisation would let you come back to blow your dough. Sovereign didn't care about anything but their take.

"You got any dealers in here today or what?"

Pollard sat at BJ One, his thick fingers spread on the layout and an even thicker grin spread across his face. I looked around for a dealer, then realised that I'd just sent him on his break. "Sorry, Mr Pollard. We'll have someone out in a minute for you."

"Good." He raised his chin. "I don't like waiting around, know what I mean?"

"Yes. And I do apologise. Normally we'd have someone on the table, but we're a little short-staffed at the moment."

"That why you're still on the days, is it?" He kept smiling. It made him look like a shark.

I tried to remind myself that the pit was my domain. I had nothing to fear here. "I'm happy on days."

"Course you aren't. Who's on nights, then, the poof?" He chewed something that could have been the inside of his cheek. "He's no good, that one." A brief wave of his hand. "I'm not talking about him being an arse bandit or anything – what he wants to do behind closed doors, all that ... No, he's just shit at his job. All over the place."

"If you have any complaints, I'm sure management would love to hear them."

"Ah, now, I don't think so, do you?" Pollard winked at me. "No need to get official about it. Things have a way of changing, don't they?"

"Do they?" There was a catch in my voice that showed me up. Behind me, I heard the staff door opening and the breakers returning to the pit. "We'll get that table open for you now."

I waved at the dealer who'd just come off the blackjack and tapped the float cover. He gave me a Bassett hound look and dawdled over to the table. Pollard sat back on his stool and cast a lingering look around the pit. A buckled twenty sat on the table in front of him, the Queen staring up at me with one squinty eye. If I didn't know better, I could've sworn there was a smudge of marker on one corner. The spot where we checked for counterfeits at the Palace.

"See you later, Graham."

I nodded, smiled, retreated. It was warm in here, and getting warmer by the minute. I watched that twenty out of the corner of my eye until the dealer slotted it into the box. Then and only then did I let my mind drift onto the day's work.

I spent most of the next afternoon watching a senior inspector named Jeff try not to collapse against AR Two.

He was drunk, I was certain of it. I couldn't smell anything on him but an abundance of cheap aftershave, but his eyes were red-webbed and there was a lean and sway in his posture. I reckoned if it wasn't alcohol, then it was probably drugs, and if it was neither then he needed to see a doctor as soon as possible because there was something seriously wrong with his inner ear. Luckily, he was a senior inspector, so he wasn't dealing. Less luckily, he was watching Kieran, the emo trainee, who I'd since discovered wasn't great with maths, something that you may have thought would have precluded young Kieran from becoming a croupier, but there you go.

Jeff ran a hand over thinning hair and moved the mousy moustache that only partly camouflaged a particularly gruesome hare lip. He swayed towards the wheel. I made a move to prop him up, but he righted himself in time. He turned and half-smiled at me, apparently surprised at the attention, his voice like someone grinding gears in a small car: "Something I can do you for, Graham?"

I stepped back. "What's on your clicker?"

He showed me the float sheet and the clicker. I checked it against my tally. Too early to have much more than a couple of hundred in the box. He smiled with the other half of his face. I gave him a warning look and nodded at AR Two's layout. "Watch your game."

A quick salute and Jeff leaned against the pillar that separated the two tables. I still wasn't sold on standing inspectors. Yes, taking away the chairs made them more alert, but they also had a way of making the pit look untidy. Where they used to sit, now they slouched like gang members in a Broadway musical – all that was missing was a toothpick jerking around in the corner of the mouth. Thanks to some spectacularly short-sighted pit design, there was also the problem of blind spots, specifically the black hole between ARs One and Two that meant an inspector watching the roulettes had to stay moving, which was a problem. Outside the pit, movement was a kind of visual white noise. Inside, it was something to be noted; it made me think something was going wrong. It made me jumpy.

At least, that was what I told myself.

Jacqui unhooked the pit rope. I hadn't seen her around, didn't know she was in this afternoon, just assumed she was on nights all week. As she approached, I wondered if she'd had a chat with Pollard – she was greenish around the jaw line and didn't meet my eye.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head, offered a half-smile. "No, I'm fine."

"Doesn't look like it."

She tried to turn the half-smile into a full one. A little colour returned to her face. I went back to watching Jeff. He'd straightened up, shoulders back, Jacqui's presence putting him on his guard. Jacqui came a little closer and pretended to inspect the pit sheet. Her perfume was floral but clean. I noticed a slight blemish by her right ear where she'd neglected to blend her foundation properly.

When she spoke, her voice was low and she didn't look at me. "Kevin Nash just phoned in."

"Feeling poorly?"

"I suppose that's one way of putting it." She replaced the pit sheet. "He's in the hospital."

"Nothing contagious, I hope."

"He was attacked."

"How bad?"

"They broke one of his knees and an arm, I think." She held up one hand to show me. "And his fingers." She turned her attention to the pit monitor. "I didn't speak to him for long. To be honest with you, he wasn't exactly coherent. Sounded like they had him on some kind of heavy duty pain medication."

"And he phoned?"

"He wanted to." A shrug. "You know what he's like."

I didn't, but I nodded anyway. "He's called the police, then?"

"I don't know."

"Does he have any idea who did it?"

She looked up at me, the three lines between her eyes. "I really don't know, Graham. You'd have to ask him."

"Of course."

"It wasn't that long a conversation." She shook her head. "I mean, I spent most of it wondering who was going to cover his shift." She looked pained. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"I don't think so."

"He was supposed to be on tonight, you see."

She watched me. Waiting for me to offer my services, which I wasn't about to do.

"That's a shame, Jacqui, but I'm sure you've got a senior you can ask—"

"Come on, Graham, don't be like that. I thought you were sick of the days."

"I am. I just have other plans tonight."

She blinked at me. "Girlfriend?"

I double-checked her expression. She didn't look like she was taking the mickey out of me, so I stayed civil. "No, it's just a bit short notice for me."

"Okay." She surveyed the pit, chewing her bottom lip. "I'm sure I can dig up someone from somewhere. Maybe Jeff—"

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"I don't think he's sober."

"Okay. You'll be alright covering the rest of the week, though, won't you?"

"I don't know. I don't think I should."

"Just the nights, Graham. I'll get someone to cover the days."

I wanted to say no, because I knew that if I agreed I wasn't just saying yes to Jacqui Prince. Pit bosses didn't just get beaten up, gay or otherwise, and if Pollard wanted me on the nights, giving Nash a kicking was a brutally effective way of going about it. Unfortunately my brain refused to give up examples of "other plans" I could've had for the rest of the week, not unless I invented a girlfriend or a sick relative, and I didn't trust myself to maintain a lie like that. "Yeah, okay. I suppose I can cover."

She lit up. "That's great. Thanks, Graham. I promise, anything you need, any time you think it might be too much for you, just let me know, alright?"

I smiled, but I didn't mean it. She smiled, and she did. It was at once the prettiest and most terrifying thing I'd ever seen, and I couldn't look at her anymore.

When I got home that night, I called Clive on his mobile and asked him if he'd been serious about the ships.

"Course I was. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Nothing much. Just been a bad day,
day
being the operative word. I think you're right about Dave Randall. I talked to him, he even tried to sell
me
the stress story."

"Wanker."

"It doesn't matter. Listen, any chance you could give me your guy's number?"

"Yeah. Haven't got it on us at the moment, but I'll email you when I get in."

"Alright. You're not on the count or anything, are you?"

"I'll be out at five."

"Okay. Thanks, Clive. I appreciate it."

I waited by my computer the whole night, even though I knew he wouldn't be able to send anything until he got home. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate on anything else, either. I was scared. I felt sick. I didn't want to leave, but I knew I couldn't stay.

When he emailed at half-six, the sky was beginning to turn grey. I opened the email, stared at the number. I couldn't call it then. I was too tired, needed some sleep first. I just needed to make sure it was there. I entered it into my mobile's contacts and then went to lie down.

I didn't call that afternoon, or the next. My head didn't feel clear enough. Working nights after so many days had pulled the time out from under me. When I called, I needed to be the perfect candidate. I needed to be controlled, clear-minded. I needed to be more wanted than wanting.

So it could wait another day.

The night shift at the Riverside was a different crew altogether. Some of the dealers and inspectors I recognised from other clubs, some must have come from other organisations. They'd been trained well, but not by us. You could always tell the dealers from other places. They had different ways of handling the dolly, slinging the cards and tapping the bet. They could chip for themselves when they needed to, and their jaws didn't go slack at the prospect of a rainbow heads-up surrounded by skyscraper splits, corners and streets. In short, they tended to be better than anything that had escaped from Sovereign's satellites, and they were a godsend for what quickly became a medium-busy pit. For a few hours between ten o'clock and one, I forgot where I was, why I was there, and actually started to enjoy myself. It didn't even matter that we were an inspector down, a lad by the name of Stephen Laird. Apparently he'd just vanished, run off without telling anyone, not even his flatmates. Rumour was, he'd jumped onto the ships. It happened all the time. It was an easy escape. I could've used one just like it.

"Graham." A voice rising above the clattering chippers. Lauren was staring at me, stood between ARs Three and Four, her hip cocked at a painful angle and her bosom thrust out. Every time I looked at Lauren I wondered what had made her pick those particular breasts over something smaller, more natural and less immediately sluttish. She moved her head as if she'd already asked me a question, then huffed as she repeated it: "How is he?"

"Who?"

"Kevin."

"He's in the hospital."

"I know, but how bad is it?"

"You miss him already?"

"What?
No.
" She pulled a face, showed a wad of gum in her mouth. "I'm just asking."

"I don't know how he is. You'll have to ask Jacqui."

Lauren smiled. Her teeth had been recently bleached. "I've already asked Jacqui, haven't I? She never said nowt."

"Well then, maybe she doesn't know anything either." I nodded at AR Three. "Get him spinning, or he'll be drowning in chips. And tell him to stay away from the neighbours."

"Like he can spin out of section."

"He can spin
into
one. Watch him. Keep him working. And next break, Lauren, lose the gum, alright? It's unprofessional."

Which was the nice way of saying it made her look like a Cheetham Hill whore. She knew the implication, looked at me a moment longer, her tongue wedged firmly in her cheek and her mouth open. I twirled a finger and she pivoted on one heel, back to the tables she was supposed to be watching. I glanced at her backside as I turned to the pit desk.