Paying For It (17 page)

‘Another bottle of Bolly, darling?’

‘Yaw-yaw …’

‘Oh moy Gawd … Oh moy Gawd!’

‘What is it, darling?’

‘Kitten heels with culottes, darling.’

‘Oh, that’s so last season!’

Felt my brain softening, more than it had already. Phone suddenly went off. Saved by the bell.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, I’m sorry to call so late, but—’

I didn’t recognise her voice. ‘Who is this?’

‘Oh, of course, my name’s McClair. I’m with social services.’

‘Uh-huh, and who are you looking for?’

‘Ehm, is that Mr Dury?’

‘Yeah, that’s me. Is there some kind of problem?’

Silence on the line, then: ‘It’s about the remains of, Mr Milo Whittle.’

To hear his name again thumped at my heart. ‘Milo, yes … God, yes – his remains.’

‘Mr Dury, you seem to be the only contact we have. Are you family of some sort?’

‘No, I’m not family. I’m, eh, all he had though.’

‘In that case, will you be claiming the remains, Mr Dury?’

I felt my heart freeze over, my mouth fell open. The sight of that heap of ashes would stay with me to my dying day.

‘Mr Dury, are you still there?’

‘Eh, yeah … yes, I’m still here.’

‘It’s, well, the remains have been released now. There will have to be arrangements made.’

I felt my mind slowly clicking over. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘We can take care of the funeral expenses, if needs be.’

That terrible expression ‘pauper’s grave’ entered my thoughts.

‘Eh, no.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ll take care of it. The funeral and so on.’

‘That’s very generous, Mr Dury. Are you fully aware of the costs?’

‘Fuck the costs. I’m sorry, I mean, I’ll manage.’

‘Well, we’ll be taking him to the crematorium soon, so …’

‘That’s fine, I’ll get down there now.’

‘I think tomorrow would be better.’

‘Yes, look, tomorrow it is then.’

‘Okay, Mr Dury. Goodbye.’

My legs buckled, standing became difficult. I summoned the courage to order another whisky. I threw it over, sensed right away I’d reached the magic number.

My blood thumped in my veins as I headed for the cashier.

I threw down all the money Col had given me, said, ‘Change that.’

‘How would you like it, sir?’

‘What?’

‘Hundreds, twenties, tens.’

‘Fuck do I care?’

As I headed for the roulette wheel Bobby Darin sang ‘Moon River’. God, my mother used to play that. The past seemed like happier days to me now.

Put a pile of chips on black.

Croupier spun the wheel. ‘No more bets, please.’

As I watched the ball jump Bobby Darin changed his tune, started on ‘Call Me Irresponsible’.

Like I needed that.

AS I WATCHED the wheel, my guts turned over. I’d been throwing money around like one of those Indian statues with four arms. It had to end. It might be soon.

I watched the ball begin to slow, popping in and out of the little brass slats. I couldn’t take it, turned away.

Amy appeared at my side. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Is it black?’

‘What?’

‘The wheel … I’ve put it all on black.’

I slouched, she towered over me as she pitched herself on her toes. ‘Still, going …’

‘Christ on a crutch. Keep watching.’

‘How much have you put on?’

‘All of it – everything I have.’

‘’Bout ten bob then.’ She laughed at her own joke.

‘Bit more than that.’

I turned around to see the wheel’s silver handle make a final wink in the glare of lights.

‘Number twenty-two,’ called out the croupier.

‘Holy shit, it’s black! I’ve won!’

Amy jumped up, put her arms around me. Before I knew what had happened, we were kissing, Amy leaned in hard, pressing her tongue on the roof of my mouth.

‘That was nice,’ she said when we finished.

‘I didn’t see it coming.’

‘We should do it more often.’

‘God, no, my nerves wouldn’t take it.’

‘I was talking about the kiss,’ said Amy.

‘So was I.’

A little crowd formed as the croupier wrote out a chit for the cash office.

Hod appeared.

‘I thought you’d never been to a casino before.’

‘Beginner’s luck,’ I said. Amy wrapped her arms round my waist and smiled.

Hod tipped his head, winked towards her. ‘I wish I had half your luck, Gus Dury,’ he said.

‘How do they pay out?’

‘Cash. How much is it?’

I showed him the chit. Hod’s eyes widened, he whistled through his front teeth. ‘Drinks are on you, buddy.’

I felt his words like a lash, I didn’t feel like celebrating after the call about Milo, said, ‘Look, guys, I’ve had a bit of news tonight. I hate to piss on your parade but a friend of mine’s died and … I’ve to collect the remains.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Amy.

I managed a limp smile for her as she put her hands on my face. ‘Thanks. He was very old and I hadn’t known him long, but we connected, you know?’

Amy nodded, eyes widened by my misery.

‘Let’s get your money,’ said Hod. He walked us over to the cash office.

As I handed over the chit, the girl behind the perspex took one look at the amount and reached for the phone.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked Hod.

He shrugged. ‘New territory for me too, mate.’

The girl put the phone down. ‘You’ll have to take this upstairs, sir.’

‘Come again?’

‘We don’t keep that much cash on the floor. You’ll need to go up to the manager’s office where the safe is. Mr Zalinskas is expecting you.’

I swore I heard Amy gulp. I looked at Hod, he wore a face like a Rottweiler, opening and closing his fists. ‘Looks like you’re going to see some action whether you like it or not, Dury,’ he said.

‘Down boy,’ I cautioned him.

‘What?’ Hod’s brow dropped, I swore it smacked his lower lip. The look was now confusion.

‘If you think I’m going up there looking for a cuffing, forget it.’

‘But, Gus, this is your chance to get some answers.’ He put an arm on my shoulder, raised a fist to within an inch of my nose. ‘Just a bit of persuasion and you never know – could have this wrapped up in no time.’

‘Are you off your head?’ I slapped down his fist, grabbed him by the collar. ‘See those?’

‘Cameras.’

‘And what do you think they’re for?’

‘Robbing – stop folk taking him at the tables.’

‘And do you think he won’t have them up there? What use do you think we’ll be to Col inside?’

‘Fuck it. Let’s do him anyway, we’ll take the tapes.’

I saw I was getting nowhere fast. ‘Okay.’

‘Gus!’ said Amy.

‘No. No, it’s fine Amy,’ I said. ‘Hod wants a pagger, I’m all for it.’

Hod smiled. ‘Well, let’s go then.’

‘Right-oh,’ I said. ‘One thing, though.’ I eased Hod towards the security guard who was heading over to lead us up to Zalinskas’ office. He made the boxer Nikolai Valuev, the seven-foot-plus heavyweight, look like a pillow-biter. ‘Who’s going to take care of the Beast from the East?’

Hod stepped aside, nibbled on his lip. ‘D’you think I could take him?’

I laughed out loud. ‘Sure. Without a doubt.’

‘He’s a big bastard, aye. But they’re the easy ones to take out, never felt a good punch, every bastard’s too scared to land one on them.’

I did up my jacket, placed a kiss on Amy’s cheek, as I walked towards the security guard, I shook my head at Hod. ‘If he tests that theory, Amy, be sure to take a note of the ward number.’

THOUGHT IT BEST to avoid conversation on the way to Benny the Bullfrog’s office. Got the impression the pug had a limited vocabulary. Probably expressed himself best with, on good days, a baseball bat, on bad ones, a crowbar. My bones twitched. Knees and shins especially. Wondered, would I be walking back this way again?

Jean Cocteau said: ‘Life is a horizontal fall.’ Knew for sure mine was. But every fall had to be broken.

We passed through what seemed like a never ending tunnel of richly carpeted corridors. Chandeliers sparkled above foot-high skirtings edged in gilt. It took serious wedge to put a look like this together. Hod runs a calculator in his head to these things, me, the impact’s personal. I want to chuck out the owner, give the place to the scores of families living in B&Bs up and down the country. I replayed the scene in
Doctor Zhivago
when the Reds take over the big house. The owners get forced into the attic … until it’s decided a few more families could live there too. That’s redistribution of wealth for you. Say you want a revolution? Bring it right on.

My face slipped into a grimace without even trying. As the goon brought me to Zalinskas’ door I wiped it away. He knocked once, I readied myself to meet the man.

After a few seconds the door unlocked and slowly opened. I peered through the gap, nobody there.

I walked inside.

‘Hello …’

No answer.

A wall of monitors flickered at me. Some of them showed scenes from the casino floor, others spewed statistics – cash taken, payouts, the sums were eye-watering.

The decor here took a departure. A Siberian tiger skin covered a large section of the floor, glass eyes dead to the world but the coat still glossy. I stepped over the head of the poor beast, said, ‘Sorry, buddy.’ Felt like I’d stamped on a grave.

In the centre of the room a circular seating area was set into the floor. I’d only ever seen this in movies, it looked very
Carlito’s Way
. Got the idea Zalinskas wanted to make an impression. The vibe was: ‘This is my lair.’

A chrome rail skirted the room, glass bricks beneath lit up. Felt like I’d stepped into the
Billie Jean
video as I paced the joint.

I touched the walls. Red suede. Then I saw it.

‘No way!’

Zalinskas had a wolf.

Sunk in the wall, like a giant fish tank, was a glass-walled cage. Inside, the wolf prowled back and forth, back and forth, raising its nose to the airholes and picking up a new scent.

I touched the cage. ‘You poor bastard.’

I wanted to find something to smash the glass, let the creature out. But I didn’t rate my chances against those fangs.

I felt appalled, shook my head, then a haughty voice cut the air, ‘He’s a killer, don’t you know.
Canis Lupus
!’ said Zalinskas.

I recognised him at once. He glided across the room towards me, wearing a black silk shirt, open at the neck. White, what can only be described as ‘slacks’ sat above a hint of belly. As he came closer I saw his shoes were white too, except for some snow leopard detailing. I’d seen something similar on punky brothel creepers, but these shouted a whole other message.

‘You like my companion?’

I kept a lid on my thoughts, I said, ‘He’s … impressive.’

Zalinskas liked that, smiled, a vicious barracuda smirk.

‘An amazing predator,’ his voice betrayed little of his Russian background, he’d had good voice coaches, I’d give him that, ‘almost six feet long, seventy kilograms.’

‘Not to be messed with.’

The smirk again. ‘Indeed.’ Zalinskas moved towards the glass cage, leaned forward. ‘Are you au fait with the pack mentality, Mr …?’

I let his question go unanswered. ‘Dury.’

‘The wolf has a highly developed social structure, Mr Dury. Only one dominant male –’ he tapped the glass – ‘will ever be allowed to mate, he will always eat first, and all challengers to his dominance are banished or killed.’ Zalinskas ran a finger down the glass, then turned towards me.

‘Survival of the fittest,’ I said.

‘Quite.’

‘The strong preying on the weak.’

He flung back his head, laughed to the heavens. His teeth looked neat and straight, bone white. ‘Have you ever heard the howl of a wolf, Mr Dury?’

‘Close up? Can’t say I have.’

‘It’s not a warning to take lightly.’ He turned from me, took his hand along the rail for a few steps then raised both arms in the air. ‘A drink, I think. I believe we have a rather substantial win at my tables to celebrate.’

I followed Zalinskas to his desk; it had a black marble top, supported by giant bronze eagles, wings spread. Strange how all these petty despots like to surround themselves with this kind of symbolism. I imagined I’d seen him in some of those holiday snaps Adolf Hitler took after the Third Reich captured Paris – here’s me and Benny at the Eiffel Tower … the Arc de Triomphe …

Zalinskas held out a brandy glass, said, ‘Armagnac?’

‘I won’t say no.’

He swilled the liquid about in the glass, sipped.

I shot mine, handed over the chit. ‘About this.’

Zalinskas glanced at the piece of paper, I waited for an eyebrow to be raised. His face remained calm as he opened a drawer and handed over two banker’s rolls.

‘Should I check it?’ I said.

‘Don’t you trust me, Mr Dury?’

‘You might have given me too much.’

Zalinskas smiled, those teeth! I thought they must play havoc with the ultra-violet lights in his clubs, he said, ‘I don’t make mistakes.’

I trousered the cash. Now it was time to really start gambling. ‘Is that so?’

Zalinskas sat back in his chair, reached for the bottle and topped up our glasses.

I dived in. ‘I believe we have a common friend – sorry,
had
.’

‘Really?’

‘Billy Thompson.’

If Zalinskas changed his expression, I missed it.

‘Such a tragic soul,’ he said. He flipped the lid on a cigar box, took one and slid it towards me. ‘They’re Cuban.’

I closed the lid, ferreted for my tabs. ‘I smoke my own.’

‘As you wish.’

Clouds of smoke gathered between us. Zalinskas seemed content. If there was any enjoyment to be had in this situation, I wasn’t getting it.

‘Was certainly dramatic, the way Billy went,’ I said.

‘Such a loss.’

‘To whom?’

‘I’m speaking in general.’

‘What exactly did Billy do for you, Mr Zalinskas?’

‘He was what you might call a factotum.’

‘He certainly seemed to juggle a lot of jobs from what I hear.’

For the first time, his ice-cool appearance cracked. ‘Billy was ambitious, I like to reward such types.’