Casino Infernale

by Simon R. Green

  “At least, temporarily. It would cost them a lot of money, undermine their prestige and dependability, as well as putting them in a position where they wouldn’t be in any position to loan money to anyone . . . but you must realise, it wouldn’t last. Just slow them down a bit . . .”

  “A win,” I said.

  Molly and I toasted each other with our glasses of champagne. Frankie took a quick drink from his bottle, and then cleared his throat, meaningfully.

  “I do feel I should point out that this is all purely theoretical. It’s never actually been done. Never! No one has ever broken the bank at Casino Infernale. Not even come close. Not since it began, hundreds of years ago.”

  “How many hundreds?” said Molly.

  “No one seems too sure,” said Frankie. “The origins of the Shadow Bank, and all its works, are cloaked in mystery. And you can be sure the Shadow Bank likes it that way.”

  He and Molly both looked at me, and all I could do was shrug.

  “I’m sure someone in the Drood family knows,” I said carefully. “But don’t look at me. I only know what I need to know to get the job done. And I’m only interested in the present, not the past.”

  “Try to damp down the enthusiasm, sweetie,” said Molly.

  “Need I remind you that I was chosen for this mission because I have a reputation for winning against the odds?”

  “You never met odds like the ones at Casino Infernale,” said Molly. “Get cocky around here, without your usual protections, and you could get both of us killed.”

  “And me!” said Frankie. “So let us all be very careful. Word is, Franklyn Parris is determined that nothing will be allowed to go wrong on his watch, this year. His first in charge. Casino Infernale is going to run smoothly and perfectly or someone is going to pay for it. To make sure of this, he has hired some very special Security muscle: the Jackson Fifty-five.”

  “Oh, wow,” said Molly. “I’ve heard of them! Fifty-five clones of the same highly experienced and very deadly mercenary, Albert Jackson. Biggest, blackest fighting man ever. So they say . . .”

  “Are we talking about a group mind, operating in fifty-five bodies simultaneously?” I said. “Or fifty-five separate versions of the same fighting man?”

  “The latter, I think,” said Frankie. “No one’s ever got close enough to ask, and survive.”

  “Well, that’s all right, then,” I said, returning my attention to my glass of champagne. “For a moment there, I thought we might be in trouble.”

  “Fifty-five!” said Frankie, loudly. “Which part of fifty-five are you having trouble with?”

  “Maybe we can trick them into fighting each other,” said Molly.

  “Of course, the sudden disappearance of Patrick and Diana has put Franklyn Parris on his guard,” said Frankie. “Which will only make things even more difficult for you two.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “What are the chances of two sets of people coming here determined to break the bank? They’ll never see that coming. Especially since, as you already pointed out, no one has ever done it before.”

  “The point is,” Frankie said doggedly, “Parris will have already ordered his entire Security staff to be on the lookout for anyone and anything out of the ordinary!”

  “In this place?” said Molly. “Good luck with that . . .”

  There was a knock on the door. We all froze, and looked at each other. Frankie became extremely tense. I got up from the bed and faced the door, and Molly was quickly there beside me. We drank off the last of our champagne, tossed the glasses carelessly onto the bed, and glared at the door. None of us made any move to answer the knock.

  “Are we expecting anyone?” I said.

  “No,” said Frankie, very definitely.

  “Assassins?” said Molly.

  “They’d hardly knock, would they?” I said. “Hello, we’re the polite assassins! Would you mind awfully if we killed you now, or should we pop back later?”

  “Could be complimentary room service,” said Molly. “But it doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

  “I am feeling a bit peckish,” I said.

  “Then you open the door,” said Molly.

  “Not that peckish,” I said.

  “Well, someone’s got to answer the door!” said Frankie. “Unless we’re all going to hide under the bed. And I don’t think there’s room.”

  “You looked!” Molly said accusingly.

  I drew my Colt Repeater, stepped towards the door, and said, “Come in!”

  The electronic lock worked from the other side, the door swung open, and a very civilised gentleman strolled confidently in. Medium height and weight, middle-aged and distinguished, very well-tailored, calm, smiling, courteous. I distrusted him immediately. He raised an eyebrow at my Colt, but didn’t appear particularly impressed. He smiled at Molly, and when he spoke to her his English held only the faintest and most charming of French accents.

  “Hello. I am Jonathon Scott, the hotel manager. I understand there was, regretfully, some degree of unpleasantness earlier, at reception. I am here to apologise on behalf of the hotel, and make it very clear that we will not tolerate any rudeness to our guests. The concierge is gone. You will not see him again.”

  I couldn’t help noticing that he was paying nearly all of his attention to the infamous Molly Metcalf, and only glancing occasionally at the merely notorious Shaman Bond. Which was, of course, as it should be. Frankie didn’t even get a glance.

  “You know who I am,” said Molly.

  “Of course, Miss Metcalf. Your reputation precedes you. Welcome to the Casino hotel! Please don’t break it. It’s the only one we’ve got, and it is of great sentimental value.”

  “Casino Infernale’s reputation precedes it,” I said. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t put the gun down. I wouldn’t want to be suddenly gone, like the concierge.”

  “Of course, Mr. Bond,” said the manager. “I have heard of you. And we will be counting all the cutlery before you leave.”

  “We’re here to play the games,” I said. “And we’re here to win.”

  “Of course, sir,” said the manager. He turned back to Molly. “May I ask, very politely, whether your sisters will be joining you here at any point?”

  “Unlikely,” said Molly.

  “Oh, good,” said the manager.

  “I get that a lot,” said Molly.

  “As a mark of our regret for the earlier unpleasantness, I have been instructed to inform you that all your food and drink is on the house, for the entirety of your stay,” said the manager.

  “Instructed?” I said. “By Franklyn Parris, perhaps? Has the big man himself taken an interest in Molly and me?”

  “We’ve all heard of Molly Metcalf,” said the manager. It wasn’t an answer, but he made it seem like one. Scott smiled graciously. “The games will begin in one hour, madam and sir. Five p.m. sharp. Please note that full Security will be in place throughout the games, for the protection of the hotel. Not the guests. We expect the guests to be able to fend for themselves.”

  “Oh, we can fend,” I said. “We can fend like crazy if we have to.”

  “Suddenly and violently and all over the place,” said Molly.

  The manager smiled briefly at Molly, nodded to me, and left, closing and locking the door behind him. I put my gun away.

  “Did you see how he completely ignored me?” said Frankie. “That’s class, that is!”

  “He didn’t pay that much attention to me,” I said.

  “I did notice,” said Molly.

  “He couldn’t do enough for you,” I said.

  “I noticed,” said Molly. “Still—free food and drink . . .”

  “Best kind!” said Frankie.

  “All a bit easy, though, I thought,” I said.

  “He doesn’t know the real you
,” said Molly. “I’m sure you’ll have an opportunity to make him wet himself before we leave.”

  “He was a bit smug and overbearing,” I said. “How would you like to help me burn this place down, later?”

  “Love to,” said Molly. “He was rude about my sisters.”

  “Okay,” said Frankie. “You two are making me very nervous. So I think I’ll leave you to your own devices, or whatever it is you’ve got in all those suitcases, while I go take a quick look around before the games start. Get a feel for the place, and the players.”

  “Go,” I said.

  He left. Molly and I busied ourselves opening the suitcases. Clothes, clothes, and more clothes. Molly had clearly been very busy in the Drood wardrobe department. She threw dress after dress onto the bed, smiling happily, and after a while I just let her get on with it. Until finally she produced a magnificent tuxedo outfit, with all the trimmings, and threw it at me.

  “We are changing for dinner, and the games,” she said.

  “I could eat,” I said.

  We both took our chosen outfits into the bathroom, and started stripping off. It took a while, as we both kept stopping to wince at pains acquired during the fight. When we were finally both naked, we stopped to look at each other. I had bruises all over me, already shading towards purple. Molly had bruises too. We’d both taken our lumps in the lobby. And being who we are, tried to hide it from each other. Molly stood before me, and ran her fingertips lightly over my bruises. I let my fingertips drift gently over hers. Molly took a cloth from the sink, wet it under the tap, and gently mopped the dried blood off my face, and from the back of my neck. I stood still, and let her do it. And then we just stood there and held each other for a while.

  Then we got dressed for dinner.

  • • •

  We stood before the full-length mirrors, admiring ourselves. I thought I looked rather fine in my tux, but Molly looked magnificent in her full-length evening gown of gleaming gold. Molly brushed invisible dust motes from my shoulders, patted me down, and then moved to stand behind me, her arms around my waist, looking over my shoulder to take in my reflection in the mirror.

  “I can still see your Colt Repeater, bulging under your jacket,” she said.

  “I think that’s the point,” I said. “To warn the others off. And I can see all sorts of bulges under the front of your dress.”

  She slapped my shoulder playfully, and came forward to stand beside me. I thought we looked pretty damn good together. Exactly the kind of high-rolling gamblers who would turn up at Casino Infernale. It took me a moment to realise Molly wasn’t smiling any longer.

  “You do realise,” she said, “that all of this . . . is just a distraction. Something to keep me busy. The Regent is not forgotten, nor forgiven.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “Neither are my parents. But for now, let’s just do the job. And try to enjoy ourselves, as much as we can.”

  “You still have your soul, sweetie. I can See it. All the Casino has . . . is a claim on it, if they can enforce it. You should see the list of those who’ve got a claim on mine. Or think they have.”

  “You can See my soul?” I said. “Your magics are working again?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Molly. “The null zone only covered the lobby, as a Security measure. I felt my magic come back the moment I stepped into the elevator. There’s bound to be more null zones, scattered across the Casino . . . to secure the games and keep the peace. But I’m pretty sure I could break a null zone. If I really had to . . .”

  “Of course,” I said.

  You don’t have to be in a relationship long to discover that being economical with the truth is nearly always going to be the better part of valour.

  • • •

  We went back down to the lobby, where everyone present went out of their way to give us plenty of room. A few even ran away and hid. There was a new concierge in place behind the desk, smiling desperately at us. Molly and I stuck our noses in the air and strode straight past him, following the hand-written signs to the hotel restaurant. Which turned out to be very large and very civilised, and probably quite impressive if you weren’t used to places like the Casino.

  Molly and I . . . have been around.

  The great open space was packed with tables, under brightly gleaming white tablecloths, with only the narrowest of trails left between them. Most of the tables were occupied, but there was barely a murmur of conversation anywhere. The guests just sat quietly at their tables, very obviously on their best behaviour. None of them wanted to risk being thrown out of Casino Infernale for something small.

  Molly and I stood just inside the doors, waiting for someone in a waiter’s outfit to acknowledge us. There was a head waiter, standing tall and proud behind a podium, but he clearly wasn’t even going to admit we existed until we were on our way to a designated table.

  I couldn’t help noticing that most of the guests were sitting alone. Some with food, some with drinks, just staring off into the distance. A few groups here and there, but even only two or three to a table. And everyone studying everyone else, surreptitiously. I pointed this out to Molly.

  “People don’t come here to make friends,” said Molly. “It’s entirely possible you might end up having to kill anyone you meet here, given that everyone else is a potential threat. Or rival. You wouldn’t want to hesitate at the killing point, just because you liked someone.”

  A waiter finally slouched over to stand before us, a surly young man in a dazzlingly clean white uniform and apron. He jerked his head in our direction and then plunged into the maze of tables, leaving us to hurry after him. Molly and I exchanged an amused glance and went after him, quietly plotting future revenges. As we passed the head waiter, he raised his head just long enough to announce Molly’s name, and mine, in ringing tones. What conversation there was in the room stopped immediately as everyone looked up, heads turning to consider us thoughtfully. Most of them looked at Molly, rather than me, and none of them looked for long.

  The waiter finally stopped before an empty table by the far wall, and gestured impatiently for us to sit down. He pulled a chair out for Molly, but didn’t bother with me. This boy gets no tip, I thought. I considered the possibility of a reverse tip, where I picked his pocket and stole his wallet. But I didn’t want to push my luck with the Casino establishment. Not this early, anyway. The waiter dropped two oversized menus onto the table, and then shot off before we could actually order anything.

  “Wait a minute!” said Molly. “The little bastard . . . he’s sat us right next to the toilets!”

  “Good,” I said. “I hate a long walk to the loo. I always feel like everyone’s watching me.”

  I gave my full attention to the menu. Which was ugly and laminated, with all the entries handwritten in half a dozen languages. With thoughtful descriptions and tactful warnings for the inexperienced. No prices anywhere, of course, but in a restaurant like this you wouldn’t expect any. As the old saying goes: if you have to ask, you can’t afford it. But the hotel manager had said all our food and drink was on the house, so . . . I decided to order big portions of everything, just on general principles. And the very best wines. And ask for a doggie bag.

  “Oh, look!” said Molly. “They’ve got Moebius mice; they stuff themselves. I love those! Dragonburgers, flame-grilled, with a twist of lemming . . . Mock Gryphon soup. Baked baby chupacabra . . .”

  “Oh, that’s not nice,” I said. “It’s things like that make me feel like becoming a vegetarian.”

  “Try that here and they’d probably serve you a triffid,” said Molly.

  In the end we both settled for an old favourite: thunderbird paella. Lots of meat and lots of rice, and a whole bunch of other things absolutely guaranteed to be bad for you. (The thunderbird is a huge winged creature from the deep South of America. Supposedly extinct, but there’s always someone who can ge
t you a carcass, for an extortionate price. I think they clone them. . . .) I looked around for our waiter and eventually spotted him leaning against a wall, in desultory conversation with another, equally bored, waiter. They looked like they were trying to out-sulk each other. I raised a hand to catch our waiter’s attention and he deliberately turned his head away, so he could pretend he hadn’t seen us.

  “He is going to regret that,” I said.

  “It’s another test, like in the lobby,” said Molly. “If you can’t master a lowly waiter . . .”

  I picked up the knife set out for me, hefted it a couple of times to get the balance, and then threw it with practised skill and uncommon force, so that it sank half its length into the wall right beside our waiter’s head. He jumped back with a startled shriek, and looked wildly around. I waved and smiled at him.

  “Just think what I could do with the fork,” I said, loudly.

  The waiter hurried over to take our order, almost dropping his little notebook trying to get it out. He crashed to a halt before our table, and smiled at Molly and me in a wobbly sort of way.

  “Ready to order, sir, madam?”

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “I think they’ll let anyone in these days,” said the waiter, defiantly. “I’m only doing this job to raise enough money to put myself through college. What do you want?”

  “Molly,” I said. “I don’t think this young man is sufficiently impressed. Take out his appendix, the hard way.”

  “I could do with a starter,” said Molly. “I’m told it goes very well with some garlic butter and black pepper.”

  “All right, all right!” said the waiter. “Look, this is me, being impressed! Just give me your order. No respect for the working man . . .”