My head was swimming. What did it all mean? A title fight was a whole other step up. I hadn’t even had my first professional fight.
“Who would I be fighting again?” My brain was fuzzy. I knew the answer to this somewhere in the depths of my mind. Although right now, I couldn’t retrieve that information from my memory banks.
“Warren “Wildman” Cummins.”
“Fuck…You really think I’d have a shot against him?”
“Yes…I wouldn’t even be bringing this to you, if I didn’t. You’re training out of this world, mate.” I sat up straighter, almost as if I’d been slapped. Reed did not give out compliments, ever!
“I’ve never fought pro.”
“True, but it was never from lack of ability or training. It was something you chose not to commit to. You’ve had plenty of tough amateur campaigns.”
Maybe Reed saw through me more than I thought. There was one thing that was worrying me though—weight.
“How am I going to make weight? I have to be under 83.9kg right? I was planning to fight at 93kg. That’s basically 9 kg.”
“It is and the only reason I said Light Heavyweight to start with, was because I knew you could build enough muscle and strength to mix it with the bigger guys, that way you wouldn’t have to strip too much. You’re genetically blessed. You’re tall and you can pack on the lean muscle without creating ridiculous bulk. If you take this fight, then you’ll need to really work on the cardio and just maintain the muscle. The last couple of weeks are going to be evil, Dane. I’m not going to sugar-coat it.”
I thought about how I felt now. Yeah, I felt tired and sore, but I wasn’t hugely hungry or deprived yet. If I took the fight, I’d feel all those things as well.
“When do they need to know?”
Reed gave me a withering look and I knew the answer to that one. Then something else occurred to me.
“What’s the purse?”
Reed gave me a low chuckle. “You’re catching on quick, man. Well that’s the positive about the feature fight. Payday is much better, too.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred to turn up and a million for the win. You got to remember, it’s Australia and not here.”
Fuck a million bucks was a hell of a lot of money—so was three hundred thousand. The latter would go a long way to setting us up. The former would do it and leave a good chunk of change. Ari would never need to gamble again.
“You really think I can do this?”
“Fuck Dane! I’m not in the habit of sitting here blowing sunshine up my fighters’ arses. Yes! Do you want to take the fucking fight or not?”
“I’m in.”
Reed looked relieved, then reached over and slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it...”
“Yeah, yeah! I know the drill. Xan’s fine in the head, you know!”
“I know that. I’m just not risking it.”
“Whatever!”
“God you two are a pain in my arse.”
I finished my mineral water and Reed his beer.
For not the first time of late, I wondered what the hell I’d agreed to do.
Arianne
The days slipped past and dragged at the same time. I was busy—seriously busy. Loretta had been great in helping me out with Isaac. So far I’d spent one day at the track and I’d done five days at the casinos. I’d amassed close to forty grand with my new percentage split and I had it tucked away in the safety deposit box I’d set up when I moved up here. I didn’t like having cash around and you really didn’t want to go making large unexplainable deposits to bank accounts.
I was still being extremely careful by changing my appearance and how I bet when I was at the casinos—so far so good. The magic number for me was fifty grand. Fifty would let me pay off what I owed Dane, pay the remainder of Isaac’s school fees for the year and cover all my bills until mid-next year. It would mean I could take a hiatus from gambling and hopefully, never need to go back.
My only contact with Dane was through technology and I was thankful for that. Although, I did feel bad about skirting his questions when he wanted to ask what I’d been doing to fill my days. I was more than happy to let our conversation drift to phone sex or was it technology sex? Whatever it was, it served a purpose, but would never replace having him in my bed.
Today would hopefully be enough. The hands I’d played to date were going exactly as I planned.
Today might just be the day.
Dane would be home in a just a few short days and I wanted to be finished with gambling for him, just as much as for me. I knew just how much it hurt and concerned him. This was my way of sorting it out.
I placed my chips on the table to buy my spot in the hand about to be dealt. I’d been steadily increasing my bets over the last few hands. The odds were going to be far more favourable to me as we got to the bottom of the shoe.
There were a couple of businessmen, two guys that I’m sure were celebrity footballers and a couple of football groupies—they were too animated for wives or partners. It really was a perfect mix of people at the table. To make things even better, there was a crowd of people hanging around the table due to my celebrity friends, which just helped to keep things crazy.
My job was to concentrate on the cards all the while appearing, as if I wasn’t doing that. I’d been playing here for close to three hours and I’d been steadily winning—blackjack wasn’t a game you could hurry.
It was a long haul sort of game.
You had to work your way through hand after hand, most of the time just getting your money back.
Right now, the trick was to make it look as if I was enjoying the attention that came from being at the same table as a couple of footballers. I smiled across the table flirtatiously and cheered loudly when they won and groaned in sympathy when they lost.
The dealer fed out the cards and I ended up with a king of clubs and a six of hearts. The dealer drew a two of spades and a four of diamonds.
Sticking to my rules, I stood on my bet.
The chips in my hand felt warm to touch.
It was a good sign.
We were running hot today!
When the dealer looked to me for what I wanted to do, I motioned my fingers in a slash behind my cards. I was standing on my sixteen.
The dealer had six; he was going to need a ten to even things with me and more to get over the top of one of the footballers and the businessman on the end.
The dealer laid a nine of diamonds beside their other two cards. They had to go for it. All eyes were on the dealer’s cards.
A seven of spades turned up. Bust!
In the blink of an eye, the dealer had tidied the table of cards and placed them in the discard rack, as well as quickly paying out the bets.
I’d got my money back.
Everyone around the table seemed to know things were getting to the interesting end of the shoe.
We all slid our bets forward again and waited while the dealer started to pull cards from the shoe.
A good game was a fast game, and the aim for the casino was to keep the play moving quickly. First, it made it more difficult for people like me to count and secondly, if players were losing, it was all happening quickly. Before they knew it, they were down to the benefit of the house.
This time I drew a nine and eight. The dealer had a ten and a six. The first two players busted out. Miss Football Groupie equalled the dealer on sixteen, but got greedy and busted out. I slashed the air behind my cards when the dealer looked at me. One of the businessmen hit a blackjack.
The dealer decided to sit on the sixteen.
I got my money back and the businessman took the three to two odds.
It was getting close to the bottom of the shoe and I knew the bulk of the cards which had been played, had all been relatively low.
It was time to up my bet.
This was the time to up the bets because the odds were better if you knew what you were doing. There were mo
re picture cards left and I was positive there was at least two aces remaining from what I’d seen cross the table.
There was only a hand or so left in the shoe. It was also the time that the house was particularly looking for this sort of behaviour. I took a breath and waited.
I held my chips for a moment and let a few others place their chips first. The businessman on the far right was shrewd; he upped his bet to a hundred below maximum bet of a thousand dollars.
A moment of indecision flashed through me, then I pushed forward my chips equalling the betting limit and exhaled.
A hush had settled around the table. Even the crowd that accompanied the footballers had gone silent as they watched the cards being dealt across the green felt table.
Lady Luck was on my side and I drew a king of hearts.
The cards went around the table and again I held my breath as the dealer drew the card then placed it in front of me.
There were little squeals breaking out around me as the crowd acknowledged what I’d drawn as I did.
Blackjack…again.
Not only had I been counting, I’d also had Lady Luck on my side.
I’d won again. Which was both good and bad.
When you were dealt a blackjack straight up, the probability was about 4.75%. I’d played two hundred and twelve hands and so far I’d drawn sixteen blackjacks. That wasn’t so good, suspicion started to set in.
I watched the play continue on the table and the dealer suddenly seemed a little fidgety. To date he’d been cool, and smooth.
That tell-tale prickle of fear ran down my back.
This would be my last hand.
It was both a good and a bad time to pull out at the end of the shoe, but I didn’t like that prickle.
The blonde groupie in the pink dress somehow managed to add her cards up to twenty-one as well and was shrieking like a banshee.
The dealer tried for twenty-one and bust. All around the table, people were hooting and hollering—alcohol had been flowing liberally. I pulled the chips back towards me and stacked them up ready to make my departure. From underneath my eyelids I saw the dealer slightly motion towards me and I froze.
A hand clasped down on my shoulder and I knew exactly what that meant.
I was done!
Slowly, I turned and looked towards the owner of the hand.
“Step away from the table, ma’am,” the beefy security guy said to me. I collected my chips and placed them in my purse. It didn’t matter one way or the other. It was all on camera.
I stood and moved away from the table. “What’s this about?” I demanded in a cool voice, fortunately belying my fears.
A hush had settled over the previously boisterous crowd. There was no mistaking the whispered, “Was she cheating?” questions whizzing around between players and the crowd.
“The floor manager would like to have a word with you, ma’am.”
“This had better not take too long. I’m on a winning streak. I hope your floor manager is moving me to a private room. It’s getting a little noisy for me here.” Best defence was always to play dumb at least to get off the floor.
The first security guard merely grunted. A second security guard, who could have been a clone of the first fell in beside me and I was led silently across the floor, towards the discrete door into the back of house. My heart was racing as we made our way through the rabbit warren of corridors that were typical in the back of a casino.
After what seemed an eternity, I was led into a nondescript room, which had a table and a large flat screen television on the wall.
“Take a seat,” the first guard all but grunted at me, then moved to stand fast at the door.
My mind whirred with what was about to happen.
I could be tied up here for hours—Isaac!
How bad was it?
Could I talk my way out of it?
What the devil, was I going to tell Dane?
Would this be the end of Dane and me?
All these emotions swirled through me and added to my overall feeling of nausea.
Not more than a minute later, three men entered the room. The first was a large barrel chested man in a dark suit. He was in his forties and looked tired. The second was in his late twenties and had a baby face. The third was a sharper dresser; he had that metrosexual look going on.
I knew immediately who they were.
The first two were police officers and the third a hotel gaming security officer, hungry for promotion.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t my first rodeo, but I’d never been charged. That didn’t mean I hadn’t been warned…just not since I’d been up here anyway.
They introduced themselves briefly before taking the seats opposite me. The police officer number one was Ben and his offsider, Troy. Mr Metrosexual, was Lance. He looked like a Lance. They gave surnames; I just didn’t bother to commit them to memory. I had more on my mind.
The two police officers showed me their badges and advised me they were from the Casino Crime Squad Unit, Queensland Police Service. There was something about seeing those badges and the way they held themselves, that hammered home my predicament. This wasn’t Mark helping me with a problem. This was the police investigating a crime and I was the prime suspect.
No two ways about it—I was in deep shit.
“Miss Le Flegg.” Shit! My heart jumped into my mouth. That wasn’t good, they knew who I was. Admittedly, I hadn’t done much to change my appearance today, however for the last few weeks I’d never turned up looking like me.
I said nothing, just gave them my best pissed off stare before demanding, “What is this about?” I chose not to deny or acknowledge my name.
“We have reason to believe you were attempting to game the system in an attempt to make the odds more favourable to yourself.” It was Mr Metrosexual who responded in a cold voice.
“Really? How on earth did you come to that conclusion?” My voice was just as cutting.
“Today you had an excessive amount of blackjacks and your win rate has been significantly higher than what the odds, even with a margin, would suggest are achievable.” He wasn’t wrong, but there was no way I was admitting to that.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just enjoying a few hours at the tables. Now if you’d excuse me, I’d like to get home; it seems this establishment is very much a sore loser.”
The police officer removed a few photos from a folder he was carrying and placed them in front of me. Fuck! Now I was in trouble, the one in the middle was Leo. The others I had no idea
“Do you know any of these people?”
I thought long and hard about lying, but if this was going to turn nasty then I needed not to get myself tangled up in lies. Something told me that very soon I was going to have to make a call here on just how much I was going to expose.
“Yes. One of them.”
“Which one?”
I pointed at the photo of Leo.
“Who is he?”
“Leo Goldstone,” I answered without hesitation. He was no stranger to police interest. Mark had known his name when we spoke weeks ago.
The two men passed a quick look between each other, before the police officer asked. “What is his relationship to you?”
“Family friend.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Most of my life, I guess.” I figured they knew all this information already.
“Are you aware that Leo runs a blackjack team?” Ben’s look intensified as he asked the question. He wouldn’t have been a very good player. He wanted to know if I was going to lie.
“No,” I answered without hesitation and looked him directly in the eye as I did it.
I wasn’t. Sure, I gambled for him, but I wasn’t aware of who else worked for him, nor had I ever asked.
Leo and my business was between us. Plus, I didn’t work teams anymore. That was very much a Marcel play—not me.
“You’ve been in a lot over the la
st couple of weeks, Miss Le Flegg. Can you explain why?”
Right then, I decided to go with the radical.
I was going to tell the truth.
“Sure, my boyfriend is overseas at the moment. He paid a heap of bills for me before he left. I’m not happy about that. I have a child who suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome and a dick of an ex-husband that not only previously beat me often and severely, but also doesn’t pay child support. In a nutshell, it’s hard to make ends meet sometimes. I don’t want to rely on anybody’s charity. So I decided to try my luck at the tables and when I started to do okay I came back.”
I saw both men look a little surprised at my very frank explanation. Right then I decided to play it a little further. “If you want to check any of this please contact Detective Mark Larson at the Logan Police station. He recently helped me get another AVO against my ex-husband and arrested him for assault and breaking the conditions of the AVO, plus a few other things. My ex-husband is supposedly in Victoria on bail awaiting trial here.”
The three men looked between each other. Then the older police officer nodded towards the door and stood. “I’m going to check that out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He stood and moved out. I glanced at the video camera in the corner of the room and the mirrored glass room. There was no way I was getting out of here quickly. I needed to get Isaac sorted. I reached for my handbag and Mr Metro and Babyface stiffened.
“What are you doing?” Metro demanded.
“I’m getting my phone out. I need to organise appropriate care for my son, because I can’t see you letting me out of here anytime soon; can you?”
He looked a little muddled, but came back quickly. “You’re not supposed to be making calls.”
It was time to bring out the big guns. “My son needs to be picked up from his sitter. I need to organise that to ensure he has proper care. Are you going to stand in the way of a special needs child receiving appropriate care? After all, you’ll be here the whole time.”
He looked at me suspiciously for a moment and then across to Babyface, who nodded. Metro grumbled. “Make the call but we’ll be listening and observing.”
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