Inside Straight

by Ray Banks

  "What a fuckin' joke." This from a new dealer, acting like an old hand.

  "Give us me fuckin' chips!" The inspector's breath smelled like stale coffee. I shifted away from him.

  "Yeah, get 'em yourself, they're down the chipper."

  I pulled tenners out into piles. They were talking about Jerry Grant. He was an accountant, apparently. Used to tell the dealers all about the odds, and how he had them all worked out because he used to work for JP Morgan. But Jerry was an emotional gambler for a man who professed a clinical mind and an iron nerve, and when he lost – which was often – he was prone to acting out. Luckily for the staff, the worst Jerry ever did was shout and scream, and that was amusing more than anything else – that impression the dealer just did hit it pretty much on the nose – a high squeal of a voice, edging onto indignant tears. I had to smile, which caught their attention.

  "You ever get Jerry over at the Palace, Graham?"

  "A couple of times. It wasn't his kind of club, though. He likes sympathy. And I think Jeff played it well tonight. Just be stone with him and he'll come round."

  "You're a hard man. Them and us, eh?"

  "It's them or us."

  The dealer snorted a laugh. Something wet appeared on his top lip before he wiped it away. "Old school."

  "If that's old school, what's the new school?" I looked at Jacqui. "Did I miss a meeting or something?"

  She smiled. "You're supposed to be providing a service, Graham. Did nobody tell you?"

  "Oh, I see. We're customer service operators now, are we?"

  She turned the smile to the pile of money in front of her. "That's correct."

  "Thought as much." I nodded. "Just means we have to smile as we steal."

  The new dealer laughed again. It was starting to grate.

  Jacqui put a pile of twenties next to me. "Now you're just being cynical."

  "That is my factory setting, right enough."

  It was Jacqui's turn to laugh now. I was keeping everyone in stitches, it looked like. I wondered if there was a lack of oxygen in the room. That, or they were patronising me for some reason.

  We carried on the count like that, having an odd, gentle laugh and a joke around. And it began to feel warm in the count room, especially when Jacqui's hand brushed mine over the money. Later, when the Spaniel had tagged the sacks and we let the floor staff go and get changed, I caught Jacqui watching me.

  "What?"

  "You've loosened up a bit."

  "That so?"

  "Yeah."

  I smiled at her. "I didn't mean to."

  She wagged a finger back at me. "Watch yourself, Graham. You might actually enjoy yourself one of these days."

  "Heaven forfend."

  "I think so. I think you might actually be getting more comfortable here. What do you think?"

  I couldn't exactly tell her the truth, but she did have a point – I no longer cared what people here thought of me, and there was a part of me that no longer cared if the casino made any money. So if that came across as me looking settled and comfortable, then so be it. "I'm no longer as uptight as I once was, no."

  "The Palace was a stressful place to work, was it?"

  "The place? No. The people ..."

  "You're talking about Dave Randall."

  "How did you know?" I smiled. "It's nothing, really. He's just incompetent and untrustworthy."

  "Is that so?"

  "Why do you think I'm here?"

  "I needed cover. I asked around, and Dave said you'd had—"

  "A bad night at the tables? Listen, I've had worse before, and I dare say I will again. These things happen. Dave's just looking after Dave, and he's not afraid to let someone else take the fall for his poor management."

  She cocked her head, looked at me with narrowed eyes. "You know something? I'm not quite sure what to make of you, Graham Ellis."

  "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

  "I'm sure I will." She put a hand on my arm. "Listen, I'm glad you're here, Graham. Really. You've been a godsend. And I want you to know that you're a valued member of staff. Properly. And nobody's going to put you in harm's way here."

  I laughed. I couldn't help myself. It sounded funny.

  "What's—"

  "No, it's not you." I shook my head. "Really. Thank you. It's a relief thing, that's all. I've just – you're right, I haven't been comfortable here for a long time and now I feel like I'm fitting in a bit more, you know? I'm glad to be here, too. And thank you. You've made the transition a lot easier."

  We went out into the corridor. We were alone. The other staff must have been waiting out by the restaurant. The count room door closed behind us.

  "So ..."

  "So." I looked around. "I should probably go and get my coat. Do you have yours?"

  "It's in my office."

  "Okay, then."

  I started up the corridor, wondering what I'd just missed, because it felt like I missed something there. A pause, perhaps, where I should have said something I didn't, or done something that I had no clue what it was. I shook it off and pushed into the locker room, but stopped halfway through.

  There was a breeze. I went back out into the corridor and carried on down to the staff room. The breeze came from the kitchen. I went in, turned on the lights. The strips flickered and then caught. I could hear rain. I went through the kitchen, deserted and pristine, and out to the back door, which was standing wide open. I stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at all the cars in the car park. Saw the taxis start to assemble to take some of the staff home, and I suddenly felt a chill that stuck me like a stiletto blade.

  I turned off the lights and stood in the dark for a minute, my brain ticking over.

  It came to me then. All of it. Everything from the first footstep to the final scream.

  I closed the kitchen door, returned to the locker room and grabbed my coat. I felt around in my pocket for the disposable mobile and in the silence of the locker room I scrolled through to the one contact number and pressed dial.

  12

  The Costa was packed with buggies and young mothers most weekday mornings and today was no exception. I sat at the back of the place with a copy of the Guardian, a grande hot chocolate with extra cream and a white chocolate and raspberry muffin that was too solid to be fresh. Some afro-tinged jazz played on the speakers, but nobody really heard it. I watched the mothers and their kids when I wasn't pretending to read. Everywhere I looked, some toddler was mashing something squidgy into the table top and squirming around in their seat. Used to be, kids followed their mothers and fathers to pubs. This was a whole generation growing up in coffee shops. I didn't know if that was a good thing. Then I didn't know if I cared. Probably not.

  I sipped my hot chocolate. The cup vibrated against my lip. My hand was shaking. I put down the cup, pressed my palm flat against the table and held it there until the tremors disappeared. My fingers came away sticky. I rubbed them with one of a mound of napkins I'd taken from the dispenser.

  When I looked up, Pollard was halfway through the doors, another man behind him. The man was the leader from the other night, the rat. As he entered he looked around as if checking for exits. Outside, I saw the car that I assumed was Pollard's ride. It was large, silver, looked expensive, but I didn't know the make. His way of travelling incognito, obviously. The rat went to the counter and ordered as Pollard smiled and squeezed his way through the pushchair jungle to get to me. He scraped a chair and sat opposite. He stared at me, didn't say anything. I wanted my hot chocolate, wanted to cover my mouth which threatened to break into a hysterical grin, but I didn't dare in case the trembles started again.

  "So. Coffee shop."

  I nodded. "Yep."

  "You don't drink, do you?"

  "No."

  "Used to, did you? Bit too much?"

  I shook my head. "I never got the taste for it."

  He narrowed his eyes, then smiled. "I suppose I should be grateful. Got enough pissheads al
ready work for us." He glanced across at the counter. The rat was being served. "He's hungover, that one. Thinks I don't know, but I do. I know everything about the people that work for me. And that's the only thing you need to know."

  "I don't work for you."

  "You do now."

  I didn't say anything.

  Pollard leaned back in his seat. "What was it changed your mind?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Jez? Don't be daft. He didn't do owt to you."

  "He was part of it. I'm not going to lie."

  "He can be persuasive."

  "He can be physically threatening, yes."

  "Physically threatening? Our dog's done shits bigger than him." Pollard laughed. "They transferred you permanent, didn't they?"

  "Yes."

  "Thought as much. You're a better man than that."

  "Yeah. Clearly." I couldn't say it without smiling.

  "Give your conscience a shake, will you, son? Might not feel like it now, but you're doing the right thing." He shifted around in his seat, nodded to the mothers. "Busy in here."

  "Well, yeah, I thought that would be best."

  "Plenty of witnesses, is it?"

  "Who're busy with their children, yes."

  "There's a Starbucks up the way."

  "Which is always full of students, who would probably be a bit more interested in what we're talking about. Only thing this lot are interested in are themselves and their kids."

  "So what are we talking about?"

  Jez came over with two coffees – one latte and one cappuccino. The cappuccino was apparently Pollard's.

  He regarded it. His lip curled. "Is there a fuckin' war on?"

  Jez pulled up another chair. "Sorry, Barry."

  "Never put enough chocolate on it. Wouldn't get this shit at Starbucks."

  I took the opportunity to pull a wedge out of my muffin. "Starbucks would have burned the coffee."

  "That right?"

  I nodded as I chewed. "High turnover, low standards."

  "Fuckin' shame. Nobody's got pride in their work anymore. You know they're skimming on their tax an' all?"

  "I heard that."

  "Robbing bastards." He stirred his cappuccino and gestured at Jez. "Anyway, just so you've been formally introduced. This is Jez. Jez, this is Graham."

  "Aye, we met." Jez smiled briefly.

  "So what's the story, Graham?" Pollard smiled at me. "Talking like you've got it all sorted for us. What you got?"

  "Well, that depends on your proposed cut."

  Pollard showed teeth. His eyes crinkled. "Fuck me, he's haggling."

  I looked at my hot chocolate. "Percentage-wise. I mean, you can offer a fixed fee, but it's in your best interests to keep it to a percentage. The bigger the take, the more I have invested in it."

  "Take, is it?" He pointed at me and nudged Jez. "Look at him, he's been watching his telly, hasn't he? Fuckin' hell."

  "I'm not kidding."

  The smile remained, but his eyes went to the cappuccino in front of him. His bottom lip overwhelmed the top and he nodded. "Yeah, I know you're not. You're a very serious young man, Graham. I knew you were right from the get-go. And I appreciate you lending a hand like this."

  "It'll be services rendered."

  "Of course. And that's why I think I can maybe stretch to ten percent."

  I shook my head. "A third."

  "I've got expenses, son. You'll get ten percent."

  "You wanted my help. You came to me. You wouldn't have done that if you thought this was going to be easy. You said yourself that it would be a better proposition all round if you had someone on the inside—"

  "You hard of hearing, son? I said ten."

  "Then I say no." I sipped my hot chocolate and then wiped my mouth. "And that's all I'll say. I'll just leave and you can sort this out yourselves."

  "You think you're going to be safe on a ship?"

  "Who says I'm going on the ships? I could have another offer with Stanley or Grosvenor. I could be land-based in Prague in a week. You said it yourself – I'm better than that place. And if you want my help, you're going to have to pay for it."

  Pollard laughed. He looked at Jez, then shook his head like I was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Alright, how about you tell us what you've got?"

  "A third."

  "Fuckin' hell, he's a parrot, this one, eh?" He waved at me. "Let's see what your plan's all about first, see if it's as airtight as you reckon, then we can talk about your fuckin' third."

  I waited. Paused for effect. Then I reached into my pocket and retrieved the flyer. I put it on the table between us. Pollard looked at it, but didn't make a move. "That's your date."

  "Sunday?"

  "Sundays, there's normally two days' worth of money on the premises. You make it a Sunday at the end of the month when you've had the pay day punters and a major Chinese festival, you're adding another zero onto your take."

  "Alright." He looked at Jez, who shrugged. "Sunday."

  "And if you go in there without me, you'll mess it up. I'm not talking about the staff here, either. Sovereign don't care about the staff. People heal, and turnover's high anyway. But you lot, go in there without my help, you'll wreck the fixtures and fittings. That's unforgivable – means the organisation have to put in a bigger insurance claim. And as you know, there was a lot of pressure not to open the place in Salford anyway. They said it was a security risk."

  "They were right."

  "Didn't help that you came round demanding protection."

  "Did I do that?" He smiled at Jez. "Did I do that, Jez?"

  "Doesn't matter if you did or not. That's the story. That's Pete Rockwell's story."

  "Pete Rockwell." Pollard raised his eyebrows. "Jesus, there's a blast from the past. How is Pete? You talk to him recently, have you?"

  "No."

  "No, I didn't think so." Pollard and Jez shared a chuckle.

  I didn't want to push for an explanation, so I decided to change tack. "Soon as the place is robbed, they'll come to you. You know that."

  "Don't you worry, son. I'll be fine."

  "I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about your team."

  "My team?" Pollard smirked. "They'll be fine."

  "You're sure about that?"

  "Trust me."

  "I wish I could. But you need to make sure. Way I heard it, the only reason they haven't pulled you in on the Palace robbery is because it wasn't big enough. This one, this here, this is going to be big enough. And it's going to be close enough to the Palace to suggest a pattern if you let it. Which is why you need to listen to me, Mr Pollard, and listen closely, because you're going to need to follow my plan to the letter. You don't do that, I promise you – and I promise Jez here, too – that you'll be in Strangeways for Christmas."

  Pollard moved his mouth. He touched the rim of his cup. There was a different kind of smile on his face now, as if he was being reminded of an embarrassing story. He jerked his chin at me, but kept his gaze on his cappuccino and his voice low. "What's the plan?"

  "Quick, simple and clean. This isn't a smash and grab. If you rush this place, panic the staff, then someone's going to do something daft. I don't think either of us wants blood on our hands if we can help it. Which means you can't hit the place while it's open."

  Jez scoffed. Pollard glanced at him.

  "I'm telling you, you can't do the club when it's full of punters. Yeah, you might pick up another couple of grand in wallets and watches, but all it takes is one bad pawn shop to put you in prison, and some of the punters are probably going to put up a fight. Trust me, I've watched these people for sixteen years. They'll gamble it away, but never give it up without a fight."

  "And the staff?"

  "The staff don't care. They're trained to step back. Not their money, not worth the risk."

  "When do you suggest, then?"

  "The count."

  "Which is what time?"

  "Casino closes about four, the
boxes come out shortly after that. I can give you an exact time if we sort out the cut. The benefit of hitting the count is obvious. All the cash is out in the open, you don't need to bother with the table boxes and your cashiers are otherwise engaged. There'll be a couple of seconds' leeway on any surprises. Everyone's knackered that time of the morning."

  "Not gonna work, Barry." Jez shook his head. "The count room's built like Superman's shithouse."

  "A door's only as good as its locks. You won't have to worry about that. I'll be in there. I'll sort it out."

  "What about alarms?" Pollard wiped a speck of chocolate from the side of his mouth.

  "One in the cash desk. I won't be able to do anything about that."

  "For fuck's sake." Jez rolled bloodshot eyes. He was smiling, but it was more out of disbelief than any actual mirth. "This one's a fuckin' chancer, Barry. He's talking out his arse."

  I interrupted him. "Alarms won't matter. Like I said, everyone's knackered, they'll be slow. So say two minutes before they hit the alarm. You've got clear roads at that time of the morning, but even then there's an average police response time of about fifteen minutes for urban areas."

  Jez frowned. "How d'you know that?"

  "How do you not? The Met were hauled over the coals last month for the drop in response. Check it out. It's all available online if you know where to look . And the way the alarms have been going at our place, unless they get a phone call or secondary alarm, they're not going to treat it as a priority, so you can add another five minutes to that. All in all, you're probably looking at twenty-two minutes to pull this off, which is about the length of a Big Bang Theory if you want to time it."

  "What the fuck are you talking about, mate?" Jez shook his head, his eyes slits. "Barry, you want to—"

  Pollard held up a finger. Jez shut up and turned his gaze to the table.

  "Now your only real problem is going to be crowd control. The first thing that'll happen when you come in is they'll break for the back, which means you have to block those exits off. There are three main exits and entrances." I pulled a napkin. "You got a pen?"

  Pollard tapped Jez on the arm. He chucked a chewed bookie pen at me. I didn't want to use it, but I didn't want to seem prissy, either. I held it lightly and after a brief scribble to make sure it worked, I drew a rough outline of the casino and crossed the main entrances. "This one you know. The main reception area. You're asking for trouble if you come in through there – two mechanised doors and they're both toughened glass, locked tight after four. Anyone makes a move for them, you'll see them, but they'll also see you coming a mile away if you try to make it your entrance, but it'll do as an exit point. Be as noisy as you want going out. Won't matter by then."