Tony Black - Paying For It

‘I never knew him very well, in fact, when I did meet him I thought he was a bit of a septic tank to tell the truth, but his father’s brand new. God, old Col must be in bits.’

I took a plate, spooned on some rice. ‘He’s none too good.’

‘Pepsi says you’ve narrowed it down to this Zalinskas guy.’

I dropped the spoon in the tinfoil box. ‘Just hang on a minute. I’ve narrowed down bugger all, and I wouldn’t be taking anything she says as gospel, her real name’s Amy for a start.’

‘Yeah but,’ said Amy, ‘we’re getting close.’

‘Amy, is it? I like that,’ said Hod. ‘I say we go all out tonight — screw hitting the town. I know where Zalinskas has a casino on George Street. We could-’

‘No way!’

‘Hang on, Gus,’ said Hod. ‘I’m only saying we could go and have a word, try pushing his buttons.’

I put down my plate, cutlery; threw myself back in the chair. ‘Am I hearing right? Have you two completely lost it? The man’s a gangster. I saw him doing the full Don Corleone bit on the news tonight. It’s a non-starter. I mean, thanks, both of you, for the suggestions. But, no. No way. Outta the question.’

‘Looks like it’s you and me then, Pepsi, er… Amy,’ said Hod.

They high-fived.

I stood up. ‘He’d have my nuts in a cocktail shaker if I even set foot in one of his places, and as for anyone with me…’

‘Well, if you’re chicken, Gus,’ said Hod, grinning at Amy.

‘This is no joke, you know. Hello, read my lips, the man’s a gangster!’

Hod walked round the table, put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Okay, we’ll be careful. Just a look about the joint, a few sneaky wee enquiries. Test the water so to speak. You never know, we might hit pay dirt.’

‘You’ll get put in the dirt.’

‘Gus, look, I’ve been to this casino a million times, I’m a kent face. No one’s gonna say boo to me turning up, I’ll sign you and herself in as a couple and we’ll play it cool.’

I saw they were set on it. I couldn’t let them take a chance like this on their own. Sooner or later I’d have to confront Benny the Bullfrog, maybe sooner was better than later in the circumstances.

‘Okay,’ I said. For the first time, I wished I’d taken Mac’s shooter.

They both cheered. Hod shook his fist in the air. Amy danced, made a mixing-bowl motion.

‘But, we do this my way,’ I said.

‘Absolutely,’ said Hod.

‘I mean it. You go in there looking for a pagger, Hod we’re all coming out like this…’ I picked up a piece of pakora, dripping in red sauce and dropped it on the table.

They watched my face.

‘I’m not joking,’ I said. ‘You especially, Amy… there’ll be no going back to the Pleasure Garden after Benny’s lot see you with me. You’ll be marked.’

Nods. Sighs.

‘Okay then, let’s do this,’ I said.

‘Suicide is Painless’ began to play.

Not a bad option, I thought.

The sky looked black as a gypsy’s curse, throwing down rain that felt personal. Hod crammed himself under Amy’s umbrella; his one concession to the cold and wet to put up the collar on his Ted Baker shirt.

‘Aren’t you freezing?’ said Amy.

‘Hell no. I’ve a second skin, see…’ Hod played peekaboo with his shirt buttons, Sean Connery chest hair made a bid for freedom.

‘That’s gross!’ said Amy. ‘Get to a chemist, you get creams for that.’

‘Pray there isn’t a dance floor in this joint, he’ll have the medallion on show,’ I said. ‘Tony Manero doesn’t get a look in.’

Hod undid a few buttons.

‘Oh, no — put it away,’ said Amy.

Hod laughed. ‘That’s not what the last one said!’ He launched into some sick-making dance moves, finger shooting in the air, hips jutting, the whole nine yards.

We turned away, but got drawn back in.

‘Night fever… night fe-v-er… we know how to do it…’

He danced and made a show of himself until the taxi arrived.

In the back of the cab I tried to rein Hod in, reminded him what we’d set out to do. He got the message, seemed to settle. Locked his jaw and looked mean.

Amy looked more pensive, fingers worrying at the rim of her boots.

‘You okay?’ I said.

‘Yeah, oh yeah.’

‘You sure?’

‘I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you, Gus.’

Hod cut in: ‘We both do, we know the score.’

Yeah right. Christ, I didn’t even know the score. I cursed myself again for not taking Mac’s shooter, then remembered the words of John Lennon: ‘Don’t need a gun to blow your mind.’

We got out the cab at the wrong end of George Street, Edinburgh roadworks playing mischief with my plans. As we walked a succession of pimped-up cars roared past the road-closed signs, beat boys who a few years ago were fitting Spokey Dokeys to their BMXs.

‘Twats,’ said Hod. ‘Don’t know what’s worse, them or students!’

‘I’m a student,’ said Amy.

‘Definitely them,’ said Hod, then changing the subject sharply, ‘Here we are!’

Benny the Bullfrog’s casino stood inside one of the New Town’s old Georgian buildings. At one stage it had been a town house. These days, you needed to be multinational to get the keys to a place like this.

Hod stuck his chest out and frowned at the ape on the doors. A classic pintdown man, he frowned back. Good to know they treat you like shit if you’re well-off too.

Inside a scrawny-necked Victoria Beckhamalike, bling a go go, greeted us with an elaborate smile and handshake onslaught. Hod got air kisses. It looked to be histrionics, a job to rival Rada’s finest.

‘Party of three, absolutely delighted to welcome you, and if I may ask the guests to sign in.’

In the slot for name and address, I opted for Mr and Mrs Smith. Amy smiled, gripped my arm tightly. I saw she still harboured fantasies of us re-enacting the potter’s wheel scene from Ghost.

‘Right, let’s hit the bar,’ said Hod.

‘You’ll get no arguments from me.’

My craving for gin had passed. Went for a J amp;B over ice.

‘So what do you do now?’ I asked Hod.

‘What the big wheel does — circulate.’

He moved to the tables, shoulders set hard, poker face on. A look that said, ‘I’ve worked fucking hard to deserve my place here, have you?’

I wished I could say the same thing. The words fish and water sprang to mind. The casino was a league or two above my own.

I’d heard the late Australian billionaire Kerry Packer had been in a casino once when some Texan oilman started mouthing off about his millions.

‘So, how much are you worth?’ asked Packer.

‘Oh, about a hundred million,’ said the oilman.

‘Really?’ said Packer. ‘I’ll toss you for it!’

Beat that for a fuck you.

I felt a tug on my arm, turned to see Amy at my side.

‘I’m going to look about,’ she said.

‘Ah, no. Don’t think so.’

She stuck her head to the side, rolled her eyes at me. ‘I’m a big girl.’

Thought, ‘Who’s gonna argue with that?’

‘Well, be good.’

‘And if I can’t be good?’

‘Just be good.’

I returned to the bar, ordered another J amp;B. I tried to get a handle on the place. It looked plush, first time I’d seen walls carpeted. And the punters certainly had plenty of poppy. A mixture of old Edinburgh and parvenu trash. A lot of green and tweeds clashing with the Prada set. Champagne in full flow all around, raised voices. I eavesdropped.

‘Another bottle of Bolly, darling?’

‘Yaw-yaw…’

‘Oh moy Gawd… Oh moy Gawd!’

‘What is it, darling?’

‘Kitten heels with culottes, darling.’