Peter Corris: Casino

‘I remember now,’ I said. ‘Darling Harbour- a temporary location and a provisional licence.’

Oscar knocked back half of his glass of mineral water in a gulp and chewed on an ice cube. The pricey dental work was good, he chewed recklessly. ‘Right, right. But we’ve spent a bundle on setting it up, and if everything works out right we’ll keep it as an overflow venue. Meantime, it gives us a chance to show what we can do.’

‘And the authorities a chance to pull the chain on you.’

Cartwright wagged a manicured finger at me. ‘You’re hostile. Shouldn’t be hostile.’

He pronounced it ‘hostil’ and I began to wonder where he called home. His dress, speech and mannerisms were a strange mixture of Australian and American. These days Americans can get that way from living here for years and Australians from watching a lot of television. I was finding O.C. harder and harder to read. But I had $150 of his money in my pocket and the least I could do was be civil.

‘I’ll keep an open mind,’ I said. ‘And I’ll take a light beer.’

The casino was in one of those Darling Harbour structures that seem to be made out of glass and white-painted plastic tubing. Oscar explained that his syndicate had taken over a shopping complex that hadn’t been able to find enough tenants and that they had a three-year lease, although their casino licence ran for only two years.

‘Gotta take chances in this business,’ he said as the limmo slid down a ramp into an underground car park. ‘Something not everyone understands. We’re dealing with people and money. They’re the only factors, but how volatile’s that for a combination?’

I gave Graham a wave as he glided off. ‘You tell me.’

‘Powder keg. Contains everything-advertising, fashion, greed, style, you name it. The casino business is at the cutting edge of the human psyche.’

We’d gone through a set of automatic glass doors and we were walking along a mirrored passageway decorated with large vases that cried out for big flowers. I stopped and burst into laughter. ‘Where the hell did you learn that?’

He laughed with me. ‘Don’t ask. They have these bullshit courses in the States. I’ve done ‘em all. Kinda fun. In case you’re wondering, Cliff, or inclined to check up, my real name’s Colin Cartwright and I was an SP bookie in Marrickville before I saw the light. I’m telling you, compared to the horses, the casino business is honest- house percentages and all.’

I liked the man. As he gave me the deluxe guided tour he spouted about the percentages that would go to the government, the hospitals that would get built, the charities the casino would sponsor. I believed him. He explained how all the materials used in the refitting of the building- the carpets, the lights, the furniture-were Australian-made. Even the gambling equipment, the tables, the roulette wheels, the poker machines-all Australian.

‘You know what? The kips they use at some places’re made of Malaysian timber. Can you believe it? Rainforest timber from a place where half the country’s sliding into the sea.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re a conservationist.’

‘Sure, why not? Well, what d’you think of the joint, Cliff?’

Despite myself, I had to admit that it was impressive. The decor was plush without being gaudy; there were excellent dining and drinking areas and places where people could do all the things the casino offered in a smoke-free setting. That had to be a first. The facilities for the staff were of a high standard and Cartwright explained the computerised monitoring procedures that checked on the fair operation of the equipment and the customer screening that was designed not to let low-rollers get themselves into high-roller territory. The security arrangements were terrific-sealed tellers’ cages, pneumatic money chutes, time locks, drive-in strongroom, automatic doors, a minimum of weapons.

‘It’s good,’ I said. ‘How long before it breaks even?’

‘Depends. A year.’

‘You’ve got everything you need. On paper, a first-class security set-up, top staff…’

We were in his office, a medium-sized room with a good view over the city. He was on the Perrier still and I was on my second glass of white wine-well, I was being driven back, wasn’t I? There was a bookshelf, something you don’t see in every office, and the books looked read-a lot of stuff on gambling and business management, but also some dictionaries of quotations, biographies and novels.

‘You’re sharp. You’ve put your finger on it. This is all on paper and it’s not worth much unless the right people are running it, particularly the right man at the top.’

I drank some of the very good dry white and didn’t say anything.

‘I want you to head it all up. Hire the security staff, supervise the whole operation. You’ll be the number three man below me and my systems manager. Office just like this one. Secretary, the works. The job’s worth around two hundred grand a year-car, clothing allowance and rent of a flat in the package, expenses. A one-year contract. Option to renew. What d’you say?’

I’ll admit I thought about it. My Glebe house was crumbling around me for lack of maintenance, business wasn’t good and was unlikely to get better. I was healthy but a few old injuries were slowing me down a touch. The Hong Kong trip had given Glen and me a taste for travel. I wanted to see… But I only thought about it for a minute, maybe less. I finished my drink and put the glass on the low teak table beside the scale model of the casino.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s an attractive proposition, but I just don’t have the temperament to work inside an organisation. I’m no good at routine. I don’t like doing the same thing twice even. I do it, of course, but I duck it as much as I can. Also, I’m a bit erratic. Your job would involve a hell of a lot of repetition and attention to detail.’

He looked gratifyingly disappointed, but not shattered. He knocked back his Perrier and gazed out over the city. It struck me that things looked very different through clean windows. Dirty ones like mine lend a shadowy, double-imaged look. Trees can appear solider than buildings, clouds and roofs can seem to touch. From Oscar’s office everything looked clean-edged and sharp. I think I prefer the shadowy stuff.

‘Yeah,’ he said slowly. ‘They told me there was no way. Still, I reckoned it was worth a shot. You like the place, though?’

‘As casinos go, it’s the best I’ve seen. Thanks for showing me around, thanks for the offer, thanks for the drinks.’ I reached into my pocket. ‘I can’t take any money for this.’

There was a different look on his surgically-tightened face now, tougher, less charming. ‘Hang on, I haven’t finished. You can still earn the money by recommending someone to me. Call it a consulting fee. Someone good who can do the job.’

Funny thing was, I’d had the name of someone who would be good at the work as Oscar was showing me around so I didn’t have to think about it long. ‘Scott Galvani could be your man.’

I gave him Scott’s phone number and a thumbnail sketch. He wrote notes with a gold pen on a sheet of letterhead paper. Then he got up and shook my hand. ‘Your ride’s waiting. I’ll get someone to take you down. And thanks, Cliff, thanks a million.’

That night, Glen and I ate dinner in an Italian restaurant in Petersham not far from her flat. Glen teaches part-time at Goulburn police academy and conducts refresher courses for cops around the city. We get to spend two or three nights a week together, usually at my place, occasionally at hers. She’d had a promotion and we were celebrating with whitebait and salad and Frascati.