Desmond Bagley - The Spoilers / Juggernaut

Tozier went to the window, opened it and looked out. ‘I think I can run a line into your room, Johnny. We can settle Ben in there.’

‘Good enough,’ said Follet. He slapped his hands together, ‘Okay, first rehearsal – beginners, please.’

At twelve-thirty on Saturday they waited in a lounge just off the foyer of the hotel, not exactly in hiding but certainly concealed from casual inspection. Follet nudged Warren. ‘There he is – I told him to wait for me in the bar. You go in first; Andy will give you time to settle, and I’ll be in right after. Get going.’

As Warren left, he said a little worriedly to Tozier, ‘I hope Ben doesn’t ball up his bit with the television.’

Warren crossed the foyer and entered the bar where he ordered a drink. Javid Raqi was seated at a table and appeared to be somewhat nervous, although probably not as nervous as Warren as he steeled himself to play his part in the charade. Raqi was a young man of about twenty-five, smartly dressed in European fashion from top to toe. He was darkly handsome if you like Valentino looks, and probably had a great future. Warren felt sorry for him.

Tozier appeared at the door, his jacket draped carelessly over his arm. He walked forward, past Raqi, and something apparently dropped from a pocket to plop right at Raqi’s feet. It was a fat wallet of brown leather. Raqi looked down and stooped, then straightened with the wallet in his hand. He looked towards Tozier who had walked on without missing a pace, then followed him to the bar.

Warren heard the murmur of voices and then the louder tones of Tozier. ‘Well, thank you. That was very careless of me. Allow me to buy you a drink.’

Johnny Follet was now in the room, on Raqi’s heels. ‘Hi, Javid; I didn’t know you two knew each other.’ There was surprise in his voice.

‘We don’t, Mr Follet,’ said Raqi.

‘Oh!’ said Tozier. ‘So this is who you were talking about, Johnny. Mr Raqi – that’s the name, isn’t it? – just rescued my wallet.’ He opened it to display a thick wad of notes. ‘He could have taken the lot without winning it.’

Follet chuckled. ‘He’ll probably take it anyway. He’s a right sharp poker-player.’ He looked around. ‘There’s Nick. It’ll be a foursome, Javid; does that suit you?’

Raqi said a little shyly, ‘That’s all right, Mr Follet.’

‘The hell with Mr Follet. We’re all friends here. I’m Johnny and this is Andy Tozier – and coming over is Nick Warren. Gentlemen, Javid Raqi, the best poker-player I’ve come across in Tehran – and I’m not kidding.’

Warren smiled stiffly at Raqi and murmured something conventional. Follet said, ‘Don’t buy a drink, Andy; let’s go where the action is. I have everything laid on – booze and food both.’

They all went up to Tozier’s room, where the television set had been moved over to the window. Follet had laid on quite a spread; there was cold chicken, sausages of various sorts and salads, together with some unopened bottles of whisky. Everything was set for a long session. Unobtrusively, Warren looked at his watch – it read just after twelve – exactly half an hour slow. He wondered how Follet would doctor the expensive-looking watch he saw on Raqi’s slim brown wrist without Raqi knowing it had been done.

Follet opened a drawer and tossed a sealed pack of cards on to the table. ‘There you are, Javid; you have first deal. Stranger’s privilege – but you won’t be a stranger long. Go easy on the water in mine, Nick.’

Warren poured four drinks and brought them to the table. Raqi was shuffling the cards. He seemed to do it expertly enough, although Warren was no judge of that. He was not as good as Follet, of that he was sure.

Follet looked about the table. ‘We’ll be confining ourselves to draw poker, gentlemen – there’ll be none of your fancy wild hands here; this is a serious game for serious gamblers. Let’s play poker.’

Raqi dealt the cards, five to each, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Jacks or better open.’

Warren looked at his cards. He was not a good poker-player, although he knew the rules. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Follet had said. ‘You don’t want to win, anyway.’ But he had schooled Warren in a couple of intensive lessons all the same.

At the end of the first hour he was losing – about four thousand rials to the bad – say twenty-two pounds. Tozier had lost a little, too, but not nearly as much. Follet had won a little and Raqi was on top, winning about five thousand rials.

Follet riffled the cards. ‘What did I tell you? This boy can play poker,’ he said jovially. ‘Say, that’s a nice watch you have there, Javid. Mind if I have a look at it?’

Raqi was flushed with success and was not nearly as shy and nervous as he had been at first. ‘Of course,’ he said easily, and slipped it from his wrist.

As Follet took it, Warren said, ‘You speak very good English, Javid. Where did you learn it?’

‘I studied at school, Nick; then I went to night classes.’ He smiled. ‘This is where I practise it – at the poker table.’

‘You’re doing very well.’

Tozier counted his money. ‘Play poker,’ he said. ‘I’m losing.’

Follet grinned. ‘I warned you Javid would take your wad.’ He held out the watch on his forefinger, but somehow it seemed to slip and it dropped to the floor. Follet pushed back his chair and there was a crunch. ‘Oh, hell!’ he exclaimed in disgust, and picked up the watch. ‘I’ve bust the dial.’ He held it to his ear. ‘It’s still going, though.’

Raqi held out his hand, ‘It does not matter, Johnny.’

‘It matters to me,’ said Follet. ‘I’ll have it fixed for you.’ He dropped it into his shirt pocket. ‘No, I insist,’ he said over Raqi’s expostulations. ‘I did the damage – I’ll pay for the fixing. Whose deal is it?’ Raqi subsided.

They continued to play and Raqi continued to win. As far as Warren could judge he was a good natural poker-player and he did not think Follet was discreetly assisting him, although he did not have the special knowledge to know if this was correct. He did know that he himself was losing steadily, although he played as best he could. Tozier recouped his earlier losses and stood about even, but Follet was on the losing side.

The haze of cigarette smoke in the room grew thicker and Warren began to get a slight headache. This was not his idea of a pleasant Saturday afternoon’s entertainment. He glanced at his watch and saw that it read half-past-two. Ben Bryan, in the next room, ought to be busy taping the television programme.

At quarter to three Tozier threw in his hand with an expression of disgust. ‘Hey!’ he said in alarm. ‘You’d better make that call.’

Follet looked at his watch. ‘Christ, I nearly forgot. It’s quarter to three already.’ He stood up and walked over to the telephone.

‘I thought it would be later than that,’ said Raqi in mild surprise.

Warren uncovered his watch with the dial turned towards Raqi. ‘No – that’s all it is. It might be a bit late for us, though.’

Follet had his hand on the telephone when Tozier said curtly, ‘Not that one, Johnny. Make the call from the lobby.’ He jerked his head at Raqi meaningly.

‘Javid’s all right,’ said Follet easily.

‘I said make it from the lobby.’

‘Don’t be so hard-nosed, Andy. Here you have a guy who was honest enough to give you back your wallet when he didn’t know who the hell you were. Why cut him out?’

Warren said quietly, ‘You always were a hard case, Andy.’

Raqi was looking from face to face, not understanding what was going on. Tozier shrugged with ill-grace. ‘No skin off my nose – but I thought you wanted to keep it quiet.’