James Kelman - Mo said she was quirky

What did it matter?

Helen had passed out the chips. People confused her with the job, that was the problem like it was her personal money, if it was did they think she would be gambling it all away? Ha ha. It didnt matter one way or the other. Not to her it didnt; not if she lost every hand. Or if she won every hand, although she would have enjoyed taking his money; that would have been nice, and if he waited a little longer she would, because in the end the bank always wins. What a fool.

So things were getting to her.

No they werent.

The ogler was whispering to his friend. It wasnt annoying but

It was annoying. It shouldnt have been but it was. So she was letting him get to her. She should never have let him get to her. No emotion in this job. You werent paid for emotion.

Helen smiled to the ogler and his mate. Yes.

She was waiting for the bets to be placed. An elderly man had sat down at the corner of the table. He seemed familiar. She waited for him and another player to place their bets. The ogler had left his winning chips from the last hand, so that was his. At the same time impressing her with the size of his bet, trying to anyway. Always the size of something. Him and his money. So silly, so childish, but that was a trait in men. Helen, what is the outstanding trait in men? They are childish.

That would annoy him, smiling, why had she smiled?

What if she giggled? If she laughed aloud? That would annoy him even worse. Did his wife know how much he wasted in this place? He was obviously married. Even without the ring he was married. He had like arrogance, that certain arrogance. He knew women. That is what it was. Did his wife even know where he was? Probably not. He would control everything. Even what she knew , what went on in her mind. That is what he would control, never mind the money. That was her ex my God oh yes, Mr Big Boss, he was the man, of course he was, arent penises wonderful? She could have carried one in her bag, dropped it on the table.

Goodness,

the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card, seven players, and one for the bank.

the card the card the card, the card the card the card, the card

The ogler’s mate was whispering to him. He wasnt so bad-looking; only the scar, the front of his ear down to his neck. That summed it up.

stay, stay

Card, asked the ogler. He was showing 12.

Helen turned a picture to bust him, raked in his chips and continued the hand. And to the banker’s own she added an 8 to the face card showing, raked in the remainder of the chips, in a disinterested way. No comment from the ogler. She enjoyed taking his money. But did she? Perhaps she didnt, perhaps really it didnt matter, it didnt. She didnt care.

‘Wealthy woman’ passed money across and Helen exchanged it for chips. Usually with couples it was the other way about. The male played cards for pounds and the female roulette for pence. It was the competition. You could like beat somebody up at cards, but not roulette. At cards you showed who was boss. So they thought. But they thought wrong; blackjack and house-poker are the same, you bet against the ‘house’, not against people.

She rarely thought about money when dealing cards. If she did it would be all the time. She hardly saw it as money. She was an experienced worker. She listened to other croupiers but had her own opinions. She was a dealing machine and that was that. There would come a day when they wouldnt have any croupiers, it would all be machines. Already in the States they had entire casinos with machines. To each their own. The punters put in their money and hit a button. Money money money. Standing at the machines with that glazed expression, buckets of coins and buckets of popcorn; unable to hear or see, mindless. That was her ex, the proverbial.

All the people and all the money.

And up pops he. The bad penny.

Money money money. Mostly she didnt care. She had no control, like none, she had none. None! What did they think? In one casino where she worked an Inspector thought it was the dealer’s fault. That was how he acted, just so so stupid. If he saw you losing too many hands he whispered sarcastic comments, the same as any punter, thinking individual dealers were lucky, or unlucky. Even some dealers believed it about themselves, they were lucky, or unlucky. Anyway, it was all mixed up. If your every hand was a losing hand it was lucky for the punters; to be lucky for them was to be unlucky at the cards. Lucky at the cards was lucky for the house. Back in Glasgow there was one guy only played at her table because she was ‘far too good’. He said it to her when giving over his money: Helen, you are far too good, you are far too good.

So why come to her table? Was that not silly? just foolish. Helen, you are slick. Of course Helen was ‘slick’; it was her job to be ‘slick’. You take my money why do you take my money? Silly man.

Concentration concentration. She looked up from the baize. Her eyelids flickered. Waves in her tummy, slight little things, butterflies.

Nothing about the time forget the time, nothing nothing nothing, the cards the people the money; what was the order? it didnt matter the order, people money cards, oglers.

Nerves, because Brian, what if he was there?

Oh God the time the time what was the time?

Oh well, if he was he was.

But it was true and she had to think because what was she going to do! It was nearly time and she was going home; she would be. Very soon; very very soon, that would be her, my God, if she shared Danny’s taxi, like just as usual. Because with Caroline and Jill like if she didnt share with them, what would they think? They would think something. Better they didnt. Better she went home with them, same as usual, got off at her street same as usual, then when Danny’s taxi was out of sight she would jump the next one back into the city. She had enough money, she had brought enough.

Helen knew what she was doing. She had thought about what she was doing. The whole damn day.

But she did know. Because there was a good chance they would be in the same area, roughly speaking, at roughly the same time. People are people, creatures of habit, him with the limp and the tall skinny one, and if it was, imagine it was. Although it was unlikely. But you never know, because with Brian, Brian was Brian.

Taxis were so so expensive; going home then back was like a return so twice the money my God it was like half a night’s work to pay for it, a third. It was just so much. She would have to tell Mo. There was no choice because it wasnt fair if it was house-money, extra for this and extra for that on top of the debt my God two taxis was like a day out for the three of them it was so — indulgent.

Although if she had to do it. So it was not ‘indulgent’, not if she had to. If it was Brian. She would never forgive herself and like Mo too, if she told him. And she would tell him, whether she found Brian or not, he would have to know because if he didnt oh God that would be so bad of her. It would be. Because not taking him into her confidence like not trusting him and she did trust him, above all, she trusted him.

It was true! She trusted Mo, she really really did. He was her family, so if it was Brian. If it was Brian it was Brian.

She closed her eyes, rubbed at the side of her face. Why did people not go home? And Helen too, if only

only only, only the lonely,

a card a card a card,

So if he was ill. Perhaps he was. He had been a good big brother to her. If it was him. If it was. Only she had to know. She at least would say hullo. So if he was homeless. Poor Brian. None of it mattered, bloody oglers and nonsense.

What time was it?

Hi … came the whisper. The relief Inspector had moved in behind Helen’s chair as she dealt. Felix, quite a tough-looking guy. Her knight in shining armour! She knew he liked her. At least he wasnt creepy. And his lips. Some lips she didnt like. He leaned closer: Okay?