James Kelman - A Chancer

The defeated player passed Tammas on his way to return the cue to its case. Tammas muttered, On you go!

What was that?

Nothing.

Did you say something there?

Naw, no me.

The man stood watching him. Then Billy came across and he said, Hard lines.

The next tournament was being prepared for. The man glanced at Tammas. Okay, he said, you still wanting a bet?

I wasnt wanting a bet the last time. I was just wanting to save a pound — know what I mean?

Aye, I know what you mean.

Tammas nodded.

Billy was looking from one to the other. What’s up? he asked

Misunderstanding, said the guy. And then to Tammas: You still wanting a bet but?

Suit yourself.

Two quid says I go further than your mate.

You’re on.

My mate’ll hold the money. . He gestured to one of the onlookers.

Tammas shrugged.

When the bet had been struck Billy and the other player joined the rest and soon the tournament was under way. The other player got knocked out in the first round. Tammas collected the £4 from his mate.

Eventually Billy got through to the final and he won again.

•••

From where he stood high in the stand he was in direct line with the finishing post. He looked on at the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th races without laying a bet. During the intervals he drank bottled beer in the bar below, marking the form of each race once it had ended. He had come to back dog 4 in the 5th. Both it and the one out of trap 5 were set to receive 10 metres from the scratch dog. This scratch dog — trap 1 — was a good racer; it had to be fast otherwise it would not have been giving away such big starts. But as far as Tammas was concerned it was a two dog race, traps 4 and 5. If 4 trapped well enough to lead at the first bend then he reckoned he could start walking to head the queue at the bookie’s pay out. But if 5 got out and managed to hold off 4 to the first then he could leave the track immediately, because 4 would have no chance. When 5 dog got its head in front round the first bend very few dogs could ever pass it — but its starting ability was notorious, it usually required a couple of yards before it began to race.

Dog 4 did look good.

And according to the betting market most people at the track had reached the same conclusion, the bookies were laying the dog at 6/4. The scratch dog was next in at 5/2. The dog out of trap 5 stood at 7/1. Tammas was surprised. All it needed was a fast trap and he would not have minded having a couple of quid down on it to stay in front to the line. But it usually trapped really badly.

He edged his way forwards, to the head of the crowd waiting beneath the row of bookmakers; he was gripping the £30 wad in his right trouser pocket.

Nobody seemed interested in the favourite. Each bookie showed 6/4. Occasionally they would glance along the line at each other, then call out the odds. One of them knocked the 1 dog out to 11/4 and quite a few punters rushed in to take it. But the main body still watched and waited, one or two turning to note what the tic-tac men were signalling from their positions at the barrier.

The vet was checking the runners’ girths. The handlers preparing to walk them to the boxes and begin the loading up.

Then a bookie called: I’ll lay 10’s the bottom! 10’s the bottom!

Dog 5 at 10/1. It was a great bet. Tammas shook his head. All it had to do was trap properly and it would lead from there to the line. 10/1 was a great bet. And suddenly some muttering began and one of the bookies had scrubbed the 6/4 away altogether and was glancing about and now marking in 5/4, 5/4 from 6/4. And another bookie was scrubbing out the 6/4. And now the rush was on, the punters crushing forward onto those bookmakers still offering 6/4. Tammas was carried along to one who had wiped out the 6/4 but without marking in anything else and he was frantically accepting the bets of those directly beneath his stool. Then he stopped and shook his head. No more! he cried. The 6/4’s away, it’s away! Tammas flung himself forwards, almost over the shoulders of a wee man standing in front of him, and he thrust the thirty pounds into the bookie’s face. To thirty quid: he shouted.

6/4’s away son, it’s away!

But while he was saying it he had taken the £30 and was dropping it into the satchel and muttering to the clerk: Down to the boy thirty quid, one and a half.

Ta Sid. .

He walked quickly away, trying to reach his place in the stand before the race started. He overheard somebody saying the favourite had further shortened to 4/5.

He arrived just before the off. He rubbed his hands, brought out a cigarette. Around him men of all ages were hunching their shoulders and stamping on the spot, hands in their pockets and cigarettes clamped in their mouths. It was a cold and damp night and a quite heavy mist had arisen; when the stadium lights dimmed and the floodlighting round the track came on the whole area seemed enclosed in it. Yet on the actual track the green of the grass and the muddy brown at the inside rail were distinct.

And the hooter sounding. In the silence that followed the whirr of the mechanical hare was quite loud as it staggered into motion, to go lurching along the outside rail. It gained momentum rapidly till when it rounded the final bend it was hurtling on to the traps, and the bang of them opening, and dog 4 had a flier, a flier. Tammas had cupped his hand to his mouth and was roaring EEeeeesssaaaayyyyy!

•••

He had rung the bell. When the doorman opened he said, How’s it going son?

No bad.

Nothing’s started yet.

Ah well. Tammas followed him along and into the snacks’ room. He ordered a coffee and a roll and sausage, and sat down at one of the empty tables, reading the next morning’s Daily Record . At the far end of the counter, near to the door into the gaming room, the dealer was standing chatting to a couple of folk. And the television was on, its volume quite high, being watched by some of the women.

Getting on for 11 o’clock more men had arrived, some entering the gaming room, others ordering food and drinks at the counter. Then the gaming room door opened and three young guys came out. One of them asked loudly: When does the chemmy start in this place?

The dealer glanced at him. He sniffed and continued listening to what somebody in his group had been saying. But moments later he swallowed what was left in the cup he was holding and strolled to the door into the other room. Many of the men followed but Tammas was amongst those who remained. He was still eating his roll and sausage. Two men were now at his table and were discussing the evening’s results at Shawfield with a couple of other guys at the neighbouring table. One of them was saying: Five favourites! Punters must’ve done okay.

Aye but three of them were the last three races, half the punters would’ve been fucking skint by that time!

True, true.

Tammas glanced across at them. A couple of other winners were well fancied but.

Mmm.

Were you over bye like yourself son? asked one of them.

Tammas nodded. I left early right enough.

Aw, like that was it!

Naw. I had my one and it won; I just came away.

Aw. Good. The man nodded, That’s the way to do it. He looked at the man next to him: What am I always telling you eh? Back your winner and then get home, just like the boy here. All you need’s a bit of will power. There’s always another night.

Every cunt knows that!

So what?

So fuck all. I’m just telling you; we all know you need a bit of fucking will power. So fucking what? What does that mean? That means fuck all. The man glanced at the others in the company.

Because we all know it doesnt mean it isnt fucking right, said one of them.