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‘Jamshid will be getting worried,’ said Warren. ‘I know we’ve played it clever – he doesn’t know the three of us are a syndicate – but he’ll tumble to it if we don’t watch it. Knowing Jamshid, I wouldn’t like that to happen. I’d like to stay in one piece for a while longer.’
‘Okay,’ said Follet resignedly. ‘Next Saturday is the last – for a while. But why not make it a really big hit this time.’
‘No!’ said Tozier abruptly.
‘Why not? Supposing we put on a hundred thousand at ten to one. That’s another quick million.’ Follet spread his hands. ‘Makes the arithmetic easier, too – a million each.’
‘It’s too risky,’ Warren insisted.
‘Say, I have an idea,’ said Follet excitedly. ‘Jamshid doesn’t know Javid here. Why can’t Javid lay the bet for us? It’s good for us and it’s good for him. He can add his own dough and make a killing for himself. How about that, Javid?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Raqi uncertainly.
Tozier looked interested. ‘It could work,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘You could be a rich man, Javid,’ said Follet. ‘You take that sixteen thousand you just won and you could turn it into a hundred and sixty thousand – that’s as much as the three of us made today. And you can’t miss – that’s the beauty of it.’
Raqi took the hire as a trout takes a fly. ‘All right,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Very well,’ said Warren, capitulating. ‘But this is the last time this year. Is that understood?’
Follet nodded, and Tozier said, ‘Let’s play poker.’
‘Until six o’clock,’ said Warren. ‘I have a date tonight. Win or lose we stop at six.’
He won back most of his losses during the rest of the afternoon. Some of it was made by a big pot won on an outrageous bluff, but he seemed to have much better hands. At six o’clock he was down a mere thousand rials. He had unobtrusively put his watch right, too.
‘That’s it,’ said Follet. ‘See you next week, Javid.’ He winked. ‘You’ll be in the big time then.’
When Raqi had gone Warren got up and stretched. ‘What a way to pass a day,’ he said.
‘Our boy’s very happy,’ said Follet. ‘He’s broken into the big time and it hasn’t cost him a cent. Let’s figure out how much he’s into us for. What did you lose, Warren?’
‘A thousand as near as damn it.’
‘Andy?’
‘Close on three thousand. He can play poker.’
‘That he can,’ said Follet. ‘I had to cut into him after the race – I didn’t want him to think he can make more playing poker than playing the horses.’ He looked up at Warren. ‘You’re no poker player. Now, let’s see – I’m out a thousand, so he’s taken a total of twenty-one thousand, including that dough I gave him for the race. He’ll be back next week.’
‘Greedy for more,’ said Tozier. ‘I thought you said he was honest.’
‘There’s a bit of larceny in all of us,’ said Follet. ‘Cheating a bookie is considered respectable by a lot of upright citizens – like smuggling a bottle of whisky through customs.’ He picked up the pack of cards and riffled them. ‘There’s an old saying among con men – you can’t cheat an honest man. If Javid was really honest this thing wouldn’t work. But he’s as honest as most.’
‘Can you really take money off him at poker?’ asked Warren. ‘A lot depends on that.’
‘I was doing it this afternoon, wasn’t I?’ demanded Follet. ‘You ought to know that better than anyone. You don’t think you started winning by your own good play.’ He extended the pack to Warren. ‘Take the top card.’
Warren took it. It was the nine of diamonds.
Follet was still holding the pack. ‘Put it back. Now I’m going to deal that top card on to the table. Watch me carefully.’ He picked up the top card and spun it smoothly on to the table in front of Warren. ‘Now turn it over.’
Warren turned over the ace of clubs.
Follet laughed. ‘I’m a pretty good second dealer. I dealt the second card, not the top card, but you didn’t spot it.’ He held up his hand. ‘If you see any guy holding a pack of cards like this, don’t play with him. That’s the mechanic’s grip, and he’ll second deal you, bottom deal you, and strip your pockets. I’ll take Javid Raqi all right.’
IV
It was a long week. Warren understood the necessity for inaction but it still irked him. Tozier and Follet played their coin-matching game interminably and Tozier steadily lost, much to his annoyance. ‘I’ll figure this out if it’s the last thing I do,’ he said, and Follet chuckled comfortably.
Warren could not see the fascination the game held for Tozier. It seemed to be a childish game although there was the problem of why Follet won so consistently in what seemed to be an even game in which there was no possibility of cheating.
Bryan was as restless as Warren. ‘I feel out of it,’ he said. ‘Like a spare wheel. I feel as though I’m doing nothing and going nowhere.’
‘You’re not the only one who feels that way,’ said Warren irritably.
‘Yes, but I was stuck playing with that bloody video recorder while you three were having all the fun.’
‘That’s the most important part, Ben.’
‘Maybe – but it’s over now. You won’t need the recorder this time. So what do I do – twiddle my thumbs?’
Follet looked up. ‘Wait a minute.’ He eyed Ben speculatively. ‘Maybe we’re passing up a chance here. I think we can use you, Ben, but it’ll need a bit of rehearsal with me and Andy. It’ll be important, too. Are you game for it?’
‘Of course,’ said Bryan eagerly.
So the three of them went to Follet’s room with Follet saying, ‘Nothing to trouble you with, Nick; it’s best you don’t know what’s going to happen. You’re a lousy actor, anyway, and I want this to come as a real surprise.’
Came Saturday and Javid Raqi arrived early. Follet had telephoned him and suggested a lengthened session starting in the morning, and Raqi had eagerly agreed. ‘We’ve got to have time to strip the little bastard,’ said Follet cynically.
They started to play poker at ten-thirty and, to begin with, Raqi won as he had the previous week. But then things seemed to go against him. His three kings were beaten by Warren’s three aces; his full house was beaten by Tozier’s four threes; his ace-high flush was beaten by Follet’s full house. Not that this seemed to happen often but when it did the pots were big and Raqi lost heavily. His steady trickle of winning hands was more than offset by his few occasional heavy losses.
By midday he had exhausted the contents of his wallet and hesitantly drew out an envelope. Impatiently he ripped it open and spilled a pile of money on to the table.
‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ asked Follet gently.
‘I still have money – plenty money,’ said Raqi tensely.
‘No offence,’ said Follet as he gathered the cards. ‘I guess you know what you’re doing. You’re a big boy now.’ He dealt cards. Javid Raqi lost again.
By two in the afternoon Raqi was almost cleaned out. He had been holding his own for about half an hour and the money in front of him – about a thousand rials – ebbed and flowed across the table but, in the main, stayed steady. Warren guessed that Follet was organizing that and he felt a little sick. He did not like this cat and mouse game.
At last Tozier looked at his watch. ‘We’d better switch to the horses,’ he said. ‘There’s not much time.’
‘Sure,’ said Follet. ‘Put up the stake, Nick; you’re the banker. Javid, you know what to do?’
Raqi looked a little pale. ‘Just make the phone call,’ he said listlessly as Warren counted out large denomination notes on to the table.
‘Hell, no!’ said Follet. ‘Jamshid doesn’t accept credit bets over twenty-five thousand, and we three are putting up a hundred thousand. You have to stake it at Jamshid’s place – cash on the barrel head. How much are you putting in, Javid?’
Raqi swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’ He made a feeble gesture at the table. ‘I’ve … I’ve lost it,’ he said plaintively.
‘Too bad,’ said Tozier evenly. ‘Better luck next time.’
Warren patted the notes together. ‘A hundred thousand,’ he said, and pushed the stack across the table.
‘You’ll still put this on for us, won’t you?’ said Follet, pushing the money across to Raqi. ‘You said you would.’
Raqi nodded. He hesitated, then said, ‘Could … could you … er … could you lend me some – until it’s over?’
Follet looked at him pityingly. ‘Hey, kid; you’re in the big time now. You play with your own dough. You might swap nickels and dimes in a penny-ante school but not here.’
Tozier’s snort of disgust seemed to unnerve Raqi and he flinched as though someone had hit him. ‘But … but …’ he stammered.
Warren shook his head. ‘Sorry, Javid; but I thought you understood. Everybody here stands his own racket.’ He paused. ‘I suppose you could say it’s not good form – not good etiquette – to borrow.’
Raqi was sweating. He looked at the backs of his hands which were trembling, and thrust them into his pockets. He swallowed. ‘When do I have to go to Jamshid’s?’
‘Any time before the nags go to the post,’ said Follet. ‘But we’d like to get the dough in fairly early. We don’t want to miss out on this – it’s the big one.’
‘Do you mind if I go out for a few minutes?’ asked Raqi.
‘Not so long as you’re back in time,’ said Follet. ‘This is the big one, like I told you.’
Raqi got up. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘Not more than half an hour.’ He went out and seemed to stumble at the door.
Follet listened for the click of the latch, then said softly. ‘He’s hooked.’
‘But will he come back?’ asked Warren.
‘He’ll be back. When you put a sucker on the send he always comes back,’ said Follet with cynical certitude.
‘How much did we take him for?’ asked Tozier.
Follet counted money and did a calculation. ‘I make it just over forty-eight thousand. He must have drawn out his savings for the big kill, but we got to it first. He’ll be sweating blood right now, wondering where to raise the wind.’
‘Where will he get it?’ asked Warren.
‘Who cares? But he’ll get it – that’s a certainty. He knows he’s on to a good thing and he won’t pass up the chance now. He won’t be able to resist cheating Jamshid, so he’ll find the dough somehow.’
Tozier and Follet matched coins while they waited for Raqi to come back – a sheep to the slaughter – and Follet came out the worse for a change. He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter – the percentages are still on my side.’
‘I wish I knew how,’ said Tozier venomously. ‘I’ll get to the bottom of this one yet. I think I can see a way.’
There was a soft knock at the door. ‘That’s our boy,’ said Follet.
Javid Raqi came into the room quietly when Follet opened the door. He came up to the table and looked at the hundred thousand rials, but he made no move to touch the money. Warren said, ‘All right, Javid?’
Slowly Raqi put out his hands and took the wad of notes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’ He turned suddenly to Follet. ‘This horse will be all right – it will win?’ he asked urgently.
‘Christ!’ said Follet. ‘You’re holding a hundred thousand of our money and you ask that? Of course it will win. It’s all set up.’
‘Then I’m ready to go,’ said Raqi, and swiftly put away the money.
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Follet. He grinned. ‘It’s not that we don’t trust you, but I’d hate some smart guy to knock you off when you’re carrying our dough. Consider me a bodyguard.’ He put on his jacket. ‘We’ll be back to watch the race,’ he said as he left, shepherding Raqi before him.
Warren sighed. ‘I feed sorry for that boy.’
‘So do I,’ said Tozier. ‘But it’s as Johnny said – if he were honest this would never be happening to him.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Warren, and fell silent. Presently he stirred and said, ‘Supposing the horse wins?’
‘It won’t,’ said Tozier positively. ‘Johnny and I picked the sorriest screw we could find. It might win,’ he conceded, ‘if every other horse in the race breaks a leg.’
With what might have been a chuckle Warren said, ‘But what if it does win? Someone must have faith in it.’
‘Then we’ll have won a hell of a lot of money – and so will Raqi, depending on how much of a stake he’s been able to raise. We’ll have to go through the whole business of breaking him again. But it won’t happen.’
He began to match coins with himself and Warren paced up and down restlessly. Follet and Raqi were away for quite a long time and arrived back just as Warren switched on the set to get the race. Raqi sat at his place at the table; a slight, self-contained figure. Follet was jovial. ‘Javid has the jitters. I keep telling him it’ll be okay, but he can’t stop worrying. He’s been plunging, too – I reckon this is a bit too rich for his blood.’
‘How much did you back the nag for?’ asked Tozier curiously.
Raqi did not answer, but Follet gave a booming laugh. ‘Fifty thousand,’ he said. ‘And the odds are fifteen to one. Our boy stands to make three-quarters of a million rials. I keep telling him it’s okay, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.’
Tozier whistled. Three-quarters of a million rials was about £4,000 – a fortune for a young Iranian clerk. Even his fifty thousand stake was a bit rich – about £260 – approximating to a sizeable bite of Raqi’s annual income. He said, ‘Where did you get that much? Did you go home and break open your piggy bank?’
Warren said sharply, ‘Shut up! The race is about to start.’
‘I’ll pour the drinks for the celebration,’ said Follet, and went over to the sideboard. ‘You guys can cheer for me – the nag’s name is Nuss el-leil.’
‘I don’t get the lingo,’ said Tozier. ‘What’s that mean, Javid?’
Raqi opened bloodless lips. He did not take his eyes off the screen as he answered, ‘Midnight.’
‘A good name for a black horse,’ commented Tozier. ‘There they go.’
Warren glanced sideways at Raqi who was sitting tensely on the edge of his chair, the bluish gleam of the television screen reflected in his eyes. His hands were clasped together in a knuckle-whitening grip.
Tozier jerked irritably. ‘Where the blazes is that horse? Can you see it, Javid?’
‘It’s lying fourth,’ said Raqi. A moment later he said, ‘It’s dropped back to fifth – no, sixth.’ A tremor developed in his hands.
‘What’s that bloody jockey up to?’ demanded Tozier. ‘He’s throwing it away, damn him!’
Fifteen seconds later the race ended. Nuss el-leil was not even placed.
Follet stood transfixed at the sideboard. ‘The little bastard double-crossed us,’ he breathed. In a moment of savagery he hurled a full glass of whisky at the wall where it smashed explosively. ‘I’ll fix his goddam wagon come tomorrow,’ he yelled.
