CHAPTER 4. FRIDAY JULY 3, 22:00.
Suited and booted. A wedge of Maiorescu's money in his pocket, a few lines of Colombian nose candy for later. Caramarin walked into the Centurion Casino. Said hello to the doormen on duty. He always felt a wave of anticipation as he entered. He only had to lose a bit; cash in his remaining chips and collect a cheque from the office to pass onto Maiorescu. Clean, washed money. But if he won, he could keep any winnings. Couldn't lose.
In the foyer he looked up at the gilt Roman statues. A nude, well muscled man with a cock like a horse locked in a clinch with a woman with water melons for breasts. God knows where they'd got it from. Probably from some deposed dictator's or oligarch's palace. The statue was in some sort of pillared temple structure. A pool with little fountains and living jewel koi carp surrounded the temple. Gamblers tossed coins or chips into the pool for luck. Caramarin wasn't any more superstitious than the next man. So he chucked in some kopecks anyway.
Twinkling lights like stars festooned the ceiling. Beyond the lobby, came the electronic jangling of the slots and behind the one-armed bandits were the games he liked to play.
He lost a little on the slots. Walked through to the roulette wheel and felt lucky. He usually played on the outside bets; red or black, odds or evens, high or low. Felt like better odds, especially if you weren't a greedy bastard. Placed some chips on odds. The ball spun round the wheel in a blur. Clicked and clacked then came to rest on evens. Can't win 'em all. So he slid more onto evens. This time the ball then stopped on odds. He laughed.
Third time lucky. This time, placed a neat stack of chips on odds. Thought stacking them neatly would bring him better luck. If he placed them better, maybe fortune would take more notice. You never know. Watched the croupier as she called for last bets.
There weren't too many playing tonight. Maybe they'd headed onto the nightclubs early. She smiled at him and seemed to give the ball an extra little flick as she spun it around the wheel. He watched the blur of numbers, watched it slow, the ball making its addictive clattering round the wheel. The wheel slowed, Caramarin saw the ball bounce from number to number, odd, even, odd, even, odd, lastly black twenty two.
He shrugged. Can't win every time. Was only Maiorescu's money anyway. He picked up the remaining chips to cash them in. Then the croupier smiled at him again. A more personal smile than the general all-purpose smile for the general punters.
"Try again, sir? Lady Luck loves a trier."
He'd not really noticed the girl while he was playing, he was concentrating so much on the wheel. He'd not seen her before so she must be new at the casino. She was wearing the casino's uniform of maroon blouse and waistcoat. Not the most flattering colour, but couldn't take away from her amazing green eyes. High cheekbones and full, generous lips under a wide forehead. She had dark hair, pinned back around her shoulders.
He turned to the table and smiled back.
"One more roll, sir? The night's young yet."
One reason Maiorescu sent Caramarin to the casino was that he trusted him. Trusted Caramarin not to steal the money or gamble it all away. He always stuck to Maiorescu's loss limit and when that was reached, he cashed his chips in then walked away. Yes, Caramarin enjoyed a bet but was in no way addicted to that rush.
But when the girl smiled, the devil in Caramarin woke up. Always had a weakness for a girl with a pretty face and a friendly smile. Got him into trouble more than once before and no doubt would drop him in the shit again in the future. But what the hell? You only live once. Let's go for it.
Carefully, he stacked some chips on odds as before. Had a bad feeling and raised his hand, then switched the pile onto evens. Put his hands into his trouser pockets before he could change his mind a second time. Have to go with your gut instincts. And then live with the decision.
When the few other players had placed their wagers, the girl sent the ball on its way. Gave it her special little flick. Followed it with his eyes, watched the reflected light bouncing off it. Eventually, it slowed, bouncing from number to number. Came to a stop on red nine. Fuck. Was in trouble now.
"Bad luck, sir."
"Not your fault," he said with a rueful little smile.
Caramarin thought for a moment. Should never have made that last bet. Maiorescu would hit the roof now he'd gone over his limit. But he wasn't too far over the limit and he could sort of get away with it. Maybe this once. If the gang head was in a good mood. The girl looked up at him with that heart stopping smile again.
Now Caramarin looked at his pile of chips. Of course, he still had a lot left. He cascaded some of them from hand to hand for a moment deep in thought. The devil in him won out. Before he could have second thoughts, stuck a pile on no, not odds or evens. Wasn't having any luck with them tonight. Put them on high numbers instead. Go for it.
Watched the steel ball on its journey. He had done a stupid thing with this bet. No way could he get away with losing this much. The lights and noises hurt his head now. The pressure inside was intense. Sweat prickled his armpits and trickled down his back.
Couldn't wait for the ball to stop but also at the same time dreading it stopping. He watched the ball make its rounds, slowing, descending to the numbered part of the wheel, clacking, passing the dread zero. Nerves on high edge. It finished on black thirty one.
Caramarin almost punched the air. He was all right again. In the clear. Now he was even. The girl looked at him.
"Are you all right, sir?" She had quite a low, sexy voice. A local Odessa accent. And a sexy smile to go with her voice.
"Sure," he said. "No problems."
Almost before he could think about it, Caramarin pushed a large number of chips onto high numbers again. Well, it was working better than odds or evens. If he lost this, he would be in bad trouble with Maiorescu, a severe beating would be the least of his problems. But if he won, he'd be sorted for a while.
The croupier looked at him. Called for last bets. Other punters watching the high roller. The ball sped on its way round the rim of the wheel. Caramarin watched it. Didn't know what had come over him to make this bet. Not like he was a greedy man. Which is why Maiorescu trusted him. Actually, he did know. Always had a weakness for a pretty face.
The ball dropped down to the numbers, started to make its unhurried way to its final resting place, slowing, slowing, clicking. Couldn't believe it. Black twenty. He'd won. Elation and relief flooded through him. Yes. This is what living is about. Taking risks, living on the edge. And winning.
The croupier pushed a large stack of multi coloured chips over to him. Caramarin gave her two green chips as thanks. She looked up and smiled.
"If my luck's still in, you'll be free for a drink later on?" he asked quietly.
The girl faced him. "Don't you work on the doors here sometimes?"
"Sometimes. Not been a while, though. Name's Caramarin."
"All right, then. I finish at twelve. I'll see you by the staff entrance?"
His luck was in a second time, then. Grinning to himself, Caramarin decided to put temptation out of reach before he did something stupid. Something that would earn him that beating. He nodded to the girl, then carried his chips over to the cash office and picked up a cheque for Maiorescu. Even after that, still had a decent amount left for himself. Tucking the cheque and his cash into a pocket, he wandered over to the restaurant then went to have a word with the doormen.
Thought he might have a few more bets on the slots, see if his lucky streak was holding out but stepped outside into the night air. A sea breeze from the Black Sea cooled his urge to gamble on. However, his luck was still with him. On the doors were a couple of men he got on with. Tailpipe and VCR stood talking.
VCR was a man who looked like time stopped in 1989. He wore his hair in a mullet and teamed it with a straggly blond moustache. His tux jacket sleeves were rolled up to the elbows showing gym toned muscles. A thick gold chain around his neck went with gold knuckle duster coin rings.
"Who's the new girl? On the roulette wheel?" he asked.
"The short one? With the nice rack?" asked VCR.
"Yeah. Dark hair. Bright green eyes."
"Who's looking at the eyes when she's got those great tits?" said Tailpipe.
"You've got a one track mind, comrade. Make with the name."
"Valeriya something or other. Why the interest?"
"I'm meeting her later."
"You lucky bastard. I've been tryin' all week and got nowhere. Beginning to think she's a lesbo or something," said Tailpipe.
"Just haven't got my animal magnetism, comrade." Caramarin grinned.
"Yeah. It's a shame as I told her my girlfriend died recently."
Caramarin was taken aback. He'd been out with Tailpipe and Tamila several times. He'd heard nothing. He gripped his friend's arm.
"I'm sorry, comrade. What happened?"
Tailpipe looked sad.
"Well, she was on her death bed at home. She looked up at me and said she had a confession she needed to make before she passed on. She wanted to get it off her chest. 'Go ahead, love', I said.
"'Well,' she said, 'I've been very bad. I made love to your Dad, your brothers, the best man at our wedding. Even the entire reserve team of the Chornomorets Odessa Football Club.'
"'I know,' I said. 'That's why I poisoned you.'"
Caramarin looked at Tailpipe and then all three men burst into laughter.
"Good one, comrade. Had me going there."
Caramarin glanced at his watch.
"Catch you later, comrades. Oh, do us a favour and call us a cab."
"You're a cab," said Tailpipe.
He shook hands then walked over to the staff entrance and waited. Valeriya came out only a few minutes after twelve.
Tailpipe was right. She was quite short, maybe one metre fifty-eight. But she was wearing heels and had piled her dark hair onto her head to give her some extra centimetres. She'd wrapped a light jacket over her uniform.
"You should have carried on," she said. "Maybe you could've broken the bank."
"No, I think I've done better than that tonight."