All the money and the cards were still lying in a heap towards the middle of the baize. Deefy and the other worker had moved their chairs back the way and were conducting a conversation behind the dealer.
Tammas had borrowed the following morning’s Daily Record from a man and was reading the back pages. After a bit he turned to the racing, and noticed the workers now leaning to take in the cards. They began shuffling for a new shoe. He shut the newspaper and returned it to the man.
Okay, said the dealer. Much you wanting son?
Much have I got?
Hundred and sixteen.
Tammas frowned at the money on the baize.
The dealer smiled: Want me to count it? He sniffed and began to do so immediately.
It’s alright.
But the dealer continued, sorting it into wads of £20. A hundred and sixteen it is. Much you wanting.
See what you can get on.
Okay. . The dealer paused and smiled before saying: Right you are lads, quite a bit to go now.
A few grunts greeted this. Then a voice saying: How much exactly Jake?
Eh. . The dealer glanced up. It was Erskine back.
Much is it? For a banko.
The dealer glanced sideways: You sure you dont want something out son?
Eh naw, eh what about the workers maybe? Give them the odd six quid. And the puggy as well? What about it?
Fuck the puggy! The dealer grinned and extracted six singles and passed them to Deefy. Then he smiled at Erskine. You’ve got a hundred and ten.
Erskine nodded. He had taken a thick wad of notes from his trouser pocket and began counting. But one of the two men who had lost most of the last bet suddenly stood up. Wait a minute, he cried, this is fucking ridiculous. I just done a forty there! A forty — and you’re trying to tell me I’ve not to get a chance to get my money back!
The dealer stared at him.
Fuck sake Jake!
A silence followed. Then Erskine said: Fair enough. Let them get as much on as they like — I’m no bothering.
Well it’s up to you, said the dealer. But as far as I’m concerned you’ve bankoed the bet. And a banko’s a banko in this club.
Erskine shrugged.
The other man nodded and sat down again. He and his mate counted exactly £40 out and deposited it on the baize. Deefy quickly covered it with £40 from the bank. The dealer called: Okay lads, get the money down!
And wee bets were laid and covered, some of them coin stacks which Deefy and the other worker checked through methodically. As soon as there was a pause the dealer said: Finished. That’s it.
Seventy two quid, said Deefy.
Seventy two, called the dealer.
Erskine nodded: It’s a bet.
The dealer stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and he dealt quickly, sliding the cards out from the shoe, keeping his right forefinger on each. One of the punters at the front took the cards and kept them face down, neither looking at them nor letting anyone else look at them; he passed them up to Erskine who asked for another. The dealer flipped him a 9, then he glanced at Tammas. Tammas turned his two cards over, two 2’s. Beat it, he said.
Erskine shook his head. I cant; I cant beat it. He shrugged and tossed in his cards.
Fucking hell, muttered somebody.
And somebody else sighed. Apart from that it was silent for several seconds.
Tammas put his hand in his pocket to get his cigarettes, and noticed he had one still burning in the ashtray, but it had almost burned down onto the tip. He tapped the ash off then ground it out. A cigarette landed beside his hand. It had been thrown by the dealer. Ta, he said.
The dealer nodded. He turned to the other worker and whispered something to him, and the man got up off his seat and walked ben the snacks’ room. Then he turned back to Tammas again, and he gestured at the piles of money and pursed his lips. Take it son, he said. Unless. . he glanced up towards Erskine.
You joking! Erskine smiled. No me Jake. The boy’s a machine.
The dealer nodded; he glanced briefly round at the other punters and shook his head. He pointed at the money again. On you go son. . they’re finished.
Tammas nodded.
Both the dealer and Deefy helped him tidy all the money, separating it out into the different denominations. There were a few pounds in silver coins. Tammas took the notes and left the rest lying. Eh. . he shrugged at the dealer, indicating it. The workers, eh. . he shrugged again.
The dealer nodded. He sorted out £5 in 50 pence pieces and gave it to Deefy, leaving the rest in the centre of the baize. Okay lads! He called: Okay lads. . there’s about six quid here for the first Jack, the first Jack for six quid!
Most of the previous punters and most of the spectators all returned to the table.
Tammas left his seat quickly, stuffing the notes into his trouser pocket and keeping his hand inside.
In the other room Erskine was standing chatting to the doorman and the woman who served behind the counter. The very boy, he grinned. Hey son, d’you play poker?
Just a wee bit.
Ah well that’s where I’m headed the now if you’re interested. You’re welcome to tag along.
Eh, naw, I’ll no bother. Thanks but.
Suit yourself, suit yourself. Erskine smiled. I’ll see you then, cheerio.
Tammas nodded and continued to the door. The doorman was there before him and he followed him along the short corridor.
A girl came from the Ladies toilet and she looked at him as she passed.
Thanks for letting us in, he said to the doorman.
No bother son.
This is eh. . Tammas gave him £5 and walked off but when the door shut he began trotting. And when the reached the end of the lane he started to run quite fast, not stopping till he saw a taxi for hire, and he signalled the driver.
•••
He woke up suddenly. The curtains were not drawn and the room was bright. The alarm clock had stopped. He got out of bed, crossed to the window and peered out. Quite a few folk were on the street. He turned to the cupboard, tugged on the bottom drawer. The thick wad lay in the corner beneath his socks. He took it out and counted it, threw it on the bed; he dressed in moments, grabbed the money and raced downstairs and along to the betting shop. It was approaching 1.30. The first race of the day was about to begin. Tammas scanned the board, strode to the wall to study the formpages; but when the next show of betting came through he went to the side of the counter and beckoned across Phil, the elderly man who worked there as cashier on Saturdays.
I want the second best to eighty quid, he said quietly.
Phil nodded. He walked off behind the partition to where the manager was. When he returned he accepted the money without comment. Tammas strolled to a radiator to stand. A guy he knew approached and started to chat about the race. He had stuck 50 pence on the same horse. Tammas nodded when he told him this, then he shook his head and stared at the floor. Before the race was due off he left the place and trotted along the couple of blocks to another bookie. The race was over when he arrived. The favourite had won and his selection was not in the first three. The boardman ripped the page down and stuck up the next. Tammas called: Hey what happened to the second best there?
The boardman shook his head, spat onto the floor. Never in the hunt, he said.
Tammas lighted a cigarette. Another show of betting began and he went to one of the formpages but without looking at it he turned away and left, and he hailed the first available taxi.
John was still in bed; his mother led Tammas into the living room. About five minutes later John entered, wearing a dressing gown; he slumped onto an armchair, swung his legs over its side. Tammas threw him a cigarette, gave him the burning matchstick.