June 2011
Brian Beckwith counted the steps as he ascended the narrow staircase. Some may have argued that he was being paranoid, but he had learned that to stay at the pinnacle of his trade it was in no way paranoid to want to live a little longer and with all of his limbs intact. Not only was he concerned about a quick getaway from the building, his driver, Clive, had already taken a close look at the quickest way out of town, and would, at a pre-arranged signal from Brian, have the car at the door with the engine running.
As he entered the room he gave it a cursory glance. As such rooms go it was quite unremarkable: perhaps a little smaller than most and maybe a little more tired and gloomy. Next to the door was the obligatory settee which was almost completely filled by the obligatory rather large gentleman who would obviously take no part in the day's play – unless, that is, an interesting problem developed, which he would quickly and interestingly resolve.
In the centre of the room, at the small round table covered with green baize, were sat two men, who at first glance appeared almost as unremarkable as the room itself and who, Brian thought, he might possibly be able to disregard completely. The shorter man of the remaining two turned to examine the newcomer with a look that registered caution in Brian's perceptive mind. With his black hair neatly parted and gelled, he was clearly cultivating the appearance of a bird of prey, a vicious raptor.
But the fourth man . . . the fourth man was indescribably worse . . . Brian's heart skipped a beat – he looked just like the devil incarnate! Black suit, black shirt, black tie and pure white hair tied back in a short pony tail. On the carefully manicured middle finger of his right hand was a ring – heavy, but intricately delicate – a grinning Platinum skull with bright red rubies glistening in the eye sockets; but behind his own frame-less half-moon spectacles the man himself had blue eyes – glacier blue – bottomless pits, cold and unforgiving. Brian had to mentally shake himself free from the hypnotic depths of those merciless eyes.
He was, of course, well aware of protocol, which dictated that you should introduce yourself first to the top dog . . . and so he deliberately shook the hand of the surprised hired muscle on the settee, flashing him a wide grin, stating heartily how pleased he was to meet him, before turning to the two at the table. When he finally reached the apex of the room's small hierarchical triangle, he held out his hand to the raptor, asking, 'And you must be Mr Price?' noting with satisfaction the undisguised irritation in the face as he shook his hand enthusiastically.
But the devil viewed him throughout with complete and almost divine indifference; as he extended his bejewelled hand, a faint mirthless smile crossed his lips – the type of sympathetic smile that a shark normally reserves for a wounded mackerel. Brian was rarely ever intimidated, particularly at the green tables, but this man was evil; even the body language of the other men seemed to suggest that they considered him to be dangerously different.
All the time as he passed around the room making his introductions, Brian appeared to be casually taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, but in reality he was meticulously scanning the meagre interior for additional doors, mirrors, windows, and for any other place that a pinhole camera could be concealed. It all appeared to be perfectly clean, but he selected what he considered to be the most innocuous wall and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled out the chair which had its back to that apparently safe zone.
Brian comfortably lost the first hand – he had raised his own cards to his face and studied them with owlish deliberation, carefully concealing them from potential prying eyes; in this game you mistrusted what you couldn't see infinitely more than that which you could – then he had deliberately broken up a promising hand with a discard of three and had held a pair of nines.
He carefully lost the next couple of hands, but always with a resigned smile – he could play the gullible simpleton to perfection. He was already well over a hundred pounds down when it was finally his turn to deal. Clumsy fingers fumbled the cards, which, instead of riffling together with a satisfying whisper, scattered explosively across the green baize. Brian grinned nervously at his fellow players as he frantically scrabbled the cards back into a stack again.
Across the table, the devil watched with intense and disturbing interest.
Brian resorted to a more conventional shuffle and then, painfully slowly and purposefully, dealt the five hands.
Not one of the other players caught the subtle change in the idiot grin; the brief hint of steely contempt that flashed across his deep brown eyes. He discarded and drew three cards officially, but, from the voluminous depths of his sleeves, these invisibly morphed into three far more acceptable unofficial cards: five spades, all of them beautiful, nestled within his fingers – 10, Jack, Queen, King and Ace.
Across the table the devil was watching with his head to one side, a quizzicle smile hardening on his lips. For an instant that smile transformed into the gaping yawn of the skull, ruby red eyes emblazoning their fury. But it was all over in an instant, and Brian gasped, wondering whether he had actually seen what he had thought he had seen, or whether the heat of the moment had distorted his vision.
But he had to concentrate; this was the point of no return, there was only one way to go. He entered the bidding with the same reckless abandon he had previously shown when he had been holding only a pair of Jacks or even a King high; but he alone knew that this time was for real – it was show time!
As the bidding climbed progressively higher, the table groaned under the weight of gaudy plastic chips in its centre. The man on his left was the first to fold and the raptor quickly followed. The third man stayed with them for a while, but finally even he dropped his cards onto the table and shook his head.
That just left the white pony tail.
Brian smiled nervously as he pushed another three fifty pound chips into the huge pile. His opponent was staring impassively back at him but Brian could feel his soul being sucked into the depths of those eternal blue oceans. Finally breaking free, his eyes widened in horror as calloused hands with skeletal fingers embedded with sallow hooked claws slid six of the purple chips forward and the devil said, 'I think we would like to see what you consider so valuable.'
Brian knew the enormous pot was his for the taking, but, to his surprise, the devil was now smiling; his jaundiced, feral eyes glowing malevolently. He felt the room spinning giddily around his head; sparks coruscating up his fingers as his cards, white hot and pulsating, dropped unaided from his hands onto the green baize. 'Mr Beckwith,' the voice was mausoleum deep and terminally foreboding, 'in this house five of those are of no value at all.'
Brian looked back at his 'winning' hand lying open before him and drew his terminal breath in a hoarse, choking gasp as he saw five gaily painted jokers laughing up at him.