Once their coats were handed over to an attendant, they headed up the stairs. Joe didn’t feel nervous or apprehensive. He was excited.
“The club is open twenty-four hours a day,” Alistair told him. “It’s designed to look like an English country mansion.”
“Does it?”
Alistair laughed. “It does. I forgot for a moment you’ve never been inside one. What was your home like in Kabul?”
“Mud and stone. But pretty substantial. No electricity or running water. I showered at work.”
“A very different life to here.”
“Yes.”
Joe stuck close to Alistair who occasionally rested his hand on his back. He kept quiet unless he was introduced to someone and shook hands when they were offered. Joe was the youngest person there, and no doubt the poorest. He drank everything in. The clothes people were wearing, the scarcity of women, the way those who worked there were treated and spoken to, how the thick carpet swallowed footsteps and most of all, the way in which he and Alistair were watched and judged.
Alistair chatted with a few people. He seemed to be constantly attentive. Did you ever retire as a spy?
Those playing were mostly men, though there were a couple of women. They were watching each other, almost all pretending the money didn’t mean anything, that they didn’t mind losing. But the money meant everything to Joe. He didn’t want to lose, though he knew he wouldn’t win every game.
“We’ll just walk around seeing what’s what.” Alistair already had a whisky in his hand. Joe had declined a drink.
He stuck close to Alistair, watched, listened and learned. Alistair quietly told him the value of the chips by the colour and Joe registered how high the bets were on a couple of tables. He wanted to join in. His mind was counting, tracking patterns, watching the dealers and noting luck and skill among the players. There was always an element of luck in any of these games, but skill could twist things in your favour in poker and blackjack where decisions and strategy mattered.
“Tell me when you’re ready to sit down,” Alistair said softly. “May I suggest the table to our left?”
“Are you going to play too?” he asked Alistair.
“Not today. Not now I’ve seen what you can do.”
“Okay. I’m ready. Poker. That table is fine.”
“A seat will come up soon.”
How did he know? But he was right and Joe slid onto the chair. The men around the table eyed him curiously. Joe just smiled. Alistair had moved away but he was watching. Joe didn’t miss that the man whose seat he’d taken had quietly said something to Alistair before he walked away.
The first few hands went as Joe had mentally predicted. He was still learning, seeing the way his opponents played, those who were cautious, those who were not. Then Joe made a big win. The dealer had hesitated just for a fraction of a second before pushing the stacks of chips his way.
Now he had everyone’s attention. One thing Joe had quickly realised was that confidence was everything. He wasn’t thinking about winning, even though that was the whole point, he was considering which cards to play, which cards others were likely to have. He noticed hesitation by the player on his left. He knew the older man opposite was bluffing more often than not. The long-haired man kept his face blank but his thumbs twitched when he had a good hand.
Joe was offered a drink again and refused it politely. Alistair had told him not to be too greedy, too quickly, and Joe heeded that advice. He understood about avoiding visibility. Winning too much, too fast made him visible. But he had respect now from the other players.
Alistair had also told him that once he started to win larger amounts, someone would be monitoring the table closely in case he was cheating. They’d review the play on surveillance cameras, noting his betting patterns and strategy, whether Joe was doing something specific that gave him an edge. Alistair had suggested he swap to blackjack if he noticed the dealer slowing down the play.
Joe did swap. But only because he was bored and he’d likely won enough at that particular table. His ability to count cards gave him an advantage in blackjack, but he’d need to stop before that was noticed, or before they started more frequent manual shuffles. Online blackjack was no good for him because they automatically shuffled the packs. The key to winning at gambling was to stop before he was asked to stop. He suspected that was less likely in a club like this. Alistair had said he’d tap him on the shoulder when it was time to leave.
He moved to a poker table with higher stakes and for the first time felt a surge of anxiety about the amount he was betting. He didn’t want to lose the money he’d just won. But he didn’t lose.
When the tap came, Joe rose to his feet. He’d been about to get up anyway. One of the players was cheating. He started to move away without taking his winnings, until Alistair reminded him.Stupid.He had so many chips, one of the staff had to help him. Alistair took one of the chips and spun it over to the dealer.
“I’ll get your money sorted out. Sit and have a drink by the fire,” Alistair told him.
The moment Joe dropped onto a chair, a waiter pounced. “Drink, sir?”
“Do you have something sweet that isn’t alcoholic, please?”
The man nodded and as he walked away, another guy sat in the chair next to him.
“Gerald Ashford.” He had a glass holding an amber liquid in one hand and held out the other.
