‘Definitely them,’ said Hod, then changing the subject sharply, ‘Here we are!’
Benny the Bullfrog’s casino stood inside one of the New Town’s old Georgian buildings. At one stage it had been a town house. These days, you needed to be multinational to get the keys to a place like this.
Hod stuck his chest out and frowned at the ape on the doors. A classic pintdown man, he frowned back. Good to know they treat you like shit if you’re well-off too.
Inside a scrawny-necked Victoria Beckhamalike, bling a go go, greeted us with an elaborate smile and handshake onslaught. Hod got air kisses. It looked to be histrionics, a job to rival Rada’s finest.
‘Party of three, absolutely delighted to welcome you, and if I may ask the guests to sign in.’
In the slot for name and address, I opted for Mr and Mrs Smith. Amy smiled, gripped my arm tightly. I saw she still harboured fantasies of us re-enacting the potter’s wheel scene from Ghost.
‘Right, let’s hit the bar,’ said Hod.
‘You’ll get no arguments from me.’
My craving for gin had passed. Went for a J amp;B over ice.
‘So what do you do now?’ I asked Hod.
‘What the big wheel does — circulate.’
He moved to the tables, shoulders set hard, poker face on. A look that said, ‘I’ve worked fucking hard to deserve my place here, have you?’
I wished I could say the same thing. The words fish and water sprang to mind. The casino was a league or two above my own.
I’d heard the late Australian billionaire Kerry Packer had been in a casino once when some Texan oilman started mouthing off about his millions.
‘So, how much are you worth?’ asked Packer.
‘Oh, about a hundred million,’ said the oilman.
‘Really?’ said Packer. ‘I’ll toss you for it!’
Beat that for a fuck you.
I felt a tug on my arm, turned to see Amy at my side.
‘I’m going to look about,’ she said.
‘Ah, no. Don’t think so.’
She stuck her head to the side, rolled her eyes at me. ‘I’m a big girl.’
Thought, ‘Who’s gonna argue with that?’
‘Well, be good.’
‘And if I can’t be good?’
‘Just be good.’
I returned to the bar, ordered another J amp;B. I tried to get a handle on the place. It looked plush, first time I’d seen walls carpeted. And the punters certainly had plenty of poppy. A mixture of old Edinburgh and parvenu trash. A lot of green and tweeds clashing with the Prada set. Champagne in full flow all around, raised voices. I eavesdropped.
‘Another bottle of Bolly, darling?’
‘Yaw-yaw…’
‘Oh moy Gawd… Oh moy Gawd!’
‘What is it, darling?’
‘Kitten heels with culottes, darling.’
‘Oh, that’s so last season!’
Felt my brain softening, more than it had already. Phone suddenly went off. Saved by the bell.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, I’m sorry to call so late, but-’
I didn’t recognise her voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘Oh, of course, my name’s McClair. I’m with social services.’
‘Uh-huh, and who are you looking for?’
‘Ehm, is that Mr Dury?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. Is there some kind of problem?’
Silence on the line, then: ‘It’s about the remains of, Mr Milo Whittle.’
To hear his name again thumped at my heart. ‘Milo, yes… God, yes — his remains.’
‘Mr Dury, you seem to be the only contact we have. Are you family of some sort?’
‘No, I’m not family. I’m, eh, all he had though.’
‘In that case, will you be claiming the remains, Mr Dury?’
I felt my heart freeze over, my mouth fell open. The sight of that heap of ashes would stay with me to my dying day.
‘Mr Dury, are you still there?’
‘Eh, yeah… yes, I’m still here.’
‘It’s, well, the remains have been released now. There will have to be arrangements made.’
I felt my mind slowly clicking over. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘We can take care of the funeral expenses, if needs be.’
That terrible expression ‘pauper’s grave’ entered my thoughts.
‘Eh, no.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’ll take care of it. The funeral and so on.’
‘That’s very generous, Mr Dury. Are you fully aware of the costs?’
‘Fuck the costs. I’m sorry, I mean, I’ll manage.’
‘Well, we’ll be taking him to the crematorium soon, so…’
‘That’s fine, I’ll get down there now.’
‘I think tomorrow would be better.’
‘Yes, look, tomorrow it is then.’
‘Okay, Mr Dury. Goodbye.’
My legs buckled, standing became difficult. I summoned the courage to order another whisky. I threw it over, sensed right away I’d reached the magic number.
My blood thumped in my veins as I headed for the cashier.
I threw down all the money Col had given me, said, ‘Change that.’
‘How would you like it, sir?’
‘What?’
‘Hundreds, twenties, tens.’
‘Fuck do I care?’
As I headed for the roulette wheel Bobby Darin sang ‘Moon River’. God, my mother used to play that. The past seemed like happier days to me now.
Put a pile of chips on black.
Croupier spun the wheel. ‘No more bets, please.’
As I watched the ball jump Bobby Darin changed his tune, started on ‘Call Me Irresponsible’.
Like I needed that.
38
As I watched the wheel, my guts turned over. I’d been throwing money around like one of those Indian statues with four arms. It had to end. It might be soon.
I watched the ball begin to slow, popping in and out of the little brass slats. I couldn’t take it, turned away.
Amy appeared at my side. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Is it black?’
