“I can’t be both?”
They laughed, and Nicholai ordered another round of drinks.
“You seem to know what’s going on,” he said.
“It’s my business.”
“I’m looking for a group of French film actresses,” Nicholai said.
“Who isn’t?”
“They arrived last week,” Nicholai said. “You wouldn’t know which hotel they’re at, would you?”
“Would I know?” De Lhandes asked. “I’ve parked myself across the street like a dog, hoping for a glimpse. The Eden Roc.”
Nicholai wanted to set his drink down and go directly to the hotel. She was
“Do you have an interest?” De Lhandes asked.
“Same as yours.”
“Not the same,” De Lhandes observed. “You have a chance, my friend. By the golden pubes of the village virgin, you have a chance.”
They finished their drinks and crossed the street to Le Grand Monde.
The casino was in a courtyard protected by a high stucco wall topped with strands of barbed wire. Outside, Binh Xuyen troopers patrolled on foot and in Jeeps with mounted machine guns. Guards at the entry gate stopped and gave them cursory searches for weapons or explosives.
“Saigon these days,” De Lhandes observed, his arms raised to shoulder height to allow the guard to pat him down. The guard nodded De Lhandes in, then searched Nicholai and passed him through. That accomplished, they went through broad doors into the enormous white building.
High-ceilinged and lit by chandeliers, the casino was a decent attempt at its progenitors on the Riviera and in Monaco. The thirty-odd gaming tables were covered in rich green felt, the furnishings, mock fin de siecle, were clean and well kept up.
The crowd, save for being predominantly Asians, could have been from the south of France, dressed expensively in the latest styles. The working girls, and there were many, were suitably muted in their nevertheless seductive attire, and the wives, girlfriends, and mistresses of the well-heeled men gracefully ignored their presence. White-jacketed Chinese croupiers worked quickly and efficiently, while larger men, obviously security, stood in the corners keeping watchful eyes.
The large room was filled with excited chatter, shouts of victory and curses of loss, the clatter of dice, the clack of chips, and the spinning of roulette wheels. A cloud of cigarette smoke hovered like protective coverage over the triumphs and disappointments.
Haverford sat at a roulette table. Giving Nicholai only the slightest glance, he pushed some chips onto the table and watched the wheel spin.
He won.
Bay Vien, resplendent in a sharkskin suit and a beautiful Chinese woman on his arm, stood and watched the action.
“Who’s that?” Nicholai asked.
“Bay Vien,” De Lhandes answered. “Boss of the Binh Xuyen. He and Bao Dai own the joint. Would you like to meet him?”
“Not especially,” Nicholai said.
“You will, sooner or later,” De Lhandes said, “if you’re going to do any business in Saigon.”
“Right now,” Nicholai said, “the only business I’m going to do in Saigon is at the roulette table.”
They went to the cashier’s window and purchased chips, then walked back to the table where De Lhandes promptly lost on his first try.
“By the hirsute sack of Saint Anthony!” De Lhandes cursed. “By the inexhaustible appetites of the daughters of the Dordogne! By the unspeakable perversions of the sisters of-”
“Not going well?” Nicholai inquired.
“I am condemned to a chastity born of penury,” De Lhandes answered.
Nicholai stepped up to the layout and watched the game. It seemed quite simple – players made bets based on the ball landing on a number from one to thirty-six. They had to choose to make difficult “inside” wagers on a specific number or a cluster of numbers, or more likely yet less remunerative “outside” bets on the even odds of the ball landing on red or black. The combinations of types of wagers seemed infinite, but a child observing the game could readily discern that the odds were always in favor of the house.
“I hope you have better luck than me,” Haverford said. He looked a little glum, a dwindling stack of chips on the table in front of him. He offered his hand. “I’m Ellis Haverford, by the way.”
“Michel Guibert,” Nicholai said, then added, “And what do you do in Saigon, Mr. Haverford?”
“Ellis,” Haverford answered. “I’m with the United States Information Service.”
“Do you dispense information,” Nicholai asked, “or acquire it?”
“First the latter and then the former,” Haverford said, enjoying the game. “And you? What brings you to Saigon?”
“The weather.”
Haverford laughed. “The ferocious heat or the stultifying humidity?”
“First the latter and then the former.”
“Are you going to try your luck?” Haverford asked.
“At…”
“The roulette wheel.”
“I might take a spin,” Nicholai said.
He started conservatively, placing a modest two-piastre “outside” bet on black, and won. Leaving his winnings on the layout, he added chips and placed three more bets on black, won, and then shifted to red.
The croupier spun the wheel, the ball rattled around and landed on 27.
Red.
Two more reds and a single shift back to black later, Nicholai had acquired a tidy stack of chips. A small crowd, driven by the herd instinct of gamblers toward a “run,” had gathered around the table. One of them was Bay Vien himself, who stood at the far end and regarded Nicholai with a look of slightly jaded curiosity.
Nicholai merely glanced back at him, but wondered when, and if, he would make good on his promise of payment.
Nicholai moved his chips onto the square marked 10. “Straight up,” he said to the croupier.
“That’s a thousand dollars, man,” Haverford said.
“Thirty-seven to one,” Nicholai said. “I’m aware.”
It seemed obvious.
Several people hastily placed bets on black; a few of the braver ones put money on a split between 9 and 10. The doubters among them laid chips on red.
The ball landed on 10.
“How did you know?” Haverford asked.
“Extraordinary,” De Lhandes muttered, “by the pope’s wrinkled scrotum…”
Nicholai shifted the pile of his winnings in a square layout on four numbers, 17, 18, 20, and 21.
“Pick them up, by the puckered anal cavity of-”
“Don’t be foolish, Michel.”
Nicholai looked across the table at Bay, who merely smiled, seemingly unbothered that Guibert was beating the house. Then again, Nicholai thought, he
“Corner,” Nicholai said. If the ball landed on any one of the four numbers, he would win.
Bets were quickly laid down for and against him.
