RainStorm
short escalator
up to the main gaming hall. There it was, triple-distilled, a circular
room of perhaps a thousand square meters, jammed tight
with thick crowds shifting and sliding like platelets in a congealing
bloodstream; high ceilings almost hidden above clouds of spot-lit,
exhaled tobacco smoke; a cacophony of intermingled shouts of
delight and cries of despair.
Keiko wanted to play the slot machines, which was fine, freeing
me as it did to roam the baccarat rooms in search of Belghazi. I
gave her a roll of Hong Kong dollars and told her I'd be back in a
few hours. More likely, if things went according to plan, I would
go straight to the hotel. In which case, when we hooked up again,
I'd tell her that I'd looked for her but couldn't find her, and had assumed
that she'd gone back ahead of me.
I set out for the stairs that would take me out of the low-stakes
pit and up to the high rollers' rooms above. I passed rows of pensioners,
each mechanically communing with a slot machine, and I
thought of pigeons taught to peck a lever in exchange for a random
reward. Next, several interchangeable roulette tables, the troupe
hovering around them younger than the slot players they would
eventually become, their jaws set, eyes shining in cheap ecstasy, lips
moving in silent entreaty to the selfsame gods that even at the utterance
of these foolish prayers continued to torment their worshipers
with Olympian caprice.
I bought chips with four hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars-- about sixty thousand U.S. I'd already squeezed Kanezaki for that
much and more in "expenses"--the disbursements of which he had
complained earlier. Then I wandered from room to room, never
actually going inside, until I found what I was looking for.
Outside the Lisboa's most exclusive VIP room, on the fifth
floor, the highest in the casino, were the two bodyguards, flanking
the entrance. Belghazi must have felt sufficiently safe inside not to
bother himself arguing about the "no spectators" rule. And sure,
the guards could effectively monitor the entrance this way, and deal
appropriately with anyone they deemed suspicious.
Unfortunately for them, I'm not a suspicious-looking guy. And
their presence told me exactly where to go.
I walked right past them and into the room. Only one of the
three baccarat tables was in play. The rest were empty, save for their
dealers, of course, who stood with postures as crisp as the starched
collars of their white shirts, ready for the players who would surely
drift in as the evening deepened into night; and for a few attractive
Asian women whom I made as shills, there to attract passing high
rollers with their bright smiles and plunging necklines.
I glanced over at the active table. There they were, Belghazi and
the blonde, both dressed tastefully and a bit more stylishly than the
other players: Belghazi in a white shirt, open at the neck, and navy
blazer; the blonde in a white silk blouse and black bolero. Most of
the fourteen player slots were taken, but Belghazi and his girlfriend
had empty seats to either side of them. They were the only foreigners
in the room, and had probably taken the isolated seats so as
not to offend anyone who might consider a foreigner's presence unlucky.
I didn't have such qualms. Quite the contrary tonight, in fact.
I'd been in this room before, and had seen bets of as high as one
hundred thousand U.S. for a single hand. Some of the patrons here,
I knew, might gamble all night, and on into the next night. A few
of Belghazi's cohorts, their eyes glassy, their complexions pasty beneath
the chandelier lighting, looked as though they might have
done just that.
The dealer turned over the player's hand and cried out, "Natural
eight!" An excited murmur picked up around the table: eight
was a "natural," and could be beaten only by a nine. The round
would be decided based on the cards already on the table--nothing
new could be dealt. With almost painful deliberation, the dealer
next turned over the bank's cards, calling out, "Natural nine!" as he
did so. There was an outburst of cheers and curses, the former by
those who had bet on the bank's hand that round, the latter by
those who had bet on the player's. As the dealer passed the cards
across the table to the other two dealers, who began paying off the
winning bets, many of the players dipped their heads and began
marking up the pads the casino had provided, attempting to
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