Greyhound for Breakfast

The Band of Hope

Oanny was getting pushed by some cunt, right on the shoulder, pushing him. Cut it out, he grunted then opened his eyes. Fat Stanley was grinning down at him. Alec’s done the business, he was saying, Come on! Wake up!

The chemmy had finished right enough, the chairs been shifted back from the big horseshoe table and everybody stood about the place chatting. Across at the empty fireplace Alec was in company with a couple of people. Oanny closed his eyes again but opened them immediately. Fat Stanley had said he would be back in a minute and was making his way towards the serving hatch in the snacks area, walking in that funny way he had, as if wanting not to be seen but knowing he was going to get found out. He paused to say something to Alec and then to Victor — Victor with the fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, on the fringes of the company as usual and trying hard to look lackadaisical about everything, but anybody who knew him could tell his nerves were just as shot to fuck as ever.

The smell of soup.

Last orders had already been given in to Ellen and some of the guys were sitting with their bowls, dipping in slices of unbuttered bread, slurping quickly in case the saturated bits fell onto the table top. The place was full of tables. The horseshoe one where the chemmy was played but a great many weer ones too, and not all of them were circular. In the snacks area two huge bench-type tables stood side by side and about forty or more bodies could have sat roundabout in comfort. Not a single table was covered. They all looked ancient. Initials, slogans and dates and stuff had been knifed into them, grime was embedded in the carvings. If you dug in a fingernail it would bring out thick lengths of it. An in-joke circulated: if you were described as ‘definitely hungry’ it meant you had been spotted eating a chunk of bread after it had fallen onto the top of the table.

Oanny was raking about in the pockets of his coat and jacket. Glancing beneath the table he saw a can of lager. It was open. He lifted it and gave it a shake, then swallowed the dregs without checking to see if it had been used as a makeshift ashtray. He shuddered and smacked his lips, wiped the corners of his mouth with his hand, began searching through his pockets again. It attracted Victor’s attention and he signalled he was needing a smoke. Victor frowned and kidded on he did not understand but then he drew a few steps over to him and muttered, You’ve fucking got some.

Naw I’ve no.

Aye you have.

Oanny resumed the search. He discovered a crushed packet in the hip pocket of his trousers. It was an unusual place to have put it. He shrugged and smiled briefly, flourishing the packet for Victor’s benefit, but Victor just looked away and returned to the empty fireplace. Ah fuck you too, grunted Oanny, taking out a cigarette. He had to straighten it before getting it alight.

Eventually the other three arrived back at the table together. When he gestured at the packet they each helped himself to a cigarette — even Fat Stanley although he was supposed to have stopped. Nobody spoke. Oanny sniffed through one nostril and made a display of peering at the ex-railway clock on the wall which had not ticked for years.

A sound came from Fat Stanley. And he seemed to be making a great effort not to smile. That way he puffed on the fag without inhaling. What a waste. Imagine giving your last fag to a cunt like him! Typical.

It dawned on Oanny: some kind of conspiracy was on the go. Alec had started smiling but not at anybody in particular. Fucking carry on. Oanny shook his head and grunted unintelligibly.

What’s up with you? asked Alec.

What’s up with me? Nothing up with me.

Glad to hear it. . A moment later Alec began to footer with the tip of his cigarette, showing great concentration, whistling under his breath. And Victor had turned his head away. Christ! Oanny shook his head again and said:

Okay. How much?

What?

Fine, aye, you’ve made me ask.

Ask what? said Alec. What you talking about?

Aw forget it, forget it.

Naw, I thought you said how much or something. . Alec’s forehead creased. Fat Stanley was now openly grinning. And Alec added: How much for what?

Oanny glared at him. The doggie in the fucking window! He dragged deeply on his cigarette and shifted on his chair, staring in the direction of the serving hatch in the snacks area. Any of yous got a drink left? he muttered.

You’ve done it all! replied Victor.

Aw aye, aye, I’ve done it all, on my tod, aye, I swallowed the whole fucking lot.

Near enough.

Oanny turned and he stared at Victor.

Naw, said Alec, if you hadnt fallen asleep you’d have seen for yourself.

Thanks.

Alec’s right, murmured Victor.

Is he? Aw good. Good for Alec. I’m glad to hear it. Who’s fucking talking to you anyway? It’s Alec I’m talking to, no fucking you. Alright? Oanny frowned across at Alec: All I asked was how much we lifted.

Fair enough. And all I’m asking is how much you put in the kitty?

What? Oanny sat back in the chair. How much had he put in the kitty? He stopped himself searching his pockets again. How much had he put in the kitty? In the kitty? How much? What kind of a fucking question was that? He glanced sideways at Alec. It could not be a real question. Surely no. He scowled and made as though to say something but his attention was diverted by Fat Stanley who had begun wheezing in that way he had.

Eh? asked Alec.

Oanny looked at him and grinned. Fuck off!

The other three laughed loudly. But it subsided soon and Alec lifted the crushed cigarette packet and attempted to get it standing upright. He tried again, watched by the other three. He began smiling. Fat Stanley was also smiling. Oanny snorted: I was beginning to think you’d lost your touch!

Were you! Alec grinned.

Can you blame me? I mean when was the last time you got us a turn?

Fuck the last time Oanny this is this time.

Aw aye, I know.

Victor nodded. You want to have seen it Oanny we cleaned the fucking school.

What?

Magic by the way. I’ve no seen anything like it for ages.

Every hand he was getting, continued Fat Stanley. Naturals all the time. Must’ve done near a 10-timer!

Eight just, said Alec.

Jesus! Oanny shook his head, smiled.

Two hundred and twenty. . Alec sniffed, inhaled and exhaled smoke.

Ho! Ya beauty! Oanny slapped the palms of his hands together, his eyebrows raised. But before anything further was said a minor disturbance broke out at the serving hatch. Somebody was bawling about soup. A drunk. Ellen had reached through from the kitchen, placing four bowls on the counter. That soup’s already ordered! she was shouting and then she slammed down the hatch. The drunk still stood there staring at the bowls of soup then staring at the folk sitting nearest him. One of them was Tommy Rollo, the guy who managed the place and dealt the cards. Away home son, he said.

Naw, said the drunk. It’s no fucking right so it’s no. I was wanting soup and she wouldnt give me it and then. . He waved his hand at the four bowls, just as Fat Stanley and Victor appeared at his elbow.

Pardon me, said Fat Stanley while he lifted two of the bowls and passed them to Victor, lifted the other two for himself. The pair of them returned the way they had come.

It’s no fucking right, muttered the drunk.

Mind your language, said Tommy Rollo.

The kitchen door opened and Ellen came out, pulling on her coat over her shoulders.

Heh missis, said the drunk, a bowl of soup eh?

Away and get your bloody wife to make it. What do you think I’m just here to cater to the likes of you! Ellen glared.

He looked at her. Aw hen, he said, no need for that.

She shook her head.

Look son, called Tommy Rollo, we’re no in the mood. Ellen stops when the cards stop. You should know that by now.

A few of the men at the two bench-type tables muttered their agreement. Ellen had walked to sit down on the chair next to Rollo and he poured her a glass of gin from a half bottle of Gordon’s. The drunk waited a moment then walked in a purposeful stride to the exit. As soon as he had gone an elderly man in a khaki-coloured trenchcoat cried: That was telling him Ellen!

She ignored him. She sipped at the gin, snapped open her handbag and got a tipped cigarette out, gave herself a light.

*

The rain was no longer falling when they came downstairs and out through the close onto the pavement but the ground was still wet and there were many puddles around. Considering the time of night the city was busy. But it was a Friday and young folk were heading home from the dancing or whatever. Few taxis were available and almost everybody seemed to be heading in the direction of George Square. From here the all-night buses departed hourly.

The Square itself was brightly lit. The Christmas decorations had yet to be dismantled. There was a lot of hustle and bustle. Queues of folk lined the different bus stops; some were in uniform, mainly transport workers going home off backshift. A couple of guys were touting razor blades and other things, plus the newpaper vendors. Girls stood alone, in couples, in groups, as also the youths watching them — some speaking in really loud voices. Now and again policemen strolled by in pairs, gloved hands behind their backs, occasionally pausing to chat to bus inspectors. A newspaper vendor exchanged words with Tommy Rollo and Ellen and he gave them a Daily Record without taking money for it. When Alec bought one he winked and said, I thought you’d have landed in Majorca by this time!

Alec smiled slightly, glanced at the headlines before folding the paper away into his side coat pocket. As they continued along the newspaper man called: Yous going up the Duke?

Aye! replied Fat Stanley.

Maybe see yous later on!

No if we see you first, grunted Oanny.

Fat Stanley grinned. He’s no that bad, he added.

Fucking idiot, muttered Oanny.

Alec had stepped on a bit and was walking with Rollo and Ellen. They cut down a side street and about twenty yards along a cobbled lane. It was quite dark, light glinting on the cobbles occasionally. Rollo pressed the doorbell and the chime rang out inside. When the door opened the guy behind it greeted Rollo and Ellen and smiled at Alec: Long time no see!

He ignored Fat Stanley and Victor. But when he noticed Oanny bringing up the rear he beckoned to him and whispered, The least bit of argy bargy and you’re out the fucking door.

What. .

You heard.

Oanny squinted at him. He saw Alec inside the lobby gesticulating at him and he shrugged and strolled past the doorman, accompanying Alec down the corridor and into the main gaming area of the club, but he continued on alone, into the wee room where the coffee and food were to be had. There was nobody inside it. He moved to one of the tables towards the centre, and he sighed as he sat down.

*

With the carpets and general decoration, plus the green baize on the tables, there was little resemblance between the Duke and the last place. But at one time you could have bought a full meal up there as well. Ellen kept complaining that the profit she made on the soup and bread barely repaid her outlay but maybe if she tried a wee bit harder, put on a variety — a plate of egg and chips for instance would not take much sweat — then she would get a better turn out it. And anyway, how much did it actually cost to set up a few big pots of soup! Pennies. The place had definitely deteriorated and it was Rollo himself who had to accept most of the blame. Rumour had it his licence was not going to be renewed and this was given as the reason how come he was no longer bothering. If it had been Oanny’s club he would have turfed out the riff-raff right away, and that was just for starters. Rollo never seemed to worry about the number of dossers who used the place. They only turned up for a heat and a bowl of soup and to see what the fuck they could beg on the side. What amused Oanny was the way they all materialized just in time for the last couple of hands at chemmy, especially if there had been the one big winner like this evening. This was because usually a big winner chipped a couple of quid — a fiver sometimes — into the centre of the horseshoe table once the play had finished. Rollo took the dough and he dealt a card to everybody standing round the table, first jack lifted the money. It was supposed to go to a genuine loser but half the time some fucking wino ended up getting it. Now apart from giving somebody the taxi-fare home the thing had another purpose, it was to stop the big winners getting pestered by guys looking for the busfare. It worked to some extent but subtleties like this never bothered the real down-and-outs — especially when it was a stranger had won most of the dough, it was like flies round shite watching them. People could get desperate. And walking home was like that when it was the middle of winter, fucking murder polis so it was. Oanny hated being in that situation and it did not happen too often. His habit was to fall asleep shortly after arrival in Rollo’s and when he woke up the losers were usually hanging about giving their post-mortems on the night’s play. It was rare for him not to have kept the busfare once the kitty had been collected. It was even more rare for him to be tempted into having a go himself on the table. To tell the truth, punting was beginning to bore him. If Alec was going through a bad spell he would pass the cards on to somebody else to play for a while. Oanny used to be the second string. But not any longer. And because Fat Stanley showed his excitement too much Alec had started passing the cards onto Victor. This was right up Victor’s alley. But what Alec never seemed to appreciate was that the cunt was every bit as excitable as Fat Stanley, he just did not show it too much. But if you knew him; if you knew him you could see he was a bundle of shakes and twitches.

Oanny rose from his chair a little, enough to see through the glass partition, but it was difficult to distinguish things. No sounds from the gaming section reached into here either. But he could see that only one game of poker was in progress. That was good. Settling onto the chair again he lifted the teacup and stared into it, drank down what was left in it. He brought the halfbottle of vodka out from his inside coat pocket and poured himself another, adding a wee drop of lemonade from the bottle he had lying on the table. What a carry on everything was! He shook his head.

You talking to yourself?

It was the doorman. He must have come in on his tiptoes. He was staring at Oanny and had not spoken as he had as a joke. You’re sitting there talking to yourself, he said.

Am I?

Aye.

That’s good.

Some people wouldnt think so.

Ach away and give us peace!

Peace? If you wanted peace you wouldnt be sitting about here at all hours!

Oanny frowned at him but then he gestured with the half-bottle: Want a voddy?

Naw, I dont want a voddy.

Good! The fucking price your man charges! What a carry on — a fiver? For a fucking halfbottle!

Well if you dont fucking like it!

Oanny shook his head. He glanced about, opened the new packet of cigarettes and he offered one to the doorman as an afterthought. Each lighted his own. Then Oanny swallowed too big a mouthful of the alcohol and he shuddered and dragged immediately on his cigarette, keeping the smoke down inside his lungs for a longer period than normal.

He put the bottle back in the inside pocket again. He would have to forget about it being there otherwise he could end up doing it in, without even noticing! He shook his head and glanced up. But the doorman had vanished.

He got to his feet, intending to go through and see what was what in the poker but he went for a piss instead. On the return he stopped by the small group of spectators but when Victor chanced to look across he kept on walking, back into the snacks room and onto the same chair as before.

It was enough to have shown his face, just so they would know he was still compos mentis. And anyway, what was the point in spectating? It was only a game of stud and he knew that inside out and back to front. It was a good skilful game mind you — but so was chess, and Oanny would not have watched that either. He knew Alec was doing okay, just seeing Victor’s face was enough. Although it was one of those wee surprising things about life that occasionally Oanny could get feelings. It was the same when he was married. He always seemed to know in advance when something was going to happen. It annoyed Doreen. She used to fucking blow her top! Oanny grinned. But it was true, he could get these feelings. In punting it had to do with luck and hunches and that kind of thing. You could sense something was going right. You walked up to back your dog and suddenly you knew it made no difference which one you selected because whatever it was it would fucking guy in, it was a stonewall certainty. Your luck was in and that was that.

And vice versa as well of course. There were times nothing went right. You punt a dozen odds-on chances in a row and each one of them would fucking run backwards. Your luck was out, end of story. The shrewd thing was to get that feeling and use it properly, know when it was best to call a halt, or best to stay with it to the very last. The way Alec was going for instance he had to stay with it and then know that exact moment to get up and call it quits. That was the hard part.

Oanny crushed out the cigarette he had been smoking and folded his arms, leaning them on the edge of the table. It was typical how Victor was the one to see him look in on the game. George Raft with the dirty shirt. What was interesting was how come he had managed to wangle himself in on the company. He just seemed to turn up one time and tag along. Then suddenly he was there every Friday night, up in the usual place at Ashfield. Nobody even knew where the fuck he lived. Maybe he was dossing. He knew an awful lot of the riff-raff. So did Oanny right enough! But you could not help getting to know them when you saw them once or twice every week. Even if you never acknowledged them they still liked to say hello, just to kid on they knew you, in case they wanted to nip you for a couple of bob in the future. Bastards. That was a good point about Victor, you had to admit it, he was not a beggar. That was one thing you had to admit. But where did he stay? Imagine not even knowing where the cunt stayed! And there was no way of finding out, not unless you just came right out and asked him. And how could you do that? Some sort of conversation would have to be on the go first of all and Victor never got involved in conversations, especially not with Oanny. What a carry on it was.

*

Fat Stanley grinned as he sat down facing him across the table. He nodded at the halfbottle of vodka: Any of it left?

What. .

The vodka, any of it left? Fat Stanley grinned.

Aye. .

It’s for Alec. Fat Stanley watched Oanny pour some into another cup and add a fair proportion of lemonade. When Oanny was putting the halfbottle away into his inside coat pocket the other man added, Eh — what about Victor, should we give him one as well?

I suppose so. . Oanny shook his head, reached for another cup and poured in a tiny amount and then added a good proportion of lemonade, and muttered, The cunt’ll no notice anyway! He glanced at Fat Stanley: You should’ve told him to come and get it himself!

Ach Oanny, you know what like he is!

Aye, no fucking brains!

Fat Stanley chuckled. Naw, he said, but he likes watching the game.

I know he likes watching the game Stanley. Well I’ll tell you, he can watch it till fucking doomsday for all the good it’ll do him cause he’ll never make a fucking poker player. I mean you ever seen him fucking twitching! Poker by fuck! Couldnt play ludo that cunt!

Ah he’s no that bad.

Your trouble is you’re too soft.

Fat Stanley raised his eyebrows and smiled while lifting the two teacups. No coming ben? he asked.

In a minute.

It’s good. Some rare hands coming out.

Oanny shrugged. Either we win or we dont, it’s as simple as that Stanley. Who’s all playing?

McArthur and big Dessy, Billy Hendrie, the Ragman. .

Oanny nodded. How’s Alec doing anyway?

Och up and down, up and down.

Early days. Only takes a couple of good pots and we’ll be well away.

Fat Stanley smiled. Coming then?

In a minute.

Right you are. . He headed back through towards the gaming area. After a moment Oanny took the halfbottle out again and he checked the amount remaining. He continued to read the label then sniffed and returned it into the inside pocket. He lighted another cigarette and exhaled onto the table-top, scattering crumbs from the surface.

*

The sound of people talking quite loudly; somebody laughing. The poker had finished. And the main lighting was now on in the gaming area. Alec was a winner. Oanny would have bet money on it. He was standing central to the company and although he was not speaking the ones who were made a point of including him in the general conversation. When Oanny appeared a few of them had exchanged greetings with him. He took out the cigarettes and offered them about. The manager of the club was a guy in late middle age by the name of James Millar. He had nodded to Oanny without any comment, friendly enough but keeping his distance. Now he signalled to the doorman and together they left to stick on some coffee and knock up a few sandwiches. When the kitchen door shut the Ragman said, Well Oanny, dont see much of you these days.

The way that doorman was acting I thought I was barred!

Aye, he’s keen.

Keen! Oanny rubbed his hands together, exhaled a puff of smoke. How’s business? he asked.

Aw no bad no bad, surviving.

Good.

Heh Oanny, called Billy Hendrie, ever hear anything of the Ghoul these days?

Some of the company laughed. In the background Victor could be seen, he stood several yards to the side of Fat Stanley and to the rear of the main poker table. Oanny chuckled: The Ghoul eh! What a man yon was!

You’re no kidding! laughed Hendrie.

Last I heard he was up in the ’rigs.

That’s what I heard as well, said the Ragman. The Shetlands?

Oanny nodded.

I wonder if he’s still into the Crown & Anchor? asked Hendrie. What! Oanny pulled a face and the company laughed. He glanced at the Ragman and said, Mind that fucking pitch-and-toss game he set up down in Bellshill? The heavy squad ran him out of town!

The laughter again. But after a moment the Ragman answered, I dont think it was Bellshill but.

Tommy Rollo called, Naw I think you’re right, I think it was somewhere else.

It was Blantyre, said Alec.

Blantyre, aye.

Oanny nodded. Blantyre, he said, that’s right. A team of heavyweight boxers they sent after him. Fucking lynched him if they’d caught him!

Heh. . Billy Hendrie glanced swiftly at the kitchen door and whispered: Mind that time he tried to get a faro bank going in here?

Millar and his brother were supposed to be away off on holiday, grinned the Ragman.

Oanny chuckled, I’d forgot all about that!

The Ragman turned to those in the company who looked as if they had never heard about the business and he continued, No kidding ye, there was about a dozen of us, all in here one Tuesday dinnertime — dinnertime, aye! Anyway, the Ghoul’s got everything set up and he’s running this fucking I think man it might’ve been a grand bank, eh Billy?

Must’ve been. Maybe even one and a half.

Oanny was nodding and grinning and he said. And then the fucking door opens. .

And in they come, said the Ragman, the two of them.

Didnt know what the hell was going on! whispered Oanny.

Naw, said the Ragman, the two of them with their mouths hanging wide open!

And then the Ghoul, said Oanny, he just gives them both a wave: how’s it going, he says, sit down, yous’re just in time!

The Ragman laughed loudly and so too did Oanny and Billy Hendrie. Others chuckled and smiled. And the Ragman added, You’d have to have seen it to really appreciate it. Really funny but!

Tommy Rollo called, Heh there was that other time. .

Oanny was aware of Alec’s brief signal and he nodded. Victor and Fat Stanley were already approaching the exit. Oanny gave a cheery wave to Ellen whom he saw for the first time now, sitting on her own reading a magazine. Both he and Alec bade their cheerios to the rest and minutes later were along the lane with the other two.

It was still only half past three in the morning. A taxi for hire was stationary at the traffic lights ahead but none of the four suggested taking it though it was almost a mile from the club to The Edwardian. They walked quickly, speaking sporadically. Alec giving Oanny a brief run-down on how the game had been. He had managed to double their money but overall he was a bit disappointed. At one time there used to be a lot of cash around Millar’s club. Nowadays people seemed more interested in throwing it away on roulette and blackjack. Where they now headed was like that, The Edwardian, but the bonus here was its private members’ room, different from other ordinary casinos.

Oanny was first to enter and he pushed open the glass door in a nonchalant manner. Three men in evening suits were inside the lobby, two were in their early twenties and the other looked in his forties. Alec stepped to the small table on which lay the large signing-in book. Is big James in? he asked.

The oldest doorman gazed at him. The other two doormen were watching Oanny, Fat Stanley and Victor.

Tell him Alec’s here and wee Oanny and that. Alec sniffed and added, I was on the blower about twenty minutes ago.

The doorman relaxed and replied, I doubt if the four of yous’ll get signed in.

Alec made no comment. He withdrew a new packet of cigarettes and broke the seal, crushed the cellophane wrapping and dropped it into a wastepaper bucket. The doorman had gone. When he came back he flicked open the pages of the signing-in book and got the four of them to enter in their names and also their addresses. Alec nodded to Oanny and the two of them were followed by Fat Stanley and Victor. They strolled through the casino, going the longer way round to the lounge. The place was crowded, both sexes; a lot of the women looked to be wearing very expensive outfits. Quite a few Chinese were about, all ages. They continued into the lounge where a dozen or so people were sitting on the red velvet-backed chairs.

Alec took out the Daily Record and began reading immediately. Fat Stanley and Victor glanced about. Oanny grinned, They dont bite.

What? said Fat Stanley.

Oanny was still grinning; he nodded at the girls.

Aw naw, said Fat Stanley. I wasnt. .

Although the girls wore long evening gowns they obviously worked for the casino. Their dresses were low cut at the front and the back and they had long slits up the sides. They carried trays of cups and saucers and plates and also of glasses. Oanny cleared his throat, about to say something but Alec shut the newspaper abruptly and got to his feet, he palmed a few notes to Oanny and murmured, See yous later.

The three nodded.

I’ll eh. . Alec paused, smiling at a man who was standing over by the door into the casino, and he strolled across, folding the newspaper and sticking it into his coat pocket. The man wore an evening suit and he smiled at Alec and shook him by the hand.

Oanny squinted over and waved: Tell big James I was asking for him!

Right you are Oanny, said the man.

Oanny glanced sideways at Fat Stanley and Victor, he whispered: That’s wee James, his boy. He raised his eyebrows and slapped his hands together and winked: What d’yous want to drink then?

Fat Stanley smiled.

I’m serious. Oanny indicated the tiny enclosed bar. What d’yous want?

Eh. . a bottle of beer maybe? if eh. .

Fine. Oanny sniffed. Victor?

Eh a pint of lager?

Oanny nodded and called to one of the girls. Hey miss; could I have a pint of lager and two bottles of beer, and a wee vodka and lemonade. He grinned and added: I’ve got to take that vodka otherwise the lemonade goes to my head!

The girl’s smile became apologetic. You need to get a meal before you can get a drink, she said.

Aw good, good. Oanny rubbed his hands together and said to Fat Stanley: Okay big yin, steak, egg and chips eh? Fancy it?

The girl was apologetic again. I think they’ve stopped serving now. It’s past 4 o’clock.

Aw God.

I’ll go and see but. The girl smiled.

Aye hen we’d appreciate that. Oanny sighed, shaking his head, gazing after the girl in an absent-minded manner.

Nice place, said Fat Stanley. The decor and that, it’s nice.

Aye, said Victor.

Fat Stanley nodded. After a moment he said to Oanny, Is it a while since you’ve been here?

Ages. It’s all changed.

Some money around though eh!

I dont know so much, said Oanny, some of the cunts sitting ben there’ll hang about all night just playing that roulette for pennies.

Victor shrugged.

Fair enough, said Oanny, I’m no saying there’s no money about, I’m just saying it might surprise you, that’s all, that’s all I’m saying. I mind once me and Alec landed in London — we’d been down at Goodwood with a couple of the boys. . He paused as the girl appeared. She was still looking apologetic.

I’m sorry, she said then she pointed to an alcove nearby the cloakroom. You can get sandwiches in there.

Eh. . Oanny tapped the girl on the elbow as she turned to leave. Can we still get something to drink?

Well, tea or coffee.

Aw aye. What is there no chance of eh a wee half or something?

The girl hesitated for a second; she shook her head, and added, Okay?

Fat Stanley smiled at her.

But if you just go over there somebody’ll see to you for sandwiches.

Once she had gone Oanny sniffed and muttered, Those and such as those.

Och naw, said Fat Stanley, I dont think so Oanny.

Aye you better fucking believe it big yin!

Victor shook his head slightly.

You kidding? frowned Oanny.

It’s no up to her, said Victor.

I’m no saying it is up to her. She could’ve put the word in but, that’s what I’m saying.

Fat Stanley nodded. He smiled. Being honest, I dont really feel like a drink anyway.

That’s no the point.

A coffee would do me, said Victor.

Aye plus the lassie was saying about sandwiches, added Fat Stanley. Eh Oanny? Is that no what she said, about sandwiches?

Oanny looked at him then he looked away.

Then Victor rose and muttered about needing a pish and went off to find the gents toilet.

Oanny sighed and patted the pockets of his jacket and coat but the halfbottle had been finished before leaving the club. He opened his cigarettes, took one out and left one beside where Victor was sitting, then said to Fat Stanley, Do you want one?

Naw.

Oanny nodded and got up. He lighted the cigarette while strolling to the alcove at the far end of the room, stuck the packet into his pocket. Another girl was behind the counter, reading a book with hard covers. She continued reading as Oanny stood there. He grinned eventually. That must be a good book! he said.

Oh, sorry.

Naw, it’s alright!

Are you wanting something? The girl got up from the seat.

A wee niece of mine, he said, she was like you — nose always stuck inside a book!

The girl smiled.

What kind of sandwiches have you got then?

Well, there’s only lettuce and tomato left now.

Lettuce and tomato. .

We had roast beef and gammon earlier on.

Oanny shrugged. The lettuce and tomato’ll do fine hen. It’s for three. Plus two coffees and a tea — have you got tea?

Yes.

Thank God for that!

She returned with the stuff on a tray and Oanny applied the milk and sugar from the jug and bowl on the counter. He pulled out the small wad of notes.

There’s no charge, said the girl.

What?

For a meal you would have to pay but sandwiches and coffee come free of charge.

Aw aye, I see. Thanks hen. . Oanny started separating the saucers and putting the cups onto them, then he manoeuvered things about on the tray.

Can you manage? she asked.

Aye — I’m no decrepit altogether!

I wasnt meaning that. It’s just that if you leave the saucers the way they were then everything’ll fit till you get to the table.

Of course, aye. Oanny took the cups back off the saucers and returned the things back onto the tray. He nodded. He noticed a medium-sized bowl to the side of the counter. There was quite a lot of money inside it. Before lifting the tray he peeled two singles from the small wad and he put them in beside the rest. It was probably tips people left because the sandwiches came free. He hummed a tune while carrying the tray back to the table. The lassie was nice. But so bloody young! She hardly seemed old enough to be out at this time never mind working in a bloody casino. And these dresses they were wearing, hers was too tight, and the tops of her tits could actually be seen. It was a wonder the punters ever remembered to pick up their winnings! Not that there would be much winnings in a place like this. Take away the lassies and what did you have, one big con from top to bottom.

What you laughing at?

What?

Fat Stanley grinned whilst in the middle of munching a sandwich, a sliver of lettuce at the corner of his mouth.

Just thinking about something, replied Oanny. He gestured at the sandwich. No kidding ye but that’s what Ellen should be doing I mean a lot of cunts dont fancy a bowl of fucking soup but give them a sandwich and a cup of tea and that. . He shrugged.

I agree with you Oanny.

Plus you’re killing two birds with one stone, you’re cutting out the fucking riff-raff. That’s what fucking draws them, the soup, they think it’s the Salvation Army! Songs of fucking Praise they’ll be giving us next!

Fat Stanley and Victor both grinned.

Victor stuck the last portion of his sandwich into his mouth and he munched it with his mouth shut, glancing about the room, and when he finished it he wiped his lips.

Still hungry? asked Oanny.

Who me — naw.

The lassie’d give us another couple of sandwiches.

I’m no bothered.

Oanny nodded. What about yourself Stanley?

Fat Stanley shrugged. I’m no bothered either.

Mm. Ah well. Oanny sipped at his tea, half of his sandwich still remaining on the plate. He took out his cigarettes and gave one to Victor, offered one to Fat Stanley who moved to take one, then hesitated.

Eh, d’you mind? he asked.

Course no, fuck sake here, help yourself. . Oanny screwed his face up to avoid getting smoke in his eyes while getting his cigarette alight. Tell you something, he said, Rollo’s place is getting really bad. I mind the time if you cleaned the fucking school you were talking about a monkey, and that was on a bad night.

Somebody else won as well but, apart from Alec, said Victor.

Still and all, two hundred quid, it’s not much. Oanny nodded in the direction of the private members’ room. And I’ll tell yous something else, he said, half the cunts ben in that casino, they’ll no even know there’s a game of poker going on! And that’s the way they want it, the house. Because poker’s like chemmy, it’s a punters’ game. That’s how you dont see a chemmy table in here cause they dont fucking allow it that’s how.

No percentage, muttered Victor.

No enough of one, aye. Oanny nodded after a moment.

Fat Stanley yawned. Well. . he said, think I’ll go and have a looksee. Eh Victor?

Aye.

What about yourself Oanny?

Nah. Did Alec take that Record with him?

Aye.

Tch. Oanny shook his head but added: Maybe get a loan of one off somebody. Here, he said. And he withdrew the small wad and handed it to Victor who nodded slightly, sticking it into his trouser pocket.

*

Oanny had not seen the pair enter. He glanced around the lounge. Nobody else was sitting down. Fat Stanley said, They’re wanting to shut up shop.

Are they?

It’s a case of hint hint.

Ah well. Oanny yawned and lifted his cigarettes and matches from the table.

That roulette! Fat Stanley grinned. No kidding ye Oanny it’s hell of a fast so it is. You could lose a fortune.

Dont tell me yous fell for it!

It was blackjack I played, said Victor.

Just as deadly. It’s no like fucking pontoons you know!

Victor frowned.

Oanny was opening the cigarette packet and shaking his head. He glanced at Victor as he started getting to his feet. You might know but a lot of cunts dont. They turn a blackjack and think they can take the fucking bank! I mind one time in Newcastle. .

I know the difference.

Oanny gazed at him.

We were winning a few bob at the beginning, said Fat Stanley. Hey but see these Chinese! No kidding ye Oanny punting in scores so they were. Some of them must’ve been losing a bloody fortune!

Mugs! Oanny sniffed noisily. Fucking house games!

Victor cleared his throat, and he moved in the direction of the exit. Fat Stanley followed, pausing now and again to stay within a stride of Oanny. Before they arrived within earshot of the doormen Oanny tapped Fat Stanley on the side of the arm. Hey big yin, he whispered, did somebody actually say they were going to shut? I mean direct, did somebody actually tell you?

Aye.

Aw.

One of the younger doormen stood by the glass door with Victor. When he saw the other two approach he unlocked it and held it open for them.

Raining? said Oanny.

Aye, replied the doorman.

Were yous busy?

Eh, no bad.

Oanny nodded. Is this you finished for the night then?

Aye.

You’ll no be sorry!

The doorman nodded. Fat Stanley and Victor were out on the pavement. The other two doormen were standing by the table with the signing-in book.

Oanny sniffed, rubbed his hands together. Aye, he said.

After a moment the doorman said, Goodnight.

The key was turned in the lock behind him. Oanny continued onto the pavement; he muttered, Bloody cold eh!

Fat Stanley nodded. He had his bunnet on now and the collar of his coat was upturned. Victor had his shoulders hunched and he shivered. Fucking freezing! he grunted and then he shuddered and spat out onto the street.

Oanny stood for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders a few times and kept his feet moving on the spot. Finally he gave a loud shiver, slapped his hands together and crossed to the opposite pavement, the other pair following. He stepped into a shop doorway and tried the doorhandle. Shut! he said.

Fat Stanley smiled briefly. He and Victor huddled in out the rain.

Oanny brought out the cigarettes, gave one to himself and Victor, one as an afterthought to Fat Stanley. Might as well take it, he added, it’s the last!

Fat Stanley shrugged.

Just then the door of The Edwardian was unlocked, and the sound of cheery voices. A group of young men and women, dressed in ordinary clothes: employees — probably they had lockers to keep their evening wear in. Umbrellas were raised then they all headed along towards the high-rise car park. The door was locked behind them.

Wonder when it’ll finish! said Fat Stanley.

Oanny waited a short time before answering. D’you mean the poker?

I was just wondering.

Oanny nodded.

Maybe we should’ve asked one of the guys on the door.

Oanny shrugged. They’ll no know. It’s poker Stanley, it finishes when it finishes — it’s no like the club; big James and them I mean you’re talking about dough, it could go on for hours!

That right?

Aye, fuck. Course. Oanny sniffed and he said, See when they told yous they were shutting, could yous no’ve asked if we could wait on a wee bit?

Aye. . Fat Stanley nodded. Right enough. .

They wouldnt’ve let us, muttered Victor.

Only one way of finding out.

Well you should’ve fucking asked then!

I’m no blaming you, said Oanny.

Aye I fucking know you’re no! Hh! Victor shook his head and cleared his throat, spat onto the pavement.

Touchy bastard, grunted Oanny.

What d’you mean touchy bastard? Victor glared at him. Then he strolled to the edge of the pavement and looked for a moment at the sky. The rain had eased a little. He glared back at Oanny and shook his head again.

What’s up with you? asked Oanny.

Victor spat into the gutter.

What’s up with that cunt? said Oanny to Fat Stanley and he dragged deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke harshly out the corner of his mouth.

Victor was staring at him. Oanny returned the stare. Then Victor said, You’re an old man.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Victor shook his head.

Eh? What’s that fucking supposed to mean, I’m an old man?

Ah! Victor turned away from him.

Eh? said Oanny to Fat Stanley.

Never bother, muttered Fat Stanley.

I dont even know what he’s fucking talking about!

Never bother.

Aye but I dont even know what he’s fucking talking about Stanley, know what I mean!

Fat Stanley shrugged slightly. Victor was exhaling smoke, gazing in the direction away from the car park. For some minutes neither of the three spoke. Eventually Victor returned into the doorway, taking up a position close to the front.

Minutes after they had finished the cigarettes the glass door opened again, and the two younger doormen appeared and they could be heard quite distinctly, saying cheerio to somebody else — the oldest doorman probably. Then one of them noticed Oanny, Fat Stanley and Victor and he whispered something and the other one looked over. The pair continued along towards the car park and one of them laughed.

No point asking them anything! muttered Oanny. He stared after them. You wonder how they ever get a fucking job like that dont you. .

The three of them continued sheltering in the doorway. It was Fat Stanley who broke the silence. He said: Is that the rain off?

Oanny made no answer.

Still fucking drizzling, muttered Victor.

What time does that café in the Central Station open?

Soon. How?

Aw nothing. I was just wondering. . Fat Stanley shrugged.

You any money?

Nah — couple of coppers just.

Victor nodded.

Enough for a tea, I suppose. Fat Stanley glanced at him: You skint?

Aye.

Fat Stanley glanced at Oanny but Oanny was gazing off out the doorway and seemed not to notice. And he said to Victor, Naw I was just wondering about maybe taking a wee walk or something, just to pass the time, stretch the legs and that. .?

Victor nodded very slightly.

Then Oanny moved suddenly. I’m away, he said.

What?

I’m away home.

How d’you mean?

Ach! Oanny shook his head. This is fucking murder! He sidled past Fat Stanley, out onto the pavement. Yous two waiting on?

Victor looked at him.

Are yous?

How what’re you doing? asked Fat Stanley.

I told you, I’m going home. It’s a long hike and I might as well start now.

Aye but Oanny I mean. .

Oanny shrugged. What’s the fucking difference, he said. Either we win or we get fucking beat. Wait here and we’ll wait forever.

Aye but what about Alec and that?

Oanny shook his head and he walked off, away from the direction of the car park, his shoulders hunched up and rounded. The other two watched him go, their heads poking out from the doorway.