Tell Tale: Stories

“I think we’ve got a problem on table number three,” said the manager, staring intently at the screen on his desk.

“Which punter?” asked the head of security, as he joined his boss and looked over his shoulder.

“Young guy, with an attractive woman standing behind him. What do you think, André?”

“Zoom in,” said the security chief, “and let’s take a closer look.” The manager touched a button and waited until the young man’s face filled the screen. “I agree,” said André, “he’s a double or quits merchant. I think from the sweat on his forehead, he’s probably got a lot riding on it.”

“And the girl?” said the manager, as he switched the camera to a young woman, whose right hand rested on the gambler’s shoulder.

“All I can tell you is she’s not a one-night stand.”

“How can you be sure?”

“They’re both wearing wedding rings.”

“Get Duval up here.”

André quickly left the room as the manager of the casino watched the young man place another thousand francs on 13.

“Idiot,” said the manager, as he glanced at the front page of Le Figaro, which was on the desk by his side. He didn’t need to read the article a third time. The headline was bad enough.

He looked back at the screen to see the young punter place a further thousand francs on 13. “Idiot,” he repeated. “Haven’t I got enough problems without you?”

Claude Richelieu, the owner of the casino, had been on the phone from Paris earlier in the week, concerned about the latest government directive. The French interior minister was pressing the Monte Carlo gaming council to close the recently opened casino. Too many stories in the press about suicides, broken marriages, and bankruptcies caused by gambling, which was illegal in France, and precisely the reason why they were making so much money in Monte Carlo. The manager had cursed when Richelieu added, “We don’t need any more suicides.”

“But what am I supposed to do,” he asked, “if someone loses badly and then decides to kill themselves?”

“Fix the wheel,” said Richelieu. “Make sure he wins.”

“And if that fails?”

The owner told his manager exactly what he should do if fixing the wheel wasn’t enough.

There was a knock on the door, and the head of security returned, accompanied by one of the few members of staff who wasn’t wearing a dinner jacket that evening. In fact, if you had passed Philippe Duval in the street, you might have thought the short, balding middle-aged man was a schoolmaster, or perhaps an accountant. But he had other talents that were far more valuable to the casino. Mr. Duval could lip-read in five different languages.

“Which one?” he asked, as he stared down at the screen.

“The young guy,” said the manager, once again zooming in on him. “What can you tell me about him?”

Duval watched carefully, but it was some time before he offered an opinion, during which the young man had lost another thousand francs on 13. “He’s French,” Duval eventually said, “a Parisian, and the lady standing behind him is his wife, Maxine, unless they’re both married to someone else.”

“Tell me what they’re saying,” said Marcel.

Duval leaned forward and watched carefully.

“Him, ‘My luck’s got to change soon.’

“Her, ‘I’d rather you stopped, Jacques. Let’s go back to the hotel while we’ve still got enough money to pay the bill.’

“Him, ‘It’s not the hotel bill I’m worried about, as you well know, Maxine. It’s that loan shark who’ll be waiting for me the moment I show my face in Paris.’”

The young man placed another thousand francs on 13. The ball landed on 26.

“Him, ‘Next time.’”

“Is Tony on tonight?” the manager asked.

“Yes, boss,” replied the head of security. “Table nine.”

“Switch him with the guy on table three, and tell him to make sure the ball lands in 13.”

“He’s still only got a one in five chance,” said the head of security.

“That’s better than thirty-seven to one,” said the manager. “Get on with it.”

“On my way, boss,” said the head of security. He hurried out of the room and headed down to the casino floor, but not before the young man had lost another thousand francs.

“Pull the camera back,” said the manager. The manager zoomed out. “I want to take a closer look at that man leaning against the pillar in the far corner.” The camera moved onto a middle-aged man who was also staring intently at the table. “He’s that journalist from Le Figaro.”

“Are you sure?” the manager barked.

“Look at the photo next to his byline on the front page,” he said, tapping the newspaper on the desk.

“François Colbert,” said the manager. “I could kill him.”

“I think that’s what he has in mind for you,” said Duval, as the camera returned to the roulette table, where two of the croupiers were swapping stations.

“Make it land in 13, Tony,” said the manager as the new croupier began to spin the wheel. While everyone’s eyes were on the ball, the croupier’s right hand slipped under the table.

Jacques placed another thousand francs on 13, as the croupier sent the little white ball on its way. The young man, the manager, the head of security, and Duval all followed the progress of the ball, which ended up in 27, one slot to the left of 13.

“He’ll get it right next time,” said the manager.

“He’d better,” said Duval, “because the mark’s only got two chips left.”

The young man put them both on 13. Once again, the croupier sent the ball spinning, and once again his index finger felt for the hidden lever under the table, as six people with a vested interest watched to see where the ball would land. 36.

“Now Tony’s managed both sides of thirteen,” said the manager, “surely he’ll get it right a third time.”

“But I think our guy’s run out of money,” said Duval, as the young man swung round to face his wife.

“What’s he saying?” demanded the manager.

“I can’t tell you while he’s got his back to me. But zoom in on the woman. She’s saying, ‘But it’s all I’ve got left, Jacques, and if I let you have it, we’ll be cleaned out.’”

The croupier once again spun the wheel and released the ball before flicking the lever of the trip pin a third time, when the ball finally landed in 13, but the gambler hadn’t had time to place a bet. As the young man turned back, a gasp went up from those standing around the table, and he said in despair, “If only you’d believed in me, Maxine, I could have won the three hundred thousand I needed to clear my debt.”

The young woman quickly unclasped her bag and handed over a wad of notes to the croupier. He counted them slowly.

“Ten thousand francs, sir?” he said impassively, before dropping the money into a plastic box by his side.

“Keep your eye on the journalist,” said Duval. The manager glanced across at François Colbert, who was writing down every word Jacques and his wife were saying.

“Merde!” he said, and turned his attention back to the croupier.

“Put it all on 13,” said the young man.

The croupier glanced across at the deputy manager, who nodded. He spun the wheel and released the ball, feeling for the lever once more. It landed in 13, but only for a moment before it popped back out and settled in 27. The young man let out a piercing scream, and as he stood up and left the table, yelled at the woman, “You’ve left me with no choice.”

Maxine collapsed into the nearest chair and burst into tears, as her husband ran out of the back of the casino and onto the terrace. The manager left his desk and walked quickly out onto the balcony. He watched as the young man ran out onto the beach, and continued running toward the sea. The manager looked more closely, and could have sworn he was holding a gun in his right hand.

He quickly returned to his desk and was trying to get his security chief on the phone, when he heard a single shot ring out.

“Get back up here,” said the manager when André came on the line. “And quickly.”

The manager walked over to a large safe embedded in the wall. He entered an eight-digit code and pulled open the heavy door. “How much did he say would solve his problems?”

“Three hundred thousand francs,” said Duval, as André burst into the room.

“Take this money,” said the manager, handing over an armful of cash, “and carry out the boss’s orders.”

The security chief slipped out of the room, walked down the back stairs and out of a rear entrance onto the beach. He quickly identified a set of fresh prints in the moonlight, and followed them until he came to a body lying in the sand, blood pouring out of his mouth, a pistol by his side. The head of security looked up to check no one was watching him, before he began to stuff wads of cash into the dead man’s jacket pockets, and then his trouser pockets, finally leaving a few francs scattered in the sand by his side.

André double-checked to make sure no one had seen what he’d done, before he got off his knees and made his way back toward the casino. Once inside, he ran up the back stairs and into the manager’s office.

“Job done,” was all he said.

“Good. Now no one will be able to suggest he committed suicide because he lost heavily at the tables.”

Maxine waited until the head of security had disappeared back into the casino, before she made her way out onto the beach. She kept glancing back to be sure no one was watching her.

When she found the body, she knelt down on the sand, and began to extract the francs from his pockets, before placing the bundles of cash in a large empty handbag. She even picked up the few stray ones that were lying by his side.

Maxine knelt down and kissed her husband gently on the forehead. “The coast is clear, my darling,” she whispered, glancing back up toward the casino.

Jacques opened his eyes and smiled. “I’ll see you and François back in Paris,” he said as his wife picked up the bag and slipped quickly away.