Suddenly, a pair of hands thrust his head forward and the desk slammed up into his face.
Pain crunched through Marty’s nose. He tried to yell, but his tongue felt thick. The hands pinned him down, crushing his mouth and eyes. Then they wrenched his head back and Delgado’s face filled his vision.
‘Maybe you should look again,’ Delgado said.
Marty coughed, aware of something warm trickling from his nose. He slipped a trembling hand into his pocket, extracting the black chip he’d stolen earlier. It was worth five hundred euros.
Delgado snatched it, nodding towards the agent. ‘Luis here saw you lift it from a customer’s rack.’ He sneered, then stowed the chip in his pocket. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see the owner gets it back.’
Luis sniggered, then released his grip. Marty’s skin felt clammy. He touched his nose and winced. Shit. All this for a lousy five hundred euros. He closed his eyes for a moment. Lousy or not, it would have paid the rent he owed and set him up for another few weeks.
He opened his eyes, backhanding the blood from his lip. Delgado picked up the red chips and rattled them idly through his fingers. Then he slipped them into his pocket. Marty’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. He watched Delgado strip the cash from his wallet and pocket that too.
‘Hey!’ Marty half-stood from the chair. ‘Those’re mine!’
Delgado raised his eyebrows. ‘You are a thief. We just proved it. I am confiscating stolen goods.’
He flipped the battered wallet onto the desk. Marty felt his fists curl.
‘You can’t prove I stole anything. It’s just your word against mine.’
‘You think so? Maybe we caught you on camera.’
‘Bullshit.’
Marty traded glares with Delgado. He guessed they ran quite a sideline, shaking down two-bit grifters. But sometimes it paid to call a bluff. The Gran Casino had hundreds of cameras, but even so, not every angle was covered. Sometimes, surveillance had to spot a move first before knowing to pan after it with the lens.
The reality was, on a floor this crowded, Marty might just have got away with it.
Delgado’s lip curled into another sneer. ‘You really think you can fool the cameras?’
‘Hey, I’m just saying, maybe your pal Luis here made a mistake.’
‘You would like to see yourself in action?’ Delgado gave a humourless laugh, then clicked his fingers at Luis. ‘¿Qué mesa?’
‘Mesa cinco.’ Table five.
Delgado snatched up the phone and barked orders to someone on the other end. Marty’s Spanish wasn’t up to much, but he was hoping this was the first time they’d bothered to check surveillance.
Delgado ended the call. Then he pointed a remote control at a TV screen on the wall, and the casino floor snapped into view. He sat back, swivelling in his chair.
‘Now we will see how a lowlife operates.’
Marty slid a finger under his collar, his gaze fixed to the screen. Without sound, the roulette floor looked static and dull; just a bunch of well-dressed dummies tossing chips onto the baize. And there he was, hovering near table five.
His blond hair looked tousled, his skin nut-brown from the sun. Marty watched himself flirt with the curvy redhead, re-living the buzz as she responded to his cheesy lines.
Then he saw the mark: short, thickset; mouth as wide as a toad’s. Luis pointed at the screen.
‘Esta es.’ That’s him.
They watched as the toady guy shoved the redhead aside, thrusting a chip down the front of her dress to keep her quiet. Even seeing it for the second time, Marty felt his temper climb. He knew what had happened next, though you couldn’t tell from the screen. He’d opened his mouth to intervene, but the girl had stopped him with a pleading look. Marty had got the message. They were some kind of couple. Step in, and maybe she’d pay for it later. So he’d bitten back his temper and taken revenge the only way he knew how.
Marty peered at himself on the screen. In a minute, he’d move closer to the toady guy, waiting for him to lean across the layout, leaving his rack of chips exposed. Easy pickings for a chip-thief with deft hands. A party of Japanese tourists drifted into view, heading towards the table. Marty spotted Luis, tree-trunk solid, watching from the other side.
Something tapped at Marty’s brain. His eyes shot back to the tourists, and he recalled how they’d blocked his exit from the table. He stared as they flocked across the floor. Soon, he’d be completely hemmed in. With that kind of coverage, the camera was going to miss his sleight of hand.
He leaned back and let out a long breath. Then his pulse jolted as he realized something else.
This was Franco’s table.
Shit.
Marty’s gut clenched. In another thirty seconds, they’d catch Franco’s move. Marty scanned the players, spotting Fat-Boy in position. There was Cowboy, placing his €500 bet.
Marty dragged a hand over his mouth. He’d been following that sonofabitch Franco for weeks and had nicknames for all his crew. Then he noticed again the pretty, dark-haired girl standing on the sidelines. He’d seen her clock Fat-Boy’s eye-rub and his swift exit signal, but she didn’t seem part of their play. Surveillance, maybe? But who’d be dumb enough to tangle with Franco?
He slid a glance at Delgado. The asshole had him cornered, but not in the way that he thought. If Marty let the tape run, he’d probably be in the clear. On the other hand, they’d hit on Franco.
He watched the roulette wheel and his breathing speeded up. Where there was gambling, there was cheating. And where there was cheating, there was money up for grabs. Marty had been down on his luck for ten years, and for a while now he’d figured that coat-tailing on Franco was his only way out.
He held up his hands. ‘Okay, forget it, you’re right.’
Delgado narrowed his eyes. Marty licked his lips and went on:
‘I stole his stupid chip. You can stop the damn tape.’
Delgado’s face turned crimson. Slowly, he got to his feet and made his way round the desk, his gaze pinned on Marty.
‘You think you can make fools of us? Waste our time?’ He snapped his fingers at Luis. ‘Maybe you should see what happens to thieves in this casino.’
Luis snatched Marty’s arms and wrenched them behind his back. Marty’s shoulder muscles screamed. Delgado strode towards him, rolling up his shirtsleeves, and Marty tensed his gut.
Somewhere on the screen, that bastard Franco was making his move and Marty was going to pay for protecting him. Sweat slid down his face.
But hey, what the hell?
After all, once upon a time they’d been friends.
Chapter 3
Harry
