with some unopened bottles of whisky. Everything was set for a long session. Unobtrusively, Warren looked at his watch – it read just after twelve – exactly half an hour slow. He wondered how Follet would doctor the expensive-looking watch he saw on Raqi’s slim brown wrist without Raqi knowing it had been done.
Follet opened a drawer and tossed a sealed pack of cards on to the table. ‘There you are, Javid; you have first deal. Stranger’s privilege – but you won’t be a stranger long. Go easy on the water in mine, Nick.’
Warren poured four drinks and brought them to the table. Raqi was shuffling the cards. He seemed to do it expertly enough, although Warren was no judge of that. He was not as good as Follet, of that he was sure.
Follet looked about the table. ‘We’ll be confining ourselves to draw poker, gentlemen – there’ll be none of your fancy wild hands here; this is a serious game for serious gamblers. Let’s play poker.’
Raqi dealt the cards, five to each, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Jacks or better open.’
Warren looked at his cards. He was not a good poker-player, although he knew the rules. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Follet had said. ‘You don’t want to win, anyway.’ But he had schooled Warren in a couple of intensive lessons all the same.
At the end of the first hour he was losing – about four thousand rials to the bad – say twenty-two pounds. Tozier had lost a little, too, but not nearly as much. Follet had won a little and Raqi was on top, winning about five thousand rials.
Follet riffled the cards. ‘What did I tell you? This boy can play poker,’ he said jovially. ‘Say, that’s a nice watch you have there, Javid. Mind if I have a look at it?’
Raqi was flushed with success and was not nearly as shy and nervous as he had been at first. ‘Of course,’ he said easily, and slipped it from his wrist.
As Follet took it, Warren said, ‘You speak very good English, Javid. Where did you learn it?’
‘I studied at school, Nick; then I went to night classes.’ He smiled. ‘This is where I practise it – at the poker table.’
‘You’re doing very well.’
Tozier counted his money. ‘Play poker,’ he said. ‘I’m losing.’
Follet grinned. ‘I warned you Javid would take your wad.’ He held out the watch on his forefinger, but somehow it seemed to slip and it dropped to the floor. Follet pushed back his chair and there was a crunch. ‘Oh, hell!’ he exclaimed in disgust, and picked up the watch. ‘I’ve bust the dial.’ He held it to his ear. ‘It’s still going, though.’
Raqi held out his hand, ‘It does not matter, Johnny.’
‘It matters to me,’ said Follet. ‘I’ll have it fixed for you.’ He dropped it into his shirt pocket. ‘No, I insist,’ he said over Raqi’s expostulations. ‘I did the damage – I’ll pay for the fixing. Whose deal is it?’ Raqi subsided.
They continued to play and Raqi continued to win. As far as Warren could judge he was a good natural poker-player and he did not think Follet was discreetly assisting him, although he did not have the special knowledge to know if this was correct. He did know that he himself was losing steadily, although he played as best he could. Tozier recouped his earlier losses and stood about even, but Follet was on the losing side.
The haze of cigarette smoke in the room grew thicker and Warren began to get a slight headache. This was not his idea of a pleasant Saturday afternoon’s entertainment. He glanced at his watch and saw that it read half-past-two. Ben Bryan, in the next room, ought to be busy taping the television programme.
At quarter to three Tozier threw in his hand with an expression of disgust. ‘Hey!’ he said in alarm. ‘You’d better make that call.’
Follet looked at his watch. ‘Christ, I nearly forgot. It’s quarter to three already.’ He stood up and walked over to the telephone.
‘I thought it would be later than that,’ said Raqi in mild surprise.
Warren uncovered his watch with the dial turned towards Raqi. ‘No – that’s all it is. It might be a bit late for us, though.’
Follet had his hand on the telephone when Tozier said curtly, ‘Not that one, Johnny. Make the call from the lobby.’ He jerked his head at Raqi meaningly.
‘Javid’s all right,’ said Follet easily.
‘I said make it from the lobby.’
‘Don’t be so hard-nosed, Andy. Here you have a guy who was honest enough to give you back your wallet when he didn’t know who the hell you were. Why cut him out?’
Warren said quietly, ‘You always were a hard case, Andy.’
Raqi was looking from face to face, not understanding what was going on. Tozier shrugged with ill-grace. ‘No skin off my nose – but I thought you wanted to keep it quiet.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Warren indifferently. ‘Javid’s all right – we know that. Make the call, Johnny; it’s getting late. If we argue over it any more we’ll miss post time.’
‘Okay,’ said Follet and began to dial. His body screened the telephone from view. There was a pause. ‘Is that you, Jamshid? … Yeah, I know; things are bad all round … this time I’m going to win, I promise you … I’m still in time for the three o’clock race – make it twenty thousand rials on Al Fahkri.’ He turned and grinned at Raqi. ‘Yeah, on the nose … and, say, put on another two thousand for a friend of mine.’
He put down the telephone. ‘The bet’s on, boys; the odds are eight to one. And there’s two thousand on for you, Javid.’
‘But, Johnny, I don’t bet the horses,’ protested Raqi. ‘Two thousand rials is a lot of money.’
‘Have it on the house,’ said Follet generously. ‘Andy’s putting up the stake as a penance. Aren’t you, Andy?’
‘Go to hell,’ said Tozier morosely.
‘Quit worrying, Javid,’ said Follet. ‘I’ll stake you.’ He turned to Warren. ‘The kid can stay and watch. None of us can speak the lingo, so he can tell us which horse wins – as if we didn’t know.’
‘Why don’t you keep your big mouth shut?’ said Tozier in exasperation.
‘It’s all right, Andy,’ said Warren. ‘Johnny’s right; you’re a mean, ungrateful bastard. How much did you have in your wallet when you dropped it?’
‘About a hundred thousand rials,’ said Tozier reluctantly.
Follet was outraged. ‘And you’re being hard-nosed about giving the kid a reward,’ he cried. ‘Hell, you don’t even have to pay it yourself. Jamshid will do the paying.’ He turned to Raqi. ‘You know Jamshid, kid?’
Raqi gave a small smile. He was embarrassed because he was unaccountably the centre of an argument. ‘Who doesn’t in Tehran? Anyone who bets the horses goes to Jamshid.’
‘Yeah,
