Word was, Gentleman Junkie Jules was a remittance man these days. Paid regular sums by his very well-off family, but only on the understanding that he would never come home to embarrass them. Jules was never that good a card player, but he always had enough money to get into the big games, and lose it all. Until the buzz of high stakes cards just wasn’t enough any more and some kind friend introduced him to chemical heaven. And Jules found out the hard way that heroin is a harsh mistress. Given how much he’d abused his luck all his life, I was amazed he was still around. But it did make perfect sense that he would be sitting here, opposite me, ready to play Russian roulette. He’d been playing it all his life.
I had to at least make a gesture, for my conscience’s sake. I raised a hand, to draw the attention of the manager Jonathon Scott as he drifted by. He immediately changed direction to approach the table, and the crowd opened up just enough to let him pass. While still staying close enough that they wouldn’t miss a word.
“Is there a problem, sir?” said Scott.
“I object to Jules as my opponent,” I said. “This man isn’t fit to play. I mean, look at the state of him.”
“As long as he can pick up the gun and point it in the right direction, he can play,” said Scott. “That’s all the rules there are in this game.”
“And it’s the only way I can raise enough money to get out of this shit hole, and back into the real games where I belong,” said Jules, in a dry, uninterested voice. He looked at me for the first time and he didn’t see me at all. I was just something to be overcome. Something in his way. “Stop wasting my time. Let’s get this done so I can get on with my life.”
“Do you even know who I am?” I said.
“Shaman Bond,” said Jules, just a bit unexpectedly. “I remember you. Always hanging round the edge of the scene in London looking for some small-time trouble to get into. Scrambling for crumbs from the rich man’s table. How did someone like you even get in here?”
“This is wrong!” said a loud carrying voice, and we all looked round sharply. Leopold the gambling priest was standing nearby, glaring at us all impartially. “Suicide is a mortal sin,” the priest said flatly.
“And gambling isn’t?” said Scott, quietly amused.
“Not the way I do it,” said Leopold.
“Butt out, priest,” said Jules. He’d gone back to staring at the gun again. “No one wants you here; no one wants to hear what you have to say. This is what I want.”
“Of course it is,” said Leopold, his voice suddenly kind. “When you’ve abused your body with as many drugs as you have, only the biggest thrills can even touch you any more. But it’s not too late to step away. You can lean on me, if you wish.”
“Of course it’s too late,” said Jules. “It was too late the day I was born.”
Leopold nodded slowly, and walked away. Heading for the big games, where he belonged. The manager went with him, perhaps just to see that the priest kept going. Cheating and assassination attempts were all very well, but nothing and no one could be allowed to interfere with the games at Casino Infernale.
A uniformed flunky turned up, to oversee the Russian roulette. A small characterless man with a brisk, efficient manner. He picked up the gun from the table, and showed it to the crowd. A Smith & Wesson .45, much used, brightly polished, well maintained. The flunky opened the gun’s chamber, to show it was empty, and then produced a single bullet, and pressed it into place. He closed the chamber, spun it, and placed the gun back on the table, exactly half-way between me and Jules. People pressed in close around the table, determined not to miss a thing. Some looked at the gun, some looked at Jules, and a few even looked at me. They wanted to be in close, for the kill.
They looked . . . hungry.
They disgusted me. Jules didn’t even notice them. He had eyes only for the gun. He rested his hands on the green baize tabletop. They weren’t shaking at all, but beads of sweat were already appearing on his face. I felt sick to my stomach. I was the only one there who knew the fix was in; that I had already condemned this poor broken man to death. For the mission. But there was no other way . . . I couldn’t even get up and walk away now. The Casino wouldn’t permit it, not now that I’d committed myself. If I tried, at best they’d throw me out of Casino Infernale. And then the plan would be a bust, and there would be a war in the streets over Crow Lee’s Inheritance. Blood and slaughter, inevitably spilling over into the everyday world, all because of me.
I looked Gentleman Junkie Jules in the eyes, and it was like there was no one there, looking back. Or was that just what I wanted to believe?
The flunky put his hand on the gun, and sent it spinning round and round with a practised movement. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Wasn’t the first time two men had sat down at this table, and only one of them had walked away. How many men had died, sitting in my chair? All the surrounding sound stopped, as everyone watched the gun spin round and round, gradually slowing, finally coming to a halt with the long barrel pointing in my direction. I sat up straight. Jules picked up the gun, with a steady hand. The crowd made a small, almost intimate sound. Jules aimed the gun at my head, right between my eyes. I sat very still. I knew the gun was empty, knew it had to be empty, but still my heart was hammering in my chest, and my breathing was fast enough to be painful. Jules’ hand was entirely steady. His overly bright eyes were fixed on me now, and he was still smiling his lipless smile, showing dirty yellow teeth. He didn’t seem to be breathing at all. He pulled the trigger, and there was a hard firm click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.
The crowd let out the breath they’d been holding, with a sound that was almost orgasmic. Jules looked at the gun as though he couldn’t understand what had just happened. And then he slowly lowered the gun and placed it on the table before me. There was a loud buzz of conversation round the table, as money changed hands in the first run of bets, and everyone hurried to bet again. I waited for the flunky to give me the nod, and then I picked up the gun, spun the chamber, pointed the gun at Jules, and pulled the trigger. Again, an empty chamber. I put the gun down. Jules hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, barely seemed aware that anything at all had happened. The sound from the crowd seemed angry, this time. I’d cheated them out of the drama they craved. I didn’t care.
More money changed hands; more bets were made.
Jules picked up the gun again. He held it a while, considering it, and then he spun the chamber with a hard, angry motion. He aimed the gun at my left eye. I didn’t move. Didn’t react. The crowd had gone silent again. Jules’ face was slick with sweat, but his hand was still steady. I looked down the barrel of the gun. I’d never seen anything so fascinating. I knew the gun was empty, believed with all my heart that it was empty, but I didn’t trust the gun or my heart. The flunky gave the nod, and Jules slowly pulled the trigger. On another empty chamber.
There was a fierce babble of sound all around us. The crowd was really getting into it now. Jules slowly lowered the gun onto the table, and took his hand away. I looked around. Money was changing hands freely, as many bets were paid off. Voices were raised, and hands waved excitedly as new odds were set for the next round. I could see Molly and Frankie moving quickly through the crowd, making the rounds, taking bets wherever they could, backing me to win. I hoped they were getting good odds.
I picked up the gun. The butt was wet with sweat from Jules’ hand. I put the gun down again, took out a handkerchief, and carefully wiped the butt clean. Jules said nothing. I put the handkerchief away, and took up the gun again. It felt heavier now, as though just the significance of what we were involved in added to its weight, its reality. I spun the chamber, aimed the gun at Jules’ flat unwavering gaze, waited for the flunky, and then pulled the trigger. Nothing.